Dragon Age - The Hunt. Chap 24

The restorative potion Valar had provided took a while to have an effect, but when it did it hit Zevran's empty stomach like a glass of potent wine. He stumbled on the trail and put a hand to his spinning head, muttering an oath.

"How long has it been since you last ate?" Valar asked from behind him, while the three Dalish hunters in front looked back at what the trouble was.

"Long enough," Zevran muttered, accepting a flat loaf of bread someone passed him and giving them a nod of thanks.

"And your companion is in similar straits?"

"Worse." The assassin tore off a piece of the bread and ate it, saying no more. If he mentioned anything about Asleena being a Grey Warden there would be questions asked, connections made, maybe even suggestions raised that Alistair be informed.

He wanted to avoid that. He wanted…to keep her all to himself for a selfish while longer.

Zevran pressed both hands to his temples and scowled. "What was in that vile potion of yours?"

"A number of things which have names that would be meaningless to you, I'm sure," Valar said. "Eat, da'len. The scouts will return soon."

Zevran concentrated on chewing the heavy trail bread while they waited. It was thick and flavourful enough, but his mouth was watering so much it may well have been fresh from the oven and smothered with melted butter. He realised he hadn't eaten properly since noon the day before, hours prior to entering the Green Dales.

Valar had commandeered the assistance of five other elves and informed his Keeper of what was transpiring before they'd all headed into the forest, him, Zevran and the five hunters. Zevran had done his best to describe the location of where he'd left Asleena, speaking of the straight narrow trail and the cave, and the Dalish were able to find the way back from there. No resistance had been encountered during the journey, but once they found the base of the ridge Zevran had mentioned, two of the hunters went to scout ahead.

They returned now.

"The path is not safe," one reported in a low voice, "There is a spirit ahead…feeding off a shem."

"Then we will have to—"

Zevran ducked past them and sped up the trail, daggers flying into both hands along the way. He ignored the hoarsely quiet shouts behind him, but was aware that the elves followed. His heart pounded but a familiar chill suffused his blood and cleared his head faster than any drug could.

She cannot be dead.

And then, up ahead, two figures were standing in the middle of the path and close together. Zevran slowed to a cautious walk then stopped, paying no attention to the angry whispers of the Dalish. The first figure was undoubtedly Asleena. Her back was to them and she was on her feet and in her armour, though sword, shield, dagger and crossbow were all discarded on the ground near the flasks Zevran had left. Facing the Grey Warden, and the elves by extension, was a demon. However it looked to Asleena and the Dalish, to Zevran's eyes it was an obviously female form, desirably curvaceous, and barely clothed. A pair of massive horns grew from its brow.

Zevran rubbed the spot on his neck where the bites the Hunger Demon had given him still left a vague imprint in his flesh. When the Dalish had said Asleena was being fed off, he'd feared…

"That is your friend?" one of the elves demanded, grabbing Zevran's shoulder. "You didn't say it was a human!"

"We should kill them both and be done with it," another muttered.

"Now, now," Valar said mildly. "In case you have forgotten, children, we have a shemlen back at camp who fought alongside our kin against the darkspawn."

"We have to kill the spirit," a third elf pointed out. "But if we try, it will use this shem to protect itself. It can make her see whatever it wants, right?"

"That is possible, yes. Desire demons…can be difficult."

Zevran returned his weapons to their sheaths. He'd seen a desire demon or two while in Ferelden, and come to think of them as the Fade's masters of seduction. He'd never gone toe to toe with one before. This might just be an interesting challenge.

"You are the best one to try and pull your friend from its thrall," Valar was saying. "You know her better than we do and have an idea of what the demon might tempt her with."

"How is she standing?" Zevran asked, ignoring that last bit. "Her leg is broken."

"Such spirits are masterful at weaving illusions. I'd say your friend can't feel the pain her body is in right now, any more than she can feel her energies being drained. Be careful," Valar added when Zevran began to move forwards. "Don't trust it. You are as much food to it as she is."

Zevran approached Asleena and the demon alone, keeping his empty hands clearly visible. The murmur of their conversation became more audible as he drew near, and he stopped several paces away when the demon's dark eyes fixed on his and a cat-smile curved its lips.

"I heard something," Asleena said in a distant manner, though she did not turn around to look.

"I'll check it out," the demon replied. Its voice was throaty and feminine to Zevran, but somehow his ears could pick up at least two other levels overlaying this: one a strange and inhuman tone, the other an inflection that could only be identified as Alistair's. "It might be darkspawn."

"I can't sense…"

"Of course you can't, you're sick," the demon said. "I bet you can't sense me even when I do this." And, still watching Zevran, the creature wrapped a clawed hand around Asleena's waist, pulled her closer so that their hips met and kissed her deeply.

Zevran watched with a raised brow and some degree of interest. It was hard not to be interested when two very attractive and very dangerous women were locking lips a short distance away.

"Room for one more?" he asked dryly. "I never get invited to these parties. It makes me sad."

One of the hands resting upon Asleena's hips lifted and beckoned with a talon-tipped finger. When the assassin had come within arm's length, the demon broke its kiss and said, "Zev's back. Look."

Asleena turned and saw him. Her sudden smile was radiant and joyous, and she threw her arms around the startled assassin's neck with a happy cry. "Zev! You found him, I can't believe it!" Her enthusiastic embrace tightened, becoming warmer. "Thank you. I…don't know how else to say it." She pulled back suddenly and knuckled her eyes, but was still smiling. "You'll come back to Ferelden with us, won't you? Please?"

"You two made up remarkably quickly," Zevran noted with a cheerfulness he didn't feel. "I thought he didn't want to go back to Ferelden."

"What can I say?" the demon replied. "Her desire is my command. How about it, Zev? Just the three of us for a while? Could be fun."

It was the sort of thing Alistair might say, but the demon's underlying invitation brought on a whole new meaning to the words. They could go…anywhere. They could go nowhere and the demon had the power to make it seem otherwise. And sooner or later, Zevran would get…

"…whatever your heart desires," the demon purred, watching him avidly. "Pleasure. Freedom from your past. Vengeance against your enemies." It stepped up behind Asleena and twined both hands around her waist. "The heart of a certain mortal woman…all to yourself. A new life."

"And you would get a second course, yes?" Zevran gave his head a little shake and frowned. "You offer me illusions. They are not as tempting as you might think."

"She is no illusion," the demon said, running a hand up over Asleena's breastplate. Removing its hold on her, it gave the Warden a light push and Asleena stepped towards Zevran again. This time when she looked into his eyes, her smile was hesitant, almost shy, and more alluring than he'd ever seen from her. There was no trace of fever in her face, and the darkspawn blood that had streaked her skin was suddenly gone. She looked healthy, clean, gorgeous, and completely enthralled by him.

She reached up and touched the tattooed side of his face, trailing her fingers slowly down the sinuous marks. Zevran kept completely still, but his heart started to race. The previous thought of this being some kind of 'challenge' suddenly seemed a very foolish and prideful one.

"She could be yours whenever you wished. I require…little in return. You need never see me in fact."

"Not even when you drain us completely?" Zevran asked, doing what he could to maintain his self-control. Asleena's hand had slid up the line of his jaw to one pointed ear, and she was tracing the shape of it with a look of fully-absorbed fascination. She'd probably never touched an elf's ears before…

"Mortals do not understand us as well as they think. Your passions and energies would sustain me, yes…and in return I would see your desires fulfilled. A mutually beneficial arrangement for all concerned. Your kind perish and waste away in the end, but I can ensure you would both die happily, content and blissful. I could create a whole life for the two of you, free of suffering, full of sensation…"

Zevran grabbed one of Asleena's wrists as she went for his belt buckle of all places, then shot a furious glare at the demon. "You can see what I desire, and you think I want this?" He tried to regain control of himself and his voice, a feat more difficult than he'd expected it to be. "I am…disappointed. I thought more highly of the Fade's marvellous desire demons."

The demon's chuckle was low and throaty. "I know what you desire better than you do. Mortals waste so much strength denying themselves what they want. We allow them to have everything, free of all consequence."

Zevran looked back at Asleena, who shifted her gaze from his eyes to his lips. "Does she want me?" The question was asked before he could stop himself.

"Do you think she has never dreamed of being in your arms? Never wondered what it would be like to have your lips on her breasts, your hands running down her skin, her legs around your hips…"

Zevran felt his loins stirring against his will and forced himself to step backwards, but somehow forgot to release Asleena's wrist. She came with him and put a finger to his lips, a small frown of concern knotting her brow.

"Shh. I want this," she breathed.

"No you don't, amore," he said softly, pulling her hand away. "And neither do I."

He struck her hard across the face. She staggered backwards and fell, crying out with pain as her right leg buckled beneath her. The blood, dirt and sweat was suddenly on her face and armour again, and he didn't stop to ask if she had broken free of the glamour but lunged for the sword lying in the dirt.

He almost reached it before the demon did.

The point tickled his throat.

Zevran grimaced, hand still outstretched, but his eyes fell on the flasks of acid and soulrot nearby.

"How could…how could you do that? To her?!" the demon said, the echoes of Alistair's anger overlaying its own taunting voice. "We trusted you! She trusted you!"

"Asleena," Zevran said, half-crouched and eyes fixated on the glass bottles. "My dear, this isn't him. It is a desire demon."

"I don't look anything like a desire demon! They're all…purple skin and horns and…and femaleish!"

"Yes," the assassin agreed, moving his hand with agonising slowness. "That's exactly what they look like. You have his vocabulary down perfectly, I see. Congratulations."

Asleena's voice came from somewhere near the ground, shaking slightly. "I can't believe you hit me…"

"This isn't who you think it is," Zevran repeated levelly. "Think, my dear. I know you are tired, but—"

The sword point nicked his skin. "That's enough, I think," the demon said. "Do you know what the beauty of this is, mortal? Perception. She will see what she desires to see. I can kill you…but if she doesn't want you to die, she will never know it happened. In her mind you will walk and talk and eat and mate just like you always—"

Zevran grabbed, rolled backwards and threw the acid flask full at its face. "Change her perception of that!" he shouted as it shattered.

The demon shrieked, dropping the sword to claw at its eyes. Asleena screamed too. She staggered upright, interposed her body between the demon and Zevran and picked up the loaded crossbow, but the point of the bolt weaved uncertainly as the Dalish ran up the path to flank Zevran.

"I think we waited long enough," one of the elves said grimly, pulling an arrow from his quiver.

"Darkspawn," the demon snarled, glaring at them.

Asleena shook her head but the fog refused to lift. She could see the Shrieks, seven of them, but none were trying to hide and none were attacking. Zevran had vanished completely.

"No, they're…not darkspawn. I can't sense…" She tried to grip the crossbow more firmly. "Zev!" she shouted, even though her face burned where he'd struck her, even though he'd attacked Alistair. "We need help!"

He couldn't have left. Not just like that. What had she done? What had happened? Nothing was making sense! One moment everything had been gloriously perfect…

"It is a demon, Asleena!" Zevran's voice called from amongst the sharlocks. "None of this is what it looks like." One of them shambled towards her, its gangling arms hanging at its sides. She kept her weapon trained on it but it made no attempt to deviate and stopped right in front of her, the bolt on a direct line with its chest. "See?" it said. "Here I am."

She looked back at Alistair and frowned. He should have been a bleeding and scarred wreck after being hit by that acid. His face should have been ruined. But it was still impossibly handsome and unscathed.

"It's what you want," he said, coming towards her with his arms outstretched. "Would you rather I be disfigured?"

His face blurred and she averted her eyes. "No. Damn." Her hands shook. She clenched them tighter around the stock. "Damn." The crossbow came up and pointed straight at Alistair's head. "Sodding Fade bitch!"

"And she's back," Zevran's voice said. The sharlock grinned hideously. "I knew you'd come around. Can we get to the killing part now?"

"You should have hit me harder—" Asleena roared and dropped to one knee as the demon removed whatever power it had employed to shield the pain in her leg. Her finger pulled the trigger and a bolt thudded into Alistair's chest. The quarrel was joined by a number of arrows, and the demon couldn't avoid all of them. Its shouts of pain were in Alistair's voice, its calls to her for help and its battle-cries when the Zevran-Shriek jumped it were Alistair's words.

When it fell a few minutes later, a bolt between its eyes and Zevran's daggers in its heart, it was Alistair's eyes that stared blankly at the night sky.

"How much will she remember?" Zevran asked Valar some time later.

A small camp had been set up right there on the trail. Four of the Dalish had been injured during the fight and tended to, but were not so badly off they couldn't keep watch. Three of them had even ventured further to see the cave Zevran had said led to darkspawn tunnels and done something to collapse it.

Asleena alone slept, her leg having been tended to after Valar had made her eat something and drink a number of his potions. Her broken bone wasn't mended for he possessed no magical skills, but he'd assured Zevran the fever would be reduced or gone by morning. Much of the strain had gone from her face now, though the shadow of a bruise was beginning to blossom across one cheek.

"It's always hard to say with spirits from Beyond," the healer said, lashing two stout pieces of wood together with some rope. "She was not physically possessed, so she may well recall everything. On the other hand she was fevered, so…" And here he shrugged eloquently. "The mind is a curious thing. Even when our people were immortal I doubt they understood everything there was to know about it.

"You would do well to get some sleep…Zev, was it?"

"Zevran." He looked at the sleeping Grey Warden and decided Valar might have earned it all in one night. "But yes, Zev to my friends."

"Well, Zev," Valar said, "tomorrow morning I suggest we head for Damalian's clan, which is not too far. They have a healer skilled in magic who can fix Asleena's leg properly."

"They'll no doubt want to hear about this demon, also," one of the hunters threw over her shoulder. "I heard right before we left that a spirit got loose from them during the battle last night."

Valar made a 'hrm' noise as he picked up another piece of wood, examining it critically, and Zevran, now past the worrying thought that they might have been going straight back to Valar's camp where the real Alistair was, lay down atop the blanket-wrapped bundle of Duncan's shield with its tell-tale Grey Warden emblem and tried to relax.

Whatever morning brought, he would have to make the best of it.