The Prologue
I’m dying. My son’s knife in my gut is hardly a surprise.
My name is Maferath, but I hope history forgets just another fool who lived a life of good intentions. I loved her. I still do.
Spoiler
I should have forsaken the gods, my hold, our ways, but I should never have forsaken her, my leaf-eared lover An’druast’ta. The orphan was torn from her people, abandoned by her hold, hunted by her enslavers, and shunned by her husband. Did this make her an open vessel for the gods or the plaything of demons? She told us of life’s song, an undercurrent of chiming tones like a million voices harmonizing each existence. I didn’t believe, I only followed. Many years later I can finally hear it as I bleed out on the floor: the song is of a single tear for betrayal that should never have happened.
It’s true I betrayed her. The spirit within or the Maker above, I don’t know which took the lead in her frenzy for blood but inside her an insatiable black hole grew with each step on the march north despite the thousands of men, women, and children laying dead behind us. At the gates of Minrathous, I feared endless war would scorch the face of the world as her sights turned north across the sea. For the sake of those children yet to die, I stepped aside and watched as Hessarian trapped her through our allies. But that was not when I betrayed her. I heard the spirit still shielded her even as she burned alive, eyes fixed beyond the Veil. When she died the song was of sorrows uncounted, wailing in the dark from the pits of despair.
Before the first march, famine and drought eroded Tevinter’s shores in the wake of the blight they brought on us and we pushed north for our own sake. The Lady heralded our arrival with storms choking the lowlands and winds stripping crops from the broken empire. The love my bride and I once shared burned in her fury and spread like a cancer through our people, the slaves, and our allies. An’druast’ta was reunited with the carcass remains of her kind, slaves who sought warm blood for the scars across their backs but discovered a cold welcome in the ruins of their former glory. My wife donned the armor of a soldier and the mane of the lion as her helm. The song was the beat of war drums in time with a thousand thousand burning hearts.
Before An’druast’ta the warrior, she sang to us of life’s secrets. I don’t know what the Maker is. Her voice rose to the heavens above the gods of the hold, above the Mountain Father, above our Lady, to something none below could reach. Each day more came to kneel at her side. In the beginning, the augur and I voiced our concerns of a trickster taking advantage of a weak mind, but venom from the devout quieted our protests. The song was of life’s creation and pulled tears from the eyes of all who heard.
Before the Maker, our hold grew strong in the years she whispered over my shoulder, ever pushing a new alliance, a truce, a contract, or an oath. We were partners in politics, if not in love. My wife bore two strong daughters to Havard and in my debt of betrayal I raised them as my own. I had three sons by Gilivhan, a good woman who respected my heart and never demanded more than clothes on her back and food for her pregnant belly. Both women deserved better. When Gilivhan died of winter sickness along with many others one hard season, my sons turned to An’druast’ta as mother. The years of ice around her heart melted, for children are innocent of their father’s betrayal. The song was an ache under fresh scars still healing.
Before the war, it was love. They say I betrayed An’druast’ta to Hessarian, but no, it was so many years ago. I trusted An’druast’ta would let go of the spirit inside, just as children grow into adults. But my people shouted in fear. This is why the weak ones don't live among us. I stood at my concubine’s side and dictated to my wife why Gilivhan was necessary, that I needed to have heirs. Lady forgive me, the look in An’druast’ta’s eyes haunted me every night since. I knew then there was never a chance she would surrender to the spirit, for if she did not succumb in her weakest moment, it was not possible. I wiped a single tear from her cheek and it was the last time she let me touch her. The song was discordant, always one note out of harmony as pain ate a black hole into the core of the soul.
Before my betrayal, the spirit delivered her from Tevinter and into my hands. Even this far south those dogs would not let go a scent. As the last of them lay dying, a black-haired, delicate beauty looked up at me with gratitude in her big eyes and this hardened warrior’s heart was defenseless. I knew in that moment I would never love another. She sang like a lark while I untied six hands of knots in my fervor to marry her. The song was a soft hum on her smiling lips as we laid entangled in young love. They say I betrayed her in Tevinter, but no, it was many years before when I stole the song of life from her heart.
It’s true I betrayed her. The spirit within or the Maker above, I don’t know which took the lead in her frenzy for blood but inside her an insatiable black hole grew with each step on the march north despite the thousands of men, women, and children laying dead behind us. At the gates of Minrathous, I feared endless war would scorch the face of the world as her sights turned north across the sea. For the sake of those children yet to die, I stepped aside and watched as Hessarian trapped her through our allies. But that was not when I betrayed her. I heard the spirit still shielded her even as she burned alive, eyes fixed beyond the Veil. When she died the song was of sorrows uncounted, wailing in the dark from the pits of despair.
Before the first march, famine and drought eroded Tevinter’s shores in the wake of the blight they brought on us and we pushed north for our own sake. The Lady heralded our arrival with storms choking the lowlands and winds stripping crops from the broken empire. The love my bride and I once shared burned in her fury and spread like a cancer through our people, the slaves, and our allies. An’druast’ta was reunited with the carcass remains of her kind, slaves who sought warm blood for the scars across their backs but discovered a cold welcome in the ruins of their former glory. My wife donned the armor of a soldier and the mane of the lion as her helm. The song was the beat of war drums in time with a thousand thousand burning hearts.
Before An’druast’ta the warrior, she sang to us of life’s secrets. I don’t know what the Maker is. Her voice rose to the heavens above the gods of the hold, above the Mountain Father, above our Lady, to something none below could reach. Each day more came to kneel at her side. In the beginning, the augur and I voiced our concerns of a trickster taking advantage of a weak mind, but venom from the devout quieted our protests. The song was of life’s creation and pulled tears from the eyes of all who heard.
Before the Maker, our hold grew strong in the years she whispered over my shoulder, ever pushing a new alliance, a truce, a contract, or an oath. We were partners in politics, if not in love. My wife bore two strong daughters to Havard and in my debt of betrayal I raised them as my own. I had three sons by Gilivhan, a good woman who respected my heart and never demanded more than clothes on her back and food for her pregnant belly. Both women deserved better. When Gilivhan died of winter sickness along with many others one hard season, my sons turned to An’druast’ta as mother. The years of ice around her heart melted, for children are innocent of their father’s betrayal. The song was an ache under fresh scars still healing.
Before the war, it was love. They say I betrayed An’druast’ta to Hessarian, but no, it was so many years ago. I trusted An’druast’ta would let go of the spirit inside, just as children grow into adults. But my people shouted in fear. This is why the weak ones don't live among us. I stood at my concubine’s side and dictated to my wife why Gilivhan was necessary, that I needed to have heirs. Lady forgive me, the look in An’druast’ta’s eyes haunted me every night since. I knew then there was never a chance she would surrender to the spirit, for if she did not succumb in her weakest moment, it was not possible. I wiped a single tear from her cheek and it was the last time she let me touch her. The song was discordant, always one note out of harmony as pain ate a black hole into the core of the soul.
Before my betrayal, the spirit delivered her from Tevinter and into my hands. Even this far south those dogs would not let go a scent. As the last of them lay dying, a black-haired, delicate beauty looked up at me with gratitude in her big eyes and this hardened warrior’s heart was defenseless. I knew in that moment I would never love another. She sang like a lark while I untied six hands of knots in my fervor to marry her. The song was a soft hum on her smiling lips as we laid entangled in young love. They say I betrayed her in Tevinter, but no, it was many years before when I stole the song of life from her heart.
—Yellow-eyed devils rubbing the luster right off the Chant, your worship? One day, she’ll return and then you’ll all kneel when you realize she isn’t the merciful bride of sweetness and light, but a monster just as apathetic as your absent Maker. We’re more allies than you’d like to think, sister. Just you wait and see. –the Shartan
—I’ve had enough of those knife-eared heretics. This is why they resist the Maker? Find every copy and burn it. Maker be merciful on them. –Sister Amity
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