Chapter Forty: Winged Lancers
The Battle of Honnleath is now somewhat of a legend in Ferelden, though given the tendency of the Fereldans to tell tales, whether false or exaggerated truth, it was inevitable.
The arrival of the first Orlesian army on the soil of the country since the brutal occupation was always going to be the subject of songs, stories and drunken crap-talk. Most bemoan the event, as it represented the victory of a foreign enemy over what amounted to the defeat of domestic ones. Of course, the one place that makes exception is Honnleath itself, which holds an ambiguous opinion to this day.
I find the entire phenomenon distasteful, given that the battle was to be a mere skirmish compared to the hell of the Battle of the Upper Gallery. Fereldans lament that we were ever present. We defeated three of their foes in quick succession, at no small cost, and they lament.
Of the one thousand two hundred soldiers, mages and Tranquil that had made up our rearguard, one hundred and eighty nine were killed in action.
Ninety seven Grenadiers, nearly half their number. Eighty nine line-firelancers, one in ten that had fought. Two of Armen's Libertarians, two that had fought with him at the front rather than simply providing magical barriers. And lastly, one Tranquil, crushed to death by debris. To me, losing so many was a big deal. In the world I came from, ten percent fatalities in a battle would be considered a bloodbath. The Upper Gallery taught me to expect that level.
Far more had been wounded, some four hundred, most reporting broken bones, with the occasional arrow wound or sword cut. Anyone with more serious injuries died before our mages could stabilise them, but we saved far more than any other army could have. The combination of Earth knowledge and magical healing was potent, even back then.
I had great reason to be hopeful, even as Armen incinerated the bodies of the dead and Brandon led the chant. We discovered the latter had refused to leave with the rest of the army, and Barris had tasked a dozen Templars to escort her back towards us. The death of my troops stung, but it is a rare thing for a soldier to be able to claim that they fought and died for a good reason. Most die for stupid or mediocre reasons. If there was an afterlife, they were surely being rewarded in it.
We rejoined the rest of the army, the Legion of the Dead with us, unaware that the darkspawn would haunt us throughout our time in Ferelden.
We proceeded at good speed on our way.
The darkspawn only attacked from the front after the battle, where their numbers were small and where Mike's pike troops could do them over them like a road roller. The wounded were treated the same night we regrouped, which was unpleasant to listen to but required. Luckily, they were able to ride on a couple of the now-empty food wagons with little difficulty. Markham kept them under a strict watch the whole time, checking on them personally each hour and reporting their status back to me by radio.
The Knight-Master of the Hospitallers did so of his own accord, and I spent a couple of days wondering why. I was quite pleased to hear news of my soldiers getting progressively better, but it began bothering me for one particular reason.
News of Tam's health wasn't mentioned. She had been sent to the middle section with the other wounded. During the remaining nightly halts, the rest of my companions and I visited for a few hours before being shooed off by Markham himself. She seemed weaker than usual. When I asked Markham, he replied each time: "She'll live." The lack of details pissed me off, but Julie accepted it freely, so I kept my mouth shut.
To distract myself from the death I had seen and the worry over Tam, I tried to coax Leha into discussing her revealed true name during the hourly rests. I got nowhere. To make matters more interesting, the dwarva that she interacted with reacted either with fear or respect.
On the final day of our journey, we were descending from the Upper Gallery through the corkscrew-shaped tunnel that eventually leads to the lower levels of Valammar at the edge of the Fereldan Hinterlands. That wasn't much good for our purposes, the streets of a thaig not being ideal for defending against darkspawn, but it meant the entire route was lit up by glowstones. Soft orange light saturated everything, giving the mages some much needed relief from duty.
We were marching along, nearing the end of the day's march, when Korbin, the commander of the Legion of the Dead, joined us. Clanking along in his full-plate, like it was as heavy as linen. Or rather, joined Leha. He wasn't very talkative in general, and responded to my inquiries about Orzammar mostly with shrugs or convoluted ways of saying 'Not sure'. Julie's attempts were even less fruitful, he just tried to flirt with her.
Truth be told, all of the Legion seemed to share the trait of not speaking very much. I guess they imitate the dead in that respect, though the dead on Thedas speak a hell of a lot more than the dead on Earth. The golems spoke, after all.
As such, I couldn't help but pick up my pace to eavesdrop on the pair. At first, they were wary of such, but they quickly gave more attention to each other than to everyone else. Something that I was not alone in noticing.
"They've slept with each other," Armen said quietly. I rolled my eyes. No shit, Sherlock.
The mage had been just as interested as I had been in the new development, though out of curiosity more than wanting a distraction. Ciara wasn't bothered at all, walking behind us with her hands tucked behind her head, bored of the sights and ignoring our common cause for the day. Soon, we crept close enough to hear.
They spoke in Common, which was an uncommon enough thing to be remarked upon. Most of our conversations were in Orlesian with Common terms thrown in, though I have reproduced the majority of them here in Common too.
"...keeping them on a tight leash, last I heard," Korbin said, "The trouble has pushed prices up, which pleases everyone. House Cadash especially. The apostates in the mountains are worried, and Ostwick's got a lot of Templars, the Chantry there has need of extra lyrium to keep them in line."
Armen and I glanced at each other, not expecting to hear anything more interesting that personal details. This, on the other hand, was information we could use. Even if lyrium was a complete mystery to me.
"I'm sure they are," Leha groaned, shaking her head, "My cousins must be jumping for the moons with joy. Just don't see why I should care."
"Your lord and lady have Templars under their command, don't they?" Korbin replied, "Surely you could give your family a break, hook into the trade."
Leha shook her head. "I checked, Barris has his own contacts," she said, "And they're enough to supply the hundred or so Templars anyway."
"A hundred?" Korbin replied, curious, "I've seen five hundred at least. The flaming sword is hard to miss, and I saw it around Orzammar when the Fereldans visited."
A choke of amusement erupted from my dwarven companion, rising to a low chuckle. As Korbin looked on in confusion, I have to admit to stifling a laugh of my own, for the reason that Leha was about to explain.
"Those aren't Templars," she said, "They're just wearing the armour. Stripped from Templar corpses. They didn't go down easy. Bastards even managed to shoot me, before Sam blew them up and a magister set them on fire." She pulled back the sleeve of her tunic to reveal a scar on her arm.
"And they're not 'my lord and lady' you idiot," Leha added, "One's my friend, and both are my business partners."
"Dangerous partners," Korbin replied quickly, "Their Chantry must be angry."
"The priestesses gave in," Leha shrugged, "Granted them autonomy... though who knows if that's still decreed. Bit hard to ignore people who can walk through magic and rally the eastern Dales in a matter of months. You've heard of them, right?"
"Oh yes," Korbin nodded, "Hard not to, every Fereldan soldier was chattering about it for a while. Mostly looking down on Orlesians for believing in a man who said he was from another world and a woman who wants to destroy her own country's nobility. She's a pretty one, just not that pretty."
Leha laughed again, adding a playful punch to Korbin's shoulder, which was only lightly armoured. Armen gave me a nudge, before mouthing 'shouldn't you defend your lady's honour?'
I looked back at Julie. She was deep in conversation with Brandon. Nope, not going there.
"Malika... you have to realise..." Korbin said, "You have a real chance at earning forgiveness, with what you have here."
"You assume I want forgiveness," Leha replied, "The family made it clear. I would have to do something of equal importance to undo the damage I did. Something like... I don't know, infiltrating a Chantry conclave, finding a new vein of lyrium, or assassinating the King. I'm not willing to do anything like that. Not when I have my friend to stand by me, and partners who won't lay the blame at my feet for unavoidable circumstance."
"The circumstances weren't all that unavoidable," Korbin mused, "The ships were hardly in safe waters."
"Pirates aren't my fault," Leha said through her teeth, "And don't you dare suggest otherwise. We'll be travelling through the same seas soon enough, stick around and I'll show you just what I intend to see done to the fish-fiddling pricks."
"You let them have the shipment without a fight," Korbin smiled, "That's not a very... Carta thing to do."
"I kept the damn ships," Leha complained, "And my own life. But apparently having the good business sense to preserve assets is cowardice."
"Like I said, not a very Carta thing to do..." Korbin continued, "But it is a very Malika thing to do. I just thought you might want to go back to your family, now that you've fallen from treasurer of a small kingdom to quartermaster of a band of rebels."
"Can't say the thought hasn't crossed my mind," Leha said, "But it will still be more profitable here than back home. Plus, I won't get stabbed in the back by my own family. That helps."
"Oh, I don't know," Korbin said, "I think if you went back, you'd find yourself at the head of the table."
Leha's head whipped around to look at him, slowing both their pace in the process. Armen and I had to quickly adjust ourselves, or else risk tripping over the both of them.
"What does that mean?" Leha said, "What's changed?"
"Word about the weapons has spread too," Korbin replied, "And besides that, the South side of the family pissed off Bhelen recently. You show up in Orzammar, with a new lyrium contract in one hand and the recipe for Qunari blackpowder in the other? The King will probably want to marry you. And your clan? They'll forget all about bygones."
I moved forward to intervene. Leha wasn't the one who got to make the decision about who we shared our technology with, not by a long shot.
Armen stopped me, lightly grabbing my arm. He bade me to wait a moment.
Leha was very quiet for a while, the sound of the march and Korbin's armour seeming to bleed into nothing as I waited for her response.
"Blackpowder isn't mine to give," she said at last, "Besides, Bhelen has golems. It's not like he needs cannons."
I breathed a sigh of relief, and kicked myself for worrying in the first place. Leha wasn't stupid.
"He'll want them though," Korbin smiled, "Having the reclaimed thaigs connected by surface roads alone is a weakness he would rather be rid of. Our own expedition was to find some way to safely travel to and from Valammar. Your new weapons would solve the problem. As much as he's benefited from the Fereldan alliance, his instinct is always towards consolidating power to his throne alone."
"That's certainly why you're here," Leha replied with a smirk, "You really are a waste in the Legion."
"Tell me about it," said the 'dead' dwarf, stroking his beard.
The two seemed to be content to eye each other up. Or rather, Korbin was content while Leha scowled, pretending like she wasn't going to sleep with the man again. She had chewed me out about public displays of affection not very long ago, after all.
The interesting part done with, I looked at my watch. It was almost time to call the halt, and as we had more or less reached the end of our journey in the Deep Roads, I decided to call it early. The next day would be a long one, we needed rest.
I activated my comms. "This is Hunt, all sections halt and set up camp," I said, "We're done for the day. Mike, you're the watch commander tonight."
Leha and Korbin flinched and turned as I began speaking, to Armen and I as Mike acknowledged my orders. We were close enough to reach out and touch their heads, easily. That they hadn't noticed wasn't pleasing to them. And after Leha's display before the mess in the Upper Gallery, I was in the mood to rub it in.
"Malika," I smiled, "Is something wrong?"
"You..." Leha started, pointing a finger at me before calming down, "You call me Leha. Leha Cadas."
'Kay-dah', not 'kah-dash'. By now Julie and Ciara were joining us, trying to figure out what was going on, the latter tilting her head in the same way a curious dog does when it hears something it's interested in. Which on Ciara was equally as cute. Leha rolled her eyes.
"Speaking of which," Armen cut in, "Why did you change your name to something so similar? If you were trying to hide your identity, I'm surprised you didn't call yourself something a little less obvious."
Leha glared, powerless to prevent the mage's mirth. It tickled Ciara's funny bone further. The Dalish girl held her sides as she chuckled, chest out. Our dwarven companion bit down a rebuke, and pointed to Julie.
"Say Malika Cadash," Leha commanded, in Orlesian.
"Malika Cadash," Julie repeated, a little bewildered.
Even I frowned at the words, and I wasn't alone. Julie's Orlesian accent was completely unsuited to pronouncing the harsh tones of the name. Like a full-blooded Frenchman doing Shakespeare, for lack of a better comparison.
"Damn," I said, "That explains that."
Leha nodded, as Julie deemed to look faux-insulted. Still, Leha's stock rose in my books. She changed her name so it would be easier for her friend to say it, as well as avoiding having every other Orlesian mangle it at every turn. At least, those were the reasons on the surface. I have little doubt it was a measure of reinvention, now that I had glimpses into why Leha had been in an Orlesian town.
Julie laid her hand on Leha's shoulder. "I don't suppose you're going to tell him about the Carta?" she asked.
Leha shook her head. "Not yet."
Not that I wasn't already fully aware that she was into some shady dealings. People don't just have a network of contacts across Orlais and beyond for no good reason, and Leha wasn't an agent of some other monarch. I had a passing idea of what the Carta was, but we were going to get a little better acquainted in the years to come.
The radio crackled, as someone fiddled with a headset. Someone who didn't know what they were doing, apparently.
"Marquis, Marquise, can you hear me?" said Markham, more loudly than he needed to, "I'm borrowing Lady de Villars' radio."
"We hear you," I replied, "And you don't need to shout. A normal speaking voice will do."
I could hear Soprano's amused snort in the background, followed quickly by a muttered reprimand by De Villars herself. No doubt getting a withering look back for her trouble. Markham further adjusted the mouthpiece, causing still more unnecessary noise.
"Understood," Markham replied, his clipped professional tone returning, "We need to talk. Bring the Marquise, and if the Legion Commander is on hand, you may want to bring him for confirmation."
That sent a shiver through me. Markham wasn't the kind for frivolous complaint. Whatever he wanted to talk about was deadly serious.
"What is it?" I asked.
"I can only explain in person," he replied sharply, "You will want to hurry."
I made our way through the camp, from our position to the wagons.
The giant spiral we had been travelling finally ended, and even at a distance I could see the offshoots of the Deep Roads to various destinations, most of the tunnels being a good deal more narrow.
There was no shortage of one-room side passages there, and many of our people began occupying them, dragging their sleds and and possessions into them for the first bit of privacy they'd had in weeks. Those that didn't claim the rooms in time simply began bedding down at the left side of the road, as I had arranged from the very beginning of our journey. The middle was for wagons and horses. The right for our troops to move freely, and in this case, myself.
With me went Julie and Korbin. Ciara and Leha ran off to find Armen, who had been the shift commander for the rearguard. The mage had refused to be replaced by De Villars in that duty, no matter how often I asked. Even though the Legion of the Dead and their golems did most of the work back there. I wasn't exactly inclined to order him away, so I let him roll with it. Ciara was a little worried about him, but seemed determined to not show it.
We came up on the 'medical' section quickly, my forethought granting us an easy journey through the thousands of people. We had captured many tents over the course of our campaigns, even grabbing what the Templars had used against us the year before. The canvass surrounding our wounded was hung on rope, slung between wagons to create much larger enclosed spaces. It marked with the flaming eye of the Chantry, just as many of the breastplates used by Mike's troops were.
I saw Markham's hand in it, all the better to keep the germs of the other travellers away while keeping the wounded hidden from sight. By this point, 'germ theory' had taken on a strangely religious slant throughout our movement, Brandon accepting it wholeheartedly and her clerics spreading the concept with her usual fire and brimstone. Our people were obsessively clean by the standards of the rest of Thedas, even among the image-obssessed Orlesians. I thoroughly approved.
We stopped outside the improvised entrance, still not sure what we'd be hearing or seeing. Julie and I became rooted there, looking at each other, suddenly fearing the worst. My insides felt scrambled, until a large slap impacted the small of my back, jarring me.
"What are you doing?" Korbin said, rounding me to walk in, "Standing around out here won't change a thing."
I exchanged a glance with Julie. She seemed to accept that line of thinking, and proceeded in. I followed more reluctantly. I had visited the wounded, of course, but I always felt extremely uncomfortable doing it. Like I was only there out of obligation, because they had been wounded for my cause. I much rather would have liked to get them together for a drink and some good meat, but that was a no-no for Markham.
Inside the hospital space we had been summoned to was about seventy bunks, cloth spread across wooden frames like stretchers with legs, each occupied by a soldier. They were in rows against the back 'wall', the shape of the wagons behind the canvass poking out. Light was provided by more powerful glowstones, ones that put out brighter white light than the orange glow of the tunnels. Markham's healers went about their business, watched over by some of the new Knights Hospitallers, former Templars and some of the more devout Free Army soldiers. Brandon's people, in other words.
Many of the troops sat up, a few even stood and saluted with remarkable vigour. I thought rather unfairly that if they were getting up that fast, maybe they should be back on the line. It should have been a warning to me. I looked for Tam but could not see her, but I spotted her likely location; a corner that had been sectioned off by yet more tent canvass.
Markham himself busied himself with patients, so it was Louise de Villars who greeted us in all her skull-masked, Blondie splendour. She looked completely out of place, given that it was for healing and recovery, not a battlefield. Like she was a Grim Reaper or a death god, hanging around for souls to collect. The skull helmet really didn't help. I wondered if any of the patients thought so too, but realised that it was probably more of an Earth concept.
"Marquis, Marquise," Louise said, saluting close-fisted in the chevalier manner.
"Colonel," Julie replied with a nod, "Why are you still here?"
"The Knight-Master insisted on keeping my radio until you arrived," Louise said, irritating creeping into her tone, "So he could hurry you up if he felt it necessary."
Never let it be said that Markham was a reasonable man, but at least his unreasonableness was always in the service of the people he wished to help.
"Sounds like him," I said flatly.
"I heard that," Markham called from across the room, as he moved to join us, "You came in time, I am glad to not require this to hurry you."
He held up the radio, taking the headset off with one hand, before placing both the box and the headset into Louise's waiting palms. She placed the former back in its place at her hip, by her longsword's scabbard, and removed her masked helmet to place the headset back on, revealing her piercing blue eyes.
Once Louise had her headset back on, I quickly decided to stop her putting on the helmet again. It was one friggin' omen I could do without.
"Do me a favour," I said, "Keep the helmet and mask off for the moment."
The chevalier looked at me like I had spoken Arabic or Klingon for a second, before she looked around her and she realised my objection. Skulls were a symbol of death in Thedas just as much as Earth, even if the Grim Reaper wasn't a thing. She bowed her head, eyes still pointed at me.
"As you wish, Marquis," she said.
"Thanks," I replied, before turning to the healer, "So Markham, I take it that you haven't summoned us here to give us good news."
"Is Tam alright?" Julie added, "Is this about her?"
"We need to speak about the future of everyone in this tent," Markham said, "Come with me." He changed direction on his heels and made for the cordoned off corner, while I frowned deeply at his vagueness. What was he playing at that he couldn't just tell us? The sense of anticipation was killing me.
We followed him, de Villars not taking the hint and coming along too. I didn't have the time to tell her to beat it, I only noticed as I was entering the cordon. I wasn't comfortable with the Colonel's presence, but that feeling was soon deflected. Tam immediately sat up in her cot, laying on half the furs from our bed-chest and dressed in light linen clothes... Her face was grave, eyes barely acknowledging us before darting to the floor.
I sensed something was terribly wrong and so did Julie. We rushed over, brushing past Markham roughly. Yet when we approached, nothing seemed to be wrong with her. She was fully alert, she seemed to be moving just fine, and she didn't have a fever or Julie would have said something after taking her hand.
"What's wrong?" Julie asked Tam, "What is wrong with you?"
Tam opened her mouth to speak, finally removing her stare from the floor. Markham beat her to the chase.
"She's sick," the healer said sharply in Common, "They all are." Tam closed her mouth again, as he glared. It was entirely unlike her to be cowed in such a manner. Startlingly so.
"Jesus," I said, "It's bad, isn't it?"
"They have Blight sickness," Markham said, "The condition that arises when the Taint of the darkspawn infects people."
Korbin cursed under his breath, reminding me of his existence. Julie went pale. Louise gripped her sword. I was simply in confusion, not quite understanding the magnitude of the situation.
I knew extensively about how to destroy and contain the Taint, as that is what Armen and I had discussed when we went over the details about travelling the Deep Roads. What we hadn't really talked about was the disease it carried. It was a wasting condition that drove people mad, and then into their graves. That was all the details I needed to hear, and I had ordered Velarana's Aequitarians to the front of our column to deal with it.
"So what about treatment?" I asked, "I have certain medicines that may be able to help." Antibiotics that would expire one day at any rate, although I did not have a lot of them. Certainly not enough for seventy people. Barely enough for one or two.
"There is no cure," Markham replied, "At least, no cure from this world. I would advise waiting to use anything from yours."
"I don't understand," Julie said in Orlesian, her eyes glued to Tam, "She looks fine. I've seen people sick with the Taint. They didn't look like this."
"That is my doing," said Markham in Common, "I have been using a combination of Grey Warden and Dalish herbal-healing techniques to suppress the spread of the disease. Ironic, as we would know nothing about them if it was not for Maric and Alistair Theirin... of Ferelden. Of course, I will run out of ingredients soon... which is why I have summoned Captain Korbin."
"You want me to help?" Korbin asked, "Give up my supply of tinctures?"
"I do," Markham replied, "I understand that you would be vulnerable to the Taint, but we are leaving the Deep Roads tomorrow as you know. You could follow us and return to Orzammar overland."
"And the dead cannot be made casteless," Korbin said, nodding to himself, "Not that Bhelen cares. Aye, that works. Though the supply was running out already."
"We can gather the necessary materials for more on the surface," Markham said with a wave of the hand, "All we need is to get the sick through the next few weeks."
Julie let out a single sob, but composed herself rapidly, her jaw locking as she restrained her tears. This was not the place to show weakness. Not in front of Louise de Villars, and certainly not in front of Korbin. But, the implication of the healer's words were evident to all, he just had the good taste not to just state the reality of the situation. Nor did Julie or I have the courage to ask. I was stunned into silence. The concerned party was the one who did have the heart.
"Tell them how long, saarebas," Tam said, "The best case scenario. Your talents are enough to make them come true."
Markham frowned, never the man to brag or talk himself up. He wasn't someone who dealt in certainties either.
"Every tainted person reacts differently," he said, "Or perhaps the Taint itself is different. Our soldiers would have died in weeks, but some can live on for years. Some die in hours, but we are not dealing with that type. Luckily, the sickness does not appear to be contagious in this form, or else I never would have let you enter the tent."
"Thank the Maker for the small blessings," Louise said quietly.
"Quite," Markham said, "Without further measures, the sick can live for six months to a year, as long as I have the ingredients I require."
"Six months," Julie said, almost a whisper. She went to Tam and embraced her, burying her head in our lover's shoulder. She wasn't crying... she was just exhausted by the news. Tam returned the embrace, her violet irises pointed at me. I honestly don't know what I looked like at that moment. Just numb, I guess.
But I returned to my senses as I picked up on what Markham had said exactly.
"Without further measures, you said," I thought aloud, "Do you mean I should use my medicines closer to the end of the six months?"
"I cannot say what your medicine would do," Markham replied, "If I recall their function correctly, they may well be effective. The Taint is not like other diseases, it has a magical element and material from your world has strange reactions to magic in general. If I had to guess, it would suppress the symptoms of the disease, possibly stopping them entirely. But if the magical element was not defeated by it, the corruption of the soul and mind would continue. Your lover would be turned into a ghoul, a slave to the darkspawn that would live for a full lifespan."
In other words, Tam or anyone else I attempted to cure would probably end up wandering off to the Deep Roads, followed by swift re-infection and use by the darkspawn for their purposes.
"Shouldn't we try the antibiotics now then?" I asked, "When the Taint isn't strong?"
"It doesn't work like that," Markham replied, "Already, it is present throughout the bodies of the sick. It is as strong as it is going to be. What changes from this point is the natural element, not the corruption. I would prefer to lengthen a life rather than trying to cure what may be incurable. It is the symptoms that kill, not the corruption, and your medicine is far more likely to cure symptoms."
I had nothing more to say. Trying nearer the end made more sense.
Korbin cleared his throat, earning one of Markham's top shelf glares.
"Now that you're done scaring the life out of them," he said, "Tell them the good news."
The healer's face went stony, eyes narrowing and lips thinning. "I do not believe that it is good news, dwarf," Markham rebuked, "The requirements are not to be taken lightly."
"Tell us," I said, putting my own top shelf glare on, "Now."
De Villars stepped beside me, very pointedly gripping the hilt of her sword. An unnecessary but touching gesture of solidarity. Thanks, Blondie.
Markham was not immune to the fear that many southern mages feel when faced with my wrath. Engrained by centuries of interaction with Templars, no doubt. "There is an order that can help," he said immediately, "The Grey Wardens."
Julie bolted upright from Tam's embrace, and Tam herself straightened at the news.
"How?" I asked, edging closer to the healer.
"The infected can join the order and live," Markham continued quickly, "At least for twenty or thirty more years. The process allows candidates to 'master' the taint, but while they would never admit so, and it is lethal to some. The number of people who become candidates and the number who eventually become Wardens does not align. Those who try to join often never return, and Weisshaupt has no slaves, so they must be dying. The exact process is also entirely unknown to me."
I bit my lip. Twenty years was a whole lot better than six months. There was a creak of wood. Tam stood up from her bed, still showing no signs of sickness or pain, the shallow wound on her back having long been healed shut by magic.
"I know it," Tam said, not clarifying, "I know how it is done. Though I did not know that those already infected could be saved." Being a confidant of the Arishok who had been a companion of Amell quite possibly made Tam one of the leading experts on the secret lore of the Grey Wardens, in fact.
"It is not common knowledge, at least among surface dwellers," Markham conceded, "But as someone who has studied the healing arts, it is in my realm of expertise." He looked to the Legionnaire for acknowledgement of the point.
"The Legion works closely with the Grey Wardens, sometimes we join up after getting Tainted on joint missions," Korbin confirmed, "With the Fereldan ones, actually, as it strengthens the alliance between Bhelen and Alistair."
The chevalier present let out an outraged hiss. "Does that mean you will resist us invading Ferelden?" Louise asked, "Because that is what we are doing." Her accent was as thoroughly outrageous as you would expect. I guess I should thank our lucky stars that our people tend to speak Orlesian, even now.
"Malika tells me you're only passing through," Korbin replied, cool as a cucumber, "Seems to me the Fereldans would be stupid to resist you, and I would be even more stupid to get involved."
"Hatred makes people do stupid things," Julie growled. Summing up the attitude of nearly everyone we were to meet in the coming months, at least in my opinion.
"Yeah, it does," Korbin said, stroking his beard, "But I'm not 'take on thirty thousand with only a few hundred dwarva and some golems' stupid. That's not even counting your mages and Qunari weapons."
The golems would certainly give us a run for our money. Some of them weren't even stone, they were walking steel.
"We're getting off point," I said, "The Grey Wardens control Amaranthine, so we could just continue as planned... but earlier is better, correct?"
"There's a Warden garrison in Orzammar," Korbin said, "But if you're right about the Fereldans being... stupid, Bhelen won't let you anywhere near the door. Your best bet would be Vigil's Keep. It's a little closer than Amaranthine, and it's the Warden fortress. The Warden-Commander is Orlesian, perhaps she'll be sympathetic."
There was some argument over how much of a deviation from our route it would be. I pulled out the map of Ferelden that I carried around and Korbin pointed out the location of the Fortress, which was very close to the intersection of the Imperial Highway and the so-called Pilgrim's Path that connected the road to Denerim and Amaranthine itself. It was right on our way.
"It's a better chance than anyone had five minutes ago," I said, "It shouldn't delay our march more than a day... and frankly, I expect the King to put up some resistance by the time we get to that part of the journey anyway."
"Will the Grey Wardens let the survivors come with us?" Louise asked, "They are a secretive order, and those who join are expected to leave their past lives, are they not?"
Julie bristled at the suggestion that they might not let Tam and her soldiers leave with the army.
"If they don't like our terms," she spat, "They'll like our cannon even less."
"And they'll have to kill me to prevent me from returning," Tam added.
"They'll definitely try," Korbin grumbled, in a remarkably Leha-like way, "And I understand that. They have secrets, things you will need to know but they cannot let be known outside their ranks."
"I already know much," Tam said, "Perhaps they won't care, when they learn that."
Korbin didn't look like he thought that was the case, his brow creasing at the notion, but he remained silent. He knew we weren't to be talked down to about this. Wise man.
"There is another option," I said, "Tiberius said the Wardens might be interested in a treaty. Every nation has their own section of Grey Wardens, right? Ferelden has one, Orlais has one. Maybe we can negotiate for our people to become the core of our one."
Julie smirked, turning to Tam. "How does 'Warden-Commander' sound as a title?" she asked.
Tam didn't smile back. "It is... better than nothing," she replied, "It is the lessened fertility that I fear."
Louise, Korbin and Markham all glanced at each other. None of them were the settling down, having kids type, to say the least. Neither was Julie, really, though that did her no good ultimately.
Tam very much was. The result of being denied her own children by the Qun, while raising the children of others and delighting in that duty. To Tam, family meant children as much as companionship, in the same way it meant safety and pleasure to Julie. My heart wrenched, and I searched my mind for something to cheer her up. Thankfully, I remembered something.
"Wardens are not barren," I said, "Remember Amell." The Hero of Ferelden was certainly not infertile, after all. If he was, he'd be dead, assuming the witch Morrigan would not have taken Alistair to bed.
"Amell was male," Tam said, "I am not."
"That doesn't matter, to my knowledge," Markham cut in, revealing the academic he was, "The subject of Wardens having children with non-Wardens has been extensively examined by both the Order itself and other authorities. Orlesian imbeciles thought that their noble lines might be strengthened by Grey Warden blood, and the Order wondered if they might increase their numbers during the Fourth Blight through... natural methods. It seems men and women have an equally lesser chance of conceiving."
"And that isn't a secret?" I asked.
"Not since a few Wardens were kidnapped by bards for... experiments," Markham replied, "The Order revealed the truth, so that no one else would try the same. The Circle occasionally got questions about it from nobles wintering in Halamshiral who didn't know any better. I had to dissuade at least two from riding off to Montsimmard to test the theory personally."
Tam seemed to brighten, which relieved the weight off my chest considerably. One of her ambitions had not been crushed entirely, it seems. Louise looked away politely while Korbin watched, earning an amused slap on the back of the helmet from me. Markham looked at all of us with the disapproval of an elder, so it wasn't really much of a change.
"That settles it," I said, sitting down on Tam's cot, "We best hurry to see the Grey Wardens. We've got soldiers to save."
"That we do," Tam replied.
After all, there was no point in saving just her from the fate that would otherwise await. We had to save as many as possible. People were counting on us to do just that.
Our last day in the Deep Roads was a brief one. It took us only two hours to reach the exit found by the Isolationists previously, and it was largely blocked off by rock and wooden supports. The Fereldans had clearly contrived to block the darkspawn from raiding via that route, particularly as Honnleath had become a prosperous cattle town in the years since.
However, they did about as good a job at it as you'd expect from a pre-industrial culture, that is to say, not sufficient at all. There were enough man-sized holes in the blocking rocks that we could have gotten every person and mount out without issue, but it would take several hours to remove enough rock to move the wagons.
Soprano's Rangers went out first to secure the immediate vicinity of the exit, and when that was done, I ordered that work begin immediately on widening it. Meanwhile, I kept a trickle of troops coming out the entire time, beginning with the chevaliers and lancers, for a very simple reason. The Fereldans had a particular military weakness, as Louise was fond of pointing out:
"Les chevaux en Ferelden sont les nains."
To be less blunt and more accurate, the locals simply didn't have enough horses of the right size to field cavalry in any real numbers. Assuming a lord nearby could intercept us in time, which was already unlikely, any show of heavy and light cavalry working together would undoubtedly send him or her packing without a fight. And just to make sure that was the case, Velarana's Knight-Enchanters also mounted up.
I got my first sight of Ferelden at about noon, the low winter sun pouring in from the north half-blinding me as I ducked out behind both of De Villars and Velarana, Bellona's reins in my hand. I quickly put on my sunglasses, which helped me recover from the continual darkness of the Deep Roads relatively quickly.
The exit pointed eastwards, overlooking the south part of the Hinterlands, the same place where the Inquisition would make its name only a year later. There was no unrest or banditry when we first visited however, just prosperous villages and little farms strung between rocky hilltops, thin forest and thicker shrublands, stretching for dozens of miles until things got swampy near Ostagar. Compared even to the least tame parts of the Dales that I had seen, this was wild.
Everyone else seemed too glad to be out of the underground to notice the beauty. Or perhaps held the entire country in contempt. Orlesian superiority over other nations extended even into the peasant class.
The area close by was the aforementioned thin forest and shrubland, albeit stretching down a not-so-gentle hillside. The ground was grassy rather than rocky. Honnleath was not visible itself, though there was a great deal of smoke rising above the trees and bushes that signalled its presence. Perhaps too much smoke for my liking. It indicated that the village was a much larger settlement than I had anticipated, and that might be a problem. I sent a runner to Colonel Isewen, and she appeared snappily in the company of two of her lancer-sergeants.
"There seems to be a lot of smoke," I said, pointing at the sky, "Take some scouts and report back to me the size of the town."
"Yes, Marquis," Isewen replied quickly, before turning to her subordinates, "Bring Jafane and Lorette, with our mounts." All three rushed away to do as they were commanded.
"Could we not simply go around it?" Velarana asked, leaning on her bladed wooden staff, "It is not as if we will find anything of use here."
"Except a fine opportunity to make a show of force!" Louise responded, "Marquis, we must show our full strength here and place the Fereldans on the back foot. It does not matter how softly we tread, Alistair and Anora will rally the country against us or lose their throne to those that will. If we show we are not to be trifled with and do not commit atrocities, they will take their time to build the largest force they can to oppose us. Time we can use to get to Vigil's Keep, or even Amaranthine itself."
I looked at the chevalier in surprise. The skull mask was back where it belonged, on her head and peering at me. She had obviously put some thought into how we were going to act while in Ferelden, through the lens of politics. Velarana did not have such acumen. Yet. Only at that point did I notice that all of the chevaliers' horses had their full barding and armour on, something that was done only when they were expecting to make a charge against a fortified position.
I sighed, considering both proposals.
Going around would be faster, and it didn't matter how large Honnleath was likely to be, they certainly wouldn't have the manpower to stop us. All of Orlais had been barely enough to contain us. However, we did need to make a statement. That didn't necessarily mean killing people, but we did need to subdue the town.
A thousand mounted troops would do the trick, I had little doubt. I still regarded horses as a little too valuable to waste in battle generally, but their use for shock and awe wasn't something I had a replacement for. We might waste a day or two in visiting the village, but we would gain far more by doing it.
"We'll take the town," I said, "We know it doesn't have a wall, just a couple of wooden watchtowers. When Isewen reports back, we'll form up and charge down the hill straight onto Main Street, burn the towers and run up our flag."
"Yes, my lord," said Velarana and de Villars both. I could practically hear the smile on Blondie's lips. Chevaliers and their glorylust. A word of caution crossed my mind, but there wasn't much point dampening her mood when we were to go to battle.
De Villars shouted for a horseboy to take Bellona away to be prepared for the fight, knowing as she did that I had been concerned before about my mount's lack of protection.
"How long do you think it will be?" said Julie impatiently from behind, "Isewen is a good scout, but this is not Orlais."
I found her holding Revas' reins in one hand and Tam's own in another. Julie herself was fitted out in Earth panoply. She was expecting to join the charge, clearly. More bizarre, Tam wasn't wearing any armour at all, dressed in much the same sort of body-wrap and dark pants that she had been in when we first met. Although she did have her weapons, and Markham's treatment was successful enough that she displayed no sickness.
I grit my teeth, not pleased with the idea of either of them coming along. They weren't trained in horseback fighting, whereas I had put some considerable effort into practising some of the techniques. How to put my objection into words did not come to me, not before Tam made her own known.
"You are not going," said our Qunari lover to Julie, "It isn't your job."
"What?" Julie and I said as one.
"You are not a chevalier," continued Tam, "And I am glad for it."
"Leave us," I said to Louise and Velarana quickly, as our glorious leader turned several shades redder. To their credit, they made themselves scarce with haste. They knew there was a private, heated conversation to come as much as I did. They both went off to organise their troops into lines of battle.
"I'll go if I please!" Julie declared, turning around to mount Revas, "How can I be claim to be a leader if I sit safely at the back in battle!"
Tam reacted, grabbing her into a bear hug from behind.
"Then I'll stop you," she said.
Julie attempted to wriggle free, but let's face it, Tam is Qunari. Not a chance. She quickly realised this, and groaned with frustration. The edge of a laugh escaped my lips at the absurdity of it, or perhaps I was just relieved that both my loved ones wouldn't be in danger. It earned me an angry look.
"A little help?" Julie said, expectant.
"I'd love to," I shrugged, "But I agree with Tam."
Julie resumed her struggling, more as protest than a real attempt to get out of Tam's arms. "I have every right to risk my life too!" she said, "Why are you doing this?"
"My love, please listen," Tam said. Julie stopped moving again, letting Tam release her and explain.
Tam pointed a finger at me. "Sam is our Arishok," she said, "The fist of our realm. We have both watched him in battle. He was born to do this. It is his purpose."
I was not in fact born to do anything of the sort. Killers are made, mostly, and my country had long perfected the art. But she wasn't wrong about the rush of battle and how I enjoyed it. When I won, at least. I held my tongue, if only to keep the conversation on point.
Julie lips curled with indignation. "I have taken lives too," she said, "I do not shrink from it."
"Nor do I," Tam replied, "But lying in bed over the past few days, I have realised that Sam works best when he does not have to worry about us. The fighting will only get more deadly from now on, and war is a waste of our talents." Modern war was off-putting to many, to say the least.
She placed her hands on both of Julie's shoulders.
"You are far more important," she continued, "You are both Arigena and Ariqun. The mind and soul of our army, the creator of weapons and the giver of laws. There will be times that you must show yourself on the field, the critical moments when our entire realm must fight or die. But this is not such a time."
For all the Qun's faults, never let it be said that they didn't have an elegant classification for their leadership. Not that we would be emulating it, but still, it was the main context in which Tam placed her understanding of leadership. Even now, she regards herself as a Tamassran, carrying out her duty. The difference is that with freedom, she chose to extend herself to the entire nation, as well as take advantage of her own personal liberty. That's what she was doing here. Guiding the young movement through its leader, like a teacher and a pupil.
I appreciated the argument Tam was making, so did Julie as a matter of fact... but I also heard Soprano's warning in my head once again. Julie really was important... too important, both to lose and in general.
If I died, I would be a martyr and the resolve of our people would be strengthened, united in grief. If Julie died... there would be a question of who would succeed her. Who knew if a nation yet to be born could remain united in the face of that challenge.
We spent a good deal more time arguing, or at least Julie did, but it was simply the path to her accepting the inevitable.
"Marquis!" Velarana shouted, approaching again with Louise and Soprano in tow, "Isewen is returning!"
Our chief of scouts made her appearance, galloping her horse into our perimeter from between the trees and through the Rangers' barricades. Behind her were the scouts themselves, mounted up. One of them had an arrow in her shoulder where the leather plate-carrier didn't protect as well, blood staining her uniform. Something had gone terribly wrong.
The scouts rejoined the lancers, a couple of the Isolationist mages that had been milling about running to help.
Isewen herself rode right up to us, and dismounted, panting as someone who had just escaped great danger usually did. Before we could ask what happened, she grabbed a fallen tree branch from the ground and indicated for us to watch.
She drew a rough set of boxes, representing settlement blocks.
"This is the village," she said, "About as big as Barris said it would be."
She added double lines blocking off the spaces between the main streets, smaller boxes beyond them, and a second circle of slashes around the whole thing.
"The watchtowers are manned," she said, "There's a small palisade, and they've barricaded off the streets with tables, tipped over wagons... anything they can get their hands on."
"Impossible!" Louise declared, "How could they know we are coming?"
"Perhaps they had a watch on the Deep Roads entrance?" Julie thought aloud, eyes looking up, "It's certainly a precaution I would take."
Isewen shook her head, and began drawing circles surrounding the town.
"It wasn't us they prepared for," she explained, "There's a good two thousand Avvar camped out, trying to get inside."
"Good God," I exclaimed, "They saw you! Soprano, prepare your troops for contact with the enemy!"
"No need," Isewen said, before Soprano could step away, "They thought we were Dalish. Shouted it at us. Doubt they'll be chasing us. Dalish don't have much the Avvars would care about." I suddenly wished Ciara was around to confirm that, but she was by Armen's side in the rearguard underground. No one else seemed to object though, so it seemed likely enough.
"Are you sure they are Avvars?" Velarana said, "Not Fereldans at war with each other?" Spoken as a woman who had never left Orlais.
"Definitely Avvars," Isewen said, "They might have had furs around their shoulders, but every one of them was bare-chested and painted up all white and blue. I grew up in Les Grandes Collines, I know a screaming Avvar bitch when I see one. Or a hundred."
De Villars hummed her agreement. Clearly it was something she had seen before too.
"It does not matter," Julie said, "The Fereldans will come to defend their people, and quickly."
"Arl Teagan is likely already gathering his troops," Louise said, with absolute certainty, "Some of the southern Bannorn will undoubtedly march with him. The Guerrins fought very hard to protect their people during our rule of Ferelden. Teagan is the brother of Queen Rowan herself. He will not tolerate Avvar raiding, and will likely seek to destroy their ability to raid in the future."
"Let them come," Soprano said, "There is no way a single noble could raise an army that could challenge us. Especially not in this country." Ferelden not being heavily populated.
"We can cross that bridge when we come to it," I said, "I don't want the Avvars interrupting our work to clear the rock. And Colonel de Villars was correct before. We must make a show of force. I can think of nothing better than smashing these tribesmen."
"It may buy some goodwill," Tam said, "Perhaps the Fereldans will allow us passage, knowing we have done so."
"Never," Louise responded, "We cannot tell them our intentions, or else they will do everything in their power to stop us reaching Amaranthine. Most will believe they are being invaded, and those that don't will be powerless to stop those that do."
"Where is the treeline relative to the village?" I asked Isewen, cutting off the argument.
"Not far," Isewen replied, "But enough to charge from."
"Excellent," I said, taking the tree branch from her hand and drawing out what I wanted to happen, "Soprano, you're in command here. De Villars, Isewen and Velarana, we are going forward. The Lancers will charge to cut off the roads northeast to Redcliffe and east to the Hinterlands. The Chevaliers and Aequitarians will attack the Avvars more directly."
Varied salutes greeted my order.
"We're going now," I said, "Mount up."
The ad hoc war council dissolved, and the officers dispersed. I turned to Julie and Tam, and planted a single kiss on their foreheads. "Don't worry," I said, "This will be easy."
"Come back alive," Julie replied, "And in one piece."
"He will," Tam consoled, taking her hand again.
With great relief, I strode away.
Towards the lines of the chevaliers and their squires, their standard-bearers still carrying their banners with 'Vice-Regal Guard' written on them. A pleasant surprise awaited me as I came up on Colonel de Villars. Bellona was there with her, kitted out in brand new barding. Fine but sturdy blue material with a golden and red eagle pattern around it covering light chainmail and padding. It was emblazoned with a very good likeness of the Grand Seal of the United States where the material hung beside the horse's front legs, and the United Nations symbol in gold on the same corners over the haunches behind the saddle. No doubt copied from some sketch Julie had of my tattoos.
"This is not the circumstance I wished to give you this," Louise said, "But I understand that it was your birthday yesterday."
It had been, but in the course of getting through the Deep Roads and with the losses of the battle we had fought there, I hadn't even remembered. How could I? Tam was stuck in a damned hospital tent with Blight sickness.
"I thought this an appropriate gift," Louse continued, "I am surprised I am the only one who has done so."
I ran my hand over it, examining the details for a moment.
"I don't know what to say," I said, "It's perfect." I mounted Bellona, stepping up onto the stirrup with anticipation. The Avvars could certainly not harm my horse now.
"Good," Louise said, "There is one other thing." She held out an armoured mask, silver-plated and shaped as a skull, with angular lines. Can you say 'Maximus'?
"It may be out of place in a healer's tent," the chevalier said with mirth, "But here, it is exactly what is needed."
I let out an amused breath, taking the mask. It certainly was. Hoping the psychological effect would help, I took off my Earth-helmet, put on the mask, fixed my radio mouthpiece and replaced the helmet again. The skull shape actually provided better vision than I had expected, but it was still lucky I didn't plan to be shooting on this attack. Instead, I unhooked the mace from my belt and activated my radio.
"Attack elements, sound off," I said.
"Lancers, ready," Isewen reported snappily.
"Aequitarians are mounted," Velarana said, more slowly, "We are ready."
"Vice-Regal Guard, always ready," Louise joked, before drawing her sabre rather theatrically. All her chevaliers shouldered their heavy lances in response.
"Charge only when ordered," I said, "Forward march!"
We moved forwards at walking pace, a great wave of mounted soldiery. The Rangers got out of our way, moving the fallen logs they were using for cover, the sergeants barking to hurry up. We were soon among the trees, advancing.
What happened that afternoon is remembered among certain people as a divine retribution. I often think it is a great pity that it isn't immortalised in one of the three "Founder Frescos" in the Palais de la Liberté, but it was a relatively small event however glorious. Alas, my own great contribution towards our nationhood and to the frescos was yet to come.
I just think a cavalry charge looks better than what I was eventually depicted doing.
I have participated in a few of them in my time, but Honnleath was the only time we crept up against an enemy we intended to close with. The low bushes and shrubs muffled the hoof-falls of our horses greatly, and the ground was relatively soft for that part of Ferelden in the first place. Many of the trees were evergreen, their needles carpeting the ground. The Avvars weren't exactly being quiet themselves, and we heard them before we saw them. Guttural shouts, cries of pain, and the occasional beat of a war drum echoed through.
Down the hillside we came, keeping up as steady and swift a pace as we could while keeping the lines intact. The radios helped immensely. I was able to call the regiments to speed up or slow down accordingly. I don't think we could have achieved what we did without it. Just another advantage brought from Earth.
I saw the village when we were about two hundred yards out, less than fifty from the treeline.
It was too big to be a village really, yet too small to be a town. What struck me was the difference in architecture. In Orlais, everything might have been primitive, but it was at least partially built of stone and well crafted for it. The buildings in Honnleath weren't much far removed from being wooden huts, except for those on the outskirts. Only the small Chantry chapel looked like it wouldn't fall down if I gave it a good kick. The outer buildings did look far more stout, and had balconies on which there were longbowmen, shooting down at the mobs beyond.
I put the number of Avvars at about two thousand, about double the number of cavalry I had at my disposal, and probably about double the number of people in Honnleath in the first place.
They were real barbarians, almost walking stereotypes.
They were painted as Isewen had described, blue and white all over, yet looked more like bears walking upright courtesy of their universally tall stature and ubiquitous fur pelts. Luckily, fur seemed to be the only form of armour they possessed, as they were as half-naked as Isewen had said too. Their weapons weren't much to shout about either, they had nothing longer than a two-hander and they only seemed to have shortbows. Yet their ferocity as they tried to overwhelm the small town, throwing themselves at the palisade and barricades, told me that they shouldn't be underestimated. Still, they weren't looking in our direction. Not one of them.
Feeling vindicated in my decision to keep our formations together, betting that our slower speed wouldn't get us spotted, I saw that we would take them by surprise.
I gave the order.
There was no sounding of horns to signal the attack, no cries of 'Liberty or Death!', and no rebel yell. Only a simple command; "When the first rank gets to the treeline, charge." It was passed from Colonel downwards by word of mouth, in barely raised volumes.
Just before we thundered out of the trees, the only thing anyone might have heard was the rustle of the forest. And that could have been anything. Animals, the wind... certainly not nine hundred Orlesian lancers and a hundred mounted Knight-Enchanters. But when we did clear the treeline, the mages throwing up their barriers to protect us from arrows, no one could have mistaken the sound for anything else.
The rumble of our hooves quickly drew attention. The chevaliers and light lancers couched their lances, taking aim. The Orlesian destriers and Dalish coursers found it very easy going, we had the gravity of slope on our side. I followed behind Blondie, alongside the Stars and Stripes, trusting her experience.
The Avvar had no time to disperse, form a rear line, or compose themselves in any other way. A few archers got off shots, but none came for me and the rest were deflected by magic.
The heavy lancers, the chevaliers and their sworn guards, crashed into the barbarians first. Lances shivered off with the first kills, turning men and women into meat on spits. The sabres came out next, and as we reached the deeper parts of the mob, we began hacking people to death as we rode by. Given the manner of our approach, it was a strangely clinical sensation. Sterile. My blood did not rise.
Velarana's mages quickly made their mark on the left, loosing great volleys of magical bolts as they charged home, glistening spirit blades whirring. On the right, Isewen crashed into the Avvars to the west and north west as planned, not quite able to roll over them like we were doing but it hardly mattered. They could see what we were doing elsewhere, and ran in fear, perfect targets for the light cavalry chasing them down.
The Avvars' last stand was quite spectacular. There were mages among them, including a giant hulking beast of a man, who had to be half-kossith or I'm from Timbuktu. Chief shaman, if later reading is correct. Ice magic was their domain, and they had been busy contending with the small number of Templars guarding the main palisade. The rest of their tribesmen soon rallied around these individuals, the giant one especially.
The shamans chanted and threw their arms up over their heads sharply, and their magic created walls of ice, blocking our charge. Our horses jumped and wheeled to avoid the sudden obstacle, our lines crowding. Which was the intention of our enemy. As soon as we were nice and packed in, down came icicles pouring from the sky, a potentially fatal rain. The barriers held for the moment, saving the lives of our riders, but at the expense of some of the horses. Bigger targets.
It is only through a miracle that my mount and I did not die, having no magical protection at all. Bellona was struck on the hindquarter just beside my back, but her new armour saved her from serious injury. She didn't like it one bit, and moved rightwards quickly. Just in time for another icicle to drop exactly where I had been sitting the moment before.
After seeing that, I got Louise to call the retreat and called Velarana for assistance. She seemed to have misinterpreted my call for help. I had wished for her to restore the barriers of the chevaliers as we retreated in disorder. Instead, she led an entire company herself in a renewed attack on the shamans and their icewalls. What happened next was a treat to watch.
The Colonel and her troops rode up to the ice, and Fade-stepped straight out of their saddles through it, shattering it completely and sending their horses bolting away. Finding themselves among the Avvar, their staves burst forth flames and lightning, the barbarians having no equivalent of Templars to stop them. Meanwhile, the best bladesmen among the knight-enchanters stepped up to take on the shamans. A great magical melee began.
It ended with Velarana decapitating the giant shaman with a single stroke of her spirit blade.
That seemed to change matters for all the others. Seeing their leaders killed, both spiritual and military, the remaining Avvars threw down their weapons. Their faith that their gods were with them as shattered as the bodies of their comrades.
Winged Lancers had come down from the Sky and destroyed them.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: I think a lot of people probably saw the Taint thing coming, but I've also had to take liberties with the Grey Warden lore and the geography of Honnleath... though I think the result is pretty good.
We learn a good deal more about Leha than we ever have before, and yes, it is final confirmation that Leha could have been the Inquisitor... if Sam hadn't shown up. In fact, I'm having a good bit of fun right now with a dwarf rogue playthrough in her honour. And no, it isn't the only Inquisitor candidate we'll be meeting.
And of course, the characters began to fall into their more... natural places. Bah, I can't wait to write the rest of this volume.
I will be deciding on the Outlanders story in the next few days, so get your votes in on who you want to read about first. It seems there's more love for the Japanese soldier and the Italian condottiere, but I'll be considering the results from the last poll too, so it's quite close at the moment. Get voting on my profile!
Enjoy.
Noblescar: Most people seem to find the story that way. I'm looking for ways to get the word out about this story some more.
Thepkrmgc: The darkspawn themselves don't even have craftsmen, as far as I know. They loot or get ghouls to smith for them. But yeah, even I can't see them using blackpowder in the same way the Free Army does. Not going to rule it out completely though.
Katkiller-V: Thanks. Smoke is pretty bad from blackpowder in the open when there's no wind, wasn't too hard to imagine how bad it would be in an enclosed space.
OnkelJo: Seems to be the case, yeah.
5 Coloured Walker: It's not that I didn't like it, it's that it was very difficult to write. I usually write chapters in blocks of a thousand to three thousand words a day. Chapter 39 had me writing three hundred to five hundred a day. I had severe writer's block. I think it was because I really wanted to move the story to Ferelden as quickly as possible. I felt the Deep Roads was more of an entertaining distraction, but it's given me lots of space for character development, so I shouldn't bitch too much.
OBSERVER01: Power will be a theme for this volume and the next... Glad you liked it.
American-Gentlemen96: Tam had to be injured! Another plot point planned since the beginning, I'm afraid.
Captain Redshirt: Richard the Lionheart is correct, though many other kings used it. I'll probably throw in the story of the English men-at-arms at some point in the Outlanders side gig. As for Dwarven politics, there'll be more of that later. Not wrong about it being insane. Bhelen already has the golems, after all. Did I mention the Hero of Ferelden is sorta a dick?
Stuilly: I'm very glad you like it, but I feel I have to address one thing you said.
Outlander is not a self-insert, not even slightly. If anything, I wrote it as a foil to the self-insert genre, given that the main character hasn't a clue about the Dragon Age games.
Furthermore, I wrote someone who is different to me in as many ways as I could get away with while making it just as easy to write from the first person perspective. Sam is a believer, I am as militant an atheist as they come, Sam is an American, I am not as my British-English spelling clearly shows, Sam's struggled with certain biases in his life, I've never really held that sort of idea and never understood them, I'm a lazy bollocks, Sam's a hard worker. I'm even taller than Sam, and I like to think, a little prettier to look at. Just a tad.
If anything, Sam is my version of an idealised American.
Or at least, an idealised American of the sort I'm most familiar with. East coast, northerner. Virginia to Maine sort of area. Only other Americans I know well are Californians, and there wasn't a chance in hell I was going to write Sam as a Californian. They're almost their own nation in terms of their attitudes.