The air in camp that night was not the exhausted crankiness that had been the norm since they'd reached the Free Marches. The thought of civilization and all the comforts it entailed had bolstered the mood. The conversation was livelier with less bickering, and Janelle even brought out her harp. The apprentices had a snowball fight, under the guise of practicing the skills they'd learned that day of course. Eve was strict about using magic for purposes other than lessons or necessity, but tonight neither she nor Miri had the heart to stop them. They giggled and shook their heads, and she went back to oiling the two short swords she carried. Eventually after the food was packed away and Janelle's fingers had tired, Captain Willem ordered them all off to bed. There was some good-natured grumbling, but they were eager for an early start, so everyone did as told, happy to be that much closer to the end of their journey.
o.O.o
Eve smiled as a collective whoop began as the walls of the city came into view. Dusk was starting to fall, and the prospect of a proper meal and bath were heartening after a day of travel made even longer by anticipation. The Captain sent Sam to ride ahead and inform their hosts of their impending arrival. Not for the first time, Eve wondered what would happen once they reached Kirkwall. The small group of mages and templars she traveled with had been sent to aid the Circle of Kirkwall in rebuilding after the uprising. The letter from the acting Knight Commander had not been detailed about what transpired, but they had all heard the rumors of a crazed Knight Commander and rampant use of blood magic.
Not least among her concerns was how she and her fellow mages would be received. Even before the king had granted the Ferelden Circle autonomy, there had been a stark contrast between the two Circles. The differences were even greater now that the Ferelden Circle was no longer run by templars. It had come as a surprise when the king had granted the warden's request to give the Circle's rule over to mages. The Chantry had been outraged, and not all templars had taken the news of being forced to concede power to the First enchanter well. A few had left, but many remained, determined to carry on the duty of guarding, and guarding against, the Circle as best they could. The memory of Uldred's treachery and the disaster it had brought was still fresh. However, it was not only the templars who had felt the bite of that tragedy; fewer than half of the mages in the tower had survived the incident. Whether as a result of that catastrophe, or realization of a need for the Circle to prove itself, the First Enchanter had been as vigilant and ruthless as any templar in ensuring that blood magic remained purged from their ranks. This, more than the king's decree, had allowed for a tentative trust and cooperation to grow between the mages and their templar keepers.
The last few hours of their trip took them closer to the sea, easing the heat with lazy breezes wafting from the coast. It was even pleasant at night, she thought, looking towards the city lights. Another languid gust made her reconsider. It carried a faint smell of rot. She hoped it would not increase as they drew closer to Kirkwall. There was a small hiccupped lurch as the wagon stopped. She looked away from the city and to the front of the line where Captain Willem was holding up his hand to signal a halt. She sighed, hoping one of the wagons hadn't gotten stuck in the sand. The breeze might be nice, but the soft sand along their route could make wagon travel difficult. She stood up to climb out and investigate, only to be pushed back into the wagon by a gauntleted hand on her shoulder. Her eyes sprang up to see Joran. He'd drawn his sword and was looking intently towards the coast. Bandits? Tensely, she observed how few of them there were and prayed they would be enough to fend off whatever was out there. He let go of her shoulder, jerking his head towards the front of the line, and she moved quickly towards the wagon carrying the apprentices, half pulling her swords from their scabbards as she went. She froze. The gaze of each templar was focused on the coast to the east. It was too dark to make out anything, yet the intensity of their gazes told her they saw what the rest of them could not. That meant magic, actively used. The templars were forming a small crescent between the shore and the caravan. She quickened her pace towards the apprentices. They stayed in the cart, but scooted nervously towards the edges where Miri and Eve had taken up guard. Roland had found a staff, tightening and loosening his grip as he strained to see what the templars sensed. Maker bless that boy.
"Put that down," she ordered, "and get on the floor." When he hesitated, she gave him that disturbing look that mothers give children to cow them into submission, and he grudgingly set down the staff to crouch on the floorboards with the others. After she settled the four children down into the wagon bed, she began casting wards of invisibility and concealment. She'd only managed to get halfway through the second when the attack came.
For a quick moment, she felt an acidic prick on the roof of her mouth. Demons. She turned, sending a searing cold wave down each sword as she drew it. An instant later there was a shout and the jarring clang of weapons coming together. A bright flare lit the immediate area as a scorching mass of flame flew past her towards their attackers. The fire found a mark, burning two would-be attackers into smoldering, melted heaps of flesh and leather. The smell was revolting, but the horror of what the brief light had revealed spurred her to action. There were demons, but something else she didn't recognize, inhuman and half-rotted scaly monstrosities. Their mouths, with too many teeth and jaws unhinging unnaturally wide, howled with a sound that was at once a shrill, grating screech and a guttural roar. Hulking thick-clawed hands swung axes and swords with terrible strength. A scream came from somewhere, and she swung her blade at one of the creatures that had managed to break through the line of templars. It was abnormally large, easily one and a half times the size of a man, with a massive beast of an axe that it brought up to block her swing. She whipped her other sword from behind her, sending a lash of frigid fire from the point. The lash wound up and under the great axe, slicing through armor unable to withstand such severe heated cold. It continued to cut deep into the side of the creature's abdomen, spilling innards out of the broken armor. She gagged, but there was no time for revulsion, and she recovered to face another, hurling thick veins of lightning from her fingers, decapitating it with a swift sweep as it fell forward, convulsing from the shocks. This time when she heard screams they came from a woman and from too near. Her gut lurched as she spun towards the sound. Miri!
She spared a quick glance around the wagon holding the apprentices and sprinted the thirty feet to her friend. Three of the horrors had converged on Miri, each swinging some monstrously massive weapon. With a desperate swing and an extra push of energy through her blades, Eve whipped both swords towards them, sending the lashes as far as they could reach. She was too slow. Two of the creatures stumbled, buckling as their spines severed, but the third only felt the bite on the back of its legs, and its momentum was already carrying it forward, falling on Miri. Before she could move, a greatsword was buried between her neck and shoulder, sliding down through her chest. Still running, Eve barreled into the creature, impaling it from behind. She wrenched her sword to the side, hauling the creature off of her friend, but it had not been enough. Blood pooled around Eve's knees as she knelt over her friend. Miri had been dead in seconds. She sat in shock, unable to look away from the gaping crevice in the dead woman's chest. A thought of a healing spell and the immediate mental rejection flitted through her mind. More cries shook her from the helpless reverie.
Pulling away from the corpse of her friend, she rushed back to the apprentices. Jack and Tip were climbing over the side, making a desperate, panicked run for the scrub. She screamed at them to stop, to go back to the safety of the warded wagon. Either they did not hear her, or their panic was too great, because they didn't stop. Their frantic scrambling had attracted the attention of some of the monsters, and she watched, horrified, as Jack flew face-first into the ground, an axe buried in his back, Tip following soon after. She launched herself into the wagon, throwing a barrier over it, as much to keep the children in, as the monsters away. But as she looked around her, she found it empty. She leapt out of the wagon, hurling spells, frantically looking around for Roland and Sara. This barrier wouldn't hold for long; shields were particularly draining to maintain. As she was yelled for them again, something grabbed her ankle. She nearly brought her sword down on it before realizing it was Roland's hand. Sara was nowhere to be seen. She motioned for him to stay down, then crouched low, surveying the road. Her well of energy was running dangerously low from maintaining the barrier, and she dared not cast any more spells. She saw Captain Willem and one other still fighting. They wouldn't last she realized helplessly. There were too many, and more were pouring onto the road. She had to help them, but leaving Roland exposed to do so was as good as killing him. She managed to throw a few more lances of ice at some of the creatures closest to the knights, but she was drained. She had run out of energy, to exhausted even to hold the barrier. Sure enough, the knights were overwhelmed. She bent down, pulling Roland close and covered his ears to shield him from the screams of the men and horses as they were hacked apart.
She let him go, peeking over the top of the cart. She was terrified to see there was no one else left, and it would be moments before they were discovered. A storm of dread roiled in her gut, like the sea in a hurricane. She looked around, madly trying to find an escape. It took all her willpower to stamp down on the rising panic. She would never be able to outrun them, and Roland certainly wouldn't. He tugged at her, but she ignored him, desperately trying to find a way out. She still had her swords. There were far too many for just her, but perhaps she could buy Roland the time to run. It probably wouldn't work. She felt another tug and looked down to push him away. "Please," he begged, "you have to." No. Hysterical tears were spilling over his face, and all he said was "Please" over and over again. No. But she didn't know how else. She couldn't even shield them from it. Then she shook him, somewhere in the back of her mind wincing at being too rough on a scared boy. She forced him to look at her. "Can you make a shield?" He focused slowly, too slowly, on her words. Come on. "Make a shield." He looked at her again, the panic on his face ebbing just enough to show her he'd heard. He started whispering. "Ten seconds, just hold for ten seconds." He nodded, still whispering. As a barrier took shape, she edged away, peaking around the edge of the wagon. She took a breath, slow and trembling, preparing herself for her own desperate stupidity, and dashed from behind the cover of the wagon. She ran straight for the middle of the horde and reached.
