Song: Blind Guardian – "Treason"
Chapter 88: Our Wrath Shall Come Upon Our Foe
"Winter beach," the southernmost landing site.
Petra scowled at the currents. The tropical storm that had stagnated in this area had kicked up the surf, and the force she led had drifted a bit south of where they had intended. But then she scanned the beach through her spyglass. The scowl faded away, transforming into a smirk. Scratch that. This works better anyway, she thought.
The beach was filled with scattered traps, but from the look of it, at least half had been disabled due to coastal flooding and intense waves. A barrel of some sort of mild explosive—certainly not as powerful as Kirkwall's blasting powder—lay on its side, tipped over and stove in with a piece of driftwood, the substance leaking out and rendered utterly useless with the infusion of seawater. Leghold traps lay disarmed, rusted, and broken, exposed from sand erosion.
The storm had done Petra's force a great favor, but she knew that there might still be additional traps that had escaped the wrath of nature. She knew what had to be done. The Viscountess had given her orders not to use the rockets. They were meant to be a special surprise for Starkhaven and Tantervale. She also thought it best to preserve the blasting powder bombs. But Petra commanded a naval division with many mages, and the Viscountess herself had recommended clearing the beaches with magic.
The captains who followed her knew it. They drew closer, getting as close to shore as they could, a menacing line paralleling the coast. Between the swirling currents, the continued surge of the offshore storm, and high tide, that was quite close indeed—close enough for Petra to give the order without needing a single mage in a small boat. Her first mate brought the mages on her ship to the deck. She raised her hand in a signal.
"Hit the beach!" she commanded, swinging her arm down in an arc to point at the strip of coastline. "Elemental barrage! Anything that can disarm traps!"
The mages on Petra's ship readied their staves. A crash of wood against wood sounded as they slammed their staves against the deck nearly in unison, and with that, a maelstrom of ice, lightning, fire, and rockfalls pummeled the beach, all in the same strip. The mages onboard the other ships followed suit, and the rest of the beach became enveloped in elemental fury.
Rocks threw sand high into the air, lightning bolts instantly fried it into glass monstrosities, fire kicked up firestorms, and the winds of a blizzard sent grains flying across the strip of coast, all of the elements exposing and disarming the traps that remained. It was difficult sometimes to see through the magical storm, but Petra caught frequent glimpses of leghold traps being flung about, barrels of weak explosive burned up—often setting off even more traps in the process—and caltrops scattered. Nothing could withstand this. The mages knew, too, to preserve some of their mana for combat. With so many of them on the job, no one mage needed to do much more than a single area-of-effect elemental spell, and the mages' leaders had all instructed them so.
At last Petra stopped seeing traps in the maelstrom. They were probably all triggered. The most dangerous ones, the explosive barrels with tripwires that had heretofore been buried in sand, certainly had to be. An isolated leghold that was still active might incapacitate one soldier briefly, but there were Healers among them who could handle anything it could inflict short of actually cutting someone's leg off. Petra decided that it was time to come ashore.
"Lower the boats!" she commanded, once the vanguard of mages and other soldiers had climbed into them. These too had been carefully selected for their combat prowess to lead the assault on the beach. Viscountess Hawke had anticipated that everyone would need to fight their way up the strips of sand, but that did not look to be the case here, since Petra's force had come in farther south than expected. The enemy had rigged this beach with traps, but had not had enough soldiers to guard it. That or the flooding had driven them inland.
Of course, that just meant that those soldiers would be posted elsewhere. They were probably already heading south. It would have been hard not to see or hear the magical storm. The mages and soldiers chosen for the vanguard would still be needed there.
This first round of soldiers scrambled up the beach, boots splashing in the surf—but no one pulled a tripwire or got caught in the damaging snap of a leghold. It seemed that the currents and the elemental storm had done their work. The very first line kept their shields locked together, and the first line of mages—just behind them—enhanced this bulwark with arcane shields as they scampered up the coast. Behind them, non-magical soldiers had their bows or crossbows out, eyes darting rapidly across the exposed sand, ready for incoming projectiles or the sudden stampede of armored boots—but none came.
Quickly—though it felt agonizingly slow to those on the front lines—the ships emptied of their armed forces. The boats were left on the beach; the line of ships sailed ponderously back to be out of range of an enemy attack. If their mages could strike the beach with an elemental fury, enemy Red Templars might have been able to hit the ships—but not now.
The sun had risen, and Petra's entire armed force had disembarked and made it past the strip of sand into the more shielded area of a brackish swamp, when they finally encountered enemy soldiers.
"Take them down!" she shouted as a band of swordsmen in Seeker armor and the symbol of Tantervale suddenly splashed through the bog, bursting out from behind craggy cypress trees and tangles of swamp vines. She feared momentarily that the Kirkwall force would not be able to handle this—that, while the enemy humans might have been no problem, the environment would prove too alien to anyone to manage and it would become the real enemy.
She need not have.
The mages were armored lightly, strapped into leathers or splint mail, as Viscountess Hawke had ordered a couple of years ago. The heat, humidity, and swamp water did not bog them down at all. Those non-mages who did wear heavy plate were not in danger, because the water level was not high enough for anyone to need to swim. And if the enemy could use the swamp, so could they.
A small unit led by a Chasind mage had the idea first. Petra recalled briefly how the Chasind had lived in the Korcari Wilds of Ferelden before the Blight—also a swamp. This man caught sight of a group of enemy Seekers approaching rapidly, swords drawn, miry water splashing from their heavy stomps—but a maze of vines, drooping willows, and cypress lay between them and the Kirkwall force. The Chasind mage smirked and raised his staff, but no visible flare of light erupted from it. Instead the plants twisted around the Seekers, tripping, strangling, lashing, even—Petra gaped—squeezing them gorily in two.
The rest of the units with mages in them all decided to do the same thing. There was plenty of plant life in the swamp. All of a sudden, enemy forces were thrown about, choked, whipped, held down and drowned in murky stagnant water. The non-mages could not manipulate the swamp like this, but having the enemy restrained and fighting against nature itself made it easy for them to hack, slash, and fill their foe with arrows.
Someone pointed and shouted at a large, dark object that dangled from a tree branch right above Petra's head. She looked up and gasped. It was a wasp nest. But she could use that too. The insects used in a stinging swarm invocation were not real life and vanished with the spell itself, but it was also possible to use an existing swarm...
Petra pointed her staff at the nest and cast a green spell at it. Instantly the entire swarm boiled out, a furious stinging cloud of black wasps with white markings here and there. These were vicious, a kind that did not occur as far south as Kirkwall or Ferelden. She directed them at a heavily armored force that threatened a unit of non-mages. The wasps could get into the enemy armor through gaps far better than the non-mage soldiers' arrows and bolts could, and once in, it was very difficult to get them out—and torturous. These wasps could sting multiple times, rather than dying after a single sting like honeybees. They also sprayed venom into the enemies' eyes, blinding them.
What had begun as a concerning fight had rapidly turned into a massacre. Petra's force did not even take any prisoners. None of the enemy surrendered, perhaps realizing that they would not be shown any mercy after the Annulment here. When fighting finally ceased in the swamp, Petra paused to wipe sweat off her face, wondering if a new force would emerge. But none did.
"All right!" she called out. "We march north! We drifted a bit off course and came in farther south than planned, so we need to make haste to reach General Hendyr and reinforce her. Her squadron is just north of us, and we know they were going to be in for a fight. Good work everyone; let's move!"
"Summer beach."
Petra's force had come ashore south of Aveline's. On the opposite side, north of Aveline's central attack, Alain's landing had faced a challenge that Petra's had not. He had been able to land at the intended site, and that stretch of beach was guarded by enemy forces—especially Red Templars. An entire line of the massive kind, the ones that had lost any human resemblance and looked just like red-lyrium golems, walled off the beach from areas farther inland.
Alain had given the same orders that Petra had while still offshore, but the elemental storm his mages had unleashed had not set off nearly as many traps. When the haze cleared, it became evident why the enemy had not placed as many traps on this beach: The massive Red Templar behemoths had the ability to slam their huge fists to the ground and cause spikes of the vile substance to shoot up from the sand in rings around them. Any soldier or mage who was in the wrong place at the wrong time could be impaled by a spike, and those who had advanced past the perimeter of the red lyrium spikes would be trapped inside a confining ring of them, forced to engage a monster in single combat.
This, indeed, was the fate of several soldiers in Alain's vanguard.
Those things have to go, he resolved. It sickened him to see his best mages and non-mage soldiers trapped in those rings with no support against the monsters. He considered momentarily what to do. Mages sometimes struggled against these things; red lyrium was inherently and strongly anti-magic. Alain turned to his archers and crossbowmen.
"Shoot them!" he shouted. "Runed arrows and bolts! Take them down!"
The team let loose a flurry of projectiles. The large size of the red-lyrium behemoths made easy targets, and quickly the monsters were spiked like porcupines. Alain wished they could have used explosive runes, but he wanted to protect the mages and soldiers who were trapped within the rings of red lyrium. While the monsters were distracted into clawing at their injuries, it gave the trapped men and women the opportunity to level attacks of their own.
Alain's forces repeated this assault several times until the behemoths were finally reduced to shards of red lyrium, dead—if such things could have been said to have been alive at all. He grimaced. Somehow, that filthy substance would need to be destroyed before it wormed its way into the beach. But that would be a matter to deal with later.
The rest of his force descended from the ships and rushed the shore, now clear of attackers. Beyond the beachfront lay a line of pine trees. The hundreds of soldiers scrambled toward the mainland, weapons at the ready—
And quickly found themselves facing more enemy forces. These, however, were not Red Templars. They were not even ordinary Templars or Seekers. They were common soldiers of Tantervale and Starkhaven, with no special abilities, and they were vastly outnumbered by the incoming force.
"They've broken through the Behemoths!" an enemy captain yelled. Alain noted that the name he had been calling the monsters in his head was apparently their actual name. "Retreat! Head for the outskirts of the city!"
Alain suppressed an angry curse. He needed to get his people south to support Aveline. But he could not give the enemy time to regroup and potentially set up an ambush in the city.
"After them!" he shouted, raising his staff high. With a roar, the Kirkwall-Free Mages army stampeded after the fleeing foe.
The enemy had a head start, but some of Alain's people were quite fast, and others were mages who could cast Haste. The mages intercepted the fleeing enemy first, just as the soldiers tried to force their way into the homes of local residents on the outskirts of Dairsmuid.
Alain made a quick decision. The people of Rivain could not possibly want to shelter these invaders. His force was technically an invader too, of course, but they were there to liberate and avenge rather than to conquer. Bursting into people's homes to kill enemy soldiers was an ugly business, and opened the risk of the enemy using innocent civilians as hostages—but Alain could not abandon these Rivaini civilians to probable looting and rape either.
"Don't let them get away with it!" he commanded. "Pursue them! Take them out—but leave the civilians alone!"
House-to-house combat was as ugly as he had feared. In several residences, enemy soldiers were attempting to hide behind unarmed adults and children, using them as human—or elven, or qunari—shields. That would have been quite effective against swordsmen and archers. But Alain had mages, who could spot-target the soldiers and completely avoid the innocents.
Slowly, their progress decreasing to a crawl, Alain's force took out the hostiles. But as long as they were occupied with this, they could not assist General Aveline with the immense challenge she was likely facing.
"Autumn beach."
North of Alain's team, Lysas, Fenris, and Isabela led the Siren's Kiss as close to the shore as they dared. Isabela peered through the Antivan spyglass. It was bleeding obvious that this stretch of beach was filled with traps. She shook her head, scoffing. The religious fanatics and red-lyrium-heads couldn't even do a good job of hiding their handiwork. Seems that the only thing they can do well is murder children and captives. Oh, well. Makes it easier for us.
Isabela always had fun disarming traps, but this mission was not about her personal pleasure in putting one over a foe. She sighed. Hawke's orders were clear; the mages were to disarm the traps and clear the beaches before anyone scrambled ashore. It made sense. It was effective, Isabela begrudged. Practical. Even if she personally couldn't partake of it.
She signaled to the second ship in her part of the fleet, which was captained by Captain Revaud of the Felicisima Armada. His face was set in a deadly resolve that would frighten even the stoutest of hearts.
The Dairsmuid mage children that he had rescued were not on this ship, Isabela knew. She expected that the two adolescent leaders, at least, probably would have wanted to participate in this battle to retake their city and avenge their friends and mentors, but the pirate captain would not hear of it. His daughter had given her life partly to cover their escape. They were aboard another ship in the Armada, which would come ashore and let them off in Dairsmuid once it was liberated.
The mages aboard these ships began a whir of spells, all of which could kick up the sand and set off the traps. The beach erupted into a storm of flying sand, splashing waves, snapping metal traps, exploding barrels, and elements.
The vanguard, already boarded into boats that bobbed at the surface of the water, detached from the ships and rowed the short distance towards the shore. They reached the shallows and scrambled out of the boats, splashing through the waves.
Isabela cringed as the first round of arrows and bolts peppered them. Some of them went down immediately, blood pooling in the saltwater as they fell, toppled by lucky—or unlucky—shots. Others had shields out, either physical or arcane, that deflected the projectiles. Isabela hoped that there weren't too many Red Templars here. Red lyrium was hard to defend against.
She scanned the treeline beyond the beach and glowered at the sight of crossbowmen and archers lurking in the shadows. "Move in!" she ordered. "Everyone off! There are enemy archers in the trees—hit them!"
The ships soon emptied of the rest of their fighting forces. Those who could shoot spells or physical projectiles at range quickly began shooting at the trees, at enemies if they could see them, in the general direction of the underbrush if not. Yells of pain indicated that many of these shots struck.
At sea, Isabela was in charge. On land, Fenris and Lysas would take over commanding the non-mages and mages respectively. Isabela was a great captain, but Fenris had more experience with structured combat on land, and Lysas was a figure whom the mages already trusted.
She didn't mind ceding authority to them. Captaining a ship was natural to her; commanding a battalion on land was not. She had her own daggers out, slicked with lethal poison, as she danced a red dance of death through enemy lines. Her pirate-heavy force had been ruthlessly effective. The beach itself was already cleared, and the enemy had been forced to retreat into the trees as the far larger invading force advanced. They apparently imagined that this gave them an advantage. It did not. Isabela's force contained too many people who were familiar with the area or with combat in close quarters. They met the foe head-to-head.
Isabela laughed gaily as she stuck a Seeker through a gap in his armor under his shoulder. Her long blade reached the heart. The enemy sank to the ground, instantly dead.
She turned to Lysas and Fenris. "We're routing them!" she exulted.
Lysas's and Fenris's eyes widened at something behind Isabela. She whirled around.
A new assault, this one heavy on Templars and Seekers, approached rapidly. Isabela scowled and unsheathed her daggers again. "Or... soon, we will."
"They're counterattacking us," Fenris observed.
Lysas raised his voice to the mages under his command. "Enemies approaching! Mostly Seekers and Templars. Don't let them get close!"
The fighting in this copse of trees had largely concluded, with the few surviving enemies fleeing to take refuge with the incoming reinforcements. The mages, archers, and crossbowmen readied their weapons for a second, then sent a volley of projectiles at the incoming foe. While the enemy was occupied, swordsmen and other blade-wielders charged into a melee. Isabela and Fenris both believed that leadership in battle included fighting in battle alongside the soldiers one commanded—and Isabela just enjoyed it, as well. With war cries, they led the assault on the approaching force, trying to avoid the projectiles from their own side as they clashed.
The chaos of melee returned. The "Autumn beach" force fought quite effectively, but this counterattack did occupy them, halting their advance toward Dairsmuid to regroup with the rest of their army. At one point in the skirmish, Isabela overheard an enemy lieutenant shout something to his fellows.
"Scouts say the entire coastline has fallen!" the Seeker shouted.
Isabela's heart soared. Her friends and allies had done that.
The Seeker took command. "We retreat to the city!"
At once, those fighters who could extricate themselves from combat did so, beginning a rush in the direction of the capital. Isabela exchanged dark glares with Fenris and Lysas.
"They didn't expect that we would split and take them from all directions," Fenris growled.
Isabela nodded. "They thought we'd pick one spot and land everyone there. They meant to let us have that spot and then block us on the road."
Fenris raised his blade and turned to the soldiers. "After them!"
"Spring beach," directly west of Dairsmuid.
The cold white cloud-filtered moonlight illuminated Aveline's landing and forward assault. Its distant indifference was oddly fitting to the scene that unfolded in the swirling currents and on the beach.
Aveline's landing had not gone well. The storm-enhanced currents had forced her entire squadron off course, and she had come in at what was likely the worst possible site: due west of the beach-side bluffs, which were full of enemies. Not just any enemies, either: The enemy lines were full of Templars, Seekers, and Red Templar knights. The former were generally armed with crossbows; the latter had the unholy ability to shoot pellets of red lyrium at others from their own gauntlets.
And that was exactly what they began to do as Aveline's soldiers scrambled out of their boats, splashing through the churning seawater, making for the beach as fast as the thigh-high surf and strong currents allowed them. Aveline watched in dismay as her people went down under the onslaught. "Shields!" she commanded, hoping that her voice carried through the wind.
The soldiers who carried shields threw them up over their heads and faces, angling them to protect as much as possible. The handful of mages in the vanguard put up arcane shields. The strong currents had prevented them from emerging close enough together to lock shields in formation, so the enemy did not face a solid shield wall. The Templars and Seekers—and Red Templars in particular—could pick off individuals with well-aimed shots, and the Red Templars targeted the mages, since the foul substance they used was able to counter magic shields very well.
After the third mage in the vanguard went down from a single shot, Aveline changed plan. It would be demoralizing to recall anyone already sent out, and complete folly to have anyone try to scramble back to the boats with their back exposed to the enemy. Those who were making for the beach would have to succeed or fail. But Aveline hoped she could make their task a little easier. Following Hawke's orders, she had cleared the beach itself of traps. Perhaps the spells could go just a bit farther...
"Mages!" she commanded. "Can you hit anyone on the bluffs?"
A lieutenant, a powerful elemental mage, fired a fireball in that direction. It fell just short, crashing and flaming out three-quarters of the way up the cliff. The mage shook her head regretfully.
The range of a longbow is similar, Aveline thought, considering her options rapidly. And these enemies are well-armored. It would have to be a very lucky shot to take them out with a regular arrow. She then considered the war machines on the ship. The trebuchets she had were the smaller, mobile, less stable kind—also the kind with a far shorter range than the massive, powerful, and largely immobile ones. That was no good. Ballista strikes were virtually unsurvivable at close range, but the heavy bolts would fall far short of the needed distance here.
There seemed nothing for it but to rush the beach, Aveline realized grimly. They could take the bluffs, overwhelming the enemy... but there would be casualties. Probably far higher numbers than the others were facing, with their lucky flat landing sites.
If we could just use the rockets here, that would clear the bluffs. But Hawke had given orders not to use them until Starkhaven, to preserve the element of surprise and give the enemy no chance to muster any kind of defense, should it be possible. Aveline had agreed, and she still did, but this was going to hurt.
She gritted her teeth. I am going to become a butcher, she thought. But this is war. "Everyone—into the water! Stay together! Lock shields if you have one! Mages, put up magic shields over yourselves and your comrades! We're going to overwhelm the bastards!"
The hail of arrows, bolts, and red lyrium shards accelerated as the force poured from the ships in a wave of bodies. It was easier to keep shields locked in the water. As they waded through the waves, enemy arrows pinged off their heads in a metallic symphony of war.
Formation broke as people reached dry land and broke into runs, and the enemy took advantage, targeting those whose shields slipped, sometimes landing lucky hits. Soldiers went down, staining the sand red where they fell. Aveline hardened her heart against it. This is war, she told herself again. At least her forces were progressing. The wave of mages and soldiers storming the beach continued, a wave of silverite and dark leather, heading inexorably for the bluffs. Aveline was in the thick of it, determined to fight beside her troops. Her fate would be the same as theirs.
Bodies, both dead and twitching, continued to fall on the beach. Aveline forced herself to look away. Some were just wounded, and not even mortally so—yet—but there was simply no time to stop and heal them. If they could take this beach, perhaps the Healers could return and save anyone who was still alive. But for now, victory was the most important thing.
Aveline was in the third unit, which was, more or less, still advancing in place, though some soldiers from units farther back had overtaken it. Keeping her shield up, she reached the foot of the bluffs. The plan here was to let some of the longbowmen and mages remain on the beach when they were close enough to hit the enemy, providing some distraction of the enemy for those who needed to scramble up. Aveline wanted to use her crossbow here, but she couldn't protect her ascent with the shield if she did. She would just have to trust to the bowmen and mages on the beach to cover her advance. Drawing her sword, she gave a war cry and led her unit up the slope.
It was not hard to climb, at least. As arrows, bolts, spells, and red lyrium pellets sailed over her head—some of them pinging off her shield—Aveline sucked lungfuls of air, feeling the rush of battle, taking heart in the fact that they had advanced this far and were going to overcome the enemy at the top of the hill too.
The ground became horizontal again as she reached the top. No sooner had her legs adjusted to level ground than a Red Templar engaged Aveline herself in single combat.
Startled, she fought back, her sword clashing with his. The sinister aura of red lyrium filled the air. Aveline scowled and tried to fight the compulsions of irrationality and confusion. Her sword bore a rune that Sandal Feddic had crafted of the heart of an arcane horror, a rune that seemed to negate the power of Red Templars somewhat. The mages of Markham had suggested that it was because arcane horrors were demons, and that spirits—demons included—somehow could counter red lyrium. These hearts were hard to come by, usually found only in ancient Tevinter catacombs near Kirkwall, so only a handful of people yet had them. Her blade sang, each swish making the rune flare in a glow of yellowish-white light. The red lyrium's malignant power decreased, and with that, the fight turned decisively in Aveline's favor.
With a swing of her blade, Aveline cut off the sword arm of the Red Templar. Generally she would offer a sapient foe the chance to surrender at this point, but Red Templars were dangerous to everyone around them from the very stuff they had allowed to take over their bodies, and usually fought to the death anyway. As she prepared the deathblow, she caught a glimpse through the man's helmet. His face was riddled with glowing red veins, and dark circles surrounded his eyes. Startled, Aveline blinked—
The Red Templar moved to slash at Aveline with his gauntlet, but she was too fast. She thrust her blade though his heart, rapidly withdrew it, and swung it in a deadly arc that lopped his head off.
Aveline turned around from her fallen foe to take in the scene. A smile broke over her face despite the bodies—some of which were of her troops—that lay dead on the ground. The mage captain of this force, Astebadi of Antiva, was affixing the flag of the Free Mages to the flagpole where the Orthodox Chantry heraldry had flown.
The high ground was theirs. Now it was onward to regroup with the others and march on Dairsmuid.
Aveline was extremely glad that all of her friends who had led the other teams had survived the assault. She never thought she would be happy to see Isabela, but she was. Fenris, Lysas, Alain, and Petra joined her as their forces merged back together into a single army.
"We have reason to believe that the enemy—those who survived our attacks—fled to Dairsmuid to fortify it," Fenris said. "We heard them call to retreat to the city."
"That would explain why we haven't encountered any resistance on this march," Aveline agreed. "Urban combat will be ugly, but we'll do what we must."
The scene was even uglier than Aveline had anticipated, though not because of urban fighting. As the army reached the city, they saw insignia of the occupiers flying everywhere. But that was only to be expected. What shocked them was the savagery of the Orthodox Chantry, spitefully leaving Rivaini flags thrown into mud puddles, half-burned, or worse. Isabela's face hardened at the sight of yellow urine stains and foul-smelling feces smeared all over one of her homeland's flags, obviously the large one that had flown atop the Queen's keep.
It offended Aveline too, who was not even Rivaini. "This is barbaric," she snarled. She turned to the mages. "Destroy that with dignity, please."
The mages cast fireballs at the flag, making sure it burned to ashes. As the conflagration subsided, Aveline noticed something else.
"Where is everyone?" she asked the other leaders in a low voice. Indeed, the streets were all but empty.
"No bloodstains," Isabela observed. "The buildings are damaged but not destroyed. I did see a few faces behind windows. I'd guess people are afraid to come out."
"Afraid of us?"
Petra shook her head. She was glaring at something atop a city wall nearby. "Afraid of that fate, more likely."
Aveline glanced in the direction she was pointing. There was the body of the Grand Cleric of Rivain. The elegant, tall headdress she wore proclaimed it, and the placard in front of the execution stake declared it so:
"Grand Cleric" Fatima of Rivain. Heretic and Protector of Apostates, Maleficarum, and Infidels
The elderly priest had not been burned. Her body was naked except for the headdress, a deliberate mockery of her holy office and vow of chastity, and she had been slashed bloody, crucified to the stake, and disemboweled. Crows picked at the remains. Rage towered in Aveline at the sight.
"We'll make them pay for this," she seethed. "All right—everyone, we march through the city! If any of these vile people show their faces, we fight them to the death!"
It was an unpleasant march. The enemy had indeed retreated to the city, and they clearly did not consider apostates and "heretics" the sort of foe one should engage honorably—as their despicable displays in this religiously tolerant city indicated. The defaced flags and disrespected body of the Grand Cleric were just the beginning. At the city commons, several dozen execution stakes took the place of merchant booths, each one marked with a placard declaring the unfortunate as a heretic—meaning a member of the Andrastian Chantry—or an infidel, which could mean an adherent of either the Qun or the local nature religion. But most of those labeled as infidels were of the qunari race, so the army presumed they were also Qunari in beliefs. And there were far more executed "heretics." The invaders, it seemed, most loathed those whose faith was most similar to their own.
It enraged Aveline, who was not even very devout. But is it any different in Kirkwall under Grand Cleric Petrice? she wondered darkly. Perhaps her support was necessary for Hawke, but it came at a high price. She executes "heretics" at the stake too. Religious war is the worst kind. What other kind is marked by the belief that the eternal fate of millions depends on the outcome? These people think that if they fail, Hawke and Justinia will lead the faithful into sin that the Maker will not forgive. They'll justify anything to prevent that.
The Kirkwall-Free Mage force repeatedly had to deal with ambushes from alleys and sniping from bowmen atop and within buildings. To fight this constant threat of surprise attack, the army had to keep shields out at all times, and the mages had to keep their own arcane shields up. It required them to use a lot more lyrium than they wanted.
Around the city, the army also picked up some mages who had never joined the Circle. With the first such recruit, Aveline had expected there to be no resistance or doubt, but that proved not to be the case.
"We're willing to fight beside you," said a mage who carried no staff—presumably to avoid making himself a target of the occupiers—and spoke from behind a hooded face. "But... well..." He trailed off.
His companion, a female mage who was also hooded, spoke up. "You're an Andrastian army," she finished for him. Their body language and mutual protectiveness indicated that they were probably a couple. "Rivain underwent a lot of Exalted Marches in the Storm Age, as your Chantry reckons the calendar. And everyone here knows about the Grand Cleric of Kirkwall."
Petra took charge. "We are fighting to avenge your fallen brothers and sisters and to liberate your city from these invaders," she said firmly, "not to impose our religion on you. Viscountess Hawke has had the mages of Kirkwall mixing with their families for five years, as you have done as well."
The couple exchanged glances before turning back to Petra. They nodded, deciding to trust her. "We know of a 'mage underground' that has arisen here since the invaders came," she said. "We can offer about a hundred additional mages to your army, if you'll promise us that we'll be left alone afterward."
Aveline stepped up. "You have our word, by the soul of Enchanter Rivella, that we will not leave behind an occupying force to impose beliefs upon you."
This seemed to satisfy the mages. In short order, they had called up their friends to join the liberating army.
Their next source of aid came in the form of an escaped priest. She had long shed her priestly habiliments, to avoid being recognized and tortured by the invaders, but she could prove her identity well enough with a precious paper bearing the seal of the late Grand Cleric which confirmed her ordination. Revered Mother Desta was ecumenical in her ideas and perfectly willing to fight in a force that included mages who were not Andrastian, and she was tall, fit, and trained at arms, able to wield a greatsword.
She also had plans of the Dairsmuid Chantry and its catacombs. The chantry was built atop a hillside, and the basement levels rambled under the hill in a rabbit warren. The enemy, she advised, was likely in there. They would need assistance in taking the place.
"Everyone in there is an enemy," the Revered Mother warned. "There were no survivors of the loyal Chantry except those of us who escaped."
The more devout among the army's officers glowered at this, but it was certainly a motivation.
The Dairsmuid Chantry was a fairly humble building, closer to the design of the one in Denerim in Ferelden than that of Kirkwall. Some members of the leadership seemed skeptical that it could have catacombs.
The priest correctly surmised the doubt. "The catacombs are rather extensive, with many branches and stairs," Mother Desta said. "There is even a prison."
"A prison beneath a chantry," Isabela remarked. "Now why would you need that?"
"It hasn't been used in long ages. Our chantry was built atop an older structure, possibly dwarven. It doesn't connect to the Deep Roads, but it may have once. There is evidence of deliberate walling off."
"Most of us don't have much experience fighting in tunnels," Aveline said. "We'll do what we must, of course. And there is another thing. Obviously, enemy fighters have thoroughly infiltrated the city. We've met with ambushes with every block we pass. When we eliminate the force in the Chantry, what's to stop the others from continuing to fight?"
"Nothing," the priest admitted, "but the only structure they have managed to seize is the Chantry. It is their base, and since it had a rookery, we believe they communicate with Starkhaven and Tantervale. They have the Queen a prisoner in her own keep, but it is a siege situation, not a capture. Once they are eliminated from the Chantry, we can treat the infiltrators as we would treat common criminals. It is manageable once their supply base is retaken." She paused, adding, "And perhaps your coming will be seen auspiciously and will encourage new converts to the Maker and Andraste."
Isabela's expression became a thin line. Aveline was not sure what to say either. It was Alain who replied. "Perhaps," he said diplomatically. "The schism certainly targeted Andrastians."
"I believe that they would have burned more of the local pagans at the stake if they had the manpower," the priest said darkly, "but that religion is the majority here, and in any case, there is nothing a fanatic hates more than a 'heretic.' The one who is similar in belief, who claims similar ideas but has important differences—this person, they hate far more than one who declares that they are something else entirely. It is because the 'heretic,' due to that very kinship of belief, is best able to sow seeds of doubt in their minds, I think."
That seemed far too true for comment—and, in any case, Aveline was getting impatient to plan the attack on the occupied Chantry. So this conversation subsided as the leaders quickly developed their strategy.
"Take them down! Take them down!"
Chaos unfolded in the catacombs of the Dairsmuid Chantry as the army fought Templars and Red Templars. Red lyrium pellets flew through the air, providing momentary flashes of red light in the gloom. The torches that lined the walls in sconces flickered rapidly from the constant turbulence of the air that came from having so many people moving so quickly. Non-magical soldiers performed better here than mages; besides the sheer number of enemies here who could negate magic, the close quarters and limited ventilation meant that spells could go very badly and take out friend and foe alike. Using explosives was absolutely out of the question. Aveline and Fenris had divined this during the planning and had utilized the mages at the street level, with the exception of Healers who would be needed in the underground fray. With the Free Mage battlemages clearing out the Chantry building itself—and guarding the entrances to keep enemy reinforcements out—it did not take the force long to take the structure.
Revered Mother Desta was of the fighting party underground, her blade singing as it cleaved through Red Templars. When the fighting had subsided, she went to the prison and immediately fell into mourning.
"We had not used this place in so long," she said sorrowfully, gazing through bars into a cell where three priests lay dead. "For it to be used against us... for them to do this to us because we have had doctrinal disagreements about the need to imprison mages and the Maker's view of coerced conversion..." She sighed. "They are in the Maker's city now."
Aveline would not say so to Hawke, but she rather wished that this woman was the Grand Cleric of Kirkwall instead of the person they had. She might well agree on one hand, Aveline thought, but she would probably also argue that Petrice's ruthlessness was necessary in a Chantry ally. This priest is a good fighter, but she is not ruthless.
Nonetheless, Aveline suspected that the Revered Mother would become the next Grand Cleric of Rivain. The Chantry could certainly do worse.
Another thing they found in the catacombs was red lyrium. There was no grotesque "garden" of dead Templars from whom it was growing, as there had been under the Hercinia chantry. Instead crates and boxes of it, crystals growing through the boxes to cluster on the outside, were stacked high. They had not been here long enough to begin harvesting it.
"Let's get the mages down here," Aveline said. "The Markham ones in particular." She regarded the rune on her sword. "Spirit magic does well against it, and they're the masters."
They had hoped to find Knight-Commander Carroll, the Red Templar who had led the Annulment of the Dairsmuid Circle. Captain Revaud had wanted to personally bring him to justice, and had made dark allusions to letting his crew hack and rack the man apart slowly. Aveline had not liked it, but she had concluded that there were better fights to pick than the punishment of a child-killing Red Templar. But it seemed a moot issue for now. Quite a few Fereldan mages knew what he looked like—he had once served at Kinloch Hold—and they were utterly certain that he was not among the dead here.
"Rivella brought down the Circle Tower here," Petra remarked when this subject was raised. "That's the word from the children who escaped. Either he was killed in that collapse or he... unfortunately... fled back to Tantervale."
The next issue to sort out was the siege of the Royal Keep, which was fortunately rather close to the Chantry, as the royal family of Rivain were Andrastian. This Keep was different from the sort of keep that everyone in the army was used to. It did have stone for its lowest level, but contained a great deal of wood for its upper levels, decorated with half-timbering. The wood, they were assured, was extremely hard and nearly fireproof.
They had a pleasant surprise when they reached the Keep: not a Templar or Seeker in sight. Instead, lines of common soldiers with the heraldry of Starkhaven or Tantervale shuffled uneasily at the approach of the Free Mage army. They kept their weapons out, archery weapons and spears pointed outward, siege works that had been hastily carpentered together still standing and guarded. But they had obviously lost their spirit.
"Oh, shit," muttered a captain audibly as the army marched toward them.
Petra, Lysas, and Alain exchanged gleeful looks. The non-mage leaders realized the possibilities too. Aveline spoke up, her voice pitched to carry.
"Soldiers of Tantervale and Starkhaven," she announced, as Lysas cast a spell discreetly to amplify her voice. "We, the army of Kirkwall and the Free Mages of Thedas, have retaken the Dairsmuid Chantry. Your allies in the rebel Templars are dead or captured now. And the force you see is only a fraction of what Viscountess Hawke and the allied leaders can boast."
The enemy officers grimaced, looking at the ground.
"It appears that your commanders in the so-called Orthodox Chantry left you to your own devices," Aveline continued, smugness suffusing her words. "It also appears that the Chancellor and Prince whom you actually swore to serve have abandoned you as well, leaving you without aid in a hostile city. I ask you now: Do you want to die for those who did so little for you? If you lay down your arms and end your siege of this Keep, you will be shown mercy and judged for your individual actions." She suspected that some of the ordinary soldiers shared guilt with the Orthodox Chantry forces in the various insults and atrocities that they had all witnessed in Dairsmuid, but that was for the Rivaini authorities to sort out. Hawke had been very clear about the fact that they were not to be an occupying army, but were to let Rivain handle its own justice.
There was a brief scuffle among the enemy soldiers as those who favored surrender fought with those who did not, but the ones who wanted peace had the majority, and before long they prevailed. The captain who had cursed the incoming army's appearance was the one to make terms with Aveline, casting his sword aside and commanding those under him to do so as well.
She left several units of the army in charge of the new prisoners of war, but those too would be turned over to Rivain unless the Queen did not want them. There had to be quite a lot of guards inside, just not enough to break the siege, especially with the former threat at the nearby Chantry.
Kirkwall, Ferelden, Markham, Hercinia, and Free Mage soldiers took captives and held the doors aside to let their fellows into the Keep. Aveline led the high-ranking officers inside to obtain an audience with the Queen. She had some documents inside her armor that Hawke had given her for just this.
The Queen regarded the newcomer general with some respect for the fact that she was dealing with another woman—clearly, the Kirkwallers had respect for women in command as well—but also suspicion.
"General Hendyr, we greatly appreciate your lifting of this siege, and liberation of our Chantry," she said, eyeing Aveline. "But we do want to make one thing clear: Rivain will not bow to Kirkwall any more than it bowed to this schism force."
Aveline nodded. "I understand, Your Majesty. Viscountess Hawke provided a document, which she signed and sealed with the Great Seal of Kirkwall, stating that she makes no claim on any part of Rivain, and that she merely sent this army here to liberate the city from a common foe." She passed the document to the Queen's seneschal, who then presented it to the monarch.
The Queen read the document carefully before responding. "I see. It is as you say, and the late First Enchanter Rivella certainly trusted your Viscountess. We support what she is doing in Kirkwall with the mages, as well." She gave Aveline a resolute, firm look. "Nonetheless, since you have liberated the Chantry and taken prisoner those soldiers who were blocking my Keep, I do not wish your army or your fleet to remain for too long."
"We do not intend to, Your Majesty. We have business in Starkhaven." Aveline's voice was dark.
The Queen smiled grimly. "I am sure you do, and I wish we could send you soldiers to support that effort... but, as you likely realize, we need every man and woman here to root out the infiltrators."
"Of course."
"And one more thing," the Queen said. She regarded the army officers with hard gazes, sharp intelligent eyes darting from one to the next, then settling again on Aveline. "I am Andrastian, of course. But there are citizens of my country who follow a local religion, or have converted to the Qun. They are peaceful and give no indication that they intend conquest. Thus I must warn you, your Viscountess and Grand Cleric are not popular figures among these people. The attitude of your Grand Cleric Petrice toward the Qun—indeed, toward any other faith—and your Viscountess's resolute alliance with her have made the non-Andrastians in my country regard them with distrust and dislike."
Well, Aveline thought, exchanging surprised looks with her friends and the mages' officers, that could explain why Rivain has kept its distance from us, the Circle mages included—an ally, but a distant one. That would explain it.
To the Queen she said, "The Viscountess did not send us here to conquer, and the Grand Cleric of Kirkwall did not direct the military operation at all, nor does she have Templars embedded in our forces. We are not in this city for anything to do with the Qun or your country's native religion."
The Queen nodded. "Nonetheless, your Grand Cleric Petrice was not a signatory of this document with which you have presented me. She might not consider herself bound by the terms that your Viscountess has included. We offer our thanks for your valor in liberating this occupied city, but we can handle matters of rebuilding and justice, General Hendyr."
That was clearly a dismissal, so they did not linger in the Keep. The leaders returned to the chantry, where Revered Mother Desta was overseeing cleanup.
"You said you have a rookery here," Aveline said. "Is it intact?"
The priest nodded. "They didn't harm the innocent birds, thank the Maker."
"Is there one that can go to Kirkwall?"
"Yes. It was added after your Viscountess allied with Rivella."
"We need to send a message to Viscountess Hawke. And although I gave the Queen my word that we wouldn't linger, we do need some time to prepare before we sail down the Minanter."
"And you must coordinate your assault upon Starkhaven," the priest agreed.
Aveline had no intention of telling her that Hawke was going to feint and actually attack Tantervale. She trusted this priest, but one never knew who might be listening. "Yes," she said briefly. "We won't remain long. But we do need to impose on your hospitality for a bit."
Kirkwall.
Caitlyn was a nervous wreck as she awaited word. She had spent the entire time readying supplies, weapons, and troops, because one way or the other, she was going to war. She just hoped for a positive outcome in Dairsmuid, because it would mean that Starkhaven would be besieged—thereby cutting off a source of support for Tantervale—and it would mean that she wouldn't have to march north with fear for her friends, or worse, grief.
I've grieved enough, she thought. I've been afraid long enough.
Anders was nearby, also planning logistics rather than spending time in the healing clinic. He had a detailed, close-up map of Tantervale and the Minanter spread out, down to the level of major streets and buildings in the city, including the marketplace, the Tantervale keep, the armory, and the famous bell-filled Tantervale Chantry. He was making calculations with a grim, dark, determined expression on his handsome face. Caitlyn knew what those calculations had to be. How far those rockets can reach and what the radius of damage will be, she thought. Maker let us not have to use the chemical ones.
"Raven, Hawke. From Dairsmuid."
Caitlyn nearly jumped out of her seat as Varric gave her the letter. Anders looked up at once too, equally nervous and eager for word—any word. Varric remained, and she knew that he too wanted to know how their mutual friends had fared. She popped the seal at once, heart thumping hard. She read her letter, putting that lurking dread out of her mind for now.
.
Hawke,
Dairsmuid is liberated. The Chantry was full of Red Templars, and several crates of the vile stuff had been shipped there, but we took care of it. The Queen of Rivain was safe, though a prisoner in her Keep until we convinced the enemy—all common soldiers at the Keep—to surrender and be made prisoners of war.
I won't go into great detail, but they committed war crimes in Dairsmuid. There was no need to do what they did to the late Grand Cleric or most of her priests. But we allied with a priest who survived and escaped, who can wield a blade quite well. Her aid was invaluable.
The assault of the Rivaini coast was a challenge for some of us—myself included—but we managed it. We'll no doubt have plenty of war tales to share when we meet again.
The entire leadership survived, Hawke. Isabela, Fenris, Lysas, Alain, and Petra all made it uninjured.
We did not have to use any of the explosives.
We mean to come upon the enemy like the Highland Ravager. We only await your word.
General Aveline Vallen Hendyr
.
She breathed deeply, passing the note to Anders to read. This is genuine. She wrote "Highland Ravager." They did it! They freed Dairsmuid, they all survived, and this is it. We're about to end this war. We march north, and then... we unleash the wrath of the abyss upon these people.
Anders breathed heavily as well as he handed the letter back to Varric. He met his wife's eyes with his own. The amber orbs bore a mix of fear, determination, and eagerness.
"This is it," he said, fixing her with that intense look that both frightened and attracted her. "This is the end for these monsters."
It was hard to say goodbye to Mal, Jo Beth, Leandra, and the pets. But none of them could come. Baldwin might have been able to when he was younger, but the mabari was as old as Mal now. He was still quite hearty and hale, but his days as a war dog were behind him. He needed to be at home, and in his senior years, he had an occasional canine companion as well as his feline packmate Pounce: Fenris's black mabari Liberty, who was also being cared for in the Keep. It made Caitlyn feel better.
"You're coming back as victors, aren't you?" Mal insisted to his parents the day they were to set out.
"Yes," she said, kissing him and his sister. "We are. We are going to secure freedom for mages once and for all, and nobody will ever take it away."
"Are you going to use the blasting stuff again?"
Caitlyn sighed heavily, exchanging a look with Anders. He still bore that fixed, resolute, dark gaze that she noticed whenever anyone alluded to the explosives or he made plans himself involving them. The Annulments had changed him, taken away a certain measure of his innocence about how merciful to be with a foe, and it seemed that it would always be so.
"Probably," she told her children. "Very likely it'll be needed." And that's all that you need to know now, darling.
Anders squeezed her hand, the gesture hidden by the folds of her red cape. He understood how she felt about this. The fact that he knew her feelings and wanted to comfort her—that, after all they had been through, all their years together, they were still partners in everything—warmed her heart and soothed her mind... for now.
She knew in her soul that the comfort would not last forever.
The rest of the army was at the north gates of Kirkwall, prepared to march. Grand Cleric Petrice stood at the gates, standing next to Varric, the Regent of Kirkwall in the Viscountess's absence, and the members of her family who would stay behind. The cleric's voice carried through the crowd as she blessed the march.
Caitlyn rode atop a strawberry roan horse, and Anders a pale gray one. Their faces were set in resolute glares as they awaited the end of the priest's blessing. Caitlyn wore her black drakeskin armor and signature dark red cape as they prepared to set out, certain that it would cut an impressive and inspiring figure. Anders wore one of his coat ensembles in dark green, chilly silver, and black, impressive as well. As a new statement, a black samite cape rippled from his coat collar to match hers. They carried ornate, tall staves, hers warm aurum topped with a menacing ruby-encrusted dragon, his electrified stormheart with a globe in cold glittering blue-green. They were like fire and ice in looks.
"In the name of our Maker and His Bride," Petrice intoned loudly, "I bless the Viscountess of Kirkwall, Caitlyn Hawke; her Consort, Anders; the leaders of this war; the soldiers and mages who follow their command. Maker grant them courage at arms, the wisdom to know His will, the strength to perform justice upon those who abuse His holy name!"
Anders gave Caitlyn a dark smirk at that. She smirked back at him.
They both knew what was coming in Petrice's speech. A few years ago, it would have been too shocking and risky to attempt. Divine Justinia had been too determined to try to appease her enemies. But with the loss of Circle mages, Templars, and Seekers, she had been rendered irrelevant.
Petrice's voice grew louder. "Yes, they abuse the Maker's name to commit evil and speak heresy. As the Chant of Light says in Threnodies 12:5: 'All that the Maker has wrought is in His hand, beloved and precious to Him,'" she quoted. "The claim that magic is a curse, that its source is demonic evil rather than the Maker's hand, is a heresy against the Chant of Light!" She glared out at the crowd. "And there is more. Threnodies 5: 'And to the Fade you shall return each night in dreams that you may always remember Me.' The Rite of Tranquility is blasphemy!"
Caitlyn and Anders had known that this declaration was coming. Tranquility had not been performed in Kirkwall in six years, either... but it was still rather shocking to hear a Grand Cleric make such a radical statement. Even in Tevinter, Tranquility was practiced, though apparently for rather different reasons. But Divine Justinia was in no position now to punish Petrice—or anyone else—for making new doctrinal statements on their own.
"This is the enemy we face, an army of heretics and blasphemers, revealed as such by word and by deed," Petrice continued. She paused for dramatic effect before finishing. "And what are their deeds? I remind you: They have broken from the true Chantry and made war upon it for a false, heretical belief about the Maker's children. They have transformed Templars into inhuman monsters. And they have brought harm without provocation to innocents!"
The Grand Cleric waited as the crowd's roar of anger subsided.
"As Our Lady Andraste said in the Canticle of Transfigurations, 'Those who bring harm without provocation to the least of His children are hated and accursed by the Maker.' This our enemy has done! In Tantervale most of all, but also Starkhaven and Dairsmuid. And were it not for a lone dissenter, the world would know little of the atrocities in Tantervale. But the Maker would know," she added darkly. "And now His champions march to avenge these innocents and strike down the blasphemers and heretics who pervert Our Lady's teachings. Maker turn His gaze upon this army and this mission."
Anders gazed at his wife. "Even now, I can hardly believe my ears," he said in an undertone.
"It's a new world," she said, equally quietly.
"That it is." He gave a glance backward to the horse-drawn carts, their cargo—including his chemical bombs—concealed and protected under a black-plated top.
With that, the army of the Free Mages of Thedas set off to war.
Notes: The landings were loosely inspired by the Allied landings at Normandy on D-Day. World War II is an inspiration for the story as well as the Reformation era, particularly these final chapters.
I did not give the Queen of Rivain a name because it seems possible to me that we'll learn her canon name in the next game. It isn't important for the story, anyway.
I have to give credit to Gene Dark again for the idea that the Rite of Tranquility is actually blasphemous due to that Chant of Light verse.
Regarding Caitlyn and Anders' mounts at the end: "And out came another horse, bright red. Its rider was permitted to take peace from the earth, so that people should slay one another, and he was given a great sword." – Revelation 6:4. "And I looked, and behold, a pale horse! And its rider's name was Death, and Hell followed him." – Revelation 6:8