Chapter 26: Duel
The mark on her hand began to pulse again.
Ana looked down, despite wearing gauntlets, the magic still managed to crackle through, sputtering and sparking continuously.
The herald's eyes narrowed, knowing what that meant after so many months of living with it gaging the reaction of the magical wound.
There was an active fade rift nearby, and she would need to deal with it before they moved on, this place was bad enough. They did not demons wandering around aimlessly as well…
She snorted trying to wipe swamp muck off her gauntlet without getting any her hair, not an easy challenge to be sure…
…Just another annoyance in an already rotten day.
The Falo mire was turning out to be a very nasty place. The stench and dampness seemed to be getting right into her bones, the rain left her feeling as cold and as wet as the landscape around them, and if that wasn't enough the soggy undead sloshing their way out of the marshes continued to harass them and slow the progress of their search for the Avvar and the missing Inquisition patrol.
Ana sighed.
She found herself wondering if this was all her life was going to be now, trudging through dark places, getting lost from one battle to another.
It was almost enough to make her regret her decision coming here, but if she hadn't…who would have helped save the missing patrol?
No one.
Strangely enough, her mind began to wander; she found herself thinking of Ostwick, thinking of home, her family, and friends. What was going on there now? To be perfectly honest, she had lost all track of the date and time, Haven seemed stuck in an eternal winter and Ferelden seemed cold no matter what month it was.
How long had it been since the conclave, six months, seven? She could no longer say for sure, with all her travels she no longer had any idea what was going on in the world right now, accept that the Inquisition was advancing as fast as they could on the world, spreading the legend as they went.
Her legend.
The Herald of Andraste, what in the Maker's name had she been thinking accepting such a title?
She found herself thinking about Great Aunt Lucille's Summerball, what had been the trends this year? What had her old circle of friends worn? Had their gowns been considered tasteful or tacky? How was Mother dealing with the news coming out of Ferelden? Did Lizzy still think her some kind of monster? Had they…
An undead warrior exploded out of the water near here, its gurgly wet howls making her shiver despite her armor. She got up her sword...just barely, parrying his blow.
The herald gritted her teeth, pushing the horror back.
That is what happens when you get distracted in a dangerous place, her conscience chided.
You should be wounded right now, or dead.
Master Geoffrey would have tanned her hide for such blindness.
The corpse tried to lunge again, but this time she was ready. She back pedaled drawing it farther out of the water; it stumbled as it stepped up onto dry land.
She jabbed out with the edge of her buckler, knocking the creature to its knees.
A quick swipe of her sword made sure that it would not trouble them again. Behind her she heard Bianca cough as Varric fired into even more of the foul creatures trying to emerge from the swamp. Dorian brought fire against them as well, even as soggy as these corpses were, they still burned quite well if they made it out of the water. Blackwall remained where he was, watching her back; the undead had little luck trying to flank or surround them as long as the two warriors stood back to back.
Again she was grateful for his presence, a stalwart shield and blade was always welcome when walking into darkness and death.
"We need to stay on the path," the warden grumbled, "use those markers we found, draw all these bastards out of hiding so they won't be leaping out at us so much."
Ana whole heartedly agreed the markers that they had found did work well to draw out the undead; they were high enough off the ground that the creatures did not surprise them, and the veil fire used to summon them was equally useful. The herald was grateful that Solas had shown Dorian how to conjure it, it had saved their lives several times already.
"So many corpses," the mage said shaking his head, "I suppose we should not be surprised, not with all the plague victims here. Say one thing about city life, at least there you can find a healer when you are ill. What do they have here, twigs and berries?"
The herald sighed.
Dorian was not wrong.
They had found evidence of a plague, abandoned shacks and burned out funeral pyres. Whatever had struck this place was bad and fast. They had found no evidence of survivors so it was likely a good guess that anyone living here was likely now just another shuffling corpse hiding in the swamp water.
It was a sad thought…
…these poor people.
"The Inquisition was lucky here," Blackwall said, "The plague was pretty much all played out by the time our soldiers arrived, should keep us all safe from the sickness, no living victims left to drag us down with them."
She winced at his coldness, but saw the practicality in it as well. What had happened to these people was horrible, but at least they were all safe from the plague. No point in letting that loose in the Inquisition's ranks. They had enough trouble right now as it was.
She tried to deny such thoughts taking root in her brain. The Avvar and the lost Inquisition soldiers, that was what she needed to focus on right now, everything else was a distraction.
Distractions could kill out here.
She let the mark guide her; it led her away from the path deeper into the bog. The others saw her raise her hand, using the mark's power like a beacon.
No one said a word as they followed, these undead were likely shambling along because of the demons that had found their way here through this rift, by closing it; they had a better chance of reaching the Avvar.
Besides, Ana was spoiling for a good fight, she could do nothing about the plague, or the missing soldiers' plight, but she could do this.
She could seal the rifts.
She heard Varric groan as he stepped in something foul.
"Hopefully, these Avvar understand what taking hostages mean," He commented, "Hostages tend to be more useful alive than dead."
Dorian gave him a sick smile.
"If we are lucky, hostage and dinner are not interchangeable words among these barbarians."
Ana paled.
She…she had not thought of that!
Surely, surely these Avvar wouldn't…couldn't…
Oh Maker.
"The Avvar are not cannibals," Blackwall growled, "Be grateful for that Tevinter, or I might be tempted to offer you up on the menu."
Dorian smirked at him.
"Do you have anything against Tevinters, my good ser?"
"I have problem with pampered noble shits."
"Then it is fortunate that I am not one," the mage replied gamely, "pampered I mean, I am most definitely a noble shit."
The Warden shook his head and continued on.
Ana felt the hair on the back of her next starting to rise as they drew near the fade rift. It flickered weakly, not sealed but closed, similar to the one they had found in the remains of the temple of sacred ashes.
She had been so caught up in the sight of it that she had nearly missed the man standing close by it, his features hidden by the shadows that the rift was putting out.
He stepped into the light as they approached.
Ana stifled a gasp.
Hello Big, she thought.
The giant of a man was smaller than Iron Bull, but not by much, he was wrapped in fur, tattoos, and leather. The huge maul he carried was likely as heavy as she was and almost as large, he did not hold it in a threatening manner, just let it rest on one massive shoulder.
She swallowed hard.
If all the Avvar were this big, they were likely all in trouble.
From the look on his face the barbarian appeared amused by their arrival, or perhaps he just thought them foolish to have ventured so far into this wet unpleasant place.
"I am Skywatcher," he said in a heavy accented voice, "You must be Herald of Andraste then, my kin want you dead Lowlander, but it isn't my job."
She suppressed a sigh of relief.
At least this Avvar knew the king's tongue. It would make it easier going forward.
"I thought the Avvar wanted to fight me?" she asked.
"It is not my place to take part in some whelp's trophy hunt. I'm the one who deals with the after of such things. Rites to the gods, bandages for the wounded, a dagger for the dying that is what I do."
Ana nodded.
So this was a holy man…a healer then, or perhaps a priest or a shaman?
At least he wasn't it enemy that is a good thing.
"I am Ana," she introduced herself, "It is a pleasure to meet you Skywatcher, but I must ask, if you are not out here to fight me, then why are you here?"
"I'm trying to understand these holes in the world," the big man shrugged, "The Lady of the Sky is silent, the wounds in her skin give us no answers, even the flocks of birds are confused, and they are born to her world."
Dorian blinked.
"You use bird signs as a foci? Interesting."
"I interpret the will of the Lady of the Sky," the big man added, "Yet so far…she offers me no answers."
"They are called fade rifts," the herald offered, "the result of some magic gone bad."
"Already knew that lowlander," the Avvar replied, "I had hoped to divine how best to fight these…wounds with my Lady's blessing, but so far…nothing."
Ana approached the rift.
"I'm going to try and seal this, will you attack me if I try?" she asked the shaman.
The big shook his head.
"As I said, it is not my job," he shrugged.
Ana smiled.
Thank the Maker for small favors.
She started to raise her hand, reaching out to the rift; she would need to tear it open again so that it could be sealed properly.
She looked at Skywatcher.
"You might want to ready your weapon," she said, "Things could get crowded around here in a minute."
The large man dropped his maul into combat position.
She took a deep breath.
Here goes nothing.
She pushed out with the mark, forcing the rift fully open.
It yawned wide.
Demons started to be drawn through.
Her allies were ready.
Ana watched with surprise as Skywatcher lain into the demons with his maul. He might have been a holy man, but it was clear that he was a fighter as well. She saw him cave in the head of a terror with a single strike. Varric kept back, using Bianca to pick away at the wraiths floating just out of sword range.
One by one the demons were dispatched, their energy flowing back into the rift, weakening it.
When it was time, Ana thrust out her hand again, letting the magic in her mark seize the rift.
She pulled once again, unraveling it.
The rift sealed properly, with a loud wet pop.
Skywatcher looked upon her with amazement.
"It seems that you do have your god's favor Herald," he exclaimed, "The holes in the air obey your commands."
Blackwall chuckled at the large man's surprise.
"There is a reason so many serve our Herald, Avvar," he said proudly.
Skywatcher merely nodded.
"Perhaps my chieftain's whelp has bitten off more than he can chew this time."
Ana accepted the compliment for what it was, but she was not here simply to impress these barbarians. She had other concerns.
It was time to see to them.
"Have you seen my people," she asked, "have they been hurt?"
"They were all still living last I was there," Skywatcher replied, "They killed more of us than we thought they would, someone has trained them well."
"Good to know," Ana replied.
"Watch the water," he cautioned.
She nodded and gave the large shaman a slight bow.
"Farewell Skywatcher of the Avvar, may the blessings of your gods be upon you."
He returned the gesture.
"May yours be upon you herald. Hopefully, you will not be dead at the whelp's hand the next we meet."
Ana grimaced.
She hoped so too.
IOI
"RUUUUN!"
Ana bashed an undead with her shield even as she beheaded a second. Dorian threw fireballs at several archers, but that did little to spoil the monster's aim.
They were burning, and yet still were targeting them. They would likely keep shooting at them as long as they had flesh to hold their weapons, and that was not the worst of their problems.
The undead continued to come, more and more every second…
They were outnumbered and worse, they were surrounded.
They had only one option left, the order that Blackwall had shouted.
They ran!
Warden and Herald plowed through the undead, using their shields as a battering ram. In the distance Hargrave Keep rose like a dark mountain, offering salvation, as long as they had time to reach it.
Arrows fired by undead whizzed past their heads, Ana did her best to shield herself, but soon her buckler was peppered with arrows, and still the undead came, more and more every second.
Dorian called out as he brought his staff down deep into the muck, a pulse of arctic cold blasted out at the undead, as a wall of ice blocked the corpses' path, arrows broke harmlessly against the block.
Winded Dorian staggered after his fellows, Varric covering him with his crossbow.
"Not bad Sparkler", he grinned, "Not bad at all."
Dorian gave him a sheepish grin.
Blackwall took point as they broke through the castle's entrance. Several Avvar bowmen tried to block their path. The warden did not even pause, he barreled towards the barbarians.
A few moments later, their heads fell from the walkway; their bodies joined them a few seconds later.
Ana dropped into a defensive position near the opening, her shield up and her feet locked. No more undead would breach these gates. Dorian and Varric joined her, sending magic and bolts into the wall of corpses, many fell, but still many more came.
Finally, above them, Blackwall reached his destination, the gate control on the upper level; the warden threw the switch dropping the heavy iron portcullis down on the shambling undead.
The heroes sighed with relief, realizing that the monsters could go no farther. The herald slumped down in the mud, thanking the Maker and whoever else for their good fortune.
They were here. They were a little winded but they had made it, they had reached the castle.
Now they just had to deal with the Avvar, and save that patrol. Not easy perhaps, but not unsurmountable either.
Getting here had been the hard part.
Now…the fun could begin.
She groaned as she rose, stretching her tired back. She dipped into her pack for a healing draught; the biggest problem they faced right now was that they were all tired from fighting. The Avvar were likely well rested and ready for war.
It did not make for a fair fight, but as he old master was fond of saying.
Life wasn't fair.
IOI
No words passed between them as they made their final push towards the castle's great hall. No one doubted that they were being watched, The Avvar might not being attacking them, but it was more than certain that they were being observed.
Ana mounted the steps leading up to the ruined hall; she counted at least ten Avvar inside, archers and warriors both.
At the back of chamber sitting on a high backed chair was a powerfully built young man. He was at least as big as Skywatcher, bones and bits of armor jangled around his neck as he stood, trophies likely taken in earlier encounters. Despite the darkness around them, she could catch the glint of yellow sharpened teeth.
He let out a booming laugh.
"This…THIS is the Herald of Andraste, a mere slip of a girl?!"
He shook his head with mirth.
"Your god has an interesting sense of humor, I will give him that."
She glared at him, the one who had taken their soldiers, who had threatened to kill them if she did not fight him.
He wanted this; he would damn well take this seriously.
"I am Anastasia Aliza Trevelyan," she called out, "You have taken soldiers of the inquisition, you will return them or die."
The large warrior rose.
"So the mouse can growl, good," he said drawing his maul.
He let out a battle cry that would have scared most people.
Ana shivered but did not back up, she would not be intimidated…
She was too angry at this prat to be intimidated.
"Face me Herald of Andraste," he crowed, "I AM THE HAND OF KORTH HIMSELF!"
He lunged down the steps spinning his maul.
Ana stood her ground.
The Avvar roared like a dragon as he charged her, eager to cave in her skull with his massive weapon.
He brought it down in a wicked arc.
She was no longer there.
She lunged forward with her sword, the barbarian batted her away with his hand, he took a glancing blow on his arm, but not enough to make him stop.
He roared and charged again.
Varric and Dorian looked ready to get involved, but Blackwall stopped them.
This was the herald's fight, the rest of the Avvar were staying out of it.
They needed to do the same.
IOI
Ana back pedaled as the Hand of Korth lunged at her again and again.
The Avvar was strong, she did not doubt that, he muscled his way through this fight like a bear, eager to catch her and maul her to death.
She did not give him that chance.
He might be a bear, but she was a panther or perhaps a snake, fast and sly. Even in heavy plate she was faster than the barbarian, his weapon, though deadly, could not change direction very easily. When he committed to a blow he had to follow it through.
In that, the longsword had the advantage. She had the luxury of options.
It would be the death of her opponent.
She danced around him, inflicting precise wounds on his body; none would kill him, at least not by themselves, but together, with a bit more blood loss…
Things would soon start swinging in her favor.
The so-called Hand of Korth likely realized that. He frenzied savagely swinging his weapon every which way.
The Herald dodged the first blow, then the second, but by the time they got to the third…
She miscalculated.
Her buckler took the worst of the hit, and broke apart in several heavy pieces. Ana screamed as her left arm decided to keep it company. She was flung down hard, the wind knocked out of her by the Avvar's powerful blow.
She lay on the ground gasping, trying to regain her sword.
The Avvar howled in triumph and charged her again.
Ana appeared confused, stunned, she was in pain, her hand groping for her sword.
The Hand of Korth stood over her, his maul raised over his head. He bellowed in triumph.
It was all the opportunity that the herald needed.
She brought up her armored foot, driving it hard between the Avvar's legs,
All crowing from the large warrior ceased.
He lost his grip on his maul the weight of it made him stagger back.
Ana wrapped her fingers around her longsword. She was on her feet in seconds.
The Avvar leader tried to back pedal but between the pain in his groin and the heaviness of his weapon, it was not an easy maneuver.
Ana was upon him like a snake, her blade flashing up.
She drove it deep under the Hand of Korth's chin, striking easily through the soft spot under his jaw.
The Avvar's eyes widened in surprise, surprise that still showed after the light faded from his eyes.
Anastasia Aliza Trevelyan, the Herald of Andraste glared at him. It might not have been the most honorable of moves, she would admit that, but it had worked.
She stared into the Avvar's eyes, watched as his soul left for wherever it was meant to go.
Despite the pain, or perhaps in spite of it, she smiled.
"Tell your god I'm sorry," she murmured.
She took a step back… ripping her blade free, the Hand of Korth staggered, his body starting to fall.
She did not give it a chance.
"You left me no choice," she said grimly.
She whirled spinning her blade savagely.
Even one handed, it was a mighty blow.
It took the dying Avvar's head off, the head flew back up the steps he had descended to fight her. The body staggered and toppled.
Ana stood there nursing her broken arm, her face covered with the blood of her adversary.
She glared at the shocked Avvar; they had thought to see her dead this day.
She had surprised them.
She took an old rusted key from the fallen barbarian's body. She took in his followers, her eyes shining with death.
"You have your lives," she said loudly, "Take them in Andraste's name, but if you threaten the Inquisition again…"
She smiled fiercely.
"You shall all see my god's vengeance; never forget what you have seen here today."
"Never!"
IOI
Varric grinned.
He was trying very hard to burn everything around him into his memory.
The look on Ana's face the shock on the Avvars', even the flash of lightning outside.
When he put all this down on paper he did not want to forget anything, but it was likely that even his words would not do this moment justice.
The Power of the Herald
The justice of Andraste!
He would come up with a proper title later, after he had spoken with Leliana and Ambassador Ruffles.
They would love this story too.
For now though he was grateful just that Ana was alive, that she had put the bastard in his place.
The Hand of Korth would find immortality, he would be known for having fallen to the Herald of Andraste.
Varric would make sure this story got to all the right ears.
It was the least he could do.
He would honor his friend.
He would honor Ana.
Well done Kiddo, he thought.
Well done indeed.