Bab 9: Tentatienibus Inpello
The progress made by the auxiliaries was slow. Only a few of the men and women recruited from the freeholders were in any condition to be able to keep up the forced march they had been subjected to for an extended length of time. The main force gathered by the king and most nobles had already made it to Ostagar, an ancient fortress built by the Tevinter Imperium of old to defend against the Chasind. It seemed fitting that the ruin would serve to protect from a threat in the south once more.
Sorana watched the men and women around her. She was sitting on her pack, polishing the shaft of the spear she had taken with an oil, whose properties, if known to the Templars, would have made it illegal. It was like most oils used to polish weapons, with one simple addition: lyrium. She had bought powdered lyrium from a shady dwarf the last time they had passed through Denerim and had added it to what at the time had been simple – if good quality – weapon oil. The result was an oil that would allow for far better conduction of magic through whatever it was applied to.
Every time the column had stopped to rest she had used the opportunity to treat her new weapon with the concoction. The use of the oil on a blade was minimally effective;, it would only hold a very thin coating and would eventually be either washed or wiped off in the traditional manner, considering the blade's use. Wood, though, would absorb the oil, strengthening it in addition to allowing far better magic conductivity. This trick allowed Sorana to create a makeshift staff out of almost any reasonable tree limb.
It bordered on amusing, seeing normal people and Templars walk by her as she, an apostate, crafted a weapon that would be capable of unleashing unimaginable destruction if used correctly. Carver eventually sidled over to her, offering a bowl of stew – the day's evening ration. "This is pathetic," he said, tone condescending. "I doubt many, if any of these people, have even held a sword before, and they are supposed to stop darkspawn?"
Sorana didn't look at him as she answered, slowly eating the food she'd been given. "Some are here because they have no choice; some for reasons similar to our own. Others are here merely to kill with an open licence and others yet because of naïve notions of the glory that's to be won."
She put down the now-empty bowl. "Whether we stop the darkspawn or not, each of us will have a role to play in the fight to come, have no doubt of that."
"Bah!" Carver said, making a dismissive gesture. "There you go again with the putting on of supposedly wise airs. Spare me the prattle and just make sure not to blow our cover too soon, if at all possible."
Sorana just smiled sadly; she knew not what, but something was giving her an uneasy feeling about all that was happening. She pushed her melancholy thoughts aside; it was probably only a by-product of the Blight.
They set up camp for the night where they had stopped and set off again in the morning. Eventually they reached the fortress that was possibly one of the last signs of civilization before the inhospitable south. Ostagar's great white columns and arches pushed through the trees and wilderness like the spines of a long dead dragon. Only two structures seemed to have weathered time well: the great bridge spanning the ravine in the centre of the fortress and the giant tower that greeted them as they approached.
"At the very least we have a solid, defendable position," Carver muttered as he and Sorana moved along with the other auxiliary troops.
The elder Hawke absorbed the ancient structure as they wandered past, marvelling at the stonework and architecture. She could not help but think about its builders, the Tevinter. A society where magehood was not shunned, but embraced, but there were also pitfalls in such a society. The life of others suddenly lost a great deal of value when slavery and blood magic didn't attract a second glance.
Sorana could see makeshift watchtowers being erected, along with palisades, to fortify the Ostagar tower's position. Even more men were bustling around the base of the tower itself. Obviously it would be pivotal in whatever battle plans were being laid.
The column started making its way across the bridge to the other side of the ruin, where the army encampment was. Below them, even more defensive structures were being built into the ravine and the surrounding cliff walls. From the bridge's height, it looked like the men were scurrying over their emplacements like so many ants. Sorana wondered if Ferelden had ever mustered such an army, although what she was seeing was probably far from all the armed forces in the kingdom. She had heard from talk among the soldiers that key nobles had been instructed to stay behind with their garrisons to maintain order while the king waged war in the south.
The auxiliaries passed several brightly coloured pavilions on their way to the main army camp; no doubt this part of the fortress had been reserved for people of importance - those above the rabble. The two Hawkes eventually found themselves in the army camp with nothing to do as their group had been given a short break after setting up their tents to recover from the march.
Carver muttered something about a game of dice, while Sorana eventually decided to wander over to the colourful pavilions they had passed earlier. On closer observation, it seemed as though her judgement had been slightly misplaced. The area hadn't been reserved for the nobility after all; instead, most areas in that zone were designated for specialized groups and organisations that had gathered to fight. Pavilions had been erected for the three most powerful families in Ferelden: Theirin, Mac Tir and Cousland. The other zones were for those that had come from the Circle of Magi, Ash Warriors, Chantry, and, of course, the Grey Wardens. Sorana found that the quartermaster and infirmary had also been located in this section of the keep. All in all, it was the nexus of power in Ostagar. She continued to explore a bit more and observe the people who stayed until she deemed that it was probably best that she return to her battalion.
~o~
"All right greenhorns, listen up!"
The squad Sorana had been assigned to stood in slightly misshapen ranks, the sergeant marching up and down before them, bellowing at the top of his lungs. He was a hardened man who sported an impressive moustache in addition to an ugly scar running across his nose.
They were closer to the edge of the camp now and it was easy to see how the wilderness was slowly absorbing Ostagar. There was also a foul stench in the air that burned the sinuses as one inhaled. The eldest Hawke wondered if it was something coming in from the outside of the camp, or if it was some potion that the alchemists were cooking up.
"So, you all think you have what it takes to defend Ferelden, eh?! Well guess what?! You don't!"
The man stopped pacing, turning to face the squad. "And I'm here to make sure that you don't die within a day of being here!"
Then he gestured to the floor at his feet. Sorana strained to see what he was pointing at, only to find what the most likely source of the horrible scent was. It was a corpse, shorter than elf or human, but far stockier. The creature wore scraps of armour that seemed to have been salvaged from various sets and was badly maintained. There was an ugly gash running from its left shoulder across its chest to the belt line, clearly the cause of death.
One of the soldiers assembled threw up. Sorana merely wrinkled her nose in disgust. So that's the darkspawn. As if to confirm her thoughts the sergeant continued: "This here is a Darkspawn, a Genlock, to be precise. These are the most common 'spawn you will encounter; they are vicious, cruel and cunning and they will kill you, your family and everyone you know unless you kill the sons of bitches first!"
The sergeant looked at the motley group assembled before him with a beady eye, as if challenging them. "Now form up into real ranks and get ready to march; we'll be patrolling just outside the southern palisade in the valley. I hope you all know how to use those weapons, because you will be using them!"
~o~
One dagger intercepted the sword's downward swing, deflecting it away from its intended target; the other cut upwards, under the assailant's guard, into his armpit. The man gurgled as the keen edge found his heart, strength leaving his legs as the life bled out of him, leaving his face frozen in a mask of shock.
Elisa twirled around, crouching just in time to dodge a blade that came for her head. Moving like water, she carried the momentum into her next attack as she pushed up with her legs, her whole body uncoiling like a spring. She cut the second attacker from groin to chest; he cried out, flailing with his weapon to claim a final revenge. But Elisa was already gone, running to rescue one of the guards who was being attacked.
Erik was also embattled; wielding his sword and shield he was keeping three men occupied. He, like his sister, was a master at his art. One of the soldiers lunged at him, but instead of blocking with his shield, he parried the blow with his sword and then swung the shield around to impact with the unfortunate man's head. The man's eyes crossed as his helmet gave off a ringing noise at the impact, denting horribly under the power of the blow.
The other two tried to take advantage of their unfortunate friend's distraction, but Erik merely shifted his footing and brought his shield up, shrugging off the one attack. The other never made it that far, his eyes wide as he tried to look at the crimson-coated arrow growing out of his throat.
The twin nodded his thanks to his mother, who was standing at the end of the room wielding a longbow. Her attire was in stark contrast to the finery she had been wearing earlier that evening; instead of the tasteful gown, she was now wearing aged leather armour. Erik had thrown on a mail hauberk and Elisa was not wearing any armour at all, flying through the room in her nightgown that was quickly turning red from the blood of her foes.
Finally enemies stopped pouring into the residential wing, Eleanor stopping two who tried to flee the carnage with well placed arrows. The guards that had survived the initial assault wearily took positions at the doorway leading to the rest of the castle as the three Couslands came together to take stock of the situation.
"Seems like they came here in force," Erik commented, looking for something to clean his sword with.
"And with good reason," the Teyrna added. "If there is no nobility left to claim Highever, that dog can easily subdue any other opposition, and from the looks of things he plans to make sure that none of the castle staff will be allowed to remain alive as witnesses to this treason either."
"Clearly he didn't overcompensate when he sent that small army here." Elisa muttered, a dark look in her face.
There was a short pause, nobody wanting to say anything. There had only been one other time when the beautiful woman had had that look in her eye, a feral glint that promised death to any that stood in her way. Eleanor had never seen her daughter in such a state, but she could easily understand why; where grief seemed to be swallowing the older woman's heart, rage was consuming the younger's.
At a casual glance, Erik seemed to be his calm self, but the normal warmth that he emanated was missing. Instead of the reassuring, witty, reserved man he usually was, he now to emitted an aura of chilled detachment.
"Sister," he said, his tone devoid of emotion, "find something suitable to wear. I shall go see if I can find a pair of breeches for myself as well."
Elisa nodded and headed back the way they had come, to her chambers.
They came together again after having equipped themselves, Elisa now wearing an outfit similar to her mother's. Erik had found breeches and a solid pair of boots and was busy strapping on a pair of vambraces he had taken from a dead soldier.
"I don't ever want to make that trip again…past that room," Elisa said after returning.
"That is a sentiment I fully agree with," Erik muttered. "But to not ever have to walk past there again and to make sure the bastard who started all of this gets his due, we need to get out of here."
The Teyrna nodded. "We should find your father first. He was still in council with Howe when I went up to bed."
"Let's pray that he is still alive then."
~o~
The fighting through the castle was brutal, not only because of the opposition they faced, but from the shock of seeing what had been their lifelong home and the promised home of their children go up in flames and blood. Every room seemed to have the stiffening bodies of once-familiar faces, now so alien in the rictus of death, with looks of fear and confusion blemishing memories that had once been a joy to recall.
Erik now bore the sword and shield of Highever, ancient family heirlooms they had saved from the vault before the attacking soldiers had managed to break through the thick wooden doors that protected a small fortune. The twin was a beacon to those survivors still holding out against the attacking forces, the bright blade cutting through all foes and the proud heraldry on the shield bringing hope to the defenders who saw it. At his side, his sister darted in and out of combat, striking and vanishing as if a ghost. From behind them, the Teyrna loosed shaft after shaft into any oncoming foe. All those who managed to escape that night would spread the tale of how valiantly the Couslands had fought to defend their home against unbeatable odds.
Status Power Mingguan
-- Peringkat
Power 
-- Power
stone