Abe, James, and Jacques stood elbow to elbow atop the low hill that ringed the hundreds-yards-wide clearing. Under their feet the ground was a mix of centuries-tumbled grey stone, rotting brown pine needles, and dark green moss. The smells of rain and pine pitch filled their nostrils. A mizzle filled the air, coalesced and dripped from the needles of the pine branches that spread above their heads, and soaked their clothing and the slippery moss. Behind them stretched the silent, chilly forest of Brecilia. The road to South Reach was a day away.

Across the clearing hulked the remnants of a sturdy grey square building pierced by arrow slits and bigger windows. The ruined fortress of the Grey Wardens, who had pulled back out of the forests long ago. Who could know what lurked there now? Abe was confident that ancient knowledge had been abandoned in its library.