eyebrows. Amadis snorted. “Aravels,” the black-haired Marcher woman repeated. “You mean landships? Like the Dalish use? Great big wagons that fly through the trees? Those aren’t real.”
“They are real,” Isseya said, “and it’s magic that lets them pass through the forests. We can’t blink people through the air, and we can’t shapechange them into mice, but we can use magic—and a little bit of carpentry—to make their fishing boats into landships.”
She watched the idea sink in among the Grey Wardens and their companions around the table. Somehow, no one scoffed. Garahel looked intrigued, Amadis skeptical, the twins purely delighted by the novelty of the suggestion.
Calien pushed his hood back completely. “Do you know how to enchant an aravel?”
“No,” Isseya admitted. “I’m not Dalish. I don’t have their lore. But we know that it can be done, so we should be able to find our own way. Ours don’t have to be as strong or graceful as true aravels. They only have to be good enough to get the people of Wycome over the sea or across the river plains before the Blight swallows them all.”
“That’s still a lot to ask,” Calien said dubiously. “Do you have any idea how long it takes to research new magic?”
“A week,” Isseya answered, “because that’s what we have.” She stood, pushing her empty glass aside to join the others with a clink. “As it happens, the Grey Wardens share the same rule as the Crows. We do whatever needs doing. And we’ll do it in seven days.”
8
5:12 E XALTED
It didn’t take seven days. It only took three to build their first aravel.
Compared to the legendary Dalish crafts, it was a squat and graceless thing. It looked like a reinforced fishing boat clumsily mounted on wagon wheels, because that was exactly what it was. The Wardens had cobbled it together from pieces that the townspeople had donated, and had practiced trying to move it around an old sheep pasture overgrown with weeds.
Once Warden-Commander Senaste understood what they were trying to do, she’d brought in another pair of senior Wardens to aid Garahel’s effort. The Warden-Commander wasn’t willing to sink significant resources into such a seemingly frivolous project, but neither was she willing to pass up any chance at preventing all of Wycome from being swallowed by the Blight. Giving them two more mages was her way of splitting the difference.
With the help of those two mages, they’d succeeded, after a fashion. Their aravels would never float smoothly through the forests as the Dalish ones did, but Isseya had mastered the perilous art of modifying force blasts to hold them at a steady, sustained height in the air. Early on, she’d misjudged the intensity of her spells, with the result that she’d blown their first attempted aravel to splinters after hurling it ten feet into the air.
But the new one was built more sturdily, and Isseya’s calculations had improved, and so on the third day, they had a craft that could make a swift, if thoroughly uncomfortable, run across the Free Marches.
On her own, all she could do was hold the thing motionless in the air. She could levitate the aravel, but she could not make it fly. But with a griffon in harness to lend its forward momentum, the aravel could effectively fly twenty feet above the ground, and it went as fast as the griffon was able to pull.
“Now all we need is a hundred more of them,” Garahel said, leaning against a worn stone pillar that had once supported part of the long-gone pasture fence. He didn’t even try to hide his grin as Isseya jounced and bounced the makeshift aravel down to an agonizing landing on the hillside.
“And a hundred griffons to pull them, and a hundred mages to keep them aloft,” Amadis agreed. Idly, she picked a daisy from a clump of grass, twirled the stem between her fingers, and flicked it into the pasture. “It’s so simple, I can’t believe no one thought of it
“They are real,” Isseya said, “and it’s magic that lets them pass through the forests. We can’t blink people through the air, and we can’t shapechange them into mice, but we can use magic—and a little bit of carpentry—to make their fishing boats into landships.”
She watched the idea sink in among the Grey Wardens and their companions around the table. Somehow, no one scoffed. Garahel looked intrigued, Amadis skeptical, the twins purely delighted by the novelty of the suggestion.
Calien pushed his hood back completely. “Do you know how to enchant an aravel?”
“No,” Isseya admitted. “I’m not Dalish. I don’t have their lore. But we know that it can be done, so we should be able to find our own way. Ours don’t have to be as strong or graceful as true aravels. They only have to be good enough to get the people of Wycome over the sea or across the river plains before the Blight swallows them all.”
“That’s still a lot to ask,” Calien said dubiously. “Do you have any idea how long it takes to research new magic?”
“A week,” Isseya answered, “because that’s what we have.” She stood, pushing her empty glass aside to join the others with a clink. “As it happens, the Grey Wardens share the same rule as the Crows. We do whatever needs doing. And we’ll do it in seven days.”
8
5:12 E XALTED
It didn’t take seven days. It only took three to build their first aravel.
Compared to the legendary Dalish crafts, it was a squat and graceless thing. It looked like a reinforced fishing boat clumsily mounted on wagon wheels, because that was exactly what it was. The Wardens had cobbled it together from pieces that the townspeople had donated, and had practiced trying to move it around an old sheep pasture overgrown with weeds.
Once Warden-Commander Senaste understood what they were trying to do, she’d brought in another pair of senior Wardens to aid Garahel’s effort. The Warden-Commander wasn’t willing to sink significant resources into such a seemingly frivolous project, but neither was she willing to pass up any chance at preventing all of Wycome from being swallowed by the Blight. Giving them two more mages was her way of splitting the difference.
With the help of those two mages, they’d succeeded, after a fashion. Their aravels would never float smoothly through the forests as the Dalish ones did, but Isseya had mastered the perilous art of modifying force blasts to hold them at a steady, sustained height in the air. Early on, she’d misjudged the intensity of her spells, with the result that she’d blown their first attempted aravel to splinters after hurling it ten feet into the air.
But the new one was built more sturdily, and Isseya’s calculations had improved, and so on the third day, they had a craft that could make a swift, if thoroughly uncomfortable, run across the Free Marches.
On her own, all she could do was hold the thing motionless in the air. She could levitate the aravel, but she could not make it fly. But with a griffon in harness to lend its forward momentum, the aravel could effectively fly twenty feet above the ground, and it went as fast as the griffon was able to pull.
“Now all we need is a hundred more of them,” Garahel said, leaning against a worn stone pillar that had once supported part of the long-gone pasture fence. He didn’t even try to hide his grin as Isseya jounced and bounced the makeshift aravel down to an agonizing landing on the hillside.
“And a hundred griffons to pull them, and a hundred mages to keep them aloft,” Amadis agreed. Idly, she picked a daisy from a clump of grass, twirled the stem between her fingers, and flicked it into the pasture. “It’s so simple, I can’t believe no one thought of it
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