The Spectral Breath

Chapter One: Soul Keeper

Curse the blighted cold.

Stiff fingers gripped the cold, frayed rope of the reigns and tugged back from the horse's mane. The stallion, as dark as ink amongst the growing cloud, drew its head back with a heavy, unsettled grunt and adjusted its course with little ease. The slow, struggled strides through the mountain path proved trouble for him, as it did us. The path would not have been found if it were not for the banners nailed into the snow-deep monoliths close to the cliff faces and the crows that perched themselves on dead tree stocks and jagged mountain walls. Beyond that was an ash-smeared sheet, pulled taut over a horizon that could barely be seen, even to the piercing gaze of a hawk.

The cold had seemed mild at the beginning, but I should have known that it would not last the night. It began as minor cloud over the distant mountains, barely anything to be weary of, but later turned deadly. The clouds had clustered together into a veil that barely had a rift of light piercing through. The wind came from the North, unruly and unkind in its approach and seeped through the thick furs of my clothing with absurd ease. Each drop of chilled rain soaked through the instant of its impact. I tried to keep my body heat from draining away, but it seemed that with each ragged breath, the air stole a little bit more heat from my lungs like a thief with a strongbox and grounded it into nothingness with fading claws.

"How are you faring, Da'mi?" called a voice through the long, drawn-out howls of the wind.

With little strength, my fingers numbly tugged at the side of my hood until the shawl had come loose and was pulled past pointed ears. Hesitant, I peered out over the blurred surroundings and tried to focus on the far shadow of the horsemen that only grew fainter with each blink. The horsemen did not wait for a reply. He steered his mount left and steadily drew closer to where I was.

Jaras pulled the fabric of his scarf down past his sharp jaw and scarred lips and pushed back the strands of dark hair from his once tanned face. After only one glance, I knew that he had noticed my condition. His expression quickly turned from one of caution to a set of stern lines.

"Emma Souveri [I am weary]," I whispered in the elvhen tongue, while holding onto the slightest of hope that he had not heard me.

He had. "Lahris?"

"I'm growing cold, Jaras," I said and hesitantly gazed down my arm. I could feel the scar as it grew with each passing hour. The pain lessened once the feeling in my fingers had left me, but I still managed to shudder at the thought of it. "Damn it."

He reached his arm down to his saddle's satchel, but I caught it before he took hold of a vile. "It's no use," I said with a shake of my head. "Don't waste it."

"Then what can I do?"

I bit my tongue. "I can feel myself slipping away. I haven't long. How much father must we travel?"

My companion gazed out over the turmoil of ice, cloud and stone. An arched hand rested over his brow for cover. "Not far now," he said after a long moment. His voice was barely heard and began to drift into a whisper amongst the other noises that blended together. "I can see the outline of the city. We're close, Lahris. Just hang in there."

I wanted to. I hadn't journeyed all that way for nothing, but even though I was so close, I could feel the life within me slip away.

The stretch of snow passed and withered into patches of dark ice upon a cobbled ground. When darkness had settled and the weather had slightly cleared, we could see the flickers of small fires north, close to the far side of the path. Nestled between the highest peaks of the mountain was a fortress worn with age and cracked with snow. Scones lit the way to the tall, stone towers, restrained with heavy chains and thick layers of ice.

A thread-bared banner waved us past as we approached. The fortress' iron gates were barred from behind, yet after Jaras' horse reared its legs, the shadows from the inside halted mid-stride and turned to face their newcomers.

Jaras slipped from his mount, shook the excess snow from his cloak and thighs and hurried over to the front gate.

"You there!" bellowed a guardsman from behind the iron bars. "Who goes there?"

"We're here to seek aid," Jaras had said and slipped a scroll from his satchel into the guardsmen's leather-bound hands. "Let us in."

Even from a distance, it was obvious the guardsman had trouble making out the words wrote on the parchment. He gestured for another to shine a torch over his head for light, but even that did not last with the waging war of the wind. "Mercenaries?" he finally said, but it was more of an accusation then a greeting. "We already have mercenaries."

"Don't be a fool," said Jaras. "You've seen the hole in the sky. A few more fighters couldn't hurt. We're willing. We're able, and we're here. Now, open the gate."

The guard did not.

Jaras sighed in frustration. "Look, we both know that the Inquisition can use all the help it can get. My friend, she is unwell. She needs a healer. Are you going to let us in or am I going to have to break this Veil-saken gate open myself?"

"That won't be necessary," said the guardsman and turned back to his men. After a moment, movement had begun again and the guard gestured back to the others with a raised arm. "They're refugees. Open the gate!"

The great gate was dragged open and the barricades inside were pulled away. Crows fled from the disruption and only their black feathers remained. In silence I tapped my heels against the horse's sides and leaned forward. The horse's hooves clattered loudly against the ground as we moved, but paled in comparison to the heavy thunder the gate made when it was shut.

Tall, grey and grim-looking buildings edged the fortress' courtyard. Most held no light within their arched windows, and some had blocked them completely with several planks of wood. However, there was one building that was different. The larger windows of the Keep were bright and did not reflect the darkness of the sky. I could smell the lingered affects of berries and ale and heard tales sung from within. It made me wonder what was inside and why it was so full of life in such a dark time.

With the reigns in hand, Jaras led the horses to the stable area and loosely strapped my satchel to his shoulder.

The pain had begun to return and swelled my bones with strain and unease. My feet almost buckled when I dismounted, but I managed to catch myself before the impact. Guardsmen headed our way. Behind them was a woman. She wore a long robe, tied around the waist by strips of leather and silver buckles. Her thin hair was covered by a dark hood and she held an oak staff topped by a steel, arrowhead tip crowned with spikes around the edges. She took the narrow steps from the Keep down. Her worried gaze swept over the courtyard and then eventually rested on mine.

The voices of the guardsmen clamoured together. Some wondered whether to inform their superiors while others seemed weary of Jaras and I's appearance. Their fingers kept close to their sword's sheathes.

Jaras stepped to one side to allow her to pass. The healer halted a few feet away and looked me over. "I see no physical wounds."

Of course you wouldn't, I thought.

With a firm hand on the wall for support, I leaned back and undid the straps to my gauntlets. With those gone, the sharp bite of the air picked at the deep, ghastly, black marks that had scarred my skin. They were jagged lines with a broad size and many cross ridges that ran up from the tip of my wrist to my shoulder blade.

"By the Maker," the healer whispered. Fear was etched into every wrinkle and she quickly stammered back.

"What is it?" asked one of the guards as he stepped closer to the healer. An arm stretched out.

"I-I have never seen such a thing," she said and then her eyes became wide.

The guards turned to each other in confusion. Jaras stepped out from the rest.

"We were told you could help," he said. "You have to help her."

The healer simply shook her head. "But I do not even know where to begin, ser!"

Both argued for what seemed like hours or maybe longer, but as they did so, a feeling crept up the veins of my arm and tugged at the skin with harsh pulls. I stared back down at the scar, still large and gruesome. A small spark of violet light passed through it. My fingers twitched.

No. Not again.

My blood burned from the inside. It juddered through my shoulders, arms and back. I collapsed with a gasp. Dampness clung to the finer strands of my hair as my head rolled back. A scream tore its way through me.

A shadow approached. Through the flashes and sparks was a worried face beneath his helmet. He reached out with shaking arms.

"No. Don't touch her!" Jaras cried.

It was too late. I could feel the surge of magic spring from the confines of my skin. The light tore through the guardsman's breastplate with a crack. Blood sluiced the iron and slid down in long rivulets to drip onto his boots.

He stood still. His arms were splayed out on either side. A strangled choke was all he managed to utter before his face dipped into the dirt.

The courtyard fell silent. Then, gasps, screams and angry curses filled the silence.

"Apostate!" many called.

"Murderer!" called others.

Swords sprang from their sheathes and were held high. Crossbows were aimed down from the towers and walls. Jaras drew his blade in turn and placed a protective hand over me.

"It's not her fault," he said. "If it's a fight you want, it's a fight you'll get."

I watched dazed as the sparks flew up into the heavens, the buildings and in all directions save from where I laid. The guards leaped for cover and arrows were struck into the ground before me. The tips only just missed my body.

"Lahris," called a hoarse voice. It was Jaras' voice but it faded until it could not be heard. Nothing could be heard. Deafness claimed my hearing and blindness began to accompany it.

Lights formed beneath my eyelids. Blood ribboned through the air around, but it was not mine. No, it was from the others. Men and women. Guardsmen and healer. It felt like an endless, worldless time.

"Ah!" The breath was knocked out of me. My bloodied fingers contracted, twitched and curled.

Squinting through the veil of pain I saw the magic flicker, spark and then disappear into the hands of an elvhen. The mage raised his staff once more and hit the ground hard. Shock rove through me. Every body part and limb screamed for freedom and shuddered. I gasped, flung sideways, curled up my knees and shivered. The lasting effects of his spell slowly calmed.

"What's going on?" demanded a voice. She was difficult to see, as was all. Blurred forms were all they were, yet by her voice alone I could tell she was a woman. Human, perhaps.

The elvhen's hand branched out. The human looked my way and then around.

Bodies hunched and still were scattered around the courtyard. Blades and remnants of the steel and iron were buried deep within the walls. Their faces were unseen, but the crimson splattered against the snow made what I did obvious to all.

"By the Maker," whispered the human woman. Her tone rose in shock. "What happened here?"

The elvhen looked to the ground and picked out the charcoal remains of Jaras' scroll. He gently handed it to the human and then looked back.

I opened my mouth to speak, but all I managed was to take in a ragged breath.

The elvhen inclined his head. His movements were slow and calm, yet cautious. The sight of him was given with some clarity. I could make out the high cheekbones on a pale face, the brows deeply connected above a sharp nose and dark eyes filled with many emotions: surprise, weariness and pity, but amongst them all one stood out. Intrigue.

"Ma emma harel," I whispered as the spread of darkness grew around me.

His expression only grew more curious as his gaze drifted to my arm.

"Solas? What does she say?" demanded the human.

The elvhen kept quiet for a moment before he replied. "You should fear me."

...

[The Dragon Age series belongs to its creators, Bioware. I do not own anything other than the cover image and my original characters.]