Chương 24: Granum Timer
Blood pumping. Legs aching. Lungs burning. Heart pounding.
The scuff of armour-shod boots just behind. The surge of adrenalin. The twitch of the head to catch sight of the arrival.
The snarling twist of the lips, the rumpling of the nose, the flicker of hate in the eyes.
The gleaming arc of the blade, the telltale whistle of metal cutting through flesh, the Inhuman squeal of pain, the clatter of a body hitting the floor.
Blood pumping. Legs aching. Lungs burning. Heart pounding. Blade dripping.
The cry of pain just in front, the cold shiver of fear down the spine, the push to catch up.
The tender hands reaching to help, the critical eyes inspecting, the trusting of another with another's life, the hurried resuming of the flight.
Blood pumping. Legs aching. Lungs burning. Heart pounding. Blade dripping. Eyes worrying.
The rustle of thinning undergrowth, the clatter of ill-fitting armour, the gleeful howl of discovery.
Sorana Hawke turned again, swinging her glaive around as she heard another Darkspawn gain on them. The bladed staff cut through the creature's gut and halfway through the trunk, lodging partially through the ribcage. She grunted, kicking the blighted creature off her weapon, turning to face the next foe.
It was not necessary; Carver's greatsword cleaved through the air until it met flesh – the creature fell to the ground, the left side of the face looking somewhat confused at the lack of a right.
Hawke turned to face down the road they had just come up at the sound of more guttural Darkspawn howling, gritting her teeth and readying her blade again.
When they rounded the bend, Hawke heard a distinct whooshing noise behind her. She leaned to the right, just in time to have a missile of fire sail past her face, its passing heat making her skin feel stretched. The lobbed magic hit the floor just in front of the Darkspawn, exploding and bathing a large area with large licking flames.
"Maker's balls, Beth, a little warning next time," Sorana almost snarled, sounding annoyed.
"Sorry." Bethany to her credit looked very apologetic.
"They just keep on coming," Carver commented.
"Figures, considering how many we saw at Ostagar." The constant threat of the Blight seemed to be taking its toll on the family's head, her mood increasingly sour as opposed to the typical light-hearted snark. A shadowy flame seemed to be burning behind the lightning-blue eyes, fuelling her with the energy needed to flee and fight at the same time.
"Oh, Maker, how did it come to this? We've lost everything!" Leandra seemed on the verge of tears once more, having stoically fought them back earlier when the pain of spraining her ankle had shot up her leg.
"Where are we even going? We've nowhere to go," Bethany reasoned, her voice quavering, on the edge of panic.
"Let's run now, worry later? There are after all still several hundred monsters chasing after us," Hawke retorted, tone clipped.
"Sorana is right; we must first have lives to worry about if we want to worry about them," Leandra agreed.
Seeing that Bethany's fire was keeping any pursuit at bay for the moment, Sorana took the lead, gripping tightly onto her staff.
They had taken what was most vital from their home upon their return from Lothering. News that the darkspawn were as near as they were was an impressive motivator. Sorana had entered the house like a whirlwind, barking commands at Carver, who knew her to well enough not to argue when this mood gripped her. He had already mostly prepared for departure, checking packs over before fetching the sword he had gotten during his time as a mercenary, the blade far better quality than the one given to him by the army.
Bethany had followed Hawke into the room they shared, intent upon changing out of the now-torn dress. She emerged before her older sister, wearing leather pants and a loose cotton blouse, and adding to the ensemble was a chain-mail guard that hugged her midriff. She promptly went to join Carver with the packs, picking one and hoisting it onto her shoulders. Sorana followed suit wearing a black leather coat that had minimalist gold embroidery decorating it. A blood red sash was tied about her waist, the whole outfit seeming so well-put together that one almost overlooked the plate mail protecting the left arm and sticking out from the coat's unclosed button front. The greaves she wore were so finely crafted that they were almost indistinguishable from her knee-high boots.
Everyone was ready when she entered the comfortable house's living area. She was holding three staves; one she tossed to Bethany, who fumbled to catch it, and the second she handed to her mother. The last she slipped into the harness on her back specifically suited for it before she picked up her pack..
They left together, smoke already rising from where Lothering lay.
~o~
She looked at him blankly, his leering face close enough to hers so that she could smell his breath. It smelled of Lyrium, spices and had a sour undercurrent. Samantha Trevelyan catalogued this.
"Come Tranquil, spill it, what is the First Enchanter doing?" His voice was deep, slightly rough; some would have found it pleasant; Samantha didn't care.
"The First Enchanter's research has been classified as confidential by his order. As a former Circle mage and with my current status of Circle Tranquil orders from the First Enchanter are only preceded by orders from the Knight-Commander and or by a Grand Cleric, the Grand Enchanter or the Divine herself." The red-haired Tranquil replied in monotone.
"Maker damn precedence!" The man ground out. "Tell me what the weasel is up to!"
Someone put a hand on the man's shoulder. "Vernon, calm down. She's Tranquil, they don't have the willpower to go against the rules." It was a woman's voice, likely also a Templar judging by the gauntleted hand on Vernons' pauldron.
"But these instructions came from the Knight-Captain himself, why would he give them without cause? How are we supposed to get any information without this waif spilling?" His voice seemed irritated - conflicting ideals Samantha concluded - the failing of emotions.
The male Templar – Vernon – sighed and stepped away from her, rubbing his temples, staring blankly at the floor as if searching it for answers. "Fine, I'll see if there is another way we can get the information.
Samantha watched them as they rounded the corridor corner, knowing that by the sensation on her arms where the Knight-Templar had gripped her that there would be bruises. Interesting, the First Enchanter was right. There are concerns among the Templar regarding his work. The Knight-Captain has been implicated, but is he acting alone? Or does the Knight-Commander himself have a hand in this?
Samantha catalogued what had transpired and the thoughts she'd had on the matter. Returning to the route she'd been on she absently rubbed at the ache in her arms.
~o~
"Maker-damned dragon-fucking Magisters…if those cocks weren't protected behind several Ages of having been dead I'd personally shove a fireball up their arses."
"Sorana!"
"Not now Mother, besides, they totally deserve it," Hawke argued as she decapitated what had to be the hundredth darkspawn that day.
Carver skewered another through the chest, pulling his blade out and then cleaning it of smoking blood on the creature's own filthy attire. "Looks like that's the last of them for now," he observed, since nothing else jumped from behind any of the plentiful rocks to assault them.
The landscape had changed drastically from the quaint setting of Lothering. Their current surroundings were also shockingly different from even the Korcari Wilds to the south. It was as if they had stumbled upon a hidden desert in the south of Ferelden…there hadn't been any wastelands in Ferelden as far as any of the Hawkes knew, so the state of their current location was more than a little unsettling. There was plenty of evidence that there had once been grass here, but now there was mostly cracked earth, seemingly bereft of fertile soil, along with a great deal of twisted trees that stood like lifeless skeletons, overlooking the passersby.
The silence was useful, just as it was unnerving. They could hear the clamour of any Darkspawn ages before they were in sight, or at least the average Darkspawn. They had dispatched several Shrieks already, those encounters teaching the family to be on edge even when things seemed quiet.
"Hold on, I hear something," Bethany hissed.
The others froze, Leandra coming to lean on her younger daughter to take the weight off her ankle when the mage wasn't fighting. Sorana nodded; she too could hear the clamour of clashing weapons and the occasional shout accompanied by Darkspawn bellows.
"Fighting, that means someone other than just Darkspawn and we are here." Carver observed.
"We should see if we can help," Bethany urged.
Sorana barked a short laugh. "Famous last words. Alright, maybe they can help."
The four Hawkes continued down the path until the source of the noise was revealed. Two humans were fighting off a wave of Darkspawn, the corpses of blighted creatures at their feet attesting that they had been at it for a while and were more than a little skilled. Sorana immediately felt that it was worth getting involved.
She and her brother charged forward, weapons cutting into the flanks of the Darkspawn attacking the other pair. Bethany shot a bolt of lightning from the staff she'd been given by her sister earlier; it hit the Darkspawn closest to Sorana, causing it to convulse as the strong static charge ran through it. Sorana swung her staff, casting a similar spell just as the blade landed. Electricity arced from that first unfortunate creature, jumping between all of those assembled. The incapacitation lasted only moments, but the humans made the most of it, until Sorana heard one of the ones they had come to save shout out in pain, falling to the ground. The other emitted a bellow of what sounded like fear and rage – suddenly becoming a blur of metal. Darkspawn blood sprayed everywhere.
The remaining blighted monsters quickly fell to the combined assault by the Hawkes and the stranger.
They stood there, breathing heavily as the stranger rushed towards the one who had fallen. This gave Sorana the opportunity to see what the pair were wearing. The one who had remained standing was wearing the plate of a Ferelden Army Captain, the other wore the robes and cuirass of a Templar. The Captain tore off their helm, revealing that they were in fact, a she. Flaming orange hair was pulled back so that it would not fall into her face, while she struggled to help up the Templar.
"Well the Maker has a sense of humour," Bethany breathed. "First the Darkspawn and now a Templar."
"You travel in the company of an apostate," the man started, wincing, yet still managing to sound official.
The woman held onto him, letting him lean on her. "Wesley, now is not the time."
But the man seemed not to let himself be deterred. "Be you accomplices, hostages or thralls?"
Sorana snorted at that, what's the point of asking if someone is a thrall? "I sincerely hope you jest, since I do not take kindly to threats made against my family." She was starting to regret having felt that it was worth getting involved.
"The Order dictates..." The rest of his sentence was cut off as he groaned loudly, almost collapsing.
"Dear, they saved us, the Maker understands," the Captain murmured to the man before looking at the assembled Hawkes, Leandra having come further forward now that the fighting was over. "I am Aveline Vallen, this is my husband, Ser Wesley. We were travelling north when the Darkspawn cut us off."
"Aveline!" Sorana exclaimed, "I wasn't sure if it was you, but with that hair…." She was now grinning.
The Captain looked perplexed, searching Sorana's face, then it dawned on her. "You, you're that Sergeant from back at Ostagar."
"Sooo, you're married to a Templar? That explains everything."
"Sister, they decided to play nice, can't you leave it at that," Bethany bemoaned.
"What? This? If this is the Wrath of the Templars I don't know what we've been hiding from. Fierce indeed."
Ser Wesley laughed, or rather winced as he wheezed, "Moreso the wrath of their wives."
"Wesley…." Aveline's tone was stern, but it seemed to be born more of concern than resentment.
"Right, business. Darkspawn; you said you were cut off while heading north?" Sorana's almost cheerful tone was in stark contrast to their situation.
"Yes, Wesley was heading south on business and I was moving north after Ostagar. I barely made it out…you'll have to tell me how you did it when we're safe. I recall you two heading back to keep the Darkspawn off us." There was a grateful glance at that from the Captain. "We met up and decided to go back to Denerim, which was when we were attacked."
Carver voiced Sorana's dismay at the news. "North? But the Wilds are to the south, that's no escape."
The eldest Hawke offspring merely sighed loudly. "Well if it's facing the Wilds as opposed to dealing with more Darkspawn, I choose the prior….even that place has to smell better than them."
"Unless they are there too…" Leandra worried.
"We'll deal with that when we get there. For now, flee south, panic later."
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