Victory at Ostagar
Chapter 77: All the Way to West Hill
"Darkspawn!"
Rodyk's man on point screamed a warning, just a split second after Astrid sensed the Taint the air.
They had grown complacent in the past month, seeing little of the darkspawn. In the stretch of the Amgarrak Road close to the meeting place at the tip of Lake Calenhad, things were about to change.
"Form ranks!" Rodyk roared. "Assemble the ballistae!"
The darkspawn were coming from the east, on the Amgarrak Road. Astrid had time for the ironic reflection that her ability to sense darkspawn did not mean much, since the darkspawn could sense her just as readily.
"Wardens!" she shouted. "To your positions!"
The obscene chuckling echoed from stone to stone. The darkspawn were rounding a turn, not half a league away. No one could see them, but everyone could hear them. The Wardens could feel them. Shale thundered up beside Astrid, the crystals embedded in its rocky skin gleaming richly in the dim light. Everyone moved carefully away from the front of the ballistae, as the explosive bolts were loaded into the grooves.
Rodyk lifted his arm.
"Archers! Make ready!"
Catriona and the Dalish Ailill stood with the Legion bowmen, their arrows on their bowstrings, drawing back...sighting down the shafts.
The first scabby heads appeared in the distance. Velanna moved up to Astrid's other side, breathing slowly and deeply, staff at the ready.
"Loose!"
Bows twanged high and the ballistae low. One of the ballista bolts scraped along the side of the wall, striking sparks. Deflected, it bounced to the left and slammed into a hurlock, and finally struck the tunnel wall behind the creature and exploded. More darkspawn surged out of the turn.
"Now, Velanna! Now!"
The ensuing fireball knocked the darkspawn down, and left everyone's ears ringing from the shock. The archers recovered and sent more arrows winging at the enemy. Swordsmen and axemen adjusted their grips.
More darkspawn rushed them, howling. It was a big band, Astrid realized. A very big band. The earth trembled, and an ogre charged out of the shadows. Velanna screamed out a spell to weaken it and slow it down. The ballistae got off another bolt each. One impaled the ogre through the side of the chest and then exploded, destroying the creature's heart and lungs in a single blinding thunderclap. This blow briefly halted the darkspawn charge, but soon the battle was rejoined, and it was up to steel and magic to save them.
At the trot, Astrid led the vanguard forward to engage the darkspawn hand to hand. The archers shot high, aiming at the darkspawn shoving behind their leaders.
"You engineers!" Rodyk shouted. "Get your ballistae up on that rise and shoot over our heads!"
More darkspawn were coming: pushing and trampling in their eagerness to attack the Wardens; hopping, squealing. This was no mere band: it was a small army.
Rodyk roared commands, and the Legion formed a shield wall the width of the Road. The darkspawn surged up around the Wardens' skirmish line.
The vanguard was being mobbed. There was scarcely room to strike a blow. A human shriek rose up above the horrid grunting of the darkspawn. Astrid caught a glimpse of Liam's sunbright head, his mouth open, his eyes staring, until they dimmed suddenly, like candles blown out. The man collapsed, and the Blighted tide covered him.
"Wardens! Get back!" Astrid screamed. "Behind the shields!"
They were swimming in the flood of darkspawn, fighting to stay upright and armed. Astrid snarled as a genlock gibbered in her face, clawed hands scrabbling at her. An immense blow and the genlock and three of its fellows were flying backwards, slamming into the wall.
"Move, Warden!" boomed Shale. The golem halted, suddenly made sluggish by the backlash of Velanna's entropy spell. The mage's face was sickly with fear. She scrambled away from a circle of paralyzed darkspawn, and made a dash for the shield wall. A pair of overlapped shields briefly parted, admitting her. From that comparative safety, she unleashed another fireball. It passed within inches of Astrid, singing the hair on the back of her neck below her helmet. It exploded further down the passage, and flames licked backwards. Unholy screams echoed from wall to wall.
Explosive bolts sailed over the squirming mass, and smashed the darkspawn. Bits of the creatures flew up to the ceiling, and then dropped heavily on all the combatants. Velanna frantically fired spell after spell, downing lyrium potions, trying to rally her mana. Gathering all her strength, she unleashed a firestorm on the rear of the tunnel. Darkspawn screeched as flames roared up from the stone floor, consuming them. More fire dropped from the ceiling, clinging to heads and arms and breastplates. As some of the creatures withered in flame and fell dead, more rushed up behind them. They too, perished horribly. The fire spread, fed by the darkspawn, tongues of flame leaping from corpse to corpse and on to the living.
Aeron was stumbling, his helmet knocked off, his hair afire, blinded by blood from a slash to his forehead. Astrid shouted, "It's me!" and herded him along with her, trying to shelter him with her own shield. A hurlock was exactly where she wanted to push through the shield wall. Astrid bashed the creature from behind. When it turned on her, a Legionnaire stabbed it. Astrid gave Aeron a push, and the dwarves reached out to help the man inside and smother the flames.
Askil was not far, his face intent as his axe swept away a genlock's head. Astrid shouted at him wordlessly, and he nodded slightly, and began trudging doggedly back. Falkor, she feared was nearly lost in the beserker-rage, but Shale waded through the press and tapped him lightly—for a golem—on the back of the neck. Falkor dropped behind the golem, and Shale crushed another half-dozen of the darkspawn with a single sweep.
"Come on!" Astrid shouted. "Come on now! You, too, Shale!"
The dwarves made it back behind the shield wall. Astrid slipped through. Slinging her own shield onto her back. Astrid concentrated on using her sword to stab at the enemy from under the shields; stabbing at knees and groins. Darkspawn were made like other races. If you could nick the femoral artery, they would bleed out in seconds, just like dwarves, elves, and humans.
Shale positioned itself just in front of the shields, so its back was protected. It could still lash out with its mighty arms and grab at individual darkspawn, ripping them apart, throwing them back onto their fellows. The ballistae loosed bolt after bolt and the archers poured a rain of arrows down of the attackers. Now and then someone stumbled and fell in the shield wall, but others were there to take their places. The shield wall strained, but held. Some of the archers moved up and shot directly into the darkspawn. When the darkspawn dead mounded up too high, Rodyk ordered a withdrawal of five paces, executed on command.
The attack slowed, the darkspawn numbers dwindled, and the unbearable noise diminished. Dying and wounded darkspawn gobbled and thrashed. The archers took careful aim and finished them off. The balllistae engineers had no more targets, and leaned on their carriages, exhausted.
A terrible silence fell. Some of the Legion slid to the floor and curled up, unable to do anything more at the moment. Astrid found Velanna, sitting with her arms wrapped around her knees, eyes blank.
"The wounded need help," she said. Velanna gave her a hot, resentful look, but got up, drank another potion, and set to work.
Rodyk strode up to Astrid. "That was... grim, " he said. "We must have got soft. I lost eleven."
"I lost one dead," Astrid said, the reality sinking in. "And one may not be fit to fight for some time." She climbed over dead darkspawn, looking for Liam. it took some time to find him.
Liam had died. She had lost a Warden. Perhaps they had been lucky not to lose more, but this one was hers, and he had been a good fighter and a cheerful companion. She bent and tugged the young man out from under the stinking darkspawn. He had once mentioned some family. Catriona would know. And Bronwyn would want his service and his death recorded.
Velanna was busily casting healing spells, though Astrid noted that she had gone to Ailill first, though he was unhurt. She pressed her lips together, controlling her anger. Aeron needed Velanna's help now, and plenty of the Legion did as well.
Askill was pressing a bandage to Falkor's face, which would likely never be the same, considering the jaw wound. Aeron had lost his hair, and Astrid wondered if it would ever grow back. The minstrel, though in pain, was cheerful about it.
"I shall pretend to have shaved it deliberately, and set a new style. Maybe I'll set it off with an earring."
Catriona gave his arm a squeeze. "It makes you look like a real badass, Aeron."
A few scouts were sent to see if more darkspawn were coming. Ailill volunteered to go with them. Other unwounded warriors began opening up rations.
"Good work, Shale," Astrid said. She meant it, too. It seemed likely to her that the shield wall would not have held without Shale's support. The ballistae were good, and magic had played its part, but Shale had been crucial.
"I am always overjoyed to receive my little crumbs of praise. How does it feel? It appears relatively uninjured."
"I am quite well, Shale, though others are not."
"Yes, I have noticed that it is not as squishy as most."
Darion Olmech had fought with them, naturally, and well, too, though for the most part his contribution had been to load ballistae. The battle left him shaken and appalled. He was taking long swallows from a stone bottle.
"How can we hope for final victory without the power of golems?" he asked Astrid, his voice low. "What chance do we have? You saw what Shale did, and so did I. It made all the difference. All the difference! The Anvil of the Void is truly gone?"
"So they tell me. The golems were made by pouring molten lyrium over a living dwarf encased in metal or stone. The process was excruciating, and Caridin pleaded with the Warden-Commander to destroy the Anvil. She did, since she needed a Paragon's moral authority to resolve the succession."
"She was wrong. The Anvil of the Void belonged to the dwarves, and the Grey Wardens had no right to make such a decision." He wiped sweat and soot from his face, and slumped on a ballista carriage. "There must be another way. What has been invented once can be invented again. We understand the principle. It only remains to find the means."
"You mean... discover another way to make golems?" Astrid bit her lip, thinking. "That could be the salvation of Orzammar."
It would be a way to go home, too. Astrid was instantly swept up in exciting new possibilities. If she could present Orzammar with a new supply of golems, she would unquestionably be made a Paragon. Bhelen would not be able to touch her. A Paragon of Orzammar was greater than any king or queen. In fact, she could be queen if she so chose.
"You know," Darion whispered. "I have come upon references in the Shaperate to Amgarrak Thaig. They carried on experiments with golems long after Caridin was lost. If we could find the Thaig, something might remain."
"Ah," said Astrid, things becoming clearer to her. "So this is why you traveled with us."
"Yes. Why deny it? I'm looking for Amgarrak Thaig. It should be somewhere northeast of here, and not far at all. I have maps, but the way has been blocked for generations."
"I have my mission to complete, but after we arrive at the fortress of West Hill, we have orders to we explore the Deep Roads in the area. That might be the best opportunity."
Darion smiled slowly. "I was hoping you'd agree."
Astrid gave the scheme more thought, drawn in by the possibilities. According to the lore, Grey Wardens were not supposed to interfere in politics, but that was plainly not how it worked in practice. From what she had gathered in Denerim, the First Warden cared primarily for the affairs of the Anderfels, and his lack of support for Ferelden in this time of Blight appeared to be politically motivated by a desire to appease Orlais. Then, too, Bronwyn was not in the least impressed by the Grey Warden restrictions against holding titles. She was, in fact, clearly determined to make herself Queen of Ferelden. Astrid did not gainsay her for her ambition, but felt that what one Warden did, another could do. If a Warden Queen could rule a surface kingdom, could not a Warden Queen rule Orzammar?
Orzammar certainly needed something better than Bhelen. Given Bronwyn's situation, she could not blame her commander for choosing against Harrowmont, who, to be honest, was not the strong leader that Orzammar needed. Harrowmont was the traditionalists' choice, and tradition would be the doom of the dwarves. But Bhelen... Did the deshyrs know what they were getting in Bhelen? A kinslayer, a greedy manipulator, a liar and a cheat who cared only for his own power? Bhelen must go.
Her thoughts touched on Brosca, who would not like it if Bhelen fell. Astrid quite liked Brosca, and would have to make the former Duster understand that her sister and the child would be safe even if Bhelen perished. The child—who was just as much Astrid's nephew as Brosca's— would still be an Aeducan, and the mother—Rica—would keep her rank of petty noble. In fact, since Grey Wardens had trouble reproducing, it might be that the child would be her own heir. It mattered little to Astrid, who had never particularly longed to endure the inconveniences of pregnancy and childbearing. For that matter, the child would be better off without the influence of a tunnel snake like Bhelen.
She would have liked to continue the journey underground— and her very interesting conversation with Darion—but Bronwyn's orders were explicit. She was to travel to West Hill on the surface, while Tara's party had their own trial by fire below. There would be time enough to talk more with the scholar when they all gathered at West Hill.
Giving formal thanks to Rodyk and the Legion, Astrid led her battered Wardens to the Lake Calenhad access point. The Legion would dig in here, and await Tara and her party. Astrid hoped Tara would have better luck than her own. Catriona appeared especially saddened by Liam's death, and Astrid was gentle with her, praising the young man's courage and skill.
It was broad day when they opened the seal, and all of them reeled back, nearly blinded by the light. After the first shock, the humans and elves raced up the steps and threw themselves on the grassy earth of the surface, weeping; rejoicing at the sight of the sun and the feel of the wind on their faces. Astrid would never understand them, but it would do no good to laugh at them.
She consulted her map. "The Spoiled Princess is this way," she said. "Let's go."
Tara was not looking forward to her stint in the Deep Roads. She understood why Bronwyn felt it was important for all the Wardens to see the Deep Roads for themselves, but it was a daunting prospect, especially after Astrid's people had been so badly cut up. On the other hand, she could hardly expect them to go back and endure all the danger themselves. According to the maps, it should only be a little over two days march to the entrance near West Hill.
If the maps were correct. If there were no cave-ins. If the darkspawn did not attack in force. If.
While the three dwarves in Tara's party had plenty of experience, Darach had been in the Deep Roads once before, and only briefly. Walter and Griffith had been present on the day the Broodmothers were killed, but were part of the support troops on the surface. They had seen-and smelled-the condition of the soldiers who had seen the horrors with their own eyes, but not ventured below themselves. Now there was no choice.
At least they had a company of Legion escorting them. Shale, too. Astrid had told her that Shale was the key to victory. If the golem could stop snarking long enough, Tara imagined it would fight extremely well. Shale thought a lot of Astrid: not so much of a mage like Tara.
Of course, Tara had fought extensively in the Deep Roads herself, and journeyed to lost thaigs and Bownammar, City of the Dead. She had seen the wonders of the Anvil of the Void with her own eyes, something about which Darion Olmech, the dwarven scholar, asked her again and again.
He asked Brosca, too, who had been there as well. There was an edginess about Brosca now, and her temper was shorter. Ever since Cullen's death, something had gone sour and brittle in the duster. Darion was finding that out. Tara hoped he would stop pestering them with questions.
"Give it a rest, Darion!" Brosca's broad, good-humored face had turned hard. "It's over! Done! The Anvil was destroyed!"
The scholar was undeterred. "Do you really think a human should have taken it upon herself—"
"Branka pissed off the Boss, bonehead!" Brosca snarled. "Just like you're pissing me off right now. Branka went crazy and killed her whole house. She fucked up! Then she tried to force the Boss to get her to the Anvil. That was dumb. You don't piss off Bronwyn without consequences. You didn't see the things Branka did. Turning the women of her house into Broodmothers, trying to make enough darkspawn to force her way through to the Anvil... Letting the men be turned to ghouls! The Boss thought she needed to be stopped, and that was good enough for me! Now, if you will just get out of my face..."
Darion looked after her, disappointed, and then saw Tara, and hurried in her direction.
Tara raised her hands, and tried to stem the flood of words. "What she said. I think Bronwyn was right. She thinks dwarves have a serious enough population problem without killing breeders by making golems. She thinks its morally wrong to kill people in order to make them into weapons. She thinks there's no way that such a technology would not be misused. And... well... Branka really did piss her off. Me, too, for that matter. She was so smug."
He huffed. "Astrid agrees with me that the Anvil should have been preserved."
"Astrid wasn't there!" Tara felt her face crinkling into a scowl—a scowl so tight it hurt. "Leave it alone, Darion. I don't want to fight with you about something that's done. Caridin himself begged us to destroy the Anvil. He knew he'd done wrong by inventing it. It's gone. If you want to help your people, do something for the dusters and the surfacers."
She turned on her heel and stalked away. Behind her, a frustrated Darion considered his options, and then slipped away for a quiet talk with Sigrun and Jukka, who might not be so completely under the Warden-Commander's control.
After the next march, they met another band of darkspawn, smaller than the army Astrid had faced, but still formidable. These were also traveling west on the Amgarrak Road. What followed was grim.
There was a crossroads here of sorts. Not as big or complex as Caridin's Cross, but with enough twists and turns to allow the darkspawn to hit them from two directions. The Legion had experienced this before, and drew up into a half-circle formation with the archers in the center. There was no higher ground for the ballistae, and so once the first volleys were over, the engineers were forced to draw their personal weapons and fight in formation, stabbing out at targets of opportunity. One of the Legion went down almost immediately, a darkspawn arrow in her eye.
Tara, after hearing about the problems Velanna's firestorm had caused, decided to use lightning and ice to slow and damage the darkspawn attackers. At close range she could freeze the darkspawn outright, and Shale, stamping up and down their lines, shattered them to bloody splinters. Astrid was absolutely right about Shale's value. A golem really did make all the difference.
But there were a lot of darkspawn, and Tara felt the terrible squeezing, as the double attack pushed at the half-circle. Behind her was Darach, his fair elven face taut as he loosed arrow after arrow at the darkspawn with astonishing speed.
Out of the mob of darkspawn came an ogre, bellowing, shaking his horns in challenge. It was massive and heavily armored; bigger than any ogre Tara had seen before. It shook off spells like raindrops, and arrows like pebbles. The darkspawn charged in his wake, roaring in triumph.
Tara knew she had to get closer. She slipped through the shield wall and rushed forward, heedless of Rodyk's orders and her people's horrified shouts.
"The Little Mage is deranged!" Shale bellowed, thundering after her.
Tara shouted back, "If that ogre breaks the line, we're done!"
Arms up and shouting, she threw out a blast of winter, freezing everything in front of her within a range of thirty feet. Shale surged forward like the outraged Stone itself, smashing as it went. They ripped a breach through the darkspawn charge, and the ogre stayed frozen long enough for Shale to reach out and punch a hole through its shoulder.
The spell faded, and the monster, torn and bloody, screamed in rage and agony, lashing out at the golem. The force of its blow rocked Shale, sending him staggering back. More darkspawn rushed forward, and Tara lashed them with a chain of lightning. The darkspawn danced like grotesque puppets, while Shale recovered and slammed into the wounded ogre again.
With a start, she saw that she was not alone. Brosca was beside her, finishing off a genlock that had come at them from the left. With a grin, the dwarf girl charged the ogre, daggers flashing.
Tara managed a weak cold spell that slowed the nearest darkspawn. Shale knocked them aside, while Brosca bounded up, burying her daggers in the ogre's massive chest. It made a futile grab at the dwarf with its one good arm, but the daggers were already withdrawn, and now twisted into nose and eyesocket. The ogre shuddered, and toppled back into the darkspawn behind it. Brosca vaulted away. With a scissors-like move, she beheaded a hurlock that had lingered too long.
"Run!" Shale bellowed at Tara. "Run, or I will grab it by its bird-like head and carry it!"
Tara needed no urging. "Brosca! Come on!" she shouted, and darted back to the shelter of the shields. She shot another defiant blast of lightning at the faltering darkspawn.
"Legion! Advance east and north!" ordered Rodyk. With the ease of long practice, the formation altered, and ranks finished off the darkspawn in one direction, while in the other—to the east—a small number of the darkspawn fled back down the dim Amgarrak Road. Brosca made a rude gesture at them.
"We win!" she declared, wiping and sheathing her daggers. "Now let's do some looting."
The Legion was rather impressed with Brosca and Tara. Sigurn and Jukka applauded with mock gravity. Not all the Wardens agreed. Walther was shaking from terror, fury, and a dose of darkspawn poison from an arrow wound. He vomited violently, cursing in between heaves. Griffith hovered over him, trying to wipe his mouth.
"You people are crazy!" Walther sputtered, staggering to his feet. "Crazy! There was no reason to do that."
"Yes, there was," Brosca told him, giving him a shove. "If we hadn't killed the ogre we were all going to die. Sorry you were scared."
Walther shoved back. Tara thought for a moment that they would come to blows. She pushed them apart, trying to be taller than she was.
"That's enough! We can't fight among ourselves. Walther, this is all part of the job. It was a lot worse in the Dead Trenches. Sometimes you have to risk yourself. Brosca and I knew what we were doing."
"You're crazy!" he muttered. "Crazy mage. Crazy dwarves!"
Tara tried to cast a healing spell, but the man knocked her hand away, cursing. Griffith put a hand on his shoulder and took him aside. The two men conversed in whispers. Walther looked over his shoulder and glared at Tara from time to time. After a little while, they joined in the looting, and she hoped Walther's little tantrum was over.
After a meal and a rest period, scouts were sent out in a number of directions. A warden volunteered for each of the scouting parties: Sigrun, Darach, and Brosca. Somewhat to Tara's surprise, Darion Olmech asked to go along with those heading due east, saying that he needed to make some annotations to his maps. Tara put him out of her mind, and set about healing anyone she could.
West Hill was said to be haunted.
Astrid gave herself a little mental shrug, as the huge, rambling fortress crept up over the horizon, looming on a solitary hill set in a vast, flat plain by the sea. At a distance it was impressive. On closer inspection, one saw the decaying battlements and crumbling walls.
Velanna said, in an uncommonly subdued tone, "The Veil is thin here. Thousands were slaughtered on this plain."
Astrid knew that, of course. There had been a great battle here, during the Fereldan's war against the Orlesian occupation. The Fereldans did not like to talk about it much, but Astrid had read about it in the Shaperate, back in her days as a princess. Young Maric and his army had been thoroughly trounced by the Orlesians; apparently betrayed by a spy feeding them false intelligence. The Fereldans had been nearly annihilated, and Maric had fled the field, protected by Rowan, his future queen, and by his friend Loghain. Desperate, the three of them escaped into the Deep Roads entrance hard by the crumbling old fortress, and from there had made an epic journey to Gwaren in the southeast. Astrid was glad not to have any such prospect before her.
While their two day surface journey had been uneventful, Astrid had remained uneasy. She hoped Tara and her party would not suffer in the Deep Roads as had Astrid and her own people. They had needed their rest at the Spoiled Princess, and they rested again at the village of Three Points.
The village was indeed located at a three pointed crossroads, where the Imperial Highway ended and the Fereldan North Road began, and both were joined by the Lake Road. It was not surprising that they saw many travelers there. What Aeron had drawn attention to was the very large proportion of Templars among them. The Templars largely ignored them, other than to give Velanna—the only mage among the Wardens— filthy looks.
As a rule, Astrid ignored the human Chantry-folk as irrelevant. She knew that the mages hated them, and that the feeling was mutual. Why the humans had problems with something as useful as magic Astrid put down to the sort of self-destructive quirks all civilizations had. Humans continued to pour a huge amount of resources into their Chantry, even though the Templars did not fight the darkspawn, and even seemed to find the idea inappropriate: almost insulting. Astrid did not know how many Templars were in Ferelden, but she suspected there were enough to make a sizable force to aid against the Blight. Bronwyn should find a way to put pressure on them.
Dwarves were no better, of course. They wasted a good tenth—at a conservative estimate—of their shrinking population. The castes would rather have a group they could look down on and despise rather than put the casteless to useful labor. In this way, Orzammar lost great warriors like Brosca to crime or the Wardens.
The elves lived on the remnants of their vanished greatness, or on the bones thrown them by the humans. City elves preyed on each other, and the Dalish sneered at them, calling them "flat ears," though Astrid was unable to distinguish any difference whatever in the shape of their ears. Dalish arrogance was so great—and so utterly without foundation, in Astrid's opinion—that they antagonized many who might have befriended them.
Perhaps she was extrapolating from insufficient data, but Astrid was not much impressed by the Dalish with whom she had dealt closely. Danith's behavior during the werewolf affair had been a disgrace, and in Bronwyn's place Astrid would have killed her without hesitation. She well understood the political reasons for tolerating such an unreliable individual, but she still considered Danith's promotion to Senior Warden undeserved. Through the whole Zathrian affair, Astrid's sympathies had been entirely with the werewolves.
Which brought her to consider the Dalish mages. Zathrian did not seem an aberration to her. Merrill, the Dalish Keeper at Ostagar, was a powerful mage, but appeared to be half-mad. Even her own people seemed to think so, having given her reliable older warriors to watch her.
And Velanna… Astrid glanced at the mage, who was walking with Ailill, a closed, supercilious look on her face. Astrid blew out a breath.
Closer acquaintance had not improved her opinion of Velanna. Velanna was haughty and difficult; she was quick to take insult where none was intended. She openly favored her own people. Astrid had not missed that Velanna always turned to heal Ailill first—even when he did not require it. Always. She was not as rude to Astrid and Askil as she was to the two surviving humans, but she made no attempt to mix with the dwarves or get to know them.
Then, too, she was careless with her magic. She was powerful, true, but did not much care whom her power hurt, as long as it did not hurt herself or another elf. And that loud voice and tactless manner would not help as they applied for entrance at the gate of West Hill, which were now before them.
"Grey Wardens?" the elderly seneschal gaped at them in dismay. "Nobody told me Grey Wardens were coming! You want to stay? Here?"
"I don't," Velanna muttered, sneering at one and all.
Astrid ignored her, and fixed the human with her Princess-of-Orzammar stare. "Yes, we wish to stay here. Traditional hospitality is due the Grey Wardens in time of Blight. We are patrolling in this area, and are here by order of the Warden-Commander, Bronwyn Cousland."
With that, she presented her written orders to the hapless man. He took them gingerly, as if he thought they might bite, while the servants looked on in excitement and whispered to each other about "The Girl Warden."
Knowing that Bronwyn loathed that foolish nickname, Astrid maintained her bland expression. It would help a great deal, of course, that the lord of this rickety old mausoleum was a vassal of the Teyrn of Highever.
"Bann Frandarel's not here, Warden," the man dithered. "Gone to Denerim for the Landsmeet, he has."
"His presence is immaterial to us," Astrid said. "Are you planning to refuse us admittance?"
"No!" the man said, frightened. "No... but the bann might not like strangers staying here behind his back, like..."
"Grentold! Let the Wardens in!" A big woman strode across the puddled courtyard, pushing her sleeves back from burly arms. Her clothes were those of a commoner and her apron was filthy, but she seemed to be of some account here.
"Myrdagh, his lordship likes to keep himself to himself..."
"No one's asking anything of his lordship." The woman turned, and dropped a massive curtsey to the Wardens. "You're heartful welcome to what we have, Wardens. His lordship locks up the wine and spices when he's gone, but there's plenty of plain food and drink, and no end of empty rooms. I'll have some of the girls put you in the Wynde Courtyard."
A series of long passages led them to an unoccupied courtyard. Leading off it were rooms that clearly had not seen use—or cleaning—in many years. They were large and commodious, though, and out of the weather. An icy hall with a soot-blackened ceiling gradually grew warm when the servants made a great fire in a circular pit in the middle of the stone floor. There was a curious square structure in the ceiling above it, which had little openings along the sides to let out the smoke. A maze of smaller rooms surrounded the hall, and some actually had what passed for beds in them. The servants brought in blankets and sheepskins to make them up with. It was far better than camping outdoors.
"Find us a bathtub or two," Astrid instructed them. "We'll want to be clean. We can fetch out own water, if you will show us where the well is."
Myrdagh stayed long enough to make sure that they had what they needed, and Astrid warned her that seven more Wardens would be coming in a day or two, along with a company of fifty or so dwarven soldiers. The woman's eyes widened at that, but she seemed determined to rise to the challenge.
"Plenty of room, Warden!" the woman said. "West Hill is three-quarters empty."
Supper was brought in: a stew mostly composed of root vegetables. Along with it was some interesting dark-brown bread and a deep bowl of some fruit conserve. A keg of decent ale was produced. Plain, yes: but ample.
Velanna was unimpressed, "Revolting!" She examined the bread in disgust, poking at it, and then dusting off her fingers. "It looks like a great clod of mud! And what is this?" she asked, spooning up the stew. "Salt water?" The servants hurried from the big empty room, whispering indignantly among themselves.
"If you don't want it," Falkor said, gesturing at the elf's bowl of stew, "I'll have yours. I would have killed for that in Dust Town."
"It smells a lot better than what we had in the army," Catriona murmured to Aeron.
Velanna shrugged. "Poor, sad shemlen."
Astrid spoke up. "Velanna. I think you meant to have a look at Aeron's wounds before we ate. Wasn't that right? You must have forgotten."
With an enormous, put-upon sigh, Velanna strolled over to the minstrel, and set about changing the bandages. Aeron tried to roll his eyes at Astrid, and then winced in pain. Astrid longed for some time alone... before she started stabbing people.
A long walk around the fortress— mostly up on the battlements—restored her self-command. Astrid admired the twinkling stars above, studying the curious way the wisps of cloud obscured them. That was the aesthetic part of her explorations. When no one was looking, she did a bit of reconnaissance as well.
Much of the fortress appeared to be empty, as the housekeeper had indicated. The Bann and his servitors apparently used only one wing, with the bann's private apartments occupying a corner tower. Other parts of the fortress were used mainly for storage. From her readings she had gleaned that there had been a village nearby, in the days before the Orlesian invasion. For some reason, it had never been rebuilt.
Astrid poked into rooms and peered through windows. Like most dwarves, she had good low-light vision. She regretted that she did not have the ability to pick locks, and vowed to cultivate the skill. This was a remarkable fortress, and if properly repaired, could prove a barrier even to the darkspawn horde, should it come this way. There were foodstuffs enough here to feed the entire army at Ostagar. Below the curtain walls were eroded fortifications: ditches and works on a grand scale. A moat had once surrounded the fortress. A shame that all of it had fallen to ruin.
"A cold night for a walk."
It was Askil, his breath white puffs in the chilly air. A fellow dwarf was a welcome companion in this strange place, even a Duster turned Legionnaire turned Warden. Askil was shorter than she, with a big mashed nose and a bold brand tattoo that covered the left side of his face. He stamped his feet and rubbed his hands together, unused to such low temperatures.
"Cold, indeed," Astrid agreed. "What brought you away from the fire?"
"I got tired of the tension: humans on one side, elves on the other. That Velanna can't resist a chance to needle anyone in sight. It's crazy. You'd think we'd get on better after that fight in the Deep Roads, but we don't. Ailill's not so bad, though. It's Velanna who's making trouble."
"I'll talk to her again."
"Good luck. Here." Askil gave her a flask, and Astrid drank and swallowed, enjoying the brief fire in her throat.
"That's good."
"It's the last. Stone knows where we'll get more." Askill looked down at the flat plains stretching out from the fortress. "We're a long way from home."
Astrid smiled. "It's really just under our feet, if you think of it the right way."
A snort. "A long way down." A silence, and then Askil, more quietly, asked, "Why are we here, Lady Aeducan?"
She laughed, incredulous, and then saw he was serious. "Because we're Grey Wardens, and have a mission. What else do you mean?"
"I mean," he said, "that we're still dwarves, after all. So we've promised assistance to the Grey Wardens. Why? What do the dwarves of Orzammar get out of it? Do the Wardens intend to help us in return? I never heard of it."
This was a matter that Astrid had given thought to herself, and she had no good answers.
"In a sense, Grey Wardens already help Orzammar. When our Calling comes, we go into the Deep Roads and kill all the darkspawn we can find."
"Wardens go one at a time, and kill a handful at most. How does that compare with the entire dwarven army—plus the Legion of the Dead—marching to save the surfacers? During the time between Blights, the Wardens should all come to the Deep Roads to fight beside the dwarves. I don't understand this treaty. It's hard to believe that dwarves would agree to anything that gives us so little."
She shook her head. "I've seen the treaty with my own eyes. In it, the King of Orzammar gives his oath to support the Grey Wardens in time of Blight. There are no mutual defense clauses."
"In other words," he said slowly. "Orzammar is on its own."
"More or less. There are some golems at the Shaperate for a final defense. And Shale, I think, would stand with us. If we had an army of Shales, we'd have no need of humans or elves."
Askil's chuckle was rueful. "Even with the attitude, that golem is worth its weight in gold. I wish we had a way to replicate it."
Astrid hesitated, and then decided to confide in him. "Don't speak of this to anyone else... but... what if there is a way? Darion Olmech believes that he can find Amgarrak Thaig. They were researching golems there. They might have left notes at least, but he and I cannot go there alone. It is not far from here, and Bronwyn did order us to explore the Deep Roads near West Hill."
"That's the best idea I've heard...ever," Askil told her. 'You can count me in. Let's tell Falkor. You can trust him."
After two more skirmishes, Tara was unspeakably relieved when they arrived at the West Hill access point. The Legion might have mixed feelings about ascending to the surface again, but everyone else was pleased. The wounded were helped up the winding stairs, and under an enormous grey sky, the party stumbled out, resealed the entrance, and formed up to march for West Hill. A gentle snow was falling, which alarmed and baffled most of the dwarves.
"What is that?" Sigrun wondered. "It's pretty, but... weird."
"Snow," Shale said. "Frozen water crystals. It falls from the sky in cold weather. The crystals melt at even low room temperature, so they are useless for purposes of adornment. You will notice, on close inspection, that they are all six-sided. Crystals, but ephemeral."
For that matter, Tara had not seen snow that she could remember, though she had heard about it. It was pretty. She tried catching the snowflakes on her tongue. Brosca stared at her.
"It's fun," Tara said. "They're cold, but they're just water, after all."
"'Frozen water crystals,'" Brosca muttered. "Now I've seen everything."
Captain Rodyk made a face at the landscape.
"I didn't know the surface could be so... white and flat," he said. "It's... disturbing."
"It is very flat indeed," agreed Shale. "There is going to be a actual hill somewhere in this West Hill place, isn't there?"
"I really don't know, but the map says we'll be there soon," Tara told the golem. She cast a worried look at the Wardens. Walther was still not speaking to anyone but Griffith, and Griffith had taken a fairly scary neck wound during the last fight. Tara had given his healing her best effort, but it would still scar badly. The dwarves were in far better spirits, perhaps due to the comforting presence of the Legion. Darach, as always, was dependable, since he insisted on regarding her as his Keeper. At least he wasn't disoriented by the snow. In fact, he bent down, scooped up a loose handful, and showed the Legion how to make snowballs. The dwarves attempted to follow suit, and agreed amongst themselves that 'snowballs' would be more effective as weapons if they were formed around some sort of metal core.
The march was not long, and soon they caught sight of the big fortress. The dwarves found it interesting, and critiqued the defenses at length. Tara had hardly got the words, "We're Grey Wardens" out of her mouth before the doors were flung wide. There were stares at the imposing sight of Shale, but no outright terror. Their friends were awaiting them... or more properly, their fellow Wardens. Velanna's sneer reminded her that not everyone was a friend. Tara caught sight of Aeron, and was pleased to see that his scalp seemed to be healing. There was something to be said for the regenerative powers of the Grey Wardens.
"Astrid!" Brosca shouted, waving. "Not dead yet, I see."
"Brosca, it's good to see you! Tara, Rodyk." Astrid nodded to them, relieved to see that all seven Wardens were accounted for. "And Shale! Still in one big stony piece. We arrived three days ago. The place is rambling and mostly empty. Rodyk, I've arranged quarters for you and your men. That fellow coming to greet you is the seneschal Grentold. The real power is the housekeeper Mydaugh, though, and you'll find her cooperative. Bann Frandarel is not in residence, so we have it all our own way. Don't worry about supplies. I've looked around, and the place is packed with foodstuffs."
The seneschal had actually confronted Astrid the day before about supplies and costs and proper requisitioning protocols. Astrid had fobbed him off with a promissory note and verbal assurances that the Grey Wardens would pay for what the Bann of West Hill could not afford to give those defending his own lands.
Tara said, "We'll need to rest for a day or two. That sound all right, Rodyk?"
The captain nodded. "My people would be better for food and sleep. Let's talk about plans tomorrow."
The seneschal arrived to lead the Legion down a long, freshly-scrubbed hall to their own quarters. Darion trailed behind, and caught Astrid's eye.
"Just a minute, Tara..." she murmured. She caught up with Darion, and her heart leaped at the gleam of triumph in his eye. "You found it?" she guessed. "You've found the way to Amgarrak Thaig?"
"Yes," he murmured. Glorious discovery or not, he knew how to be discreet. "I'm sure of it. If there is anywhere we're likely to hear about the subsequent golem experiments, it's there. Your friends Tara and Brosca are not sympathetic, by the way."
"It doesn't matter," she murmured back. Smiling radiantly, she clapped him on the shoulder. "We have orders to explore this portion of the Deep Roads. No need to bring up exactly what we're looking for. We'll talk tomorrow."
Tara made a face at Darion's back. As soon as Astrid had returned to the group of Wardens, she said, "Darion nearly talked my ear off about the Anvil. He thinks Bronwyn should have let Branka make more golems."
Astrid made a show of indifference. "He's a scholar and loves to hash over the dead past. Arguments about 'what might have been' are his meat and drink. Speaking of which, I suspect you're all starving."
"No lie," Brosca agreed. She spoke low, letting the general conversation cover her words. "We had some trouble on the way. A big party hit us, and the Legion lost a few. Walther and Griffith were wounded, and they didn't like it at all."
Tara agreed. "I think the Deep Roads really scared them. I'm glad they'll have some rest before we go back."
"And something hot to eat," said Brosca. "They'll feel better after that. Me, too."
In the morning, Walther and Griffith were gone, along with their gear and loot. Aeron, who shared a room with them, was the first to notice their absence, and notified Astrid and Tara at once. When questioned, the West Hill servants could not tell them much.
"They said they had to go out on patrol, Warden," said a trembling kitchenmaid. "They left before sunrise. They said they'd be gone at least a week and needed some food for the journey, so I packed up some good rations for them. Did I do wrong?"
"No," Astrid said instantly, shaking her head just the least bit at Tara. "You did right. I didn't expect them to leave so early." She stalked away, Tara following. Once they were out of earshot, she relieved her anger. "Those useless cowards! Listen to me, Tara: we're not going to tell anyone outside the Wardens that they bolted. It would make us look weak. We'd lose face before the Legion. We'll have to tell our own people, but no one else until we report to Bronwyn."
"Where could they have gone?"
"What difference does it make?" Astrid snarled, tugging her hair in rage. "They're gone. At least they had the sense not to take what wasn't theirs. They knew we'd come after them for that. But now? With the weather gone cold and bits of frozen water coming out of the skies? Let them freeze, for all I care. They're no good to us anyway."
Tara was bitterly disapproving, and distressed that the deserters were from her own little command. "You can't desert from the Wardens. You can't stop being a Warden. They'll see."
A Warden council was called, and the news—that Griffith and Walther had deserted—was shared. Shale was present, but showed uncommon delicacy of feeling—and sound good sense—by not baiting the Wardens were they were feeling betrayed and very, very angry.
"I always knew they were no good!" Brosca shouted, stamping a foot. "How those two ever made it through the Joining is a mystery to me!"
"I didn't think Griffith was so bad," said Sigrun, more mild in her judgement. "Maybe he was just led astray."
"Where could they go?" Catriona wondered, ashamed that the deserters were human. "The harbors are freezing in, and the Frostback passes will be hip-deep in snow."
"Maybe they went to Orzammar!" Falkor suggested. "There's a Warden hostel there. Should we tell the King to detain them?"
"No." Astrid was not going to ask anything of Bhelen—especially something that reflected so poorly on her own leadership. She could imagine his smug, smirking face all too well.
"Deserters! Among the Grey Wardens?"
"No," she repeated. "It would only make the Order look bad."
"I don't think they'd go to Orzammar, anyway," said Askil. "I don't think it would occur to them. They like the surface."
Aeron worried at his bandages until Tara glared at him. He said, "There are some ships still crossing the waking Sea. Maybe they're hoping to get a ship in Highever or Amaranthine that will take them to the Free Marches. They're likely on the North Road by now. If we had horses, we could ride them down."
"But we don't," Catriona pointed out glumly.
"There are plenty of Wardens across the Waking Sea," said Astrid. "They might not have come to our aid, but they are there, and they'd surely sense two stray Wardens. We should go ahead with our mission. We'll notify Bronwyn when we can, and what she does is up to her."
"I hope they die!" snarled Brosca, taking a long swig of brandy despite the early hour. "I hope they freeze in the frozen water crystals! I hope they drown in the sea! Dirty cowards!"
Tara heartily agreed, feeling like a complete failure as a leader. "We're better off without them."
A swordsman and an archer traveling together excited no interest anywhere in Ferelden. Soldiers of the realm and mercenaries alike were on the march throughout the kingdom. Walther and Griffith buried their Warden tunics in a pile of snow under an oak tree, and took the North Road east to Crosby Fell, where Griffith knew a good inn. While it was snowing, it was not bitter cold, and the men had thick warm cloaks and good boots, courtesy of the Grey Wardens. They had their Satinalia pay as well, and plenty of loot.
They considered going north to Highever, and then dismissed the notion. The Warden-Commander's brother was Teyrn there, and after all that had happened, the Teyrn's men would be suspicious of strange warriors. Amaranthine was a better choice. In the little village of Knotwood, Walther had cousins that the Wardens could not possibly know about. They could stay there for a few days, and then go up the Coast Road to the city and get a ship that would get them away; far from the Wardens, the Blight, and being bossed by stuck-up dwarves and crazy knife-eared mages.
There were inns and farmholds all along the North Road. The weather befriended them. They made it to Knotwood without even so much as a frostbitten nose. Walther's family welcomed them kindly, pitying their wounds and horrified at their tales of being forced into the Deep Roads. The two men were well-supplied with food and drink and good wishes, and told to be wary of the Teyrn's patrols on the North Road. Another cousin in the city of Amaranthine would put them up while they looked for a ship to take them to Ostwick or Kirkwall.
Thus, not far from Vigil's Keep, they disappeared into the trees at the first, distant sounds of hoofbeats. An observer would have expected them to reappear after the horsemen galloped past, but that observer would have waited in vain. Their footprints in the light snow went in one direction only, and gradually melted away under the noonday sun, leaving no trace of the two deserters.
Thanks to my reviewers: Chandagnac, Psyche Sinclair, EmbertoInferno, EpitomyofShyness, Doom-N-GloomGal, Zute, Mike3207, darksky01, Anime-StarWars-fan-zach, Girl-chama, Robbie the Phoenix, chocolatebrownie12, JackOfBladesX, KnightOfHolyLight, karinfan123, sizuka2, Rexiselic, Nemrut, Guest, Phygmalion, Shakespira, Wizco, Enaid Aderyn, Juliafied, Blinded in a bolthole, SkaterGirl246, Herebedragons66, Tsu Doh Nimh, mille libri, Costin, anon, Have Socks. Will Travel, sleepyowlet, and Josie Lange.