"Here they come..."
The mutter went down the line, as it had for days on end now, though each time it was with more weariness, less fear and more confidence.
Garrett wasn't sure what he thought of it, but the fact that the defenders seemed more steadfast in their determination to fight was welcome enough. We can hold them, just a few more days, maybe a week or two, and then the Divine will have sent her agent to investigate, things will be fixed, I'll make sure of proper terms...
At the moment though, it was hard to think of the future when the immediate moment was brimming with violence, ready to be unleashed.
The large gate to the Tower they stood by had been smashed open days ago, part of the wall above coming down with it, creating a parapet of gravel and stones for the defenders to at least use. On the right side of the gap, a pillar had collapsed, bringing with it part of the ceiling and creating a nigh on impassable hill of broken stones and pieces.
Garrett had placed his troops well with the terrain in mind, though it hadn't required a genius to do so. At the parapet dominating the entrance, a mixture of the soldiers he and his nobles commanded stood, most carried halberds, but at the front, some with shields and spears also stood to make the line even more sturdy. On the right side, just to be sure no enemy fool would try to climb the steep hill or ruins, half a dozen of Reinhart's finest men, clad in plate and carrying shields and swords, made the route impossible to take. And at the rear, atop a staircase overlooking the chamber, the archers and mages not higher up in the Tower, mixed, ready to lend their aid.
Beyond, there was even more devastation.
The Templars had tried multiple assaults by now, and though each didn't bring many casualties, they had mounted, leaving the killing zone between the Tower and ruined wall strewn with dead Templars. Men and women brought down by arrow and magic, by a battle that shouldn't have been.
Beyond, the wall rose here and there in sections, the spaces between nothing but broken mounds of stone. Protecting the besiegers and the ominous catapults that had been erected. Behind them, the Templars had occupied entire city blocks for their troops, evicting the previous owners, or at least what few who hadn't already fled from fear of being so close to the siege. Beyond, more houses had been turned to ruins, the Templars hacking them down piece by piece to supply ammunition to their siege engines.
The siege was like a cancer, eating away at the city.
Not that the rest was doing any better. The destruction wrought by Anders' deed had been horrible, but the aftermath, the chaos, the lack of leadership, had almost been worse. Everywhere, plumes of black smoke rose as people fought for supplies they knew would be scarce in days...if they already weren't. Is the city guard even out there anymore? I'm not paying them, and they need food like anyone else...
Garrett knew he could use the secret tunnel under the Tower to sneak a message out, get in contact with the cats and gain information...but at the moment he didn't dare risk exposing that ace, neither would messages with mirrors do, for they were now carefully watched. Nor did he dare try to use it to smuggle Merrill out, much to his pain. The morale was already shaky as it was, if he made her leave...it wouldn't look good. Nor could she really escape anyway, Meredith had the exits to the city itself locked down tight.
A mess, all of this, it's just a mess.
Shaking his head, Garrett focused his attention on the more immediate issue. Ahead, climbing the mounds of gravel that had once been walls, the Templars were coming for yet another assault. Behind, their catapults were unleashing their payloads of crudely hacked stones, making the Tower shake and dust filter down on the defenders, but little else. Sturdy building, this tower...thank the Maker for small mercies.
The Templar assault was mostly concealed by large screens of wet leather strapped to wooden frames carried by a few Templars. As instructed, the troops above didn't waste ammunition or energy on attacking...only when the Templars had come halfway there, when the leather covers could only really shield against the missiles behind the breach, did those further up on the Tower open up. Arrows, bolts, javelins, fireballs, bolts of lightning and spears of ice hailed down on the assault, making it slow to a crawl.
The Templars had learnt well from the previous engagements though, and the magic missiles all came short of hitting as the magic dissipated. The normal missiles did little better, for between the leather covers, Garrett could see a thick square of Templars advancing with their shields raised, forming a roof upon which arrows and javelins alike simply got stuck into or skidded off.
By now, the defenders could hear them, a rhythmic huffing as the assault-force crept closer.
Behind, there was a mechanical whir as Varric let fly, his bolt neatly sliding in between two shields and making a templar grunt and drop onto her knees, clutching her impaled shoulder. More missiles followed, arrows and crossbow bolts whizzing over the heads of the defending infantry and clattering against the Templars, felling two more as they struggled to maintain their shield-wall.
A fireball struck the roof of shields, scorching the troops beneath as their concentration wavered under the bombardment. Okay, a few more shots and...
The commander of the assault force didn't let it come to that, instead there was a shout emanating from the thick phalanx of Templars. "Attack!" That voice...
Rising from the roof of shields, Carver pointed his runed great-sword ahead, face grim...and the Templars roared, suddenly surging forth.
Another mechanical whir, and Varric sent a templar onto his back, a bolt sticking out from his visor.
Then they were at the base of the mound, desperately climbing to attack, knowing that the amount of missiles coming their way would be severely limited once in the melee.
One fell almost instantly, looking too much on the ground under her, she never even saw the halberd cutting her arm off at the shoulder. A second, thrusting too wildly with his own spear at a halberdier's legs, rolled back down the mound with a gasp as spear caught him in the hip.
Then the Templars were back into a rough formation, shields raised and spears thrusting from behind them in an effort to force Garrett's soldiers off the mound. With their height advantage and equally long pole-arms though, the soldiers were not going anywhere. Instead the air filled with the cracking sounds of wood striking wood and the duller thumps of steel striking shields as the various pole-arms raked aside enemy thrusts and struck out in an effort to hit an enemy.
There a templar clutched an arm and began pulling back. There a soldier gasped at a bleeding leg and was helped to the rear. There a Templar's helmet and skull split like a grape from a lucky stroke of a halberd. There a soldier screeched, a spear having smashed through his codpiece.
Garrett, standing further back, watched the combat impassively, not too worried. Even as he watched, the wounded soldier returned to the fray, his wound healed, and while the Templars were rapidly tiring in the furious raking aside of enemy thrusts, parries and attacks, his own remained fresh and ready as the mages at the rear invigorated them again and again with spells the soldiers had first feared, but swiftly come to appreciate.
A cry made him turn his head though, gaze straining to see through all the debris on the right mound to make sense of the scene.
Carver.
Despite the steep climb, despite being faced by heavily armoured defenders, the best the rich Reinhart could afford, despite being outnumbered, the man was making his way up the hill, eyes narrow slits inside his silverite helmet.
One of Reinhart's knights was already dead, lying face down at the bottom of the hill. Even as Garrett watched, Carver stunned a second with a pommel smashing the man's visor in before a follow-up slash of his sword hacked the knight's leg off at the knee. The three remaining were rushing down at him, shields in front of them...and the man faced them, undaunted.
At the last instance, the Templar Captain pressed himself against the wall, sword lowered like a spear, the blade catching a knight between his ankles, sending him tumbling down the hill, right into the hacking blades of a small detachment of Templars following their captain. The second knight, unable to come past the tumbling one, struggled to a stop, then whirled about and came at Carver from the lower end of the hill as the third faced him from above. They charged him from two sides, a sure victory.
Carver didn't cry out in alarm, instead, he parried the blow from the man coming from above as he blindly kicked backwards, the heel of his foot catching the other knight in the face, sending him tumbling down to his death. The last remaining knight pulled his blade down for another attack, but Carver ducked low and pressed closer, hooking the cross-guard under the knee of his foe as he pulled, pulling the knight onto his back. A moment later, Carver was atop the man, a knee pressing down his foe's sword-arm while he with both hands drove his blade in under the knight's gorget and into the man's throat.
Rising, Carver met Garrett's wide-eyed stare, and narrowed his eyes as he silently waved his detachment of sword-armed Templars to follow up the hill.
"Reinhart! Reserves! With me!" Garrett could barely believe the words were coming out of his mouth, nor what he was doing as he rushed for the now undefended hill. I don't want this! Please don't make this happen! "Missiles, concentrate shots!"
He reached the top of the hill just in time to see Carver reach it as well, the two men staring at one another in shock.
Then one of the templar's following Carver fell, an arrow lodged in his armpit. A cry of rage, and Carver rushed straight at him...
Garrett, mouth dry, could only stare, his arms suddenly numb, unwilling to raise his blade or shield.
With a roar, a blur of chain mail rushed past, a small man, a soldier, coming at Carver with his sword swinging in a wide arch. Pip?
Garrett's officer missed by a mile. Carver moved with the ease of a dancer in his plate armour as he stepped just outside the reach of Pip's swing before stepping forth once more, a long lunge that saw his blade slide into Pip's side and then out the back in an explosion of gore and broken pieces of mail.
The young man stared back at Garrett, then fell, kicked into the dirt by Carver as the Templar freed his blade.
Snorting at Garrett's stare, Carver waved his detachment forward...only to growl in frustration as Reinhart, surprisingly leading from the front, sent his men surging forth.
With a crash of plate upon plate armoured giants crashed into one another, the shock of impact from Reinhart's charge leading to three Templars dying before they could even strike at their foes while a single one of Reinhart's men fell, clutching a shattered knee.
With a roar, Carver stood at the centre of the melee, great sword swinging wide, driving his foes back...and then his Templars followed, eagerly hacking blades driving Reinhart's men back inch by bloody inch.
"Damn it!" Shaking himself into action, Garrett ran forward, barely aware that Isabela and Maric, both having stayed his silent shadows, charged with him. "Drive them back!"
Pressing through the buckling line of soldiers, Garrett's blade skimmed off a Templar's helmet, the riposte of the enemy nearly catching him in the neck. Gasping, Garrett beat his foe's blade aside with his own and smashed his shield into the visor of his foe. The man staggered...and then fell as Maric bit into his ankle and pulled his foot from under him. Thrusting his blade into a gap in the Templar's armour, Garrett looked up in time to see Isabela break a Templar's knee with a well-placed kick while the rest of her bent over backwards, just under another's swinging blade. A second later, her own struck the Templar's neck, sending him to meet the Maker.
The momentum shifting, the knights pressed their way back up, another two Templars falling as they were caught trying to retreat.
Snarling an oath, Carver surged towards the centre, straight at Garrett...who once more felt paralysed with horror at what was about to happen...before Reinhart stepped forth, lunging with a blade far too heavy for the old man against the Captain of the Templars. Disdainfully, Carver sidestepped the thrust, his slashing blade severing the noble's hand by the wrist as if the plate armour wasn't even there. Gasping, Reinhart clutched the wound and fell to his knees...and then Carver's return-stroke caught him in the neck, sending his head tumbling down the hill as the rest of his body fell to the ground.
The counter-attack lost steam, the men hesitant at the death of the noble...but that meant that the Templars, now standing tall atop the hill, became perfect targets.
A hail of arrows and bolts felled three Templars before they were even aware of the danger, and when a lightning bolt, bearing the distinct mark of Merrill, exploded amidst them, a further four became living torches, screaming as their flesh boiled within their armour.
Carver, runed armour glowing bright as arcs of lightning played across it, kept his blade levelled at Garrett, a promise in his eyes...and then he began to back away and turned his head to shout. "Fall back! Retreat and regroup at the wall!" A final glare at Garrett, full of hatred, and the man turned and ran, though far more reluctantly than those who'd followed him.
At first, Garrett simply stared after him, his entire being suffused with dread of what might come...and then he looked to the carnage around him. Too many of his soldiers had died to Carver's blade, their defences nearly pierced by a rapidly more professional Templar army...and Garrett's dread multiplied.
We need more than magic and blades if we're to endure...
Tired, Garrett turned around, looking past a pale but hesitantly smiling Merrill...and to a mage standing behind her. The Tower's senior alchemist...
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Meredith's tent was open, allowing her a good view of both the City and the Tower ahead. Sitting in front of her desk, she felt her entire body coil, tense beyond words...it had been so ever since her retreat from the Circle Tower. She was tense, stressed, her entire body screaming at her to rush at the Tower and retake control and deal with all the mages and their thralls within.
Clutching her pen tightly, nearly snapping it, the fourth today, Meredith tried to focus on the reports before her.
Before her, behind a mound of the destroyed wall, Templars were swarming like ants around the catapults she'd set up. Bringing up fresh stones taken from the city, readying new shots, aiming, preparing weapons for yet another assault...they worked in shifts, maintaining the pressure on the Tower with all the might the order could manage.
Yet it's not breaking. The thought was a growl in her head.
To the right, the city loomed, dark smoke rising from various sites as the foolish citizens torched their own homes. Troops of Templars kept the gates sealed so no apostate could flee, and other detachments were scouring the city for provisions, a task made harder by the idiot citizens and their constant rioting, but so far, provisioning the Templars was not proving too difficult, even though searching individual homes was proving a chore.
To the left, there was another crack as a catapult's shot struck the Tower, yet despite that, it held. The structure, though slim and frail-looking, was proving surprisingly sturdy, the Tower had been built by the Tevinter Imperium, no doubt funding Dwarven masons...human efforts would wear it down like all else, but it would take time.
Time Meredith didn't feel she had.
Any day now, any moment, there'll be a mass-sacrifice and they'll come at us with demons and blood-magic! We must hurry! Finally, her pen snapped.
Grumbling in annoyance, Meredith lowered the pen and looked over at the city, ignoring the pillars of smoke rising from it in favour of something closer. Carver and...? Meredith rose, watching the two men approaching. "I know you..."
The elf, tall and lanky, covered in blue tattoos and wearing a snowy mop of white hair, inclined his head. "I'm honoured that you remember me."
Carver, coming closer, saluted. "Commander, this is Fenris, one of Garrett's old comrades, a former comrade."
"I see." Meredith smiled at Carver, pleased with him. Looking back to Fenris. "Former, then? So why are you here?"
"He's gone too far, he's betrayed all ideals I have and has allied with all things I hate." Fenris growled back. His hands, once behind his back, pulled around, revealing a motley head that he dropped on the ground before him. "I cannot stand idly by while that happens. I once offered him my service as a way to pay a debt...I offer you mine for nothing but the chance to do what's right."
Meredith, curious, looked at the head. "Who is that?"
"Bastile, Garrett's great chevalier." Fenris smiled, though it was a cool smile, one far too pleased with his own deed.
A beast, driven mad by his own rage and pain. Meredith considered the elf. Good, that may prove useful against our enemy. "You want to stop Garrett then? Fight him? Maybe even kill him? He was your friend, was he not?"
"Friend?" Fenris shook his head. "No, I once respected him...but this...? No, I cannot be friend with one such as him. He must be stopped, his mages must be stopped." The man nodded to himself. "We cannot allow a second Tevinter Imperium, this monstrous creation must be killed in its cradle."
Meredith, smiling, nodded at the elf and offered her hand. "You and I, Fenris, are of the same mind..."
Fenris, unhesitatingly, grabbed her hand.
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Outside, people were screaming, a window shattering.
Donnic, kneeling, felt his shoulders tremble. Grief, sadness, disappointment...it all felt too much as he opened the chest before him. It was empty, but not for long.
Reverently, Donnic put his folded tunic away, the worn orange covered in marks and stitches from repairs...it had served well, however. Next, the breastplate, the greaves, the pauldrons...piece after piece of his armour, the armour he'd worn for what felt like a lifetime, disappeared into the chest.
Last was his sword and shield. One worn at the grip and clearly with much use, yet sharp as a razor. The other dented and scrapped, yet still solid and strong.
All ended up in the chest.
A sigh, and Donnic, unable to look at it all, closed the lid. So much for the guard...
Outside, a child was screaming, screaming...and then going eerily quiet.
He'd tried to keep the guard together, Maker knew he had...but without pay, without food...and with every person with a grudge for Templars, State or Mages wanting to take it out on someone, all had finally left the City Guard.
I'm sorry, love.
His stomach grumbling, he hadn't eaten in two days, Donnic raised the old painting of Aveline he owned. It was the only picture he had of her, the only thing she'd allowed him to commission, and only on their wedding day, after an hour of cajoling... The thought made Donnic smile, making him kiss the sharp features of his wife. Maybe it's best you died before all this...seeing all of this...it would hurt you more than the dagger that killed you.
Of course, had she been around, maybe Aveline could have kept the guard together, picked a side, done something...helped...but Donnic didn't want to dwell on that, his guilt and sadness was great enough without adding more to the burden.
It should have been I who died.
Another kiss on the portrait, and Donnic placed it atop the chest.
Watch over this, will you, my love?
Rising to his feet, his limbs aching, body tired, Donnic moved towards the door. I'll try to find us some food.
Outside, a hell of rioting and killing awaited him.
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Thanks to Abydos Jackson, for the Picasso