At first sight, in the light of the furthest bonfires, the soldiers did not appear to be anything other than common soldiers. They came at a steady but ultimately unhurried pace, casual men alert but not particularly expecting trouble.
Nike stretched Far Song, taking aim, but did not fire at first. What if these were truly living human soldiers from the castle, finally released from whatever had kept them from departing the Keep?
The other archers did not share her hesitation. Acting on the experience of many long and weary nights, as soon as the first of the oncoming soldiers was within range they loosed. Their arrows rose and were lost in the dark a moment, before they fell and struck home.
One of the soldiers in the front line, lacking a gorget, was speared in the neck. Such a hit on a mortal man would have had him stumbling, reaching for his throat. This man, however, did neither thing. Instead, he lifted the blade in his hand and with a hideous, rasping gasp in lieu of a battle cry, began to run at those gathered in the square.
The light of one of the pyres reflected off his face as he did so, and Nike's hesitations abandoned her. His skin was the mottled purple of a strangled man, one of his eyes bulging and half rolled up in its socket. The other was missing, but the creature seemed to need neither to see.
Alistair and the other men in the square braced themselves, but did not charge to meet the enemy- to close ranks now would be to cripple the archers at range. Nike's arrow burst into flame as she fired, in time with the second volley from her compatriots. Her shot landed almost exactly beside the first arrow in the throat of the foremost ghoul. Flames licked up his face and now he did react, dropping his jaw to let out another rasping scream as he fumbled in his stride. Sten took three bounding steps forward to meet him.
The sword flashed through the creature's neck as if it offered no resistance, and the blow from the qunari was skillful enough that the flaming head careened back into its fellow undead, crashing into the chest of one who was wearing cloth and leather, casting it aflame as well.
Nike drew and released, each arrow bursting into flame before leaving her bowstring, aiming for cloth, or for hair, or anything else that might catch the blaze.
Then the crush of undead men, some actively afire, reached the edge of the square and it was not just Sten setting them to the sword.
Morrigan had not been idle. As the archers sent their flaming arrows, so did she send flames of her own- great balls of fire that she spun in her hands and then flung into the undead where they crowded thickest. When Alistair and the others engaged and made it far too risky to continue doing this, Morrigan turned to Nike.
"Time to save your kittens," she said, then leapt off of her decorative perch toward the fracas below. Barely had her foot left the stone then her entire body seemed to burst outward with hairy legs, the gigantic spider taking the place of the mage.
Fortunately, Alistair had warned the men in the square that an enormous spider or some other beast may join them, and that if it did it was on their side and to show it no hostility. No friendly sword was turned upon the massive tarantula as it nimbly hit the ground and then leapt into the undead, each clench of its saw-sharp pincers enough to crush or even cut one of the undead in two.
Nike was not so blessed as to be able to turn into a spider at whim. Once the undead were tangled with the other soldiers down below it became near impossible for her and the other archers to get a clean shot. She did her best to pick off those along the edges of the mess but it was becoming more and more difficult.
"From the lake!" One of the archers shouted, and Nike's head snapped around toward the other side of the village, where it flanked the edges of Lake Calenhad. Shadows were rising up out of the water, but it was too distant for even Far Song to reach. Turning she looked from the Chantry roof to the roof of the nearby smithy, her eyes tracing a rooftop path across the village to a better vantage.
The gap between Chantry and smithy was the widest. Remembering the desperate leap she had made all those ages ago back at Highever, as she escaped from her quarters and tried to reach that of her parents, she set her jaw.
Maker, if I hit the ground let me die instantly, she thought, as she gathered herself. I could not live with the embarrassment.
Tucking her arm into Far Song so that her hands were free, she took off down the slope of the Chantry roof. She had to move quickly to keep her feet under her, each step threatening to slip out from underneath her. She hit the edge of the roof and leapt.
The bark of air escaping her lungs as she hit the ledge of the smithy was almost loud enough to break over the din. Pain swelled over her chest and gut, her hands grasping frantically for any hold, anything to keep her from falling to the ground. By some miracle, her fingers caught on the edge of one of the tiles. Struggling to get air into her lungs again, she pulled herself up onto the smithy roof.
She wanted to just lay there, catch her breath again, take stock- but there was no time. Still coughing and wheezing like a grandfather at a cook fire, she got to her feet and limped to the other side of the smithy.
The drop from there to the first thatched house in line was a much easier jump to make, but crossing the rooftops themselves would be harder. She had to stick to the supporting beams, or risk falling through the thatch and into someone's bedroom.
Pacing up one of these beams, she reached the peak of the house before she looked toward the lake again. The undead that had emerged from the water, a full twenty if there was a one, were moving at the same unhurried pace the others had adopted before the archers had fired. That would change as soon as they came close enough to see the fighters in the square.
She had to stop them, or slow them down somehow. Her first thought was to block their path with fire, but there was nothing easy in sight to burn. Hurrying down the far face of the roof she made the hop to the next one, and ran to the peak again. Desperately, she scanned around.
Should have had barrels of pitch put out, she thought, even though it was a ludicrous thought. Very few villages even had pitch, let alone enough of it to fill several barrels. She debated for a moment grabbing bundles of thatch off the roof and throwing them down into the roadway, but she would never get enough before the undead were past and into the square. They were very nearly to the bridge now, the selfsame bridge Tomas had been set to guard earlier that day. He was now fighting in the square, with the others.
The bridge. Could I burn the bridge?
She'd have to try. There was nothing else for it. Drawing an arrow she started to set it to her string when motion caught her attention. She looked, and saw the tarantula scuttling across the wall of the house opposite.
Nike let out a quick chirping whistle between her teeth, and the spider sprang away from the wall and into the air. For a moment, it was replaced by the raven, which in turn became Morrigan as she reached Nike's side.
"I will set the bridge aflame," Morrigan said almost the moment she had lips with which to speak. The sight of the mage, however, had given Nike a new idea- one that didn't require the destruction of the villagers' only bridge into town.
"No need," she said. "Can you make it wet?"
"Can I what?" Morrigan blinked at her in surprise.
"The bridge. Can you make it wet?"
"I fail to see what that would accomplish," Morrigan said. Nike grinned at her, then glanced at the head of her arrow- which had begun to turn white. The mage lifted an eyebrow, and then smiled a smile that was half impressed, and entirely wicked.
"Your wish is my command," she said, already lifting her arms as she turned back toward the bridge. The undead had just reached it, striding out on its surface.
Morrigan's hands and fingers began to trace runes into the air, much as Adaon had done when she'd dissolved the deer corpse with acid. On either side of the bridge, the river water began to swirl in lazy eddies. The faster her hands moved, the faster the eddies began to spin until they were lifting upward.
For one incredible moment, two full waterspouts stood alongside the bridge, swaying like sleepy serpents deciding whether or not to strike. The undead had paused on the bridge, almost appearing hypnotized by them.
Morrigan snapped her hands inward and the waterspouts surged in over the bridge just as Nike loosed her arrow. The water heaved and crashed over the undead, forceful enough to knock one or two off balance. The arrow passed between the shoulders of the two in front to strike a third in the middle.
The water turned almost instantly into jags of ice, freezing the undead midstep on the bridge. As Nike lowered her bow and smiled at Morrigan, Sten, Alistair, Teagan and a few others appeared below, charging down from the square. When they saw the frozen creatures on the bridge Alistair looked up at them and grinned, waving a hand.
Sten was the first to reach the bridge, and did not hesitate. Whirling his body to gain momentum for his longsword, he crashed the blade into the shoulder of the first frozen figure. With a loud boom, the creature shattered.
Using an empty barrel to get down off the roof, Nike and Morrigan left the bridge clean up to the others and ran back toward the square. Yet more of the undead were marching in, reaching the edges of the bonfires. The archers were sending down their arrows. Nike didn't bother trying to get back up onto the roof; the Chantry was sealed anyway and it would not be wise to have them unbar the doors just so a singular archer could cut through to the belfry.
Instead, she ran here and there, firing Far Song whenever she saw a clear opportunity, dropping three more of the abominations before Sten and Alistair returned to their side.
"No more from the lake?" she asked.
"Didn't see any," Alistair said.
"This lot seems to be thinning as well. I say we move up the roadway, the cliffsides just there create a natural choke point."
Teagan, who had just reached their side as well, overheard. Waving a hand and lifting his voice he shouted, "Move up! Move up toward the mill!"
As the tired men started up the road past the barricades, Morrigan caught Nike's arm. "Catch hold of my neck," she said.
Nike blinked at her, first surprised, and then wary. "You're going to turn into a great big spider while I'm holding on to you, aren't you?"
"Up the wall just here will give you a good vantage to cover the road and the bridge coming from the Keep," the mage told her. "If you have a better way to scale it-"
Nike did her best not to shudder, slipping Far Song over her shoulder. "All right, but if I scream like a suckling child, it's not because I'm afraid of spiders."
"Of course not," Morrigan said, so cool that butter would not have melted in her mouth. She turned her back to Nike, and holding her breath, Nike wound her arms around the mage's neck, careful not to choke her.
Suddenly her arms were forced wider, fur bristling against Nike's cheek and neck as human woman became tarantula. Gritting her teeth, Nike took handfuls of the fur to better hold her grip, then sucked in a breath as the spider leapt.
Her stomach seemed to remain on the path below as Morrigan bore them fifteen feet upward. Catching hold of the vertical rock, she scaled it swiftly. If the additional weight of her passenger caused any difficulty, there was no telling.
As she reached the top of the ridge and leveled, Nike released her hold and dropped to the ground, arms shaking. A moment later, Morrigan's hand appeared in front of her face.
"You did not scream," she said, as Nike took it and got to her feet.
"I was too busy trying not to puke."
"I suppose tis fortunate for both of us that you resisted that urge," Morrigan said, but she looked amused.
From here, Nike got her first proper look at the castle. Lights burned in several windows, but there was something strange about them. The lights were not warm and flickering, as torches would be. Instead they seemed sickly, wavering.
Then Nike's gaze fell on the front gate, and she lifted her brows. "The gate is closed!"
"I believe the Bann said the attacks continued until dawn," Morrigan said. "Tis quite curious they would be closed now. It is not yet even midnight."
There were no further undead in their path. They could hear Alistair, Sten, and the others coming up the roadway but they would be another few minutes before they caught up.
"Come," Nike said, and without waiting to see if Morrigan would follow, she ran across the bridge and toward the gates of the Keep.
No archers on the wall, no soldier in sight, she thought as she slowed again, measuring. Could it be that the attack has stopped because they have run out of undead to throw at the village?
As Morrigan joined her Nike swallowed hard, and eyed her. "Do you think…"
"I could make it up easily," Morrigan said calmly, but with a faint note of teasing. "Even with as enormous a burden as you."
Nike closed her eyes again, letting out a shaky breath. Maker take it all anyway.
"We may not have another chance," she said.
"Then grab hold."
As Nike wound her arms around Morrigan's shoulders again, squeezing her eyes shut, the mage looked at her with a smile.
"Vomit, and I shall drop you," she said. Nike's eyes popped open in fearful shock, and Morrigan turned into the great spider, an echo of her laugh chasing them up the wall of the Keep.