"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."
"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."
Excerpt From: "Chapter 8" Liane Merciel. "Dragon Age: Last Flight." Tor, 2014.
"Eighteen vehicles were harnessed in a double line. They'd finished only nineteen in time, and one had broken during stress testing when Isseya slammed it down on the sheep pasture to simulate a bumpy landing.
Almost two hundred and fifty townspeople had crowded into those vessels, which seemed absurdly fragile to carry them across the Free Marches at speed. Food, clothing, and precious heirlooms mounded the thin wooden shells between wide-eyed children and their parents, who put on brave faces and hugged them close."
"Crookytail and Revas stood at the head of the procession, each linked to a chain of nine aravels. Warden-Commander Senaste had procured new harnesses for the griffons, and the bright silver medallions strung on the padded leather straps gleamed like jewels in the misty morning light. It seemed impossible that the griffons, however powerful, could lift such a tremendous burden into the air—and it was impossible, without magic."
"Maybe even with, Isseya thought, before she pushed those unwanted doubts firmly aside. She tied the sleeves of her robe around her wrists and elbows, adjusted the wide band that held her hair firmly in place, and glanced across the way to the Warden at the head of the other line. Garahel sat alongside the man, murmuring reassurances to his griffon. He'd control Crookytail, but it was the mage who would keep their aravels aloft.
Isseya didn't have anyone else guiding Revas. She would do everything on her own, because taking both tasks onto herself meant that there was room for one more passenger."
"Isseya wrapped Revas's reins around her left wrist and tightened both hands around the smooth solidity of her staff. She opened herself to the Fade and felt its ethereal energy fill her, flowing through the conduit of her staff. The whispers of spirits and demons teased at the fringes of her thoughts, echoing the thrum of the magic through her soul.
She pushed those whispers away and gathered the magic. As she'd practiced so many times in the days before, Isseya shaped it into a soft, broad-based cone. It was a pillowy formation, dissipating into a cloudlike cushion at the bottom. That amorphous, flattened base was wide enough to support the entire column and also diffused the spell's force, preventing it from breaking the aravels apart. Once she had it steady, it was bearable, although taxing, to sustain the circling waves of force that coursed through the spell."
"Gently, she called to Revas: "Lift." As the griffon spread her black wings and pushed upward, trusting in Isseya to make it possible for her to lift the impossible burden instead of breaking herself against it, the elf thrust her force cone at the earth.
The aravels lurched up behind the griffon, crawling into empty air like an enormous caterpillar of wood, rope, and metal. A rush of gasps and cries came from behind Isseya, echoed a second later as Crookytail took to the air alongside them and brought up the second line.
The ropes and chains that bound the aravels together creaked alarmingly, but with the mages' spells buoying them, they held together. Twenty feet above the ground, they steadied. And with no weight burdening them,
the griffons pulled smoothly forward in harness, each one trailing a long line of floating fishing boats and exhilarated, terrified riders."
"Isseya wanted to give her free rein to fly higher, where she'd feel more comfortable. But she couldn't, because the force cone that held the aravels aloft could reach no higher. If they ascended, the magic would falter, and they'd all come crashing down."
"Nonetheless, the griffon flew straight and level, veering around the taller trees instead of attempting to pull the aravels over them.
And then they were skimming across the Free Marches, flashing over rocky outcroppings and scrubby trees and patches of meadow that had begun to grow wild after the sheep and cows that once grazed them had been slaughtered in preparation for the siege."
"In half an hour, Wycome was nowhere to be seen behind them. The tributaries of the Minanter River flowed around them, dimpling under the pressure of Isseya's force cone when the caravan crossed their waters. Maintaining the spell over water was treacherous—the river roiled and eddied unpredictably under them, making it hard to hold the aravels steady—so the elf guided her griffon quickly across the tributaries and then kept Revas flying along the shore."
"Never any break of daylight, never any rain. Only the looming shadow of the storm on the horizon.
It was seldom visible, though, and they never saw anything of Ansburg, although Isseya knew that city lay not far from their route to the north. At twenty feet above the ground, most of what they saw was trees and hills. "
"Thank you!" Garahel shouted back, mustering a cheerful tone even though he was as exhausted as the rest. The elven Warden guided Crookytail back to the ground, while Isseya and the other mage lowered the aravels gently behind the descending griffons. It took them a cautious five minutes to land; now that they knew the floating aravels could work, it was crucial to keep every one of them intact.
But the aravels landed smoothly, settling onto the Minanter's riverbanks with a series of wooden creaks and squawks from the caged fowl on their sides. The refugees of Wycome began to disembark, looking around uncertainly."
Excerpt From: "Chapter 8" Liane Merciel. "Dragon Age: Last Flight." Tor, 2014.
"Warden-Commander Alsiana asked for you by name. Fortress Haine will need extensive work to be made ready for the number of refugees it might have to hold, and it's well known that you've been able to achieve things with force magic that others cannot. The trick you pulled with the evacuation of Wycome—those floating aravels? They say it might be necessary for moving refugees into the Retreat."
Excerpt From: "Chapter 17" Liane Merciel. "Dragon Age: Last Flight." Tor, 2014.
