Alistair signaled stop. "Darkspawn," he said softly. "Just ahead. Five or six of them, I think. They know we're coming—they're probably positioned on a ridge, ready to start shooting arrows at us when we come into range."
"They'll start shooting when they notice we're in range," Elan mused.
"That's what I just said," Alistair said, nerves making him short. It was one thing to watch yourself—or even your allies—in battle, and another thing entirely to worry about someone under your watch being injured or killed.
"Not exactly," Daveth interjected.
Alistair huffed. They'd been in the Wilds for all of twenty minutes and already the raw recruits were threatening to mutiny. He'd tried to tell Duncan this would happen—nothing good ever came of it when Alistair tried to convince others to listen to him.
"Here's the plan," Elan said. "Alistair will lead you in close enough to see this ridge—from cover. Wait until you see me get into position behind the main force. Once that happens, Daveth, let loose for all you're worth. That should get their attention. I'm guessing a few of them will rush you—that's when Alistair and Jory will intercept them. I'll do my best to distract whatever remains on the ridge and keep them from shooting. Sound good?"
Jory whistled under his breath and Daveth nodded. "Tactically, yes," Alistair said, grudging. But I don't like it. The words were as clear as if he'd spoken them aloud.
He, Jory, and Daveth would be at relatively low risk, but she could be mobbed and killed before they could intervene. All too easily. How am I supposed to do my duty and keep you safe if you go putting the good of the group before your own? He knew that was unfair—how could he expect her to value their mission over the good of a scout but not over her own? Duncan would approve, he admitted to himself. But I don't like it.
"See you on the other side," Elan said, almost as if issuing a challenge to his unspoken objections, and wove away between the trees.
Alistair scowled at her back as it vanished, but she'd left him with little choice but to do as she asked. He led Daveth and Jory to a thick growth of brush about ten yards from the rise. Jory muttered a prayer to the Maker under his breath as he caught sight of the twisted, grotesque shapes that awaited them in the mist. That didn't improve Alistair's mood.
It wasn't long before a slight, lithe form flickered into sight, crouched low to the ground, picking its way carefully over the rocks only a couple of feet from the darkspawn. Alistair's breath lodged in his throat. It seemed every step would be the one to dislodge a pebble and announce Elan's presence.
The darkspawn were rough and scaly, their skin the dark, dingy color of a bruise, crusted and scabbed as if rotting slowly away. They certainly smelled as if that were the case; a combination of bile, smoke, feces, and rancid meat. The only thing that kept Elan's roiling stomach clamped into discipline was the thought of what would happen if she gave herself away.
Several times, one of the darkspawn shifted its weight, and she could see a sliver of a face pulled into a deformed sneer. Elan froze, every muscle perfectly taunt, praying she wouldn't hurt herself too badly if she had to roll out of range in a hurry. She'd never thought to have the tumblers she'd wheedled her father into hiring instruct her on uneven terrain as the Master at Arms did with his men. Her lack of foresight was enough to make her want to curse. Eventually she stood at the far peak, easing the hilts of her daggers into her hands.
The sound of Daveth's bow releasing the first arrow made Alistair flinch. The arrow took a darkspawn standing near the center of the group squarely in the chest, setting the entire group off into a chaos of rusty guttural chatter, heads whipping around in search of the offender.
Alistair nudged Jory. The knight took a couple of reluctant steps forward. As Elan had predicted, the two closest rushed toward him. Alistair bellowed a call to battle set to the twang of Daveth's bowstring and pushed though the brush to meet them.
The three darkspawn remaining on the ridge raised their bows. Elan stepped up behind them, sinking a dagger deeply into the crook between neck and shoulder on each of the two nearest, just as Daveth's latest shot thudded heavily into the forearm of the third.
Cautious or not, Elan had cut men in practice before...she'd been hunting...but the resistance that suddenly gave way with a soft, wet squish still caught her by surprise and made her wince.
Blood bubbled and oozed up around her blades like mud between bare toes, turning them to icicles in her grasp...and making the darkspawn themselves smell downright pleasant. Her two victims spun to face her with milky, haunted eyes. The third—looking rather like a pincushion or a porcupine with all the arrows sticking out of him—tried to close rank around her. Everything about them made her stomach lurch and her skin crawl. Their sharp, sour breath skittered over her face like ants over a picnic.
She couldn't afford time to be squeamish. She swept out a leg, caught the nearest behind the knees, making it stagger, and slammed a dagger into its ribs on the other side. It went down with a finality that was rather satisfying.
Daveth's arrows arched into the back of the one beside her target, making it gnash its teeth with pain and rage. The blood from its wounds poured over its armor, slickening the ground under their feet.
Alistair thrust his sword through his opponent's chest, trying to avoid the arterial spray as Jory severed the neck of the one adjacent. He barely bothered to be sure the one he'd felled wasn't getting up again before he galloped up the rise.
Elan had managed to fell one of the darkspawn and had a second lurching on its feet, looking decidedly ill. Alistair rushed the third, knocking it off its feet with his shield. Jory loped into the fray, his lanky form swaying, and sliced Elan's weary-looking opponent in half. Andraste's sooty spit, Alistair thought, I wanted to be the one who did that—it's my job. Then he realized what he'd just thought and felt his ears burn with embarrassment. What is wrong with me? All this responsibility is driving me crazy.
Elan staggered back, managing to avoid the worst of the blood, and gasped for breath. "See?" she said to Alistair. "Smooth as silk, wasn't it?"
Alistair pulled several vials from his pack. Elan pressed the first to the open side of Jory's handiwork where the blood freely flowed. "We aren't done yet," he said wearily. "I can sense another group over that way—about a hundred and fifty yards, maybe?"
"We have all the blood we need," Jory said crossly. "I say we avoid any more skirmishes, grab those treaties, and get back to camp."
"Don't be stupid," Daveth said without heat. "After this Joining, we'll be full-fledged Grey Wardens, and there's a battle brewing. Every darkspawn we manage to kill now is one we won't have to kill then."
"You have a point Daveth," Elan said slowly. Alistair opened his mouth to object and closed it again as she continued, "But...Jory's right. Duncan didn't send us out here to wage vigilante warfare. He said to return as quickly as we could, remember?"
Jory nodded, looking relieved. Daveth nodded too, looking sulky.
"So...Alistair, do these darkspawn know we're in the area?" Elan continued.
Alistair frowned slightly. "Now that you mention it...I don't think they do...they seem...distracted by something."
"Okay, next question—" Elan broke off as a low, keening howl burst over the crest of the ridge.
The darkspawn were distracted with good reason.
They'd been overrun by wolves...and now so was the Grey Warden party.
Alistair lunged forward, thrusting his shield into the breastbone of the one nearest, forcing it back.
Daveth pulled the bow from his back and let an arrow fly as Jory muttered an oath and pulled his great sword, sending it through two wolves in a smooth arc.
Elan circled quietly around the fray to sweep both daggers wide, sliding them between the ribs of two more wolves.
Elan yanked her daggers free and whirled on the balls of her feet, lashing out in a single smooth motion, hitting the wolf lunging for her back solidly under the chin. It had taken months of dance classes and months more of fighting practice to be able to shift her balance like that—particularly in armor and on unstable ground. She was a credit to her father's household retainers. Too bad he would never know it...and neither would they.
She still doesn't look fierce. She looks like a little girl playing with swords...but she's good enough at the game, Alistair mused, swinging his sword into the shoulder of a wolf trying to edge in at his side.
Daveth's bow twanged, sending more arrows hissing past.
Jory's sword wove dangerously close to Elan's left flank. Alistair started to shout a warning, but she must have seen the flash from the corner of her eye. She spun slightly, using the momentum to bump another wolf, throwing it off balance, and angling her dagger up into its partially exposed belly.
The area seemed to be clear. The four of them assessed one another.
Elan pulled a cloth out of her belt and began wiping down her daggers.
"You don't fight much like any girl I've ever seen," Daveth said.
"You don't fight much like anyone I've ever seen," Jory agreed. "Where did you learn?"
Elan stared at her reflection in her blade.
Alistair had just decided she wasn't going to answer when she said, "Highever. I hail from Highever."
"Highever?" Jory repeated. "What a coincidence. Highever is where I met my lady wife."
So you are Teyrn Cousland's daughter, then. The words hovered at the tip of Alistair's tongue. But if she'd wanted to discuss her family, surely she would have simply said as much without prompting from him. Mayhap she changed her mind and her father wasn't pleased? If she and her family are at odds, that explains why she seems so sad...I hope...she doesn't...I hope...they have time to make amends...