Chapter Sixty-Seven: Battle of the Gallows
By midday, our forces were in complete control of Kirkwall proper. Starkhaven and Templar forces that holed up here and there were completely annihilated. Only those that fled managed to survive, and they all went one place: The Gallows.
Which wasn't exactly a healthy place to be either.
For starters, I put four more regiments into play through the eluvians; my own brigade, in addition to Mike's own which was already on site, along with the entire Libertarian regiment. That put the total force in Kirkwall at seven thousand regulars; five thousand firelancers and two thousand mages. Vael's force was likely a similar size before we jumped in, but we weren't going to be dying at anything like a one-for-one rate.
Beyond that, the Gallows was targeted from multiple locations with our artillery. Our embassy was turned into an artillery position, the fine windows of the mansion pulled out to allow cannon to aim out at the harbour. There was another battery on the quays, and another on the flat of the corner of the stairway that formed the roof of Darktown.
To add insult to injury, the Navy got in on the action too: midday saw the arrival of the galleon Océane, the longships Justice and Liberté for landing our troops, and the carrack Ville d'Hearth carrying supplies for the ships. The harbour chains had been kept open for them, and pilots provided to guide them through the debris blocking up most of the harbour.
The galleon would add to the firepower we could bring to bear and close off the sea escape routes. It would also give the gunners a little combat experience, blood them early.
We could have utterly destroyed the enemy garrison's position with ease.
The trouble with doing so was twofold.
First, I had decided I wanted the Gallows. Intact, as a permanent Trojan base. You don't need to set foot in Kirkwall in order to control it. Not if you have the harbour and the heights. The Embassy gave us the heights already.
We hadn't agreed to that with Viscount Bran, but the Gallows were technically the property of the Templars, not the city of Kirkwall. Meredith's puppet Viscount had handed them over. Denying the port to our enemies in Orlais to fund or supply our enemies was just common sense. I got the feeling we wouldn't have the chance to rebuild it, so just blowing it all to hell wasn't an option.
The second problem was that if we just opened fire, it would appear as a massive act of aggression.
We were there at the request of Kirkwall's legitimate government, but that wouldn't justify simple slaughter. Not without some loophole or excuse. After all, the rest of the Marches were against this occupation, but that opinion would turn if it was undone by uncivilised slaughter. We had to make what was to come into a civilised slaughter instead.
The solution was a parley, as you will see.
Luckily, Anders provided us with an excellent location to hold such negotiations. Just after the Chantry exploded, an Antivan trading carrack had been struck by a large piece of falling debris right through the middle. The ship had sunk straight down into the silt of the harbour, but its elevated deck at the stern remained out of the water and at a relatively even angle.
It was also reasonably far away from both our shore batteries and the cannons of our own navy, so the enemy likely thought it out of range. It wasn't, but they didn't need to know that.
We sent the request by raven, a means of communication which still makes me laugh, and the garrison agreed to talk.
Each side was allowed to send three people. We were to arrive first, so that the Starkhaveners could see we weren't trying something. Armaments were allowed.
Our team was Marcus, Bran and myself. Marcus checked out the sunken ship's deck, making sure the thing wouldn't roll over as soon as we stepped onto it. He walked around on it without so much as a twitch from the thing, so we were safe. And visible too; the sun was beaming down now from above our heads, the winds a pleasant relief from the full effects. The waves generated by them had almost been enough to trigger my sea sickness on the way over, but not quite.
I hopped over next, and helped Bran over, while the crew of the boat with us drew off a little ways.
As soon as they were far enough away, I looked around with my binoculars, and sure enough, there was a boat coming. Two oarsmen, three passengers; a Templar, a Starkhavener and a Revered Mother.
Joy. There was a religious lecture on how evil we were cooking, I could almost hear it on the wind.
"Do you think they will accept terms?" Bran asked from behind, shielding his eyes with a hand and leaning to look around me at the oncoming delegation.
"No," I replied honestly.
Bran blinked, turning his attention to me like I was speaking nonsense.
"I don't see why not," the Acting-Viscount retorted, "I will offer them safe passage home with their colours, in return for handing over the Gallows. They know they're beaten, honour is satisfied. They would be mad not to accept."
"You'll offer them nothing," Marcus growled, flourishing his naginata, "In fact, if you speak out of turn, I shall slice you into ribbons for the sharks to eat."
My brother-in-law making it to the threat just before I could. And doing so with more style than I could have. There had indeed been some small sharks swimming around just below the surface. Not maneaters, but they'd hardly turn their noses up if the meat was nicely sliced.
"I am the Acting-Viscount, not you, ser," Bran said, uncharacteristically ignorant of the danger he was in, "Marquis, why is he saying such a thing?"
I said nothing. I didn't need to speak.
"You seem to be labouring under a false impression of your position here," Marcus continued, "We are doing the talking. You are here to be quiet, making it clear that our negotiating position is a united one by doing so."
"But you haven't told me what you're going to offer?" Bran said, indignantly.
"You don't need to know," replied Marcus, "All you need do is sit there and pretend you've agreed to everything we say. I'm sure a man of your talents can do that, at the very least."
That was a little too cruel, I thought.
"No need to keep him entirely in the dark though," I said, finally opening my mouth, "Bran, it's quite simple. I want the Gallows intact. Which means I can't blow them to tiny bits to win them. Which means I need the Starkhaveners to stand and fight, to take death before dishonour. So I'll make an offer that'll do just that. They'll fight, they'll lose, we'll take the fortress as our own."
"But the Gallows are ours," Bran protested at once, "This isn't what we agreed at all."
I smiled, amused that he had actually objected so quickly.
"I've always wanted to say this," I replied, putting my hand on his shoulder and gripping it hard, "I'm altering the deal. Pray I don't alter it any further."
Bran's eyes widened to the size of griffon eggs, finally understanding our position. I let go of him, and slapped his side.
"Cheer up, I haven't really broken our agreement," I said, "The Gallows weren't a part of Kirkwall anyway. It was a Templar fortress. Now, it'll be a Trojan one. You won't see a single one of us on your streets, I promise you."
"That is not very reassuring, my lord Marquis," Bran frowned.
"It ought to be," I shot back, "I do actually keep my word. Doesn't mean I won't lawyer the fuck out of it, though." In this case, not seeing our people being different to them being absent entirely.
"Here they are," Marcus said, taking up a martial stance as the other boat finally arrived.
We did not help them tie up, or get over the railing. Well, in the case of the Revered Mother, the Templar smashed the railing with a particularly nasty looking dane axe and took her hand as she boarded.
The most remarkable thing about both Templar and Starkhavener was that both soldiers kept their armour on, including full-face helmets. Not cheap stuff either, silverite. The Templar had the sigil of his Order on the front and nothing else. The Starkhavener's armour was far more ornate, having words in flowing dwarven script across every inch of the surface of his.
Perhaps they didn't want to meet 'face-to-face', and this was some sort of subtle insult. Or maybe they thought silverite would stand up to high velocity lead better than steel did.
The Revered Mother was only marginally better, she wore her robes so thickly that she was more akin to a walking mattress, despite her obvious youth. She must've been close to overheating, I thought. Only a porthole in the fabric and hat allowed us to see her face, which was not a remarkable one.
It was the Starkhavener who spoke first, and in Common.
"I am the Arl of Dysar, the Lord Lovat," the man said, a thick but upper class Scottish accent prevalent, "Commander of Starkhaven forces in Kirkwall."
He gestured to his Templar colleague and the cleric.
"This is Knight-Commander Carsten of the Starkhaven Templars," Lovat continued, "And Revered Mother Lour, dispatched to our forces from Tantervale's Chantry."
"Samuel Hunt, Marquis de Lafayette, Commanding-General of the Peacekeepers," I replied, "That's General Marcus Tiberius Valentius, commanding the Trojan Foreign Legion. The other is Bran Cavin, Acting-Viscount of Kirkwall."
"A 'Vinter?" Mother Lour said with disgust in a neutral accent, "How barbaric."
"Revered Mother, please," Lovat said, "We shall conduct ourselves with utmost propriety, regardless of what our opinions of our opposite numbers are."
"Of course, my lord," the priestess frowned, "I apologise."
The Starkhavener didn't pay her any further heed.
"It is a great honour to make your acquaintance, Lord Hunt," Lovat continued, "It seems the Maker has smiled on us this day. It is clear that you have great military prowess at your beck and call. It is a pleasure to greet you now as a friend."
Diplomatic speech, but the man seemed sincere. Either he was very good or very experienced at this sort of thing.
"I share the sentiment, Lord Lovat," I replied, "I'm sure if you had similar weapons to ours, your men would have stood and fought us for every street."
"I am not sure of that myself," Lovat stated flatly, "You managed to take the heights from us without ever breaching the outer defences. Clever trick, that."
An honest man, I decided. One who commanded respect too, his fellows hadn't so much as tried to interrupt.
"I thought so too," I said simply, not having any other comment for him about the eluvians.
"I presume that you have called this parley because you want us to admit our position is untenable," Lovat continued in his Scots lilt, "You do seem to have us at a disadvantage. We were not expecting the ships."
"More than that," I said, "You must immediately lay down your arms and your banners, and face trial for your crimes here."
"What crimes?" the Templar asked, deigning to interrupt, "We are hunting the most notorious criminal on Thedas. We serve the Maker's justice by our presence."
"Except we already caught Anders, and sentenced him to death," I said with a faux-laugh, "He might have escaped, but he likely already knew we were coming here. This is the last place in the world he would be, because he knows we'd catch him here. Your case for this invasion is dead."
"Not to mention the abuses of our citizens," Bran added loudly, "Tell me, Knight-Commander, is it necessary to rape and thieve in Lowtown and the Alienage in order to find Anders? To interrupt commerce by raking through shops and warehouses? Is that the same investigation technique you would employ on the streets of Starkhaven?"
"Your presence in this city is an affront, sers," I stated, not letting them answer, "Starkhaven has committed crimes against peace and crimes against humanity. Kirkwall, lacking the means to throw you out on your asses themselves, enlisted our help."
"You mean war against Starkhaven?" Lovat asked, "That would bring the entire Marches down on you. An Exalted March, even."
"The Divine has bigger fish to fry than us," I replied, "And the rest of the Marches aren't pleased by your little powergrab here. But no, we are not declaring war on Starkhaven. We're ending an illegal occupation. Starkhaven's legitimately held territory will not be touched."
Nor would we be pulling all sorts of nasty tricks out of our bag to deal bodyblows to Vael's warmaking capability.
"Ser, you are leaving us no recourse except conflict," Lovat said, "If your offer is that we give up our arms and face the judgment of this city, we cannot accept. I must defend the honour of my Prince to the death."
"I understand that," I said, sensing he was about to give me the thing I wanted him to give, so I could reject it.
He took my words as an opening for a counteroffer instead.
"If you were to give safe passage to Starkhaven, with our arms and banners, I can guarantee that you would not see any man here again across from you on a battlefield," Lovat concluded, "That is what you are truly worried about, aye? That war between our realms will come soon, and if you let us go, you will have to fight us again when things are not so much to your advantage."
Under any other circumstances, I'd have accepted. But we needed to make an example.
"I can't let you go," I said, "Your Prince could simply order those men back into the field against your wishes, and besides, your troops have committed too many dishonourable acts against the people here. They can stand trial before a judge, or the Maker can decide the truth of it in battle."
The Arl of Dysar stood for half a minute staring at me, his fist closed so hard, his gauntlet creaked a bit.
"Then we choose battle, ser!" Lovat growled enthusiastically from under his helmet, "The Maker is indeed the arbiter of truth. We accept trial by combat with open hearts, for we too are soldiers." The man knew he would go down as a hero by this path... assuming his side won, and he had faith in that outcome.
The Revered Mother was less amenable.
"Maker damn you for refusing a civilised peace that would have preserved the lives of many on both sides!" she spat, "We will make you pay for every oarstroke you take towards the Gallows, mark my words!"
I shot my number one officer glare at her in return, which she withered under to some degree.
"Excuse the Mother," Lovat said, "She has no idea what it means to be a soldier. Her combats are spiritual, not martial."
I nodded, making sure he knew I didn't take it personally.
With that, he spun on the spot and waved his boat over, the Revered Mother and Templar not taking their eyes off of us until they had to board. For his part, Lovat jumped aboard with enough force to almost flip the thing, he was that eager. The other two got on with less drama, and they all got rowed away, their hopes for surviving the day dashed.
"Such a waste," I sighed, speaking to no one in particular, "I sorta liked that guy."
I really did, which was surprising. The man commanded what was clearly a brutal occupation, but I suspected that the wool had been pulled over his eyes by subordinates. Or the Templars, more likely. Still, he didn't beg for mercy, which was both admirable and exactly what I wanted from him. He was going to go down swinging.
"You want to start a war, don't you?" Bran observed, "That's what all this is about. Isn't it?"
"The war has already started," I said, "There are already pogroms and arrests. Mercenaries are getting involved too, so soon there'll be fighting. Troy isn't going to stand by and watch our allies be destroyed one by one until we're the only ones left."
"Yet such brutality and loss of life is unnecessary, surely?" Bran said, "And it will be harder to negotiate a peace afterwards."
"I'm saving more lives than I'm taking," I replied, "Not only the lives of my own people either. A short, sharp shock to the Starkhaveners here, and no city or town will hide behind walls from us ever again. Which means I won't have to take many breaches, or burn cities to the ground."
"Something you should keep in mind, Viscount," Marcus added, "Kirkwall is an ally now. We'd go to war to protect you just as quickly. We'd use measures as dire as are required for the task. Both Troy and Holy Tevinter."
I screwed up my face at Marcus for that last part. 'Holy Tevinter' might have been an ally too, but I wanted the Tiberian legions to stay well away. Fighting the Qunari alongside them was just fine Their presence in the Marches would raise awkward questions. Political ones.
"If only that was a greater comfort than it is," Bran said wearily in response, "The noble council is going to kill me for this."
"Not if they value their lives," Marcus chuckled, "We're the only things standing in the way of Starkhaven coming back with knives for each of them. They'll be blamed as much as we will for this, after all."
The Acting-Viscount considered that for a moment, turning his back on us. If he failed to agree, then we'd have to bundle him up, get him back on the boat and hold him captive... at least until I got firm instructions from the Assembly as to what to do after I had won the battle. I moved a little closer, to within reach.
"I suppose I can sell them on that," Bran said, exasperated.
Good choice, I thought.
"Just wait until you see how we take the Gallows," I said, trying to sooth his worries, "They won't doubt the value of this alliance."
An hour later, and preparations were complete.
I stared out from the water's edge on the docks towards the Gallows, from the end of a pier. It was high tide, the water almost at my feet. The heat was getting to me, but then, I was overdressed as you will see.
Our enemy's chosen ground was an ugly thing to behold. High walls and towers, a even higher keep inside of them, statues of tortured people littered around the place, and a large portcullis. It was positively sinister looking, especially with the backdrop of dark stone from the high cliffs that surrounded the harbour.
But it was a fortification of old, not built to withstand high velocity metal slapping into it.
The great irony was that it was built by Tevinter, originally. Which meant I had to ask.
"This is one of your people's constructions, isn't it?" I said to my two immediate companions, "Not easy on the eyes, is it? What with the slave statues everywhere?"
Aurelia looked up at me with her honey coloured eyes, full of mirth, while her brother Marcus just looked off towards the fortress in question.
"It's a monument to the glory of Tevinter all the same," Aurelia said without shame, "Of course, things were less civilised then. We know better today. It is not like your homeland is without sin either. Or its precursors."
I cleared my throat, feeling somewhat embarrassed that I had felt superior to them a little about it. After all, they were making the effort to change now as a result of our marriage. The entirety of Aurelia's family had essentially forsworn slavery on my say-so. Though opinion differed within it about that.
"Alright, enough waiting I think," I said, "Marcus, send the signal."
My brother-in-law gave a thumbs up, a gesture he had adopted from me, and lifted his naginata high over his head. He sent a pinprick of a fireball into the sky above us, it lancing from the tip of his weapon's blade until it got to about 500 feet, when it exploded with huge force outwards, loud enough to be heard across the city and large enough to be seen by both Army and Navy.
The next moment, the sight of our shells slamming into the walls of the Gallows met our eyes, followed by the sonic booms of their travel over the harbour.
TheOcéane had first blood, so to speak, raking the side of the fortress facing the exit to the sea with a full broadside. The batteries in our embassy followed, the shots shattering the tops of the walls facing us directly and holing the towers. And lastly, the dockside cannon fired, targeting the main gates for the assault to come.
I watched the effects through my binoculars. The walls had been manned lightly, only the ballistae crews being visible at all, and only now as they ran for cover. They had Antivan fire ready to shoot at us, because here and there, bright crimson red flames leapt up from where our shots landed. After only three salvos, it was clear that we had the cover to advance.
I thumbed my radio on. "Paulie, you salty bastard," I said in Common, before switching to Orlesian, "Land the troops on your side. You're clear."
The Jaderite captain laughed through my earpiece, the deep laugh of a sailor.
"Gotcha," Paulie said, "We'll get the troops in. HEAVE TO BOYS! TO THE OARS!"
My ears rang more from his shouts than from the cannon shooting from not too far away, but the orders he was giving had to be heard over the nearby broadsides of our galleon. From their staging points beside it, the longships carrying Mike's troops slid out, the sweeping oars choreographed perfectly. They'd take the fortress from one side, I knew.
But the fancy part was coming now.
I turned around directly, to Asala, Cormac, Aoife and Amund the Skywatcher; to the ranks of Avvar Highlanders and Tevinter Legionnaires standing directly behind me, dressed in furs and wearing snowshoes attached to their boots, just as I had.
"Highlanders! Foreign Legion! Shoulder arms!" I ordered. Every one of the three thousand soldiers brought their firelances or staves to rest on their shoulders, bayonets and blades gleaming in the summer sun.
They were ready.
"Alright," I said, turning to the front again, "Let's go."
"Yes, dear husband," Aurelia smiled broadly, and stepped to the pier's edge.
The air positively shimmered with magic as she raised both arms into the air. First, she raised her swirling barriers, to protect herself and our soon-to-be child. After that, she lowered an arm, releasing mana in a tidal wave of force.
The air went from hot and humid to biting cold in a second, forcing me to pull up my bearskin over my helmet and across my face. Clouds gathered from nowhere, hovering low enough that Tam's head might have been inside them.
Snow began falling in flurries, settling on top of the water's edge, very bright in the sun until the water itself froze solid. Not all the way to the Gallows of course, but a good stretch in front of us.
"Highlanders! Foreign Legion! Forward March!" I shouted over my shoulder.
The orders were repeated twice, once by the officers and again by the sergeants. And two seconds afterwards, we all stepped out onto the harbour's surface. Aurelia went first, to literally pave the way. Marcus and I were next, followed by the mass of troops.
The ice was slippy, but we had the footgear for the job, and we had come prepared with the finest mountain troops on the entire continent. The Avvars knew how to deal with ice, and the rest of us had learned well.
The floor was also thick enough that we didn't need to worry about falling through it. Even Amund, the man crouching to see under the low cloud as snow swirled around us, was comfortable after only a few gingerly steps.
The only problem was that the swirling wind was like razor blades on exposed skin for all except Aurelia herself, but that was a pain we were going to have to endure. What it looked like from the Gallows themselves, I can only imagine. A wave of fog maybe, like what the Fereldans had used against us at the Hafter, except not green.
We made good time across the harbour, though it was wide at the point we started from. In the mean time, the cannon kept firing and Aurelia froze the ground in front of us, as we advanced in three columns.
Every now and then, a rogue arrow or two would pierce through the artificial snow and cloud, but very few made their mark and they bounced off the barriers that the mages had put up around everyone else.
But the arrows had to be coming from somewhere.
There was going to be resistance at the docks. We hadn't bombarded them because I wanted them intact above all other considerations. The outer walls and towers could be damaged without much consequence, but we needed the docking facilities completely untouched.
After a time, we made it to the point that we could see the shoreline of the Gallows, the water freezing right up to the edge. With a wave of her hand, Aurelia dismissed the ice magic, to the relief of my abused nose, which had to be on the edge of frostbite. The clouds dissipated at once, the sun returning.
Revealing a contingent of Starkhaven and Templar bow troops, scattered behind the low walls and buildings of the dock area. Their surprise to see so many, so close to their position was a great shock. Some of the younger of their number immediately broke and ran back towards the main gates, which were a pile of rubble by this stage courtesy of our artillery.
Unfortunately, the rest had steel in their nerves, and drew their bows to fire.
Aurelia and Marcus were quick to throw lightning at them, bolts coming from a few of the other Tevinters too, but we had to get off the ice and over these troops fast.
"Highlanders, cold steel!" I ordered.
With a deep roar escaping their throats, the Avvars charged past looking and sounding like enraged bears. Bayonets and swords ready, they went forward onto the rocks and piers beyond. The archers scrambled to nock their next arrows, but ragged firelance volleys from the front ranks slapped into those stupid enough to not get cover. Which was most.
Only the most stalwart managed to get off another arrow, before the wave of Highlanders closed the gap. I couldn't really see what was happening, the two columns were in the way, but judging the numbers advantage and the fact that we were still advancing, it wasn't hard to guess.
In the mean time, the Foreign Legion and I stepped onto shore much more casually, Marcus directing his mages to either side of our beachhead to secure the shoreline. More archers, far fewer than the ones in front, began coming out of spiderholes and crevices in the rock, to shoot an arrow or two while fleeing.
"They were going to try and shoot us as we came in on boats," Aurelia observed, only half interested.
"Good thing we didn't use boats," I remarked in return, "I guess not many people know about what you did up at the Grey Warden lodge. Freezing large bodies of water is becoming a signature party trick of yours."
"If only you'd let me throw rocks too," Aurelia joked, "I'm much more able to handle my power now, you shouldn't need to worry about that." She had nearly fainted after throwing Fade asteroids at the darkspawn during the battle at the lodge, and I wasn't pleased about her using that particular spellwork.
I did not respond though, as the Starkhaveners went into a full retreat. Which we could see fully, as the first of them began to climb the collection of debris that was formerly the gatehouse. Avvars were taking aim and shooting, and some were chasing the slower enemies with great enthusiasm in their stride.
Better stop them doing something stupid, I thought, like getting caught by a counterattack.
"Do not pursue!" I ordered over the din of battle, "Reform ranks! Stow your winter gear!"
Affirmatives came as reply, and the sergeants began shoving those under their command into lines of battle facing the walls. Winter furs were rolled and tied, while the Tevinters looked on from behind, struggling to do the same as quickly. Nothing to worry about there. I switched channels on my radio.
"Mike, have you landed?" I asked, "What is your situation?"
"Landed, seized the breach in the wall made by the galleon," Mike said in clipped tones, "Advancing into the rear courtyard. Heavy contact with the enemy, but no archers. They were using the courtyard as an encampment."
Interesting that they were using the courtyard and not the inside of the keep to billet their troops. It might not be suitable, I thought, given what had happened a few years before. Either way, we had to make good our own attack.
I ordered the advance once more, and the Highlanders streamed over the rubble, revealing the shot and hacked up corpses of the Starkhaveners, and a few Highlanders who had taken multiple arrows, enough to defeat the barriers. None had died on the ice at least, which by now was visibly wet on its surface and melting.
Twelve Highlanders and a single Tevinter of the Foreign Legion had been killed in action.
Our blood had been spilled, and the Trojan Revolutionary War had begun.
The main keep of the Gallows was an imposing thing, originally, but now, it was a shattered wreck. The structure itself was too strongly built to be toppled by our cursory suppressive barrage of cannonshot, but the facade was utterly destroyed, revealing the weight-bearing archways underneath. A few choice hits in the right place could've undone that... but as I said, we wanted the place relatively intact.
The courtyard in front was also badly damaged, not as a deliberate target but by the shots going over the tops of the outer walls. Most of the bronzes of hanging slaves were on the ground, the shock of impacts knocking them off corroding supports. Right where they belonged as far as I was concerned.
It was the same place where Marian Hawke and her companions had fought off Meredith Stannard, and this fact was obvious, because Meredith Stannard was still there, staring right at us as we came into the space.
This was my first encounter with red lyrium, my path from Hightown to the Docks being mostly sheltered from the debris that had rained down when the Chantry exploded.
All that was left of Meredith was a burnt corpse in melted armour, encased in the brightest red crystal you could ever find. It was a startling thing to see across a battlefield.
To the point that it stopped our advance dead. The forward ranks refused to move closer than a good thirty yards to it, forming a sort of semi-circle while keeping watch on the walls and arrowslits above us. Everyone else was jammed up behind, three thousand of them. I had to call a halt to keep order.
"The Knight-Commander," Aurelia gasped, stepping ahead of the pack, "She's still here."
I quickly ran to her and grabbed a hand, Marcus not far off. As soon as I did, I heard something entirely unexpected; whispering, unintelligible but distinct. It could've been Old Elvhen. It was sinister.
"That's not a good idea," I said, gently pulling her back, "If I can hear that, none of you are likely to be safe."
"You can hear that?" Aurelia said, with mounting alarm, "But you should be immune!"
"My body might be," I replied, "But I still have a soul. Spirits and demons can still talk to me, even if they can't possess me."
My brain rejects their interference because it requires physical alteration to accommodate corruption, but they can still try. Like how Armen was able to heal bruising but almost ended up dead, anything more than talking to me in my sleep would get their existences dissolved.
"Allow me to deal with this," Asala said loudly from behind, before motioning to two of her Avvars.
They came up alongside me, with crossbows modified to shoot our stick grenades. On the command of our other Qunari exile, they inserted grenades into the slots, and gingerly lit the fuse at the bottom of the wooden handle. It wasn't particularly easy to do, even though a slot had been cut in the sort of cup that sat in front of the bowstring for the purpose.
The pair took aim and shot the things at the red lyrium, the grenades skittering along the stone to Meredith's feet.
Aurelia put up yet another shimming blue magic barrier, this time a static one, to protect us all. The explosion was a lot less spectacular in terms of noise than it should have been, only a dull thump, but the dead woman in the crystal shattered magnificently.
The barrier pinged the flying pieces away from us, each deflection coming with a fizzle of blue sparks.
"Nice fireworks," I said to no one in particular, "Guess that is that."
"The shards appear to be inert," Marcus agreed, poking a piece with the toe of his boot, "We can advance."
"Finally," said Amund from behind, "The Lady of the Sky wants you to hurry up."
I looked back at the giant shaman with a look of interest. He was usually more vague about his deity's wishes. "How do you know that?" I asked.
Amund gestured with his giant warhammer to the front. It took me a second to understand what he was indicating, but the message was fairly obvious once I saw it. The three eagles were perched above the doorway, standing on the pole holding up a ragged Starkhaven banner and flapping their wings furiously. The golden, the white head and the black.
"The Lady is generally impatient," Aurelia said, putting two and two together before even I had.
"Let's oblige Lord Lovat then," Marcus sniffed.
I agreed, by way of ordering the advance once again, the charred remains of Meredith Stannard crushing into dust under the boots of the Peacekeepers, a final justice for her crimes.
The forlorn hope went ahead of us towards the last gate, at battalion strength, a company from each of my three regiments going in through the blasted doorways. The spiritual successors of Knight-Commander Stannard made their presence known soon afterwards.
Combat was announced by the sound and smell of firelances, and the crackle-booms of lightning. I wasn't able to see anything. Which naturally caused me to itch. I was too used to being able to intervene with my even more superior weaponry, but in those sorts of close quarters, it was far too likely I'd get myself killed. And I couldn't allow that to happen. I was going to see my children born, and mage freedoms were fairly dependent on me living out the day too.
But we had trained our people well. A runner soon approached to give me a salute and a report.
"We have joined battle with Templars, my lord," said the very possibly underage Highlander, "They took down our barriers, but were unable to withstand our fire. Casualties light. They're withdrawing into the structure. We can hear the Dragoon Brigade's fire from the other side. The Colonel is pushing deeper into the complex."
Templars, but no Starkhaven troops. Maybe Lovat divided responsibilities, reckoning that only mages could have frozen the harbour to walk into the fortress.
With that report in hand, there was little reason to avoid moving to the next stage. Every part of the plan had been meticulously thought out. We had the layout of the Gallows, right down to the underground tunnels that were now flooded thanks to instabilities caused by the Chantry explosion. Every unit down to the platoon level had a place to sweep and clear.
We were escorted into the gargantuan keep complex by Marcus and the Tevinters, as the Highlanders passed us by at a much more rapid pace, some units taking doors to our left or right and running down the corridors. I half expected to see casualties from crossbows and the like as we passed, but there were none. Very unusual, I thought.
There was no shortage of enemy dead, however. Most of them got clipped in the back, running to whatever fallback position their commanders had designated and not quite making it.
The entire time, the sounds of battle waxed and waned, as our boys and girls encountered barricades or resistance points. There seemed to be a lot of explosions, which I attributed to our own grenades. If it wasn't so necessary to use such valuable weapons in that sort of close-in fighting, I would've ordered them to ease off on using them at all.
It wasn't until we reached the central courtyard, connecting up with Mike's own push at last, that I discovered the booming sounds weren't entirely of our own making. There, the sound of fighting was accompanied with the sounds of screaming, the pain and anguish of wounded men and women.
Mike herself was with the wounded, laid out in rows on the ground being treated by the Libertarians. They had pieces of them blown off, a scene I had not seen done to people under my flag on Thedas; the cause of the injuries was very obviously a blackpowder explosive of some kind.
I asked Aurelia and the Tevinters with me to pitch in with the magicwork, in the hope that they could save life and limb, and moved to talk to my general.
"How did they get grenades?" were the first words out of my mouth to Mike, who didn't notice me until I spoke. She stood, and was handed something by an adjutant. A spherical cast-iron ball, with a hole in the top.
"They're not hard to deal with when you know they're coming," Mike remarked, as we moved away from the wounded, "Pull the fuse, kick them so they roll away... But they pack a punch. Not as much as ours, but almost."
She sighed, and pointed to the ball in my hand.
"Look at the bottom."
I turned the thing over, causing a small stream of gunpowder to run out of the hole in it, and saw what she was getting at. The Lion of the House of Chalons stood rampant in the metal, leaving no doubt as to who was responsible for the manufacture of the weapon.
"Gaspard," I frowned, "No way he could've gotten firelances going, so he went for something a little more simple. So simple that he's making enough to start selling them, no doubt."
The Grand-Duke had a particular disadvantage against Celene in that her supporters were far richer, just as she had one in that his supporters were mostly military men. We had pitched the balance a little more in his favour by giving him the blackpowder recipe, and seizing one of Celene's flotillas for our own. Now he had found another way to do it.
"Punishment for our abandoning Ferelden?" Mike asked.
"That and money," I replied, "I bet the Starkhaveners paid good silver for these things. No way he gave out formula to make them go boom. I guess we should be glad they probably don't have enough to blow the whole place to hell with us inside it."
"We might want to start taking Starkhaveners alive, my lord," Mike suggested, "If we can find the source of these things, we can send the OSS after it, or deploy the Navy to sink the ships bringing them."
I considered that for a moment, before dismissing it.
"Assuming they're coming by sea at all," I said, "Besides, I told Lovat that he would have to fight to the death. I'm not sure his people would believe a truce, or be taken alive."
Aurelia joined us, her hands covered with blood. She attempted to wipe it away on a rag she had fetched from somewhere, but it wasn't up to the job.
"I have stabilised all those I can," she said, "But it will require Ser Markham's talents to have the best effect. Powerful as I am, I am not a healer."
Considering she had just healed three dozen to the point of not being in immediate danger of death, all inside the space of a minute or two, she ought to have re-evaluated that statement.
"Let's end this," I said, with finality, "The rules of engagement stand."
The final defence happened in the same place that the mages of the Kirkwall Circle had made their own last stand against Meredith's attempted annulment, the prison section of the complex.
It was the best suited for this by a long shot, having multiple portcullises designed to be able to resist the worst a mage could throw at them.
At least, mages without a greater understanding of chemistry.
The Foreign Legion and Libertarian mages with us had all learned from Armen's combination of science and magic, to produce blowtorch-like flames capable of cutting the metal. Like the prison in Halamshiral, they were made of silverite-sheathed iron, essentially impossible to break.
A very expensive measure, and I made a mental note to have the whole collection melted down and sent back to Troy, more material for the growing military-industrial complex.
I experienced this battle as a series of radio messages and reports delivered by runners. It was driving me slightly mad. I rushed through the corridors and passages to get eyes on what appeared to be a crisis brewing. Every time, the lieutenants on site sorted the problem out before either Aurelia or I could bring our firepower into the matter. There were always bodies each time.
Casualties were mounting. We were beginning to run out of grenades, and the enemy had discovered that leaving their own lit grenades behind after rooms had been filled with powdersmoke was highly effective.
So, rooms filled with smoke and bodies was my road for the next two hours. By the time we were done, a full third of the Highlanders would be casualties, though few would be rendered permanently combat ineffective. The dead were those that lost multiple limbs or had been shot with bolts through the eyes.
But there was no stopping us.
The Templars tried. They trusted in the Maker and their armour, and were shot down at every turn.
The Starkhaveners were smarter. They let loose with bows and ran. They hid at corners with daggers. They charged us with suicide grenade attacks, the front ranks sacrificing themselves to our volleys so the ones behind could get close enough. They couldn't stop us, but they did a hell of a lot more damage than the Templars.
Quite a bit of my respect for Lovat was lost when the first report of that last tactic came to me. I was no stranger to suicide bombings.
We were getting close to the top floor of the prison when I witnessed such an attack myself.
There had been too many hurt, and my patience with the situation had reached its limits. With essentially no Templars to deal with, I took Aurelia forward. We joined the force that had advanced furthest towards the top floor.
The battle was joined in the library, while the floor about an mustering yard and barracks section. Typical Circle layout, in other words; Templars stationed both above and below where the mages were quartered, chokepoints going either way.
The library's space was open, the vaulted ceiling high, the only interruption to the long stone floor being bookcases, which were variously shattered or piled up into barricades. There were no books. Those were long burned by the Templars, either immediately after Ander's attack or on the day that Starkhaven took the Gallows.
Asala was the one in command on the scene, the Highlanders huddled behind the first barricade they had taken, the Starkhaveners across the hall behind another one. Amund the Skywatcher was also there, giving various rites to the wounded as our Libertarians tended to them.
"Marquis," Asala said, acknowledging my presence but not the other one of significance, "Good of you to join us."
"We're putting an end to this," I replied at once, "Now. Prepare your troops."
Asala's eyes flickered to Aurelia's, and down to her belly. Disapprovingly. I wasn't too pleased about it either, but the response was more than adequate.
"You need not worry about me, Qunari," Aurelia said, noticing the glances, "Until my waters break, I'm the single deadliest creature in this world. Then, I'll be distracted for a little while before resuming my place."
All true. At least, until our child was trained up in magic.
Asala said nothing, but straightened up. Not pleased to be outclassed completely by a Tevinter, clearly. She snapped off a couple of commands to runners, who got the sergeants of the rear platoons barking at their troops.
They assembled for a charge, stacking up against the walls to either side, reloading their firelances. When they first joined our Army and society, you couldn't have expected anything like this discipline, but training had made them just as adept at this as they had been at mountainside raiding. They all looked to me, anticipating the command to come, and certain they'd see something special when it was spoken.
I grinned my best back at them, and turned to order Aurelia to begin, when crossbow bolts started whipping over my head. I ducked reflexively, slipping and falling onto my elbow, slamming my funny-bone on the stone below. It was damned painful, but I grit my teeth and ran to the barricade half-crouched to see what was going on, past Aurelia and her swirling magical barriers.
By the time I got there, Lovat's forces had begun their charge. They boiled over and out of their barricade, the front ranks running straight at us. No armour, no helmets, just swords and crossbows. Smoke rose from the rear of the advancing mass, the smoke of burning grenade fuses. There were more troops streaming down the stairs to join the attack.
Lovat had made his move, I realised, and it was this; try to cut the head off the snake.
It was flattering in a strange way, but didn't really stop me from panicking slightly. The true target of the attack was me.
"FIRE!" I commanded, "FIRE AT WILL!"
The firelancers formed up to fire, as many as could fit across the room, crossbow bolts pinging off the magic protecting them. They gave a single giant volley that shook the air, filling the world with smoke and flying lead. My ears rang as if a lightning strike had just landed beside me. The enemy's front dissolved before the smoke obscured the view.
Which was exactly what Starkhaven's troops was waiting for, and I knew it. Gunpowder smoke doesn't disperse indoors.
The next round of crossbow bolts zipped out first, less accurately than the previous, but making their mark on my troops whose barriers had already been depleted. With so many mages behind the lines helping the wounded, there weren't enough to restore the magical defences. A dozen fell from their feet as our own response thundered out once more.
Shapes moved in front, and I realised to my horror that the enemy had ducked after our first volley in order to avoid the second. They were closing now at a rate which would put them in detonation range by the time we shot next. I levelled my own firelance to fire and opened my mouth to call on Aurelia to attack, but she was all over it.
"Pathetic," she declared softly over my shoulder, before extending a hand towards the enemy.
Electricity flowed from her in a bright web, shooting out of her fingertips. In an instant, the Starkhaven push ended in a chain of explosions, the detonations of their own grenades ending them. Our mages had tried this before, but apparently, they just didn't have the voltage to hit everyone at once.
Aurelia had no such problem.
To follow up, she switched to her naginata and shot a gout of fire from its tip, one so large that I was reminded of dragonfire. It set everything it touched aflame, gutting the room. The bookcases crackled. Those still standing were turned into human torches, sizzling, the smoke no longer obscuring their positions. Oxygen began to be eaten up, making it harder and harder to breath, which wasn't necessarily a bad thing when the scent of burning flesh is in the air.
If I could've spoken, I would have had no words. The level of destruction packed into a single human being represented by Aurelia would have rendered anyone speechless. And to think that any mage child of mine would be able to call on the same power. As if I was to be father to gods.
My Tevinter wife ended it with a blizzard called from both hands, extinguishing the flames and the smell, while I contemplated just what I was unleashing on the world for the first time in quite a while.
"...Sam... Sam... Sam!" Aurelia shouted in my ear, before I snapped out of it.
"Right!" I replied at last, standing up, "CHARGE!"
With a furious, vengeful yell, full of hate for what the enemy had intended for us, the Highlanders charged. Amund in front with me, warhammer over his shoulder, ready to swing.
Together, we crushed the bones and ashes, kicking them aside, as we went straight for the doors beyond, guarded by what few Starkhaveners remained alive. They stood dead still, mouths agape, as they saw our bayonets and swords get closer and closer. The high of combat filled my head, as I expected and desired, as we made contact.
Amund killed the first with an overhead swing of his weapon, shattering the man's skull through his helmet. I put three rounds through the second, her armour entirely incapable of stopping the three round burst I put into her chest with my assault firelance. The Highlanders crashed into the Starkhaven rearguard, shoving their silverite bayonets through chainmail and the gaps in plate-armour.
We shot up the hinges, tore open the doors with our bare hands, and charged up the stairs to the top floor. The blue sky stretched overhead, high walls encasing it. Originally a prison yard, I reckon. It was filled with tents.
Lovat's troops were entirely unprepared for such a situation. Most were still deployed downstairs in other parts of the complex. Lovat himself was leaning over a table as I emerged from the stairwell, likely examining a map of the place. He wasn't even wearing armour or a sword.
We had them by the figurative ones, and it was thrilling.
Our discipline remained, however, and while Starkhaven's finest panicked, running around for weapons and armour discarded momentarily in rest, the troops reformed our line of battle across the space and reloaded. Lovat just about managed to get runners off to his various other units below us before our Minié balls slammed into the rest of his troops.
It broke the back of any resistance that could have been made at once.
"Advance!" I ordered, "Secure the other stairways!"
The Highlanders moved forward at a run once more, over the mess they had made, platoons moving to take the three other ways up. There were trickles of Starkhaven troops coming up each of them, but they turned and fled on seeing the giant painted Avvars coming straight at them, their command structure entirely dead as far as they knew.
I watched from where I stood for a moment, firelance in hand, as Aurelia joined me with Amund in tow.
"So we've won," she said, "Quelle surprise." Throwing in the Orlesian as sarcastically as she could.
"Let's find him," I said, referring to Lovat.
It wasn't hard. He hadn't made it even a single step from his table. He had taken a bullet to the leg, and a man-at-arms was desperately trying to tie a tourniquet. He didn't flinch as he saw us approach, nor did his attendant.
His face betrayed far more age than I would have thought. Grey hair, tired eyes, wrinkles. He was in his early 60s, if I had to guess. Close to retirement, or should've been. I foresaw troubles in that fact too, but we'll get to those in due course.
"You broke through," Lovat said, his face white as snow, "Didn't think you would just yet. Thought that attack would delay you long enough."
Sporadic shooting interrupted my reply for a moment.
"It didn't," I said matter-of-factly, "The suicide troops were an unwelcome touch. I did not think you would have resorted to such dishonourable tactics."
Lovat laughed weakly.
"Orders," he said, "You see, we have an elf general in Starkhaven, one of the Prince's old comrades from here. Has lyrium tattoos all over his body. Can rip people's hearts out of their chests with his bare hands, and walk through walls, yet he's not a mage. Absolutely hates mages. One can only imagine what he thinks of your little movement and its alliance with Tevinter."
His eyes wandered to Aurelia, before returning to me.
"He knew we needed something to deal with you," he continued, "We don't have firelances, but we could buy these... grenades from Gaspard de Chalons. We thought of using bows to shoot them from a distance, but the fuses kept falling out when we tried it."
"The knife-ear came up with the idea of suicide attacks. Said that mage freedom and domination by Orlesian colonists must be resisted at all costs. The Prince agreed, as did all of us. We won't live under your banners."
There was only one thing I could say to that, given that we were pretty much colonists.
"And how can a man die better," I quoted, "Than facing fearful odds, for the ashes of his fathers, and the temples of his gods."
Lovat laughed again, this time much more forcifully.
"I knew you would understand," he said, "You have that look in your eye. The look of a man who would do absolutely anything for his country. And you're long past the point of any redemption, as I am."
"Well, you'll get to find out soon enough in person," I remarked, as the man-at-arms, "Speaking of the Maker's judgment, where is the Knight-Commander and the Revered Mother? Carsten and Lour, was it?"
"Carsten is dead," Lovat said, "Lour is hiding in that barracks building with two Templars, praying for victory."
I nodded, and glanced at Aurelia. My Tevinter bride turned towards the barracks block, a squat section of the space with a roof over it. She held her naginata aloft, and brought it down in a rapid swing until it pointed straight at the target.
A pinpoint of white light shot out from her weapon, and into one of the windows of the barracks. A second later, and bright yellow flames burst out of each window in sequence, starting with the one the magic had entered through, until the entire block was on fire. Revered Mother Lour died like the saviour did; burned alive.
Lovat looked on in disbelief. Perhaps he thought we wouldn't put the priestess to death, but she was clearly in league with the rebelling Templars, so her immunity from our ire was long gone.
"Goodbye, Lord Lovat," I said as he looked up in shock at me, "You die for your country."
I ended his life with a single shot to his heart, and that of his attendant with another to the head.
Pogroms, arrests, political murders, hangings on trumped up charges, lynchings in the countryside...
All across the Marches, the blood of people who wanted nothing more than to have greater control over their own destinies was being spilled. As was that of people born with pointy ears or innate abilities they did not choose to have.
At the Gallows in Kirkwall's harbour, the first blow against those who were doing the spilling was struck. We sent the message that we would not stand by. It was received as intended, but the shock of it would paralyse our potential adversaries for some time.
I want the record to stand absolutely clear.
The people we killed were criminals who refused to submit to a fair trial for their acts, or zealots with far worse motives than mere self-preservation. Returning them to their homes in exchange for the fortress they held would have been a huge miscarriage of justice, and an unspeakable betrayal of everyone that was being murdered by their comrades at that same moment.
Yet to some extent, the slaughter we made at the Gallows was a mistake.
It cemented the Peacekeepers as a force to be feared, viewed as tyrannical by those who want to live by the old ways. That has had its own consequences.
The Troy of Julie's vision, that of uniting the Marches into a sort of United States of Thedas, died that day.
The vision of Velarana, one of compromise and empire, took its first steps into being.
Of course, at the time, it was Julie who was pleased that the war had finally begun and Velarana did not even realise it had, but we could not foresee what would happen in the course of it. The necessities of assuring our security.
We will never be recognised as Marchers, because of what I did at the Gallows. Perhaps in time, the Marchers will instead become Trojans, as some already have.
I will likely not live to see it.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: A few things for housekeeping.
First, I will be releasing the next chapter in smaller chunks to provide more regular updates.
Second, I feel I must once address the subject of Julie given recent, retrospective reviews.
I find calling her a 'slut' not only inappropriate, but inaccurate. That she used her body as security does not make her anything akin to a 'slut'. Furthermore, at the time of the 'cheating', she knew Sam and Tam for maybe a few weeks at most. She knew the Baron of Hearth for years as both protector and ally. It was before there was any long term commitment involved. If anything, she betrayed the Baron first and foremost.
Does that absolve Julie of the charge of manipulation? Absolutely not, but keep some perspective please.
Third, I'd like to thank the guest reviewer calling himself Historian for his comments.