Chapter 103) Castle's Liberation
Nuada POV
"Uncle Maric, why are there holes in the ceiling?"
"Holes?" He looked confused for a moment, glancing up before nodding. "Oh, those holes." He smiled at me. "Well, why do you think they're there?"
"I think they're murder holes, crafted so that the guard can easily deal with invaders." I shrugged. "Are they?"
"Well, yes, but I like using them for a very different reason." His smile morphed into a grin. "Like watching Loghain run around trying to find me for some meeting while I'm lounging with a good book."
"You can do that?"
"Come on; I'll show you."
We even brought snacks and a bunch of books. Uncle Maric missed an entire's afternoon worth of meetings, but he and I had a lot of fun. I could tell he loved that more than anything.
Morrigan, Leliana, Zevran, and Elspeth all worked together to ensure that the entire army had a very large supply of very good bombs and poisons. I probably used half of them in the castle. After all, I had an advantage over the darkspawn, and the Archdemon. I knew most of the secret passages and, more importantly, I knew which ones led to the murder holes in the ceiling and walls. Darkspawn couldn't kill what they couldn't see, and even their mages couldn't really do much if they had no idea where the attack was coming from.
It was almost entertaining how they didn't think to look up. Almost.
"Fergus, I need you to take the right. Teagan, focus on the left." My part of the offensive was headed by Redcliffe and Highever soldiers primarily, as I had sent the rest to reinforce Cleon in the market and Layla at the port. "Do we have a message from Aiden yet?" I asked, glancing over at a nearby scout. He shook his head. "Of course." A flash of light caught my attention. "Tell the templars that they need to move forward." The darkspawn mages were the only ones left, as they conjured up barriers to protect themselves. "The groups in the passages need to return. Their part is over."
"Sir!" The scout bowed, and raced off, easily meandering through the chaos to deliver my messages.
I held myself apart, splattered with drying, itchy patches of blood. I kept my grip on my sword loose as it rested by my side. With the initial bout of fighting done, I had to ensure the group was moving 'correctly' to best carry out the objective.
My focus went to the center, where Alistair was fighting. It was clear even to a child that he was the 'focal point' of the army. The soldiers' morale was higher than could ever be expected, having their new king, still not officially crowned, fighting alongside them. That he fought well was another point in his favor. Fereldans valued loyalty and strength of arms. The way that Alistair fought proved he had both, and the soldiers were willing to fight, and die, in his name. Many did both. I had long since become inured to the smell of death, but that did not mean it didn't hang above us like a specter.
Unexpected movement caught my attention, and I lunged forward when I realized the darkspawn general, a Hurlock emissary, had launched a spell right at Alistair's back, while Alistair was busy keeping some Shrieks off of a fallen soldier. I grit my teeth as I realized I wasn't going to make it, and I opened my mouth to yell for him, to catch his attention in the hopes he could mitigate some of the damage.
But as I did, there was a blur of motion, and suddenly, Loghain was intercepting the spell. His shield shattered, as did the armor behind it. The pieces flew, leaving bloody trails as Loghain dropped to a knee, struggling to breathe as his abdomen bled.
I changed my objective from 'warning Alistair' to 'slaughtering the general'. It attacked me, but I used the templar tricks Alistair taught me to dampen the spell. It still burned, but in that pain, I found strength. Power bubbled through my blood, and everything seemed heightened. The scent of blood just made me faster, anticipating the awaiting kill. The enemies dying nearby just built up fervor, delight in the coming fight.
I fell on the general with all the rage of a dragon, bringing the sword down again and again until the corpse was nothing but a gory mess. The nearby darkspawn trembled from fear, sliding back automatically and making them perfect targets for surrounding soldiers. While the darkspawn found me frightening, my allies just found courage. A hero was a savior or a demon, depending on whether you asked their friends or foes.
With the general dead, I turned back to Alistair and Loghain. Alistair seemed mostly unharmed, bearing only superficial injuries. Loghain, however, had definitely taken a very bad hit.
"Why did you save me?" Alistair asked. His voice was soft, hesitant, and while he did not move to help Loghain, neither did he move away. "I don't get it. Why did you…?"
"Don't know," Loghain hissed. His face was paler than normal. "Can't really answer that one." He smiled tightly, like he was laughing at himself. "Body just moved automatically." I thought that was an answer right there, personally. He had automatically moved to protect Alistair, Uncle Maric's only living son. It could be that he confused Alistair and Uncle Maric accidentally; the two had an uncanny resemblance. It could be that he had wanted to 'make up' for not saving Cailan. I had no idea, and I knew he didn't either.
But either way, he had moved automatically, and that meant it had something to do with Uncle Maric. That meant it had something to do with Fereldan, the country he loved. Regardless of anything else, Loghain proved that even at his worst, he remained loyal to those two things. Regardless of anything else, he had just saved the king, after failing to save his successor. Damn, the bards were going to have fun with this one.
"Fall back for the healers," I ordered, crouching so I could sling his arm around my shoulders. "Alistair, lead the soldiers and templars through the castle and-"
An earsplitting screech startled me, and I looked up. Everyone looked up. So, everyone saw the almost hilariously tiny person falling from the stupidly large dragon flying overhead. Everyone saw how that dragon, that Archdemon, had its wing sliced in half. Everyone saw how the Archdemon crashed down on Fort Drakon, alive but pinned.
Riordan… you might not have killed it, but you made sure that we could end this. For that, alone, I would thank you, even if I dreaded the choice of who was going to die.
Next Chapter – Interlude, Riordan
