Ch. 4: An Instant Cousin?
Darrian's eyes snapped toward the crowd, wondering who among the Alienage would openly defy the Arl's brat. Vaughan snarled as he stepped toward the platform's edge. "Who said that? Which one of you pets would stand up to me!"
The crowd shifted as elves looked around, stepped away from others, and kept their distance from the guards. Then the crowd broke as someone made their way to the platform. After he focused and recognized the golden-haired figure, Darrian gaped at the approaching man. He glanced at Kallian and saw her eyes were as wide as dinner plates.
For the first time since stepping onto the platform, Vaughan was stunned. "Dáibhádh?"
"Vaughan," Cousland replied, his voice on edge, his grim green eyes locked on his fellow nobleman. His right gloved hand rested on the pommel of the broadsword at his hip. The mabari warhound traveled closely with his master, which prompted Darrian to look for the Grey Warden. Darrian found the man standing at the edge of the crowd making no move to follow his companion.
"What are you doing here?" Vaughan hissed as Cousland climbed the steps.
Cousland waved a hand toward Darrian, Soris, and their brides-to-be. "I came here to witness a union in holy matrimony of four of my distant cousins." He stopped his march a foot away from Vaughan.
"Cousins?" the lordling sputtered.
"Of course," Cousland continued, sounding a lot like a tutor to Darrian's ears, "Since we are all creations of the Maker, then we are all related to one another through our ancient lineage. Hence, not only do you debase yourself by rudely interrupting this blessed ceremony, you are also guilty of harming kin!" Cousland finished, his voice growing to a roar. The mabari growled and bared his fangs at Vaughan, the beast's anger closely mirroring his master.
Darrian took a moment to enjoy the look of panic and seething on Vaughan's face before he motioned for his friends and the guards to come to his side. His whiny goons quickly fell into place by his side; however, the guards hesitated before marching up onto the platform. If this kept up, there'd be little room left to stand on the wooden floor.
"Spare me your sanctimonious preaching," Vaughan retorted, his confidence returning as his men lined up behind him. "You were always so self-righteous, you should've been shipped off to the templars." Vaughan smirked. "As befitting a bastard."
Darrian didn't like the odds against Cousland and decided to fix that. One advantage of being an elf was how easily humans ignored him. He quietly stepped towards the back of the platform and began to make his way around.
While Darrian moved, Cousland proved to be an effective distraction as he responded loudly to Vaughan. "You dare insult me? I am and always have been the legitimate son of Bryce Cousland, Teyrn of Highever!"
"But that's not true, is it?" Vaughan countered, shooting a smirk to his companions. "A rider arrived yesterday with the most interesting news from Highever." He feigned a look of surprise. "The Couslands have betrayed Ferelden and have been rightfully disposed of by Arl Howe. Unfortunately, the traitor Bryce had already sent his son Fergus south to 'support' the king, and his other so-called son escaped justice by abandoning his 'parents' to save his own sorry life."
Darrian couldn't remember the last time he'd seen a human so red in the face. With a cry of rage, Cousland pulled his weapon from his scabbard, revealing a silverite longsword. Day-vach aimed the blade straight at Vaughan's heart. "I will not suffer such lies and assaults on my family's honor!"
"And," Vaughan continued as he ignored the Teyrn's son, "With my father's absence, I am the Steward of Denerim. With that authority, I hereby proclaim it my duty to execute you." Vaughan waved the guards forward to seize Cousland, while Darrian was halfway across the platform.
Darrian shot a look toward the Grey Warden and was frustrated to see the man hadn't moved. Didn't look particularly pleased, but remained where he was. I need more time!
Cousland stared at the guards, all of whom took slow steps toward him. After a moment, Cousland focused on Vaughan and shouted, "If you are going to assume the title, then you assume the responsibilities with it. I challenge your ruling and demand a trial by combat. A duel between you and me. Winner keeps life and title."
Darrian wanted to smack his forehead. The fool. As if that coward would accept. He gets beaten by an elven woman and comes back with four guards. However, when Darrian looked at the Arl's brat, he was surprised by the calculating look on his face. The guards had stopped their advance as they awaited their master's answer. Vaughan walked up to one of the guardsman. "Your sword. Give it to me."
"You accept?" Cousland asked.
"I do," Vaughan answered as he took the guardsman's sword. "I accept your duel and will happily kill you before this crowd."
Cousland shook his head. "Not here. Once the trial is over, the weddings will take place up here. I'd rather not stain the platform with your blood." He pointed toward a spot past the crowd, a patch of dirt next to the Vhenadahl. "We'll fight there."
Vaughan threw a mock bow at Day-Vach. "After you."
More than a little curious about this sudden turn of events, Darrian crept towards the lecher, keeping his ears open and aimed at the trio of nobles. None of them noticed him, and Darrian was rewarded when one of the goons mumbled, "Uh, Vaughan, is this a good idea? He beat you in that last tourney, remember?"
Judging by the glare the goon got in return, Darrian betted Vaughan remembered all too well. "Use your brains, you simpletons. He doesn't look like he's slept for days. He'll be slower, weaker. Besides, I only lost to him by half a stroke, which I'm sure he used some kind of magic to cheat. I'll have his head in less than a minute. And don't forget, Howe is offering a king's ransom if I kill him. Not only do I get the pleasure of doing him in by my own hand, I'll be richly rewarded for it."
Simpleton number two didn't look so sure. "But what if he starts winning?"
Vaughan scowled at them. "Then you'd better step in and help me kill him. We'll just say we executed him and no one will question us. After all," he waved his hand toward the onlookers. "Why would anyone believe a bunch of knife-ears over us? Now, come on."
Darrian waited as he watched Vaughan and his simpletons walk off the platform. Cousland was waiting for them at the spot, talking with the Grey Warden as he kept an eye on Vaughan. Once the brat was off the wooden steps, Darrian rushed over to his father. "Where are my knives?"
Cyrion looked blankly at his son. "I don't understand, my son. What are your intentions? Why is Lord Dáibhádh Cousland here?"
"He should be in Highever," Kallian added fretfully, her eyes flashing between Cyrion and Dáibhádh. "What did that beast mean when he said the Couslands were disposed of? He didn't really mean the Teryn and Teyrna are dead, right?"
Darrian grimaced as he addressed his cousin. "No, apparently that's true. Day-Vach said some Arl attacked Highever, killed his parents, and he fled before they killed him too."
Cyrion's lips formed a thin, hard line. "How do you know this, Darrian?"
Darrian pointed toward Cousland. "Soris and me ran into him right before the wedding. He said it himself."
Kallian held a hand up to her mouth, horror etched on her face. "It can't be. Who would dream of harming the Teyrn and Teyrna? They've been nothing but kind and fair rulers of Highever."
"Father," Darrian prompted. "My knives. If we don't hurry, Day-vach is going to join his parents in the afterlife. Vaughan is going to kill him. If he doesn't do it himself, his lackeys will swarm Day-vach, unless we do something."
Cyrion shook his head. "We can't, my son. If any elf strikes at a noble, we all will suffer it. Only Lord Cousland can attack them without retribution."
"And if he dies, who's going to stop Vaughan from taking our women and killing us?" Darrian pointed out. I can't believe I'm saying we have to help a human noble to help us. But even I can't hope to take on that many humans at once.
As Dáibhádh waited for Vaughan, he couldn't help but notice the burst of energy his anger had given him was draining away. Exhaustion was nipping at his heels and he wondered just how much it would impair his fighting ability. It might have been easier to simply charge Vaughan earlier, but seven-to-two were poor odds, even with such poor fighters. That and he didn't want to kill the guardsmen if he could help it.
"Lord Cousland?"
Dáibhádh blinked as he looked at Duncan. The Grey Warden had been talking to him, but he couldn't remember the last thing he said. "Yes, Duncan?"
"Your lack of focus is foreboding. You should rethink this duel," Duncan repeated. He had already explained that due to Dái's demand of trial, this was now a political matter. Duncan could not risk aiding Dái. Dái was aware of how carefully the Grey Wardens walked when it came to Ferelden politics. They had already been thrown out of Ferelden in the past. With a Blight happening, it was all the more imperative for Duncan not to risk Grey Warden reputation in the event the Blight spread past Ostagar.
"It's too late, I've issued the challenge. All that's left is to see it through," Dái murmured. The crowd shifted as Vaughan neared the impromptu dueling circle. For his part, Dái wished he had his dagger too. He hadn't fought with just a broadsword since the tournament.
Duncan sighed as he stepped back. "Then may the Maker watch over you."
Dái knelt down and scratched the top of Garahel's head. "I'm afraid you have to stay out of this fight. If you get involved, it'll give him the justification to order the guards to attack."
Garahel whined before throwing a growl at Vaughan.
With one more scratch, Dái shook his head. "Behave. I'll win and send that miserable excuse of a noble to the Maker where he won't trouble anyone else."
Garahel barked encouragingly before trotting to Duncan's side.
Dáibhádh rose to his feet, bringing his family sword, 'Arlan', into the low guard position. Across from him, Vaughan held his borrowed blade in front of him. For better or for worse, the Mother had found herself chosen as the duel's judge. The woman was clearly uncomfortable with the situation, but she fulfilled her new duty with a steady voice. "The terms of the duel are single combat, with victory achieved only by slaying your opponent. The spoils include the title of Steward of Denerim. You may begin." Her duty completed, she quickly stepped away.
Dái tensed as he waited for Vaughan's opening move. At the tourney, Vaughan's fighting style had been aggressive, trying to overwhelm his opponents with a flurry of blows. A simple and blunt strategy. But the attack didn't come. With a start, Dái realized his opponent was going to wait him out. As worn as his body was, he didn't want to imagine how well he could hold out in a long fight.
He took a deep breath before he lunged forward. Immediately, he realized how poor his situation was. Fatigue greedily latched onto his body and slowed him down to a fraction of his speed. Vaughan easily batted the attack aside and sweeped his sword at Dái. Dái backstepped, but Vaughan's blade grazed across his chest.
"First blood!" Jonaley and Braden cried.
Dái rushed into a defensive posture, while throwing a glare at the two nobles. They've never aspired to be more than cronies following a bully. Vaughan smirked as he lazily walked toward Dái, flourishing his sword. "I knew you were merely lucky at the tourney. That's the only logical way to explain my defeat." He lashed out, following into old fighting habits as he rapidly threw several strikes at Cousland.
Dái remember how he had defeated Vaughan by allowing the brash duelist to expend his energy and then unleashing a pinpoint counter-attack. He doubted he could repeat history as he struggled to keep up with Vaughan. Another cut bypassed his defenses, creating a small scratch on his shoulder. A jab poked a tiny hole in his stomach. On their own, the wounds were nothing. Together, they were lethal.
Vaughan paused his offensive to gloat. "You're such a failure, Dáibhádh. You failed your 'parents', failed to protect your home, and now, you've failed to protect a bunch of knife-ears." He leered over some of the women. "Of course, what else can we expect from a bastard? Did the Couslands ever tell you who were your real parents? Were they Orlesians? Tevinters? Maybe it was King Maric and some scullery maid." Vaughan held up a finger. "No, I bet you were the result of some affair between a knife-ears and a priest. That explains where your love for the knife-ears and everything Maker comes from."
Darrian had seen his share of fools on his few trips outside of the Alienage. Drunks who wouldn't stop drinking until they collapsed, naive imbeciles who allowed them to be swindled again and again by the same con artist, and gamblers who threw away their entire fortunes against men who used loaded dice.
Yet, Vaughan was the biggest fool Darrian had ever seen.
The Arl's brat had Day-vach not only on the defensive, but was on the verge of victory. Darrian was a step away from launching himself at Vaughan to save Day-vach, when the Arl's brat had delivered his speech. Maybe he thought he was going to break Cousland's will.
All Darrian could see was the wrath erupting from within Day-vach. The nobleman had been bent over, one arm pressed against the bleeding cut on his chest, his sword held close against him to tighten his defenses. As Darrian watched, Cousland seemed to forget about his wounds as he straightened up, his hands tightening their grip on the sword, and his breathing speeding up. Darrian watched Vaughan waiting, willing the moment where the Arl's brat met his upcoming surprise.
He didn't have to wait long.
Darrian heard the explosion when Day-vach unleashed a yell of pure fury before he charged Vaughan. Vaughan's sneer lasted another moment as he parried the first blow. By the third blow, the sneer was replaced by mask of grim resolve. By the sixth attack, naked panic ran across Vaughan's face.
Whatever had snapped inside Day-vach's mind had taken away both his restraint and his control and replaced with pure aggression. Vaughan's blade blocked, parried, and kept him alive and unharmed, until Cousland landed a powerful overhead blow that chipped the sword as silverite broke iron. Darrian figured Vaughan's cheap sword might last a minute more. The Arl's brat came to the same conclusion and shouted, "Kill him!"
Darrian was ready. After retrieving his knives, he had slowly moved through the crowd, making sure his target never noticed his approach. Vaughan's friends had borrowed swords from the other two guards, which left one armed guard left.
Now as the bumbling noble in front of him reached for his sword, Darrian stepped up to him from behind. One hand darted forward and wrapped around his mouth as it jerked his head back. His other hand came up and swiped the knife through the noble's neck. The noble jerked but was so surprised that he didn't have the strength to break Darrian's hold. One less foe for Day-vach to deal with.
Unfortunately, that still left the other noble and guard. Until Cousland's mabari leapt at the armored guard, reducing three to two. Vaughan's friend proved his worth when he made a wild jab at Cousland, who battered it aside before burying his sword into the man's gut. The brat is gonna die, Darrian thought with glee.
Satisfaction passed through Dái as he lodged Arlan into Braden's stomach. Vaughan's gambit had failed. Garahel's jaws were now on the traitor guardsman's neck, Jonaley stumbled to the ground, clutching his bleeding neck, and Braden was about to meet the Maker. Vaughan was all alone.
Unfortunately, the wave of rage Dái rode was undercut by the satisfaction. The exhaustion, the aching, and the bleeding were returning to his awareness, beating his body down. Worse, as Braden fell, he took Arlan with him, the hilt twisting its way out of Dái's weakened grasp. The stomp of approaching boots yanked Dái's attention up. Vaughan, his eyes wide with his own rage, charged at him, sword held high above his head.
Move! Dái shouted at his body. It sluggishly responded, bringing him back onto his feet. The awkward movement shouted a clear announcement on what was going to happen next. I'm going to lose my head, he realized with a jolt.
Vaughan yelled as his arms tensed with the coming stroke. Then he screamed as he tripped and fell to the ground at Dái's feet. No, not tripped. Dáibhádh saw the true cause, a knife jutted out of Vaughan's right calf.
Darrian cursed himself and swore he would practice more at throwing knives. He'd been aiming for the brat's back when he made the throw. Well, at least Day-vach isn't about to die, he thought to himself as he sprinted forward. He jerked himself to a halt as he tossed the other knife. "Cousland!"
As weak as he was, Dáibhádh reached out and managed to catch the flying knife by the handle. Before him, Vaughan grunted as he pulled the other knife out. He looked up in time to see Cousland falling down on him, knife plunging toward his head.
While wearing a grim yet satisfied smile, Darrian watched as Day-vach gave Vaughan a quick death. Today has been a good day.
