Chapter 13: One Day

Alistair stared across the field at three phalanxes were forming up for advance, two in the front and one behind, three thousand men in all, and his eyes narrowed in suspicion. He had expected waves, but given the numbers at the enemy's disposal, this seemed decidedly small. He noted that there were no battering rams in evidence, although he could see many ladders being held between the ranks. Three thousand men scaling his walls on ladders, it seemed almost too easy.

"Ready catapults and ballistae, fire as soon as they're in range," Alistair commanded, "Mages and archers will loose on my mark."

His orders were repeated down the line as soldiers took up their positions. Archers nocked arrows, mages channeled energy into their staves, cranks on the war machines turned, stones and bolts placed in their carriages. Across the field the three phalanxes lurched forward like a massive living organism, soldiers marching steadily in perfect step, shields locked, still chanting their death song. Alistair raised one hand in the air and held it there, keeping his eye fixed on an invisible line on the ground. Once the invaders crossed it, they would be in range, and Ferelden would rain down its own wave of death. Distance was swallowed up quickly, a few more yards, just a few more.

Suddenly, and without any noticeable signal, the phalanxes halted just short of Alistair's invisible line. The chanting and beating of drums ceased almost instantaneously, and all three thousand warriors dropped to their knees and bowed their heads. For the first time since the horde appeared, there was total silence from across the field. Not a single horn or drum blared, not a single voice was raised. A ripple spread through the massive army as it took its cue from the advance forces and each soldier knelt. Alistair slowly lowered his arm, surrounded by the confused mutterings of his soldiers as they all stared across the field at the once boisterous invading army kneeling quietly, solemnly.

A sound broke the silence, a boom louder than thunder reverberated through the air and made the soldiers of Ferelden shudder and instinctively cover their ears. It seemed to come from everywhere at once and echoed inside Alistair's skull. Beneath its awesome force, Alistair was certain he discerned words being spoken in a language that somehow made his blood curdle.

Silence reasserted itself, the invaders remained kneeling and the defenders began fidgeting nervously. Fergus stepped up next to Alistair, looking as confused and awed as everyone else.

"What's that?" Alistair turned toward where Fergus was pointing and peered intently at the horizon. Three shapes in the sky, little more than specks at this distance, growing in size as they sped toward Denerim. Four more appeared from the east toward the ocean. Their massive forms became more discernable the closer they got, and Alistair felt the blood suddenly drain from his face.

"Maker's breathe," he whispered, "That's impossible…" His army was now shifting, starting to break, fear taking control as panicked cries rose into the air.

"Dragons!"

Roars ripped through the air as the seven beasts soared over the invading army and descended on Denerim. Bedlam broke loose as streams of flame engulfed the defenders who were practically falling over each other to get out of the way. Screams of terror combined with screams of pain as hundreds of men died in an instant. Alistair watched in horror as the dragons wheeled overhead and came swooping down at the towers. Jaws and talons flashed, ripping catapults and ballistae from their anchors with ease. The beasts lifted the massive machines into the air and dropped them right on top of Ferelden's soldiers, crushing dozens. Over the din of soldiers driven mad with fear and the rushing wind of flapping wings, Alistair heard horns sound from across the field. He looked away from the dragons just as the enemy stood and began marching forward again at double-time pace. Only then did the realization firmly strike home.

The enemy commanded dragons.

Alistair suddenly went numb. His arms fell limply at his sides and he stared blankly ahead as the screaming and the chaos around him faded into mundane background noise. He watched as two of the dragons landed in front of the gates. The entire wall shuddered as they sank their talons into the metal and stone and pulled backward, their wings beating furiously. Alistair dropped to one knee as the massive gates were torn right off their hinges. Slowly he stood as the dragons began to ascend once again, arrows and spears bouncing harmlessly off their scales. As quickly as they appeared all seven beasts reeled and sped back the way they had come. Alistair followed them with his gaze until they were specks once more, then he looked down just as the first wave of attackers reached the wall.

The front two phalanxes split off to either side as the third rushed straight through the massive breach where the gates once stood, like a mighty river bursting through a hole in a dam. A few brave defenders still stood on the wall, hurling stones and shooting arrows that were mostly deflected off of raised shields. Through the shroud that hung over him, Alistair vaguely heard Fergus and Corban shouting orders to draw swords.

The ladders were coming up. Spiked firmly at the base of the wall, solitary warriors perched on the very top rungs as they were raised. Too calmly, Alistair took a step back, raised his sword, swung his shield from his back onto his arm, and waited. The ladder and the warrior perched atop it crested the wall. Alistair locked eyes with the man. He clutched the top rung with one hand, the other hand empty, outstretched, palm open. Alistair lowered his shield slightly and cocked his head to the side. Then there was an explosion and he was engulfed in blinding white light.

He came to lying flat on his back, his vision blurry, feeling like he was drunk. He looked to his right and to his left as his vision returned. Enemy soldiers were pouring over the wall in every direction, and Alistair's warriors all seemed to be in a daze, down like he was, or struggling to their feet to get their bearings. The attackers surged forward, cutting down any Ferelden in their path with fury. It was a slaughter. Most of the defenders died without even lifting a sword to defend themselves, those that did were quickly overwhelmed. Alistair saw Fergus lying on his back get run through by three swords at once. He saw a fireball slam into Corban's shield, throwing the Teyrn over the wall to his death. It was all over in moments. The ramparts were covered in sprawled, dead bodies. All of them wore Ferelden uniforms.

Alistair rolled over onto his stomach and stared out across his city. Soldiers flooded through the streets. Here and there small skirmishes were being fought, but the battle was over. They had not just been defeated, they had been utterly destroyed. His eyes fixed on the royal palace that his father had fought so hard to gain, and that he had lost. The royal banner with its twin rampant Mabaris was being slowly lowered. In its place, the white dragon of the invaders rose and triumphantly snapped in the wind. Alistair turned his eyes skyward, and noted that the sun had not even reached its afternoon peak.

What is about to come, it will be over quickly.

Alistair felt the sharp point of a sword at the nape of his neck. He closed his eyes and bowed his head.

It was over.