Chapter Thirty-One: Maleficent
The Army of Free Orlais marched out of Hearth two days after the funeral at full strength, twenty thousand strong. August sun blazing, humidity at full tilt. Their hearts equally ablaze. I watched their faces as they marched out of the north gate and onto the newly expanded road heading to Halamshiral. It wasn't hard to decipher their feelings. Once the crowds of wellwishers and families disappeared at the gate, eyes kept themselves on the road ahead and the pace was brisk. The families cried but my soldiers didn't. Everyone knew what was now at stake.
Grand-Cleric Brandon's eulogy for the murdered souls had said that Orlais had no rightful ruler except one chosen by the people. Now it was up to us to prove that. By force, no less.
Before what has come to be known as the Day of the Long Knives, the plan was that we would march on Halamshiral, move east to take Jader, and fight to defend what we had from that point onwards. Things had changed however, and we had some sense of how events would play out. News travelled extremely slowly by my standards, so we could not know for sure, but even we could guess the reaction of the not-insignificant number of nobles that had favoured our cause. Fearing similar treatment, they would not raise their armies and their vassals in support of our cause.
Whoever had attempted to kill the entire leadership of Free Orlais had essentially stamped the fires of revolution out everywhere except in the eastern Dales. The embers still burned, as the killings had perhaps been the most effective propaganda victory we ever could have had in terms of proving our point about the corruption of the Empire, but no one had the stomach to face such savagery. Not when it struck from the shadows. Had we the diplomats and envoys worthy of the name, perhaps we could have reignited fervour for our cause, but we didn't and everyone who could have filled out such a role was dead. In fact, I think it is fair to say that diplomacy was where we were weakest even before the murders.
So, our strategy changed. Our only means of regaining the chance to gather all patriotic Orlesians under one banner was to march to where they were. We would still march on Halamshiral, to gain the manpower of the hugely supportive population there. We would still march on Jader, not only to liberate it but to capture the bulk of the Royal Fleet, or at least deny the use of the extensive harbours there. After that, we would follow the Imperial Highway to Lydes, Verchiel, until Montsimmard. With the Dales and south coast of the sea entirely under our control, we would cut through the Heartlands of the Empire to Val Foret and onto Val Royeaux itself. Each city to act as a domino that would tip the scales further in our favour.
It was a plan not without its problems from the outset. Commoners outside of the Dales were largely unexposed to our principles. Le Sens Commun was widely read only among the nobility in other regions. That meant we would have to rely on the nobles who believed as we did, at least at first. Going via the land route instead of striking directly at Val Royeaux by sea was also a risk, as it gave the royalists time to organise. Not that I believed we had a choice anyway. These were the obstacles we thought we would face. Our expectations were wide of the mark.
The newly named Assemblée Nationale approved the plan by a huge majority at the behest of Julie and Ciara, both worried that its ambition might provoke cold feet later on. For which I would be blamed if I opposed pushing it. With the strategy effectively becoming a law of the land, there could be no stopping its implementation. Liberty or Death was now national policy.
Things did not go anything like according to plan.
I took the Peacekeepers ahead of the main force, and we gathered another five thousand volunteers from the militias that had been organising since the beginning of the year. We rejoined the army at Gethran's Crossing, the formal border between the Dalish Crownlands and the Dalish Hearthlands. Where our new roads met the older, less well maintained ones. The town itself was deserted, unsurprisingly, save for the elves who swiftly signed on to join us. Ciara even recognised a few of them, and the look on their faces when she rode up with two chevalier bodyguards behind her was utterly priceless. The Vice-Chancellor wasted no time in dismounting to greet them with hugs. A politician without realising it.
We made camp a day's march from Halamshiral itself, the army mostly exhausted from the forced marching. Even our horses needed a rest. The exact place was decided for us by fate. The entire trip had been like a voyage into the past, filled with nostalgia. We had went by the forest where we had fought the sylvans, the hilltop where once upon a time we had fought Ser Milo Duval, the place by the river where Julie, Tam and I had first made love, and of course Gethran's Crossing itself where we had first met Ciara. So, when I recognised another stretch of the road as my army became weary with the evening closing in, I called the halt for the night and set camp in the rolling oak forest.
I had my commanders and a few others summoned to us, along with a guard of honour. Soprano, McNulty, Mike, Velarana, Louise de Villars, Barris, Markham, Valle, Grand-Cleric Brandon, and Henri Clouet. When they had gathered, along with a platoon of Grenadiers, I led everyone into the forest along the foot of a familiar cliff-face.
To the crash site.
The dragon's remains were long gone as you can imagine, the bones taken away for sale or display. The head was taken to Val Royeaux for study, incidentally. For a moment, I thought the helicopter had been taken too. A few burned trees still stood as evidence of the events that had occurred at the place, but the rest had grown green again.
"Where is it?" I thought aloud, pacing ahead of the group, taking off my beret.
"Where is what, my lord?" Mike said.
"I have to admit Sam, this is one of the stranger things you've done," McNulty added, "A war council in the middle of the forest?"
"I don't think that's why we're here," Soprano replied.
"Almost certainly not," Velarana said.
I ignored them and started searching for the cave as a reference point to find my way. Meanwhile, the clamouring over what I was up to continued behind me. I largely ignored it, until questions started being directed elsewhere. It was Barris who got straight to the crux of things, sharp as he was. I listened as I moved.
"Madame-Chancellor, do you know why we are here?" Barris asked.
Julie laughed, joined quickly by Armen and Tam. None of them said anything. It was almost enough to drown out Leha's grumbling response.
"Care to share?" the dwarf asked.
"Patience," Tam warned, "He'll get there eventually." Meaning that she had spotted what I was looked for already. I turned around and raised my eyebrows, looking for a hint. Sure enough, I got a tilt of the head towards an overgrown patch. I could have kicked myself once it was pointed out. A very helicopter shaped bush was about twenty yards from me, among slightly smaller bushes.
"Colonel Velarana, Armen, a little help here?" I asked, "Otherwise we'll be here all night."
The mages stepped up. Armen swung his spear-pointed staff off of his back. He pointed it at the flora surrounding where I needed to go. A gout of flame spat from the tip, and he swung the effect from right to left, the dry growth completely in flames. When that was done, Velarana spun her own, more intricate staff above her head, before holding it steady. A micro-blizzard ripped through the fire, extinguishing the flames and tearing the remains from the soil. An impressive display of magic, though I had to cover my eyes to stop dirt from flying into them. When the dust settled, the path to the helicopter was clear.
The others went completely silent as I began slicing and pulling vices off the hull of the flying machine, revealing its painted metal skin. What's more is that it looked like it hadn't been touched by the weather at all.
"I don't understand," I said to Armen, "It hasn't been damaged or rusted... anything?"
"Everything touched by the Fade reacts differently," the mage replied with a shrug, "It seems materials from your world don't degrade naturally." I looked to Velarana for confirmation.
"It stands to reason, if you cannot be harmed by magical means," she agreed, "Living creatures are naturally connected to the Fade on Thedas. You repulse the fluidity of the Fade, breaking the alternative realities it creates. Perhaps your materials do the same thing, existing here but not affected by the alchemy of our world."
That sounded less plausible, but I wasn't a scientist and neither was Velarana.
"This is from your world?" Brandon asked, "What is it?"
I stopped clearing the foliage and turned to the crowd.
"This is the flying machine that took me here," I replied, before calling to the sergeant of the platoon with us, "Grenadiers, a little elbow grease is needed over here."
The huge men and women circled the group of commanders, over the warm and lightly wetted ground. The helicopter was stripped of greenery in no time at all, though the soldiers slowed down as more and more of it was revealed. The dull green paint hid the profile of the thing well when complemented with vines, but the shape revealed itself. I undid the twists of vines from the partially broken blades on top myself.
The eyes of most of those present were wider than I had ever seen, and the exceptions were notable too. Markham did nothing except raise his right eyebrow so high, I thought it might fly off. Soprano maintained her usual cool, although she moved ahead of the others to get a closer look. The Grand Cleric couldn't decide whether to stare at the machine or look at me in reverence. I couldn't help but smile at their reactions. Many were on the fence about whether or not I actually came from another world, Fade powers or otherwise. This essentially put that question to bed.
Of course, my own family had no qualms about going further than that.
Julie led Ciara and Leha by the hand to the rear ramp, and with a little tinkering, managed to get the thing open. The interior was exactly as I remembered it; stripped of pretty much anything of use and entirely undamaged by the ravages of time and exposure, other than a little dust. The event that took me to Thedas played in my head. I remembered being wreathed in liquid green lightning, the forces acting on my body and the helicopter itself. I could not help myself. I climbed into the hull, walked down to near the cockpit, and took one of the 'gunner' seats facing rearward. The same one I had sat in when I had arrived. I played with buckling in, but stopped myself as the high and mighty of Free Orlais followed with curious stares.
Everyone sat down, as if to listen. I remained silent. I wasn't sure how to start, and the utterly bizarre sight of medieval nobles and peasants dressed in a strange mix wasn't helping matters at all. But I hadn't selected my subordinates for their deference, that's for sure.
"You have brought us here for a reason, my lord," Soprano said, speaking for the group, "Do you want to tell us what it is?"
I opened my mouth to speak, and closed it again. I needed permission.
"Julie, Tam, can I tell them a little about what we were thinking when we first met?" I asked.
They looked at each other. We hadn't really told anyone about our own experience in Halamshiral. We had agreed wordlessly that the events of the night when the mages rebelled were a secret to be kept at all costs. We had to maintain the fiction of how we had come together for our own protection. That was still the case to a large extent. We didn't need unproven criminal charges ruining part of our credibility. I wasn't going to tell the whole story, simply a part of it.
In the end, Tam gave a quick nod and Julie went along with it. They trusted me. I smiled, and turned back to the audience.
"I'm sorry, I had to ask," I said, "I was riding this helicopter... this flying machine on my home world, when it was taken. Maybe you don't believe that flying machines are possible, but here it is. I wish we could get it to work, but I'm afraid that is beyond even the talents of Julie at this point."
I paused.
"When I first met Julie and Tam, we talked about escaping back to my world, to Earth," I continued, "I thought flying machines like this one would descend from the skies, my countrymen and our allies would disembark, and take us away from Hearth and everything else. I guess I felt like the conquering hero, taking two beautiful maidens away from the darkness."
Smirks appeared, which raised my spirits a little.
"It was a dream and nothing more," I said.
"Why?" asked Velarana, "If you came via the Fade, surely there is some way to return?"
"I have it from two very reliable sources that it's essentially impossible," I replied.
Leaving out the fact that it was information from a Tevinter magister and a dead woman's spirit. Tiberius had watched another Earthling search for a direct way back for twenty years, helping him the entire time. No joy. The alternative, entering the Fade and searching there, was pure folly. The Fade is quite literally endless, and the Baronetess' spirit had shown me that the portal from Earth essentially hovered near the most inaccessible part of the Fade of all; the Black City itself. So, unless I sacrificed huge numbers of innocent people and had a flying machine of my own to bring with me, it wasn't happening.
Velarana's nose scrunched up, like she didn't agree with that assessment exactly, but she said nothing. No one else had any questions on that point.
"One of the reasons I've brought you here so that I can show you what is possible if we win this fight," I said, "Flying machines and weapons that can destroy whole armies are only the beginning. Disease, hunger, poverty, we can defeat or reduce them. But it's not going to be easy."
I stood up and walked past everyone, down the ramp and away towards the next destination. Everyone followed quietly, until we came to the headstones.
"I did not come to Thedas alone," I said, "These stones mark the graves of the soldiers that were with me. A dragon killed them in our first hour here. When it attacked, they didn't even flinch. They stood their ground."
I stopped.
"I guess the other reason I wanted to come here was to say I really wish they hadn't died," I explained, "We really could have used their help. This war is going to be unlike anything anyone has ever seen. I pray that it is short."
As most readers will no doubt be aware, it wasn't short. For most of those involved, at least.
"You idiot," Leha said suddenly.
"What?" I replied.
"We're going to win," she said, "It's sad that your friends died, but we don't need them. Look at the people here. We have exactly who we need."
I snorted with amusement and surprise. Leha Cadas, the cynical merchant, had just proclaimed her optimism in our cause. I felt I had to look up into the darkening sky to see if the moons would fall. The others broke their trance to looked pleased with themselves too, and I have to admit, Leha had a point. We had excellent warriors like Ciara, Louise, Soprano, McNulty, Mike, Barris even Leha herself. We had some of the most powerful mages Thedas ever knew in Armen, Velarana, Valle, and Markham. We had great leaders like Grand-Cleric Brandon. We had Julie and Tam, two people who were irreplaceable both in terms of their skill sets and as people dear to my heart. We had millions following behind because of these outstanding individuals, all of whom had contributed to the cause in unique ways.
"I guess we do," I admitted, "But I still wanted you all to see all this, before things get messy."
They all seemed to appreciate that, and shook my hand. I thanked each and every one of them, Tam and Julie with a kiss.
I alarmed them by proceeding to dig into one of the graves, to retrieve the weapons I had buried above Patel. Sooner or later, someone else would find out about the site and I had no intention of leaving useful weapons technology around for someone to discover. Once the hole I had made had been filled, I had the Grenadiers stand to attention and Il Silenzio played. The Grand-Cleric did the honours of a funerary chant over the graves, which she very gracefully agreed to even though the dead hadn't been burned.
So, having said goodbye to my past life, we returned to camp and looked forward to creating a new one for Orlais, and perhaps even the world. How wonderfully idealistic we were.
We smelled Halamshiral long before we saw it. Even if our scouts hadn't told us the city was in the deep midst of rioting, the smoke began to rise from the north in the morning. The acrid scent blew on a strong northerly wind coming off the Waking Sea through the hill country that dominated the surroundings of the city. By the time we saw it in the late afternoon, I don't think things could have been worse.
I was with Tam, Julie, and Ciara near the front of our main column, when we crested the hill and finally laid eyes on the place.
"We're back," I said to them, bringing Bellona to a gentle halt at the top, moving to the side of the road to let the troops pass.
"Maker... look at the walls," Julie said.
Halamshiral's large, marble-sheathed walls were second only to Val Royeaux's own, in thickness, height and opulence. On that day in August however, they had gained some particularly unsettling accompaniments. Below them were thousands, perhaps tens of thousands, of people, huddling together with what I can only assume were as many of their belongings as they could carry. The reason why they were outside the walls was apparent. As much as a third of the city was on fire. And there were corpses hanging from the walls.
I examined all of this through my binoculars, my jaw clenched. The bodies weren't simply hung from their necks, they were suspended on meat hooks dug into the very flesh. Red stains smearing the white stone in lines testified that they had been alive when it had all happened. Most of the dead were elves.
"Fuck," I said, "We are too late."
I handed the binos to Ciara. She looked through for only a moment, before retching. She jumped off her horse and emptied her stomach on the ground. I wanted to apologise. She wasn't nauseous because of any lack of experience with death. It was our failure that made her sick.
"What now?" Tam asked, looking down at our Dalish friend with pity.
"Now we take the city," Julie said, brooking no disagreement, "And put every single noble not on our side on trial for treason."
Doubting that we'd get the chance, I frowned. Rather than vocalising the objection, I looked for our scouts.
"On the bright side, there's going to be money in buildings soon," Leha chirped happily, "And it looks like most got out fine. I'm not sure we could have expected anything better."
I gasped with outrage. Leha's profiteering was something else, but even for her, this was a bit callous. I gave her a dark glare to warn her, but I got a defiant stare and crossed arms back in response.
"Too far, dwarf," Tam said.
"Don't be ridiculous," Leha replied, "I guarantee you that the elves are trying to get in and burn the High Quarter to the ground right now. Maybe even succeeding. They give as good as they get, that's what a riot is, until one side gets the upper hand."
I turned away, not wanting to admit she had a point there.
"Where the hell are the scouts?!" I said, irritated by the lack of news, "No way I'm putting our people in until I know exactly what's going on."
Ciara coughed loudly and stood up. Knowing she'd need it, I handed down my water bottle. She nodded her thanks, and washed out her mouth before taking a gulp.
"Halamshiral wouldn't have needed to rise up if we had acted fast enough," she said, "But Leha is right. There are too many for the city guard and the chevaliers to kill."
I grunted my acknowledgement of her position, examining what other details I could see from where I was standing. The south gate, where Julie, Tam, Armen and I had escaped Halamshiral more than a year before, was open. What's more, it was a hive of activity. People came and went through the gate. It seemed to be mostly healthy people going into the place, and mostly tired and injured people coming out, the latter often in or pulling hand-carts.
They began to notice the army descending on them too, stopping what they were doing and pointing our way. My impatience was joined by the need to get a handle on the situation. With the inevitable duty falling on my shoulders, I nudged Bellona forward with the hope that maybe those outside could tell me more about what was going on.
We rode down the edge of the road and past where the army had been ordered to set up camp, on the lee of the hill facing the city, just outside the range of a longbow. It was swift going once we passed that mark, and our presence drew as much attention as you'd expect.
These were the same people, the same faces, I had seen when Julie, Tam and I had creeped our way through the streets with my flashlight, with one particular change. Rather than the disdain and fear at seeing humans, which had been all too obvious to me the year previous, the elves' eyes were open wide with interest and hope. That familiar pressure to perform to expectations itched at the back of my mind as I stopped dead in front of the throng, stunned. They searched me with their eyes.
It was a kid who spoke first.
"Are you the Roy?" a young boy asked loudly, pointing at me before his mother dragged him back into the crowd.
Julie flashed a smile at Tam, as if sharing a joke at my expense. I frowned at her, getting nothing but an amusing glint in her look back. She moved forward atop Revas, to address the crowd.
"Bonjour Halamshiral," she said, "Je suis la Grande-Chanceliere de l'Orlais Libre. Qu'est-ce que il passe ici? Où sont les chevaliers du Comte?"
The elves of Halamshiral looked at each other in bafflement. Not that they didn't understand what was said. Many of them spoke Common of course, as many of them worked as servants at the royal court or in the houses of merchants and nobles. As in the fields, the mother tongue was Orlesian, the result of a longstanding attempt by the Chantry to bind the population to the faith.
The difference was that no noble ever spoke to a servant in Orlesian. Orlesian was for private conversations, conversations that foreigners should not be privy to. If two Orlesians started conversing in their own language in front of you, it was a clear signal that it was not your business. Conversely, speaking exclusively in Common to foreigners and inferiors was a signal of superiority. So, despite Orlesian being their mother tongue too, servants were talked to in Common instead. Julie had just broke that convention blatantly and without remorse.
"Le Comte est dans le Palais d'Hiver, avec ses hommes," came the reply, "Les patriotes attaquent la chausée maintenant."
Count Pierre d'Halamshiral and his guards had rather wisely decided to hole up rather than join the chevaliers in trying to burn the place down, although I had no doubts that the arsonists were eventually forced to flee to join him. That wasn't really what got my attention. The causeway connecting the city to the Winter Palace was perhaps the best defended approach to attack down, even if it wasn't really built to hold off a determined assault. Our fellow patriots were no doubt finding it hard to get anywhere near the place, having chosen that route of attack.
"Le Vice-roi les rejoindra avec nos soldats," Julie replied. Indeed, the Viceroy would be joining the fight.
The scouts returned with much the same information. The High Quarter, contrary to Leha's conceptions, had fallen first to the patriots, that whole part of the city given over to our side by supporters within the ranks of the merchants. The Starry Banner had been raised over the Chantry to signal that we were coming, and the merchants' plan had gone into action. Word was that was the reason the royalist chevaliers had taken to burning the city. Not many of the nobles were in Halamshiral at this time of year, and the chevaliers left behind to keep order were undoubtedly worried about doing anything less. Their asses were just as much on the line from their masters' wrath at their failure as from our bayonets. That was the good news.
The bad news was that causeway was a mess. The locals had charged the gates of the palace early in the uprising, even before the chevaliers had retreated inside, but had been handily repulsed by the archers guarding it. They tried again, using a little more smarts. The patriot leaders had gotten a few carts together, nailed tables to them, and tried to use them as shields to get the rioters close. The Winter Palace's walls were low enough to climb with ease. The carts were set ablaze and not by archers, but we'll get to that. So, the way was blocked not only by the presence of the enemy, but by the burning and charred wrecks of a dozen carts.
My response was pretty swift, if I do say so myself.
I put Soprano and Mike's troops into the town itself to restore order and take control of the situation. Leha had been right about one thing, the elves of the city weren't shy about spilling blood. Soprano found a large mob of them holding a show trial in the main market square of the High Quarter. Sobbing royalist nobles and merchants with their families had been stripped down to their small clothes, put on display, and the mob were deciding how best to execute them. The Colonel put a stop to that immediately, and the royalists were allowed to flee, an action that would later help us save many of our own supporters' lives.
Julie and Ciara went with the troops into the town, where they could the most good to get control and rally support. Armen, Tam and Leha remained with the refugees outside the south gate to aid the wounded and the sick, or in Leha's case, gather up labourers to clear the city streets. I took the rest of the army around the city walls against the Winter Palace directly, and there we found the first pleasant surprise waiting for us.
Along with Louise's Vice-Regal Guard and the elven lancers, I had rode ahead to lay eyes on what we were facing. I had expected to see the magnificent sight of the Winter Palace itself, guards along the walls and at the outer gate facing the Imperial Highway. I did see all that, but with the addition of a couple of hundred chevaliers outside the walls.
A small pool of yellow feathers, blue and purple tabards, and horses, off in the distance underneath the white cliff of marble-faced rock. They were dismounted too, and didn't look like they were entirely ready to move out. My heart leapt, and I could barely contain myself as I reached for my binoculars again and peered down to get a better look. My hopes were affirmed, the royalists were not ready. I greeted the sight with a deep throaty chuckle that had many of my own chevaliers glancing my way as I turned Bellona about to speak to their commander.
"Louise, are you with me?" I asked with a smile. Blondie stared back, through her uncle's silver-grey armoured mask, the skull shape with blonde hair flowing from the back tilting slightly at the inquiry. It was almost as if her uncle's soul had merged with her own. She seemed so much more martial in that mask.
"Of course," she replied.
"Good," I said, "Take the Guard straight along the wall and into the bastards. I'll take the Lancers right and around them."
"Immediately, my lord," Louise stated, "Vice-Regal Guard! Form up!"
The chevaliers began to widen their column into two wide ranks, Louise moving to the very centre of the formation, followed behind by her standard bearer carrying her version of the Bonnie Blue Flag. Seeing as I didn't have much time before they would be going forward, I spurred Bellona to the gallop across the front of the growing line towards my destination.
"Glory to Orlais!" I shouted to them as I went, expecting the traditional response.
"Liberty or Death!" came the reply, shouted from five hundred noble throats, followed by the drawing of swords to presentation. Not very traditional at all. I probably shouldn't have been surprised, but I could not help myself.
The elven Lancers were watching our chevaliers intently when they noticed me, and sat straighter in their saddles. Unlike the chevaliers kitted out in chainmail-plate mix, they had the Earth-style round helmets and chainmail-leather armour vests in the same shape as my own kevlar. The nostalgia was practically as pungent as the smell of horse.
I smirked, and rode up to their commander, Major Isewen. Where my smirk promptly died. She was towering and athletic, especially for a she-elf, but had huge eyes framed by an attractive face. Unfortunately for any would-be loverboys, she had been in cahoots with Soprano since forever; they both sported what I can only imagine were gang tattoos, and she had a loose temper to boot. At that moment, she had kept her eyes on Blondie's chevaliers and a scowl on her face. This was the first time I would talk to her directly. Usually, the Lancers were under Soprano's direct command. So, I was a little apprehensive about saying the wrong thing.
"Major, we will be striking out to encircle the enemy," I informed her, politely, "Form up the Lancers for a charge." Her gaze didn't budge from Blondie.
"While the shems go in directly?" Isewen asked, in an urgent tone that told me she wanted to get stuck in first.
"Can't let them escape, can we?" I replied, pointing to the enemy before I realised something, "Down to my last three magazines. Fuck." For my handcannon, that is. During the course of the battles in the Emprise, I had been forced to use much of the ammunition for my sidearm. All that was left by Halamshiral were the three magazines on my own belt and the three on Julie's.
Whatever objection Isewen had to not charging headlong at the royalists disappeared with those words, and she looked at me with raised eyebrows, finally tearing her attention away from the rival regiment. The idea that they wouldn't have my firepower on hand to deal with nasty surprises wasn't a friendly one to many of the commanders. Most of them liked having me around, like I was a lucky charm, simply because I most often struck key blows against anything that might turn the tide against their units. Mages, surprise attacks, concealed archers... Isewen need not have worried, I still had thousands of rounds of five-five-six left, and a good handful of buckshot.
"Ignore that," I said when I noticed her, "Always can make more bullets. Eventually." Which was true. Eventually.
I didn't get the chance to see whether or not that soothed her doubts, as Blondie's standard bearer blew his cavalry trumpet, sounding the charge. The line of black clothed cuirassiers, for they were in mourning for the murdered, began advancing at a trot. I examined the enemy, just in time to hear the answering call of the royalist trumpets. That's the wonderful thing about chevaliers, they're so predictably honourable. Even better, they had abandoned a group that I had not noticed in their midst; mages and Tranquil in the charge of a small knot of Templars. I smiled Tam's vicious grin.
"Forward!" I ordered.
The Lancers moved behind as I advanced, watching our chevaliers and Celene's own move ever closer, at ever faster speed. By the time we were in position to charge ourselves, the clash had begun. The groups of mounted soldiers were weaving back and forth like two schools of fish, never merging, our black and silver versus their blue and purple. There were more of ours than theirs, of course, but that didn't mean I was going to take chances. To make matters a little more complicated, the Templars beyond had formed a line, while the mages and Tranquil behind them hurried desperately about wagons.
I worked out a plan in my head, weighing up how many I'd need for each task.
"Isewen, go help de Villars," I said, "Break off a platoon, they'll come with me."
"Yes, my lord," the Major replied, before whistling through her fingers and waving the nearest sergeant to me. The man, a very average looking elf except for his well built arms. Average Joe nodded once to me. I returned the gesture, the displaced air of Isewen's charge sweeping past my ear as another four hundred or so lancers went with her. Blondie's own chevaliers rallied to withdraw away from the direction of the charge, and to turn to join it. I wasn't sure if it would work, but I had my own task. I trusted Louise de Villars and Major Isewen both.
The remaining lancers formed up to either side of me, the sergeant to my direct right and the standard bearer carrying the flag of Free Orlais to my direct left. We trotted, ran, and galloped our horses directly at the Templars. They bristled with plate armour, but as is the case with that organisation, they were not equipped with long spears or polearms in general. A spear wasn't much use against a rogue mage, after all.
My most potent memory of our charge was the overwhelming sound of the thumping of hooves, right up until the moment we got on top of the enemy, at which point the noise was augmented by the continuous warcry of the fifty lancers to either side of me. It was positively invigorating.
Needless to say, plate armour is no match for a silverite-tipped lance moving at thirty to forty miles per hour. Most of the lances shivered in two after going through the Templars in question, but they had done the job. I myself used the handcannon, only possible due to the patience and tolerance of Bellona as a mount. Admittedly, it probably had more of a psychological effect than a physical one. Aiming accurately on the charge like that is very difficult. It didn't stop the Templars from backing off, only to be driven into ideal spots for dispatch by lance or mace; my weapons' reputations preceded themselves.
Once the Templar line had been crumpled of course, I became far more deadly. I cracked off round after round into the survivors with clinical calm, almost like I was target shooting. The faceless helmets do much to dehumanise the Templars, which I suppose is the point. I haven't seen them in my dreams, so I guess it helped me kill them without much further remorse. Unlike when I had been forced to kill those who didn't cover their face. I occasionally get visits from those assholes, and I'm still not sure whether or not they're spirits or my own mind playing tricks.
At a loss of twelve lancers, may God keep them, and two of my three remaining ammunition magazines, we completely annihilated the force of fifty or so Templars. To a man. No offer of surrender was given, and I very much doubt I would have accepted one, given that the Chantry was on the suspect list where the atrocities of the recent past were concerned.
The summer soil was slick with blood, the air filled with coughing cries of dying Templars and the mixed iron-feces smell you get as a result of mass close-quarters death. Nasty. I turned about to order that we join the cavalry battle behind us, but found Louise and our chevaliers receiving the remaining royalists' swords in surrender. Their resistance had been a matter of honour, and once that matter had been proven, they had no qualms about laying down arms.
If you're wondering why we simply didn't make an example of those surrendering, it was because I ordered that all surrendering troops were to be kept alive. Truth be told, it was an unpopular order as the will of the soldiery to get revenge for the brutal murders of the nobles and their servants was there. But the damage to our cause would have been too great. Opposing soldiers would have fought to the death rather than throw down their swords like the chevaliers at Halamshiral had. The damage to our reputation would have been irreparable.
Blondie and Isewen had done well regardless. I was about to ride over to thank them, when I was interrupted.
"My lord..." the sergeant said warily. I turned to find him staring away, and wheeled Bellona around to track what he was looking at.
The mages were leaving the Tranquil behind and approaching rapidly. Not quite running, but moving towards us with their staves in their hands at a rapid walking pace.
I recoiled in surprise as the group came on, Bellona neighing at me in irritation for the sudden shift of weight. There were mutters of discontent from the troops too. I might be immune to magic, but the lancers still very much feared it. A quick glance confirmed the chevaliers had stopped moving to join us too. Worst, there wasn't much either could do against what had to be a hundred mages. I grit my teeth, the intentions of those approaching entirely alien to me.
"Sergeant, sound the retreat," I said, "Inform Colonel de Villars to have our artillery brought up."
"What about you, my lord?" Average Joe replied, getting the implication immediately that I wouldn't be there to order the big guns moved forward myself.
"The mages can't hurt me," I said, "Hopefully, they know it. Hand me the flag."
"Yes, Viceroy!" came the reply. With a wave of the hand, the flagbearer rode over and gave me our flag, and followed by giving a blast of trumpet to sound the retreat as ordered. The rumbling of hooves began again, growing distant with every second, and the robed figures ahead became more and more distinct as they came on. It had me loading the last of my nine millimetre rounds with zero hesitation. The Fade couldn't touch me, but a hundred pissed off guys could still beat me to death after killing my horse.
These were Loyalist Mages without a doubt too. Their robes were not the standard fare like Armen or Velarana was fond of. They wore ornate yet practical garb, many featuring embroidery that emblazoned the Chantry's fiery eye across their chests. They all held their staffs in a single hand, as the other was holding the hilt of a spirit blade, yet to be brought to life but ready to be made so at a breath's notice. The Loyalists always were the teacher's pets, allowed out of the Towers for liaisons with nobles and to prove their honour on the battlefield.
I very quickly came to the conclusion that the whole thing would come to further violence.
I considered dismounting and giving Bellona a slap on the behind, to get the horse away from it all. Despite her being essentially my main advantage once the mages realised that they couldn't blast me to death, she was like my right arm at this point. Part of me. That does explain a bit of what happened next, though I had to have the details filled in some hours later. In the end, I stayed mounted, counting on my legend to protect my steed. Naive to say the least.
The figure leading the mages caught my eye, as she picked her way through the Templar corpses without so much as looking down. The woman stepped straight out of a story book about evil queens. Absolutely impeccably dressed, from the clean leather boots through the pad-armoured dress uniform to the silver-plated hennin that made her look like a small Qunari. Though I doubt she would appreciate that last comparison. She was dark-skinned and stunningly beautiful, I made her to be in her mid-thirties. Unfortunately, she carried herself with a nauseating air I was very familiar with; aristocratic superiority. Between her appearance and her attitude, it was the first time I had seen a mage with such bearing. Not even Tiberius held himself in such regard, though as I have said, that man was an eccentric.
This was la Madame de Fer, Vivienne; First-Enchanter of the Montsimmard Circle. She had only been voted in as First-Enchanter a few weeks earlier. Our movement was moving things along faster than expected with regard to the Mage-Chantry conflict too.
Once we were at a distance at which we could speak over the sound of firelances and shouting echoing from the walls, she introduced herself as such. She paused, waiting for my reply. I gazed at her for a second, and at her mages as they stayed a good twenty yards behind her. Looking a lot more disturbed by the dead Templars than she did, I might add. I figured that keeping quiet would reveal her motives soon enough. Most nobles are like cartoon villains, they love to talk before a fight. Adds to the feeling that they're living in an epic poem, in which they're the protagonists.
I was right on the money. She stood, her arm on her hip, her staff propped against the ground to the side, staring at me, and spoke.
"You are Lord Hunt, Marquis de la Fayette, are you not?" la Madame de Fer inquired.
I frowned deeply. I knew provocation when I heard it. She had left out the more important titles pointedly.
"Viceroy of the Dales, Commander of the Free Orlesian Army," I added sharply, levelling my eyes at her once again, "Or haven't you heard?"
"Oh, I have heard, it simply doesn't matter," she replied, "The Empress shall send the Royal Orlesian Army soon, and then there simply won't be a Free Orlais. In fact, I very much doubt there will be any of the eastern Dales left either."
"You underestimate our weapons," I said with a sniff, "And the determination of our people."
"Meaningless before the sheer numbers that will be thrown at you," Vivienne replied disdainfully, "Qunari weapons cannot save you now." The disdain clearly originating from the notion that any southern human would cooperate with the Qunari. The Madame de Fer did not believe I was from another world. I found that strangely amusing, given her intelligence.
"The Qun has nothing to do with this," I said with more mirth, "Besides, our weapons make the Qunari look like they're using pointed sticks and they tried to drag me off to get them."
"That can only mean you are a fool that has succeeded in attracting the anger of two of Thedas' foremost military powers," she continued, "Though I cannot say you achieved this on your own. The commoner calling herself the High Chancellor has had just as much a hand in it, and the apostates of the Circle of Hearth might as well openly declare that they want anarchy."
Now it was my turn to pause before speaking.
"Has the cat got your tongue, Marquis?" Vivienne smiled.
My lips thinned. "I am just wondering whether you want me to shoot you," I said.
"I want you to try," the mage replied, her smile turning sour.
La Madame de Fer wasted no further time. With a wave of the hilt, her spirit-blade gleamed to life, while her staff strobed a deep blue. In a flash, she covered the distance between us, leaving the tell-tale ice trail behind her where the path of her Fade step had travelled. I sat helpless in the saddle, throat closing with fear and trying desperately to aim at her with my handcannon. She brought down her blade onto Bellona's neck in an overhand swipe, shouting with the exertion.
The blade struck my horse's skin, and shattered like it was glass.
Both Vivienne and I froze, amazed. The mage staring at the horse, which neighed again. I, staring at her, utterly baffled as to how her magic had been utterly useless. Against a horse. She snapped out of it before I did.
"But... how!" she said, taking a step back, "It is impossible." I thought it had been too, but her words took me out of my own racing thoughts. It finally hit me that she had the idea to kill me.
Without opening my mouth, I adjusted where I was pointing my handcannon and shot the Madame de Fer. She just had time to raise her barriers, doing so apparently by instinct alone, but it wasn't the sort that could deflect the attentions of a firearm for long. The first shot bounced away with a long ping, but the two immediate follow-ups struck her in the thigh and side. Nothing fatal, but more than enough to keep her busy until reinforcements arrived. She fell to the ground, soiling her fine clothes with blood, both hers and that of two deceased Templars.
I felt a little bad about the whole incident, particularly as in retrospect I knew she could have done nothing to harm me. Well, until I discovered she had a dagger on her the whole time, but those were the days when mages were all too reliant on magic for combat. The dagger was more likely on her for when she ran low on 'mana' or whatever the academics call magical reserves.
With their leader dispatched, seemingly dead from their perspective, the other mages were in the midst of a crisis of decision. No small number looked angry at what I had done. A similar number seemed fearful, like a nightmare had just stepped out of the Fade in front of them. Not willing to let them make the decision, as that would not have gone my way, I nudged Bellona forward to about half way between the mages and their leader, circling about on the spot a little so that they could get a good look at both the flag I was carrying and myself.
Finally, I pointed the handcannon at them.
"I am the Peacekeeper," I shouted to them, "Lay down your weapons."
The sound of trumpets and horns sounded again, announcing the arrival of Armen's Libertarians with Barris' Templars in tow. The Vice-Regal Guard and Lancers soon came into view too, riding around the back of the advancing mages, Julie and Ciara at their head. Our own Tranquil rolled around the walls of the city next, riding on top of the cannons and the ponies pulling them.
Convenient timing. I grinned to myself as the Loyalists dropped their staves immediately, followed by their spirit-blade hilts.
I heard the sound of movement behind me. Vivienne said nothing, struggling onto her feet again with the aid of her staff. I rode back to her, dismounted and helped her up fully. I am, after all, a believer in being magnanimous in victory.
"Easy, we'll get you healed up in no time," I said, "Looks like I've won again." Whatever distaste I had for the woman had been dispelled by the latter fact. She was now a prisoner of war, and quite a valuable one, though I had no clue just how valuable until later that night.
"We shall see, Viceroy," Vivienne replied, her doubts far less strong than they had been.
Needless to say, with the mages captured and the royalist chevaliers defeated, the Comte surrendered the Winter Palace to me without a fight. I thought my feeling of victory entirely vindicated. The mystery about how Bellona had managed to deflect a magical blade instead of being decapitated by it didn't bother me much. I simply assumed it was because I was too close for the magic to work properly.
I should have been more cautious about both issues.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Apologies for the delay and any mistakes. Rolling edits to come. I was moving cities. And the GTA rental market is a cruel bitch.
So, the first city falls more or less without a hitch, but without the help of the elves within the walls, will it go so smoothly next time? Who knows.
5 Coloured Walker: It's not quite an "Anyone Can Die" story, but yeah, people die.
Mireczek: You'll have to keep reading to see.
Sovereign X22: Cheers.
Katkiller-V: You have to remember that Julie has spent the better part of a year pushing her ideas, Sam's own reputation has grown immensely, and the Chantry figures in the region back them. That isn't to say there won't be trouble in the rear, but it does mean that the forces arrayed against Val Royeaux are following their new countrymen and not merely fulfilling a service to their now-dead lords. Of course, as has been said, the spread of liberal ideas has only gone so far.
Guest: Assume away. But you'd be wrong. Sorta.
Guest (2): Hell Yes.
Shujin1: I've answered you via PM, and already implemented some changes as a result of our conversation but I guess I'll long-and-short it here. I don't believe Sam has a hair trigger temper, nor apathy towards diplomacy or local etiquette (though I've made some minor changes).
I stand guilty on the writing point, but it is deliberate.
As I said in my message, I don't believe that it is a mystery why the three are together, and Tam's role as the moral and emotional support is supposed to be rather obvious. But, perhaps that was my author's perspective, given that I know the story better than you, the reader, does. So I made it more obvious. Again, through some minor changes.
Tusken1602: Very glad to hear it, I hope you'll continue with it.
Suna Chunin: More or less. Louise de Villars still commands her late uncle's considerable forces, including all of the patriot chevaliers. Henry de Clouet, although not really a general himself, he survived and still has a large force of his own.
The Orlesian Civil War was always three way. Celene, Gaspard and Briala.
What are you doing up the mountains?
Jarjaxle: Glad you liked it.
Mr. Obama: You should probably get back to running the USA, guy.
HK Target Shooter: Cheers for spotting the typo.
YungMoolah: I know you reviewed chapter 20, but the later chapters explain why.
Lord Mortem: Liberté, Egalité, Fraternité, ou la mort.
Dac13: That is extremely high praise. To the point that I invite all other readers to check out le monsieur's review, because daaaamn. Also, congratulations, you understand my approach to character in a way I don't think anyone else has thus far. Or maybe they have and haven't talked about it in a review. Either way.