Chapter 10: Cornered
"Could you repeat that number for us, Teyrn Corban?" Alistair asked as his brow furrowed in concern. He sat in the war room of the Royal Palace, flanked by Eamon and Teyrn Fergus of Highever, who exchanged worried glances. The grizzled Teyrn of Gwaren stood before them, face flushed with exhaustion. He and his men had force-marched two days and a night through the Brecilian Forest to reach Denerim, yet a frantic energy shone in the old warrior's eyes and animated his movements.
"There were three thousand spears if there was one," he said, leaning over the table to point out the location on a map. "After we set out we hugged the coast, would have marched right into them and been destroyed had I not sent outriders ahead. I didn't believe their report at first, thought the lads must be exaggerating, so I rode ahead myself to investigate." He ran a hand through salt and pepper hair as he shook his head, and a hint of awe crept into his voice. "They were still landing troops by the hundreds, and constructing siege engines on the beach. And their fleet, Maker's breathe! I've never seen so many ships in one place in all my life, and huge they were! Twice the size of anything we have, at least. There could well have been three thousand more men still on those ships, waiting to land."
"So they outnumber us two to one," Fergus muttered, "Possibly more." Corban looked at the younger man and straightened a bit.
"That may be, but we Fereldens have never concerned ourselves with being outnumbered," he said with considerable pride. He leaned forward and returned his attention to the map. "Your majesty, if we march now we could still catch them on the beach, before they move inland and establish a foothold. We would have the advantage of the terrain, and drive the bastards back into the sea before they even finish kicking the sand from their boots!" Alistair looked at Corban's hopeful face and sighed.
"I'm afraid that is not possible, old friend," he said. Corban raised an eyebrow and looked to the king and Eamon for an explanation.
"Our scouts have reported," Eamon began slowly, "Another force to the north, of similar size and disposition as the one you describe, Teyrn Corban. They made landfall on the peninsula south of Alamar and have already begun moving inland at considerable speed. There can be no doubt their target is Denerim." The old man paused and his eyes drifted downward. "They will be here in two days, three at most." Corban's face fell as Alistair slowly got to his feet and leaned over the map.
"One army from the north, one from the south," he murmured. "They will encircle Denerim on three sides, and their navy will cut us off from the sea." He straightened and looked at each man in turn. "We will be surrounded." Silence hung over the four men for a long time before Fergus finally spoke up.
"We can disengage," he said hopefully. "Withdraw into the Bannorn, make them follow us and fight when and where we choose."
"Abandon the capital?" Corban said with a furious shake of his head. "Let it fall into the hands of these foreigners without a fight? We cannot do such a thing!"
"We are not even at full strength," Fergus countered. "The contingents from West Hills and Edgehall have not yet arrived, and we have heard no word from Arl Teagan of Redcliffe!"
"My brother is coming," Eamon said defensively.
"I do not doubt it," Fergus said, "But will he and the others get here in time? Will they be able to get here at all, or will they run into this massive force as Teyrn Corban almost did? And even if they do, to challenge either one of these armies on the field would require our entire force, and Denerim would be left to the mercy of the other army which would march unchecked through the city gates, or worse, bypass it entirely and strike us from behind."
"We should trust in Denerim's walls," Corban insisted. "The darkspawn could not take this city, and neither will these usurpers!"
"They would have taken it had the arch-demon not been slain when it was," Eamon pointed out. "And you saw these warriors, Corban. This is not a horde of mindless darkspawn, this is a disciplined invasion force, well equipped with massive numerical superiority. They are not here to ravage and destroy, they are here to conquer."
"And even if the walls do not fall, how long can we hope to fend them off?" Fergus added. "Six months, a year? They will patiently wait outside the city gates, getting fat off the land while the whole city starves to death, then all they need do is step over our emaciated corpses!" Fergus clenched his fists and shook his head. "No, our only hope is to retreat. To defeat an army of this size, we must do what King Maric did against the Orlesians. Make them chase us and pick our spots to strike. Ferelden will not stand or fall with the fate of one city, even if that city is Denerim."
"We could send out messengers," Eamon said hopefully, "Call for aid." Corban and Fergus both scoffed.
"Who would come?" Corban asked. "Orlais? Nevarra? The Maker-hexed Imperium?"
"The Inquisition will come," Eamon said with certainty. "It was they who warned us of this invasion, and it was not long ago they helped save Ferelden." Corban chuckled mirthlessly.
"The Inquisition is not what it used to be, Eamon," Fergus said with a bit of venom. "They are no longer legion, your brother helped make sure of that with the Val Chevin Accords."
"They were not legion when they drove the Templars and Apostates from the Hinterlands!" Eamon said, ignoring the veiled slight.
"The power of the Inquisitor is spent," Corban said wearily, "His mark and his arm are gone, his companions scattered to the wind."
"If he is so powerless, how is it that only he was not blind to this threat from across the ocean?" Eamon demanded. No one had an answer, and silence once again fell on the room.
"This bickering gets us nowhere," Alistair finally said as he turned his back to the map and paced slowly to the stained-glass window. The other men looked to each other in silent agreement.
"What are your orders, my king?" Corban asked. Alistair took a moment before responding.
"There is no victory here," he said quietly. "I will not yield Denerim to foreign invaders without a fight, nor can I stake Ferelden's future on the outcome of just one battle, especially a battle in which we are so overmatched." He turned and faced the three sullen men. "Send your messengers Eamon, send them to everyone. The Inquisition, the Chantry, Orlais, the Imperium, even the Qunari. Everyone. These armies mean to subdue all of Thedas. They may have started with Ferelden, but they will spread elsewhere, of that I have no doubt. Perhaps our salvation will ultimately lie in lands far away. For the time being, withdraw the army to the Bannorn, rendezvous with Arl Teagan and coordinate the defense of the kingdom. I will remain here with five hundred volunteers and sell Denerim dearly." Three mouths hung open as the nobles stared at each other.
"No," Eamon finally said with a firm shake of his head. "I'm sorry your majesty, but we cannot allow that." Alistair raised an eyebrow at his advisor.
"You are the king," Fergus added, "It was you who united Ferelden during the Blight. It is you the people follow. If Denerim falls, Ferelden will endure. If you fall…" Fergus trailed off.
"Ferelden is not one man," Alistair said sternly, "King or no."
"With all due respect, your majesty," Corban said, "Sometimes it is."
"You have heard now from your advisor and two of your nobles," Eamon said, "And I have no doubt the rest would agree. The nobility can overrule any order of the king."
"If you have time to convene a Landsmeet before the battle is joined Eamon,"Alistair said sternly, "I invite you to do so and formerly overturn this order. If not, my command stands. You and Teyrns Corban and Fergus are to take the army and withdraw!"
"I respectfully refuse, your majesty," Eamon said.
"As do I," added Corban.
"And I," said Fergus. Alistair's face contorted in anger.
"You realize I can have you all arrested?" asked Alistair with a threatening gleam in his eye.
"That you can," Eamon agreed, "Nonetheless, I will remain here."
"This sword serves the king," Corban said as he drew his blade, "Whether it be on the walls or in the dungeon, the choice is your majesty's." Corban dropped to one knee and bowed his head, offering his sword up on outstretched hands. Fergus and Eamon followed suit, and Alistair felt the anger ebb and then die inside him. He looked at his loyal warriors, and his heart swelled with love and pride.
"Rise, Lords of Ferelden," he whispered. His men obeyed, and Alistair walked to each one in turn and sheathed their swords.
"Send out riders to all corners of Thedas. Find Teagan and the others and tell them to come to Denerim with all speed, and prepare the city for siege." The three men bowed and as one turned and exited. Alistair remained hovering over the map, and his hand slid to the hilt of his sword.
A red day was coming.