Shifting Paradigms: The Definition of Nobility

Myranda followed Alistair toward the southern gate, bow in hand.  Jory, like Alistair, used a sword and shield, while Daveth had armed himself with a pair of daggers.  With Baby with them, that left a distinct lack of ranged fighters, a deficiency that she alone would and could fill.

The party paused on being hailed by the guard at the gate.  "I'm told you all have business in the Wilds," he said.  "The gate's open for you, just be careful out there.  Even a Grey Warden won't be safe in the forest tonight."

"We shouldn't be gone longer than a few hours," Alistair said.  "We'll be fine."

"Right then," the guard said before undoing the latch on the gate and pushing it open.  "Good luck to you."

The small group stepped through the gate and down the path into the forest.

"This path should take us straight to the old outpost," Alistair told the others.  "It goes south for a ways before curving east."

Myranda's eyes were scanning the forest around them.  There was something distinctly not right about this forest.  It was eerie—as if they were being watched.  The deeper into the woods they traveled, the more it seemed like a regular forest: sunlight slanted down through the canopy to dapple the floor, generations of dead leaves crunched softly beneath their boots, sending the tangy sweet smell of rotting vegetation wafting gently upwards.

But there was another smell under that of decaying leaf litter: the smell of blood and death.  Myranda shifted her grip on her bow and saw Alistair's hand move to the hilt of his sword.  She nodded minutely, her estimation of him rising a few more points.

"Any ideas?" she asked softly.

"Not sure," he replied, impressing Myranda again by knowing precisely what she was talking about.  "It isn't darkspawn."

"I'll cover you."

When they topped a small rise, they saw the source of the acrid smell: a group of soldiers lay dead on the ground before them, and a small pack of wolves was feasting on the flesh.  The wolves looked up at them then, snarling before running toward them in an attack.

"Here we go!" Myranda said, pulling an arrow from her quiver and letting fly as the other three dashed forward to meet the onslaught, catching the lead wolf in the chest as it leapt for them.

The battle was over almost before it had begun.  Myranda smirked as her last arrow caught one of the wolves in the neck just as Daveth was reaching forward to gut it, the arrow missing him by inches.  "Well, that was a good exercise," she said as she strode forward to retrieve her arrows, "wouldn't you say, Baby?"

The dog barked enthusiastically.

Suddenly a voice called from somewhere nearby, "H-Help... please..."

Jory blinked and looked around warily.  "Did you hear that?"

"Over here..." the voice called again.

Myranda looked around.  "Where...?  Find him, Baby!"

Baby barked and sniffed the air and ground, trotting off the path into the underbrush before barking again.  Myranda started to follow when she stopped suddenly and backed up a few paces, brushing furiously at her left arm.

Alistair watched this ritual in confusion.  "Are... you all right?

"Fine," she said, giving her arm another brush.  "I'm fine."  She continued toward the dog to find a young soldier laying wounded beneath the bushes, clutching a long but shallow-looking slash across his side.

"Who… is that?" he asked, blinking up toward Myranda.

"Well," said Alistair's voice from over her shoulder, "he's not half as dead as he looks, is he?"

The soldier managed to sit up a little.  "My scouting band… was attacked by darkspawn."  He coughed.  "They came out of the ground... Please, help me!  I've got to… return to camp...."

"Was my brother with you?"  Myranda asked, trying not to sound as desperate as she felt.  "Fergus Cousland?"

The soldier shook his head.  "I'm... I'm sorry, my lady.  I don't know him.  He wasn't with us, anyway."

She sighed, disappointed, but relieved that he wasn't dead with the rest of the soldier's scouting party.  "Let's try to bandage him up, at least."

"I have some bandages in my pack," Alistair said, kneeling and patching the wounded man up as best he could.

"Thank you."  He groaned as he staggered to his feet.  "I... I've got to get out of here!"  He held out one arm to steady himself before stumbling back toward Ostagar.

Myranda watched him for a minute before pulling a handkerchief from her belt pouch and starting to clean the blood from her arrows.

"Did you hear?" Jory asked, a note of panic creeping into his voice.  "An entire patrol of seasoned men killed by darkspawn!"

"Calm down, Ser Jory," Alistair said firmly.  "We'll be fine if we're careful."

"Those soldiers were careful, and they were still overwhelmed!" the other knight countered.  "How many darkspawn can the four of us slay?  A dozen?  A hundred?  There's an entire army in these forests!"

"There are darkspawn about, but we're in no danger of walking into the bulk of the horde," Alistair continued patiently.

"How do you know?  I-I'm no coward, but this is foolish and reckless.  We should go back."

Myranda's hands paused and she lifted her eyes.  "You sound like a coward to me," she said, her voice soft but with a sharp, judgmental edge to it.

Jory cringed a bit.  "I... am simply trying to stay alive, my lady.  You do not see me fleeing, do you?"

"A bit of fear isn't unnatural, you know," Alistair said to her.  "Few relish meeting darkspawn up close.  I know I don't."

"But we are far from helpless here," Myranda countered.  She sighed heavily, tossing the arrows back into her quiver.  "Let's just get this over with.  We have a job to do."

"Know this," Alistair said to Jory, "all Grey Wardens can sense darkspawn.  Whatever their cunning, I guarantee they won't take us by surprise.  That's why I'm here."

"You see, ser knight?" Daveth piped up with mocking cheerfulness.  "We might die, but we'll be warned about it first."

"That is… reassuring," Jory said, giving the other man an odd look.

"That doesn't mean I'm here to make this easy, however," Alistair continued.  "So let's get a move on."

"Then shall we?" Myranda asked impatiently, waving toward the path.  "I will not spend the night out in this forest."

They strode past the bodies of the rest of the soldier's scouting party, and Myranda glanced at the faces of each of them, fearing to see Fergus among the dead.  But he wasn't there.  As they passed a small ruin, she felt a gentle tap on her shoulder.  She turned to see Alistair staring up the path past her.

"Darkspawn," he warned softly, drawing his sword.

"How many?"

"Five... maybe six."

She smirked.  "Time for some fun, then."  She pulled an arrow from her quiver just as Alistair rushed by her, continuing down the path before noticing the charge headed toward her.  She stopped, aiming carefully as Jory and Daveth ran by her before releasing the arrow to fly in the inch of space between them and into the back of the larger of the two darkspawn that were getting ready to attack Alistair.  It shrieked and turned toward her in time to meet one of Daveth's two blades that slashed across its throat.

She started to aim toward the other tall darkspawn that was running down a small hillock toward them when an arrow suddenly scuffed the ground next to her foot, nearly making her release the arrow into Jory's back.  She turned her attention toward the top of the hillock to see the darkspawn archer bearing down on her.  She managed to dance out of the way of two more arrows before finally getting one off herself that took the darkspawn in the chest just as Alistair and Jory reached it.  She turned toward a fourth darkspawn that was rushing toward her, reaching for her dagger before it stumbled and fell at her feet, Daveth's blade protruding from its back.

The dark-haired recruit grinned at her.  "Well, you fight pretty well for a woman."

Myranda sneered at him.  "And what's that supposed to mean?"

"No, I mean, I've never seen a woman fight like you do."

"Why don't you stop thinking of me as a woman?" she said acidly, pulling an arrow slowly from her quiver and placing it to her bowstring.

"Are you going to shoot me?  For complimenting you?"  Daveth grinned at her, trying his best to be charming and to ignore the snarling mabari standing next to her.  "I'm just trying to look out for you.  A beautiful woman should be kept and treasured, protected from all the evil in the world."

Myranda lifted her bow then and fired.  The arrow flew past Daveth's head, grazing his ear, and into the throat of the darkspawn standing behind him.  The creature made a choked gurgling noise before falling backwards to the ground, dead.

"Is everyone all right?" Alistair asked, trotting up to them.

Daveth turned and stared in horror at the creature that had nearly killed him.  He turned back when he felt the front of his tunic being ruthlessly grabbed and suddenly found himself nose-to-nose with a furious Myranda.

"Pay attention," she growled from between clenched teeth, "because I'm only going to say this once.  I am not a woman to be coddled.  I am a warrior, and I intend to fight this Blight for as long as I can.  Nothing else is important.  If you have thoughts to the contrary, I suggest you keep them to yourself."  She shook him once, roughly.  "And it is obvious to me that if anyone here needs protection, it is you.  Now I propose you keep your guard up—I will not save your useless life again."  She threw the hapless recruit away from her and stormed off toward the small hill, slinging her bow over her shoulder.

The three men watched her with varying levels of wariness before finally Alistair shrugged and followed her.  Jory and Daveth looked at each other and hesitated before doing the same.

Myranda knelt beside one of the fallen darkspawn, pausing to consider how best to harvest the blood.  Slitting its throat would splash the blood in several directions—not very efficient.  The wrist, however....

"You came down on Daveth pretty hard."

It was Alistair's voice.  She sneered and drew one of her daggers.  "I don't ask for your approval," she said, picking up the creature's hand before slashing the blade viciously across the inside of its wrist.  The blood trickled from the wound in a steady stream, hissing as it splashed onto the ground.  "If he's worried I'm going to kill him, you can tell him I don't think he's worth the effort."  She drove the dagger into the ground and quickly fished out the vial from her pouch, pulling the cork with her teeth and holding the open bottle beneath the flow of steaming black-red blood.  When the final drops had poured into the vial, leaving it only half-full, she dropped the hand and replaced the cork in the top of the flask.  She pulled her dagger from the dirt as she stood, turning to face Alistair.  "And if you have any ideas about protecting me," she warned, pointing her dagger at him, "you may as well forget them, too."

Alistair held up his hands in a show of surrender.  "I'm quite certain you have no need of my protection.  You're a formidable woman, Myranda."

"Just be sure you don't forget it."

"How could I?  I've been a little surprised a few of those arrows of yours didn't hit us."

"My aim is impeccable.  If I miss my mark, it will be on purpose."

"Right," he said warily.  "And what would cause you to miss on purpose?"

"Aside from thinking I'm inferior just because I'm a woman?"

He gave her a bewildered look.  "Have you always been this distrustful?"

She sighed.  "Only recently."  She sheathed her dagger and walked by him.  "Come on, let's just go."

They continued to wander south through the Wilds, killing darkspawn as they came across them and harvesting the blood.  As they neared a bridge spanning a small stream, however, they were knocked back by a bolt of magic that struck the ground directly in front of them.

"What was that?" Jory asked.

"Emissary," Alistair said, getting to his feet.  "Darkspawn magic-user."  He looked at the three recruits.  "Everyone all right?"

"Get off of me!" Myranda shouted, kicking at Daveth, who had unfortunately landed partially on top of her.  She looked up to see the darkspawn fleeing across the bridge.  "There it goes," she said.

"Then what are we waiting for?" Jory said, starting toward the bridge.

Baby barked, but didn't move.

"Wait a minute," Myranda said, noticing the dog's reaction.  "This may be an ambush.  Why else would it run?"  She looked at Alistair for an answer to find him staring toward the bridge through slightly narrowed eyes.

"There are more," he agreed.  "I can't tell how many, but there are more.  As long as we're careful, we should be fine."

"Right," Myranda said, following the Grey Warden as he made his cautious way forward.  "Watch the line of traps on the bridge, too," she said.  No sooner had the words left her lips than Alistair managed to step on one of them, the teeth crunching into his armored boot.  She sighed.  "Including that one," she muttered, kneeling and pulling the trap apart so he could extract his foot.

"Thanks," he said, starting to move forward again.

"Don't!" she shouted.

Alistair stopped, his foot barely a foot above the ground.

"Don't... move."  She reached out and carefully worked the mechanism of the trap directly under his foot until it disarmed with a loud, satisfying click.

An arrow whistled suddenly through the air, cleaving into her lower arm.  She gasped at the sudden invasion, but felt no immediate adverse effects—darkspawn apparently didn't use poisoned arrows.

"Myranda..."

"Go!" she shouted at them, breaking off the shaft below the fletching and pulling the arrow the rest of the way through her arm.  "Just watch the rest of..." she let her voice trail off as Alistair managed to find another of the various traps scattered across the road by stepping directly into it.  She sighed as she stood up and lifted her bow again.  "Hopeless," she muttered to herself, firing into the foot of one of the genlocks, pinning it in place to be cut down.  She quickly searched the field and smirked.  "There you are," she muttered to herself, drawing back and aiming carefully before letting the arrow fly down the road toward the emissary, taking it in the stomach.  The wound in her arm burned horribly, but she pulled another arrow and fired again, this time with the bolt hitting the darkspawn mage in the chest, interrupting the spell it was starting.  A third arrow finished it off.

The battle was over quickly and Myranda looked down at the hole in her arm that was still oozing blood.  "Damn," she muttered, shouldering her bow as she made her way over to the creek and kneeling on the bank.  She petted Baby as he trotted over and whined at her.

"Are you all right?" Alistair asked her.

"Oh, it'll be fine," she said, dunking her arm into the frigid waters of the tiny stream.  "Stupid.  I should have been more aware."  She shook the water from her arm and turned to see Alistair standing there with a short bandage in his hands.  She sighed softly and held out her arm, which he bandaged quickly and effectively.  "Thanks."

He nodded a little.

They wandered for several more hours looking for the ruins.  Myranda was convinced that they were hopelessly lost in this never-ending forest and would be fighting darkspawn until the coming of the tenth Age.  They followed one path until it formed a sudden dead end, turned around and tried a different path only to find themselves going around in circles.  Just when she thought she was going to start pulling out her hair in frustration, they stumbled across the main path, some of the cobbles from the old Tevinter road still sticking out of the dirt.

The outpost itself was a crumbling ruin more so than even Ostagar.  Other than an archway that may have once framed the front gates, there was nothing left of the building other than what once may have been a beautiful mosaic on the entry floor and a stairway that led to an upper courtyard, the gallery of which had fallen way sometime in the previous Age.

Myranda looked around.  "How are we supposed to find the scrolls in this?  There's nothing left."

"The chest must be somewhere," Alistair said.  "Spread out."

Myranda climbed the stairs, not thinking it likely that the chest would be in an entry courtyard.  She heard footsteps behind her and saw that Jory apparently had the same idea, though he was staying well outside of stabbing range.  She nodded once to him when he glanced up at her, waving down one side of the wide hallway while she went the other.

Several minutes later, Jory's voice called out.  "I've found it!"

Myranda turned and trotted back toward the staircase, where Jory was sliding the chest.

"It's still locked however," he was saying as Daveth and Alistair climbed the stairs toward them.

"We'll never find the key," Myranda noted.

"So how do we open it?"

"We could break open the lock," Daveth suggested.

"I'd rather not risk damaging the contents," Alistair said.

"So what do we do?" Jory asked again.

Before any of them could make a decision, however, the chest was suddenly kicked violently down the staircase.  It bounced against the stone steps three times before landing on the entry hall floor in front of where Baby stood, causing the dog to back away as it smashed open.

Alistair turned with a quiet glare to Myranda.

She shrugged.  "It worked, didn't it?"  She descended the stairs to the broken chest, listening to the footfalls of the men behind her as they gathered around her.  She knelt by the broken chest, pushing off what remained of the lid only to find the container empty.  "Damn," she muttered.  "They're gone."

"Well, well, what have we here?"

She looked up at the new voice to see a svelte, exotic-looking young woman with tied-back black hair standing at the top of the stairs, watching them.  She stood and watched the woman slowly descend the steps, her voice taunting her.

"Are you a vulture, I wonder? A scavenger poking amidst a corpse whose bones have been long since cleaned?"

Myranda's green eyes narrowed slightly as she moved through the men toward this other woman, trying to get her measure.  She wore no weapons, but still gave off a powerful and dangerous air.  This was not a woman to underestimate.

"Or merely an intruder, come into these darkspawn-filled Wilds of mine in search of... easy prey?"  She stared at Myranda for a few moments, her golden eyes narrowed slightly.  "What say you, hmm?  Scavenger or intruder?"

"Intruder?"  Myranda threw the word back at her.  "And just how are these your Wilds?"

The other young woman chuckled.  "Because I know them as only one who owns them could.  Can you claim the same?"  She smirked as she walked around her.  "I have watched your progress for some time," she said.  "'Where do they go,' I wondered, 'why are they here?'"  She turned to face Myranda again.  "And now you disturb ashes none have touched for so long.  Why is that?"  There was a malice beneath her lightly-asked question, like a snake in the tall grass of a meadow.

"Don't answer her," Alistair said softly.  "She looks Chasind, and that means others may be nearby."

"Oh," the woman taunted him, "you fear barbarians will swoop down upon you?"

"Yes," he said slowly.  "Swooping... is... bad."

Myranda blinked before slowly turning to him.  "What?"

He looked at her quizzically for a moment before shrugging minutely.  "Well... it is."

She closed her eyes and sighed.  She wasn't going to dignify that with a response.

"She's a Witch of the Wilds, she is," Daveth whispered loudly.  "She'll turn us into toads!"

"Witch of the Wilds?" the woman repeated, drawing their attention again.  "Such idle fancies those legends."  She regarded them with open disgust, placing her hands on her hips.  "Have you no minds of your own?"  She looked back at Myranda then.  "You there.  Women do not frighten like little boys.  Tell me your name and I shall tell you mine."

Myranda stared at her for a few moments before lifting her chin, ignoring Alistair's whispered "Don't!"  "You can call me Myranda," she said.

"And you may call me Morrigan, if you wish."

The blonde nodded once.

"Shall I guess your purpose?  You sought something in that chest, something that is here no longer?"

"'Here no longer?'" Alistair repeated incredulously.  "You stole them, didn't you?  You're... some kind of... sneaky... witch-thief!"

Myranda winced before rolling her eyes.  Maker's breath, of all the stupid things to say....

"How very eloquent," Morrigan said mockingly.  "How does one steal from dead men?"

"Quite easily, it seems."  Alistair pointed at her.  "Those documents are Grey Warden property," he said, "and I suggest you return them."

"I will not, for 'twas not I who removed them."  She sneered at Alistair then.  "Invoke a name that means nothing here any longer if you wish; I am not threatened."

Myranda heard Alistair start to say something else and held up a hand.  Best to stop this before Morrigan decided to be completely uncooperative.  "Then who removed them?" she asked.

"'Twas my mother, in fact."

"Can you take us to her?"

Morrigan considered her for a moment.  "There is a sensible request."  She smiled then, though the look was slightly menacing.  "I like you."

Myranda smirked.  She was starting to like this Morrigan as well.

"I'd be careful," Alistair muttered.  "First it's, 'I like you...' but then 'Zap!'  Frog time."

She turned to glare at him.  "If it gets us the treaties back, does it really matter right now?"

"She'll put us all in the pot, she will," Daveth said.  "Just you watch!"

"If the pot's warmer than this forest, it'd be a nice change," Jory replied.

"Follow me, then, if it pleases you," Morrigan said, turning and walking into the woods without looking to see if they followed.

Myranda threw a slightly disgusted look at her three companions and trotted to catch up.  They could follow if they wanted.  Otherwise she'd go alone.

The trek through the marsh was a hard one, but Myranda kept pace with Morrigan the whole way.  The three men had decided to follow, but kept their distance behind the two women.  Finally, as the sun dipped toward the west and evening began to settle over the land, they rounded a corner to see a small hut nestled in front of a stand of scrub trees.  The hut itself was a small thatched affair perched on short legs with three steps leading toward the front door.

Myranda's steps slowed as she saw the woman who had been leaning against the doorframe as if waiting for them.  Though grey-haired and wrinkled with age, she radiated strength and cunning.  The hairs on the back of Myranda's neck seemed to stand on end as the woman straightened, staring at them with bright eyes the same color as Morrigan's.  There was power behind this woman, and danger.  It was like facing down a tightly-leashed dragon that wanted to rise and whose first meal in an Age had just walked into its lair.

"Greetings, Mother," Morrigan said.  "I bring before you four Grey Wardens who—"

"I see them, girl," the old woman interrupted.  She looked them over with outward disinterest as she slowly descended the stairs, though there was a spark of cold calculation behind her golden eyes.  "Hmm.  Much as I expected."

Alistair laughed slightly.  "Are we supposed to believe you were expecting us?" he asked incredulously.

"You are required to do nothing," the old woman replied, "least of all believe.  Shut one's eyes tight or open one's arms wide... either way, one's a fool!"

"She's a witch, I tell you!" Daveth whispered loudly, his voice quaking with something akin to fear.  "We shouldn't be talking to her!"

"Quiet, Daveth!" Jory whispered back.  "If she's really a witch, do you want to make her mad?"

The old woman smiled, though the look was more menacing than friendly.  "Now, there is a smart lad.  Sadly irrelevant to the larger scheme of things, but it is not I who decides.  Believe what you will."  Her gold eyes locked on Myranda and her smile widened a little before she stepped towards the younger woman.  "And what of you?" she asked.  "Does your woman's mind give you a different viewpoint?  Or do you believe as these boys do?"

Myranda squared her shoulders as she faced the woman squarely.  "I'm no fool, if that's what you're asking."

The elder witch laughed darkly.  "If you must protest so quickly, perhaps I need not ask?"

Emerald eyes narrowed slightly.  She didn't dare say anything however—every fiber of her being was attuned to the danger emanating from this woman.

"So much about you is uncertain," she went on.  Then, after a short pause, continued, "and yet I believe.  Do I?" she questioned softly, turning her head slightly to stare at her out of the corner of her eye.  "Why!" she breathed in mocking surprise, facing Myranda again with a smile that held more underlying peril than anything else.  "It seems I do!"

"So... this is a dreaded Witch of the Wilds."

Myranda could hear the haughty smirk in Alistair's voice, and it was making her incredibly nervous... though she took care not to show it on her face.  Did he honestly have no idea what they were up against?

"Witch of the Wilds, eh?" the old woman said.  "Morrigan must have told you that.  She fancies such tales, though she would never admit it."  She sighed in mock dreaminess.  "Oh how she dances under the moon!"  She laughed then, high, biting and mocking.

Myranda looked over at Morrigan, who was rolling her eyes.

"They did not come to listen to your wild tales, Mother," Morrigan said, her voice belying her strained patience and exasperation.

"True," she said, turning abruptly from the four before walking back toward the hut.  "They came for their treaties, yes?"  She bent with the ease of a woman half her age and gathered up a small collection of bound scrolls.  "And before you begin barking," she said as a warning as she walked back toward them, "your precious seal wore off long ago.  I have protected these."

Myranda shot an admonishing look at Alistair over her shoulder.

"You... oh.  You protected them."  He looked surprised and the tiniest bit chagrined.

"And why not?" Morrigan's mother countered.  She looked at Alistair as he started to step forward to take them before pointedly handing them to Myranda.  "Take them to your Grey Wardens," she said to the blonde woman, "and tell them this Blight's threat is greater than they realize."

Myranda took the bundle with a slight bow of her head.

"What do you mean the threat is greater than they realize?" Jory asked, his anxiety ringing clearly in his voice.

The old witch turned to him.  "Either the threat is more," she said, "or they realize less."  She smirked then.  "Or perhaps the threat is nothing!" she said with a laugh that made them all nervous.  "Or perhaps they realize nothing!"

Nervous glances were exchanged before Myranda carefully stowed the four scrolls in her quiver.  "Thank you for returning them," she said.

The elder woman's eyebrows quirked upward.  "Such manners!" she said with slight surprise.  "Always in the last place you look... like stockings."  She chuckled deep in her throat when the blonde woman gave her a wary look.  "Oh, do not mind me.  You have what you came for!"

"Time for you to go then," Morrigan told them dismissively.

"Do not be ridiculous, girl," her mother admonished.  "These are your guests."

Morrigan sneered slightly.  "Oh," she said before sighing heavily.  "Very well.  I will show you out of the woods.  Follow me."

The sun had set by the time they reached the path to the ruined city.  Morrigan had quite literally vanished as they reached it: she had moved behind one of the trees, disturbing a crow that had been foraging there, and by the time the group followed, she was nowhere to be seen.

Myranda looked around for a moment before a gentle touch on her shoulder brought her back to the present and she followed Alistair back through the gate and into the well-lit camp.

Duncan looked up as they approached the massive fire at the center of the Grey Wardens' compound.  "So you return from the Wilds.  Have you been successful?"

"We have," Alistair said.

The older man nodded once.  "Good."

"I have the treaties in my quiver," Myranda told the senior Warden.  "Would you like them?"

"Keep them for now," Duncan told her.  "I've had the Circle mages preparing.  With the blood you've retrieved, we can begin the Joining immediately."

Myranda fished the vial of blood she had collected from her pouch and handed it to him.  "I am ready."

"Excellent.  You will need that courage to face what comes next."

"Courage?" Daveth repeated as he handed over his own vial after Jory.  "How much danger are we in?"

"I will not lie; we Grey Wardens pay a heavy price to become what we are."  He looked unseeing at the three vials in his hand.  "Fate may decree that you pay your price now rather than later."

Myranda lowered her brow.  She was tired of all this secrecy and was ready to be done with this Joining, whatever it involved.  "I have no problem facing what is to come," she said.

"I agree," Jory said.  "Let's have it done."

Duncan looked at them solemnly before nodding once.  "Then let us begin."  He turned to the junior Warden.  "Alistair, take them to the old temple."