As promised, the next day, the two newest wardens hewed what dry wood they could from the wilds, though, she observed, Alistair would not allow her to wield an ax. Well, he didn't say anything, but when he nearly jumped out of his boots when he turned around to see her holding one, she put it down so as not to cause the poor lad more stress than he was already under. They built a pyre outside near the gorge, and around sunset, they took a torch to Ten's last friend in camp. She watched the smoke billow up to the summer sky, and hoped that, perhaps, it was all true, that the Maker might call her unlucky son to her side, and that, if it were not all true, the truth was not worse than that.
"Are you all right?" Alistair asked.
"I'm sad," she said, "And a little angry. Though I suspect we're up against it now, and I can take it all out on whatever rotting louts pop out of the ground."
"There's the spirit."
If Dad could see me now, Ten thought as the two of them made their way back to camp, to where Duncan was awaiting them at a great war table. A meeting with the king. He wouldn't believe me at all, would he. Or he'd find a way to have a problem with this as well.
"Ah, our newest Grey Warden!" Cailan greeted her, "I suspected you would come through it all right. You've thrice the mettle of any of the others I've seen come through. You know what she did, Loghain?"
He turned to the dark-haired, middle-aged general next to him. Ah, that's Teyrn Logain then. I thought he'd be older.
"Cooked your breakfast exactly the way you like?" the Teyrn asked. Had his voice not been dripping with scorn, it might have been a funny joke, but Ten felt her ears burning with rage.
"Don't be silly," said Cailan, "This is the Vengeful Bride of Denerim herself! Brought from the dungeons of Fort Drakon to this very camp."
"Interesting!" Loghain said, turning his dark eyes on her. She kept hers on the ground, feeling distinctly that this was not the sort of human who appreciated when an elf looked him in the face, "Not that I was ever fond of Vaughan. Or his father, for that matter." His voice changed, then, "Look at me, girl!"
Ten snapped to and obeyed. He had some strange coloring. A grayish caste to his features. His heart isn't as strong as it once was, she thought, The blood's not making it to his face. He's older than he looks.
"I had a pageboy about your size," he said, "He was twelve years old. So tell me, oh Vengeful Bride, exactly, did you accomplish that?"
"Well, Ser," said Ten, "He had his pants around his ankles. On account of him doing unspeakable things to my little cousin. Made it a bit easier."
"In more ways than one, I imagine," said Loghain, "And you've made it through the joining."
"Yes, Ser," she said.
"You, alone, have made it through the joining."
"I imagine so, Ser. I didn't see what happened to the other two," she said, "But I came out of it, and they were gone."
"Well," said Logain, "Let's test that mettle again, why don't we. A special mission for you, oh Vengeful Bride. There is a tower, here, on the other side of the gorge." He planted one bluish finger on the map, where she could see the tower they had passed on their way into camp.
"I will ride to rout the darkspawn," said Cailan, "With the rest of the Grey Wardens. And, once we have reached here," he planted his own finger on the map, "You will light the beacon at the top of the tower, which will be the signal for Teyrn Loghain's forces to flank them, and drive them all back to the Deep Roads."
Maker's Breath, the king is going to ride at the head of the army? This man is a fool. So much could go wrong.
"Send Alistair with her," Duncan said, "She may be fearsome in her own right, but she is green."
"I'd rather fight in the battle, by your side," Alistair said to Duncan.
"Nobody asked you," Loghain thundered, and Ten tried not the flinch.
"Yes Ser," Alistair said, backing off.
"The horde is already amassing," Duncan said, "I imagine you feel it too."
Ten had been wondering what the buzzing in the back of her head was, the tingles down her spine, and she realized that the darkspawn must be gathering in such great numbers that she could not pin down any one individual. Her stomach dropped.
"We have no more than an hour," said Duncan, "We must rally the forces now. And the two of you must get going."
"It will be a glorious day," Cailan declared, "To battle!"
"I don't like this," Alistair said once the king and the teyrn had left, "I thought I was ready for battle."
"That's not why I'm sending you to the tower," said Duncan.
"No, you're sending me to protect her," said Alistair, "Because she's not ready. But I am."
"Don't put this on me," Ten exclaimed, "I don't need a nanny. Duncan, if this fool wants to run himself through on a spear, don't stop him on my account."
"I am sending you," Duncan raised his voice, "Because you know the field, you've been deeper in my council than any other, these last few months, and because you've got a tactician's eye. I trust you to signal the armies exactly when it is necessary, not a moment too soon, or too late."
"I'm sorry Duncan," said Alistair.
"If anything," said Duncan, a twinkle in his eye, "I'm sending her to protect you."
Alistair's face went red. "Maker watch over you, Duncan."
"Maker watch over us all."
Ten nodded curtly at the old man, and turned to make for the bridge. She walked briskly, aware that her companion nipped at her heels.
"I didn't mean that," said Alistair, "Well I did. But I didn't mean I think you need protection. I meant that you don't need it and so I shouldn't be coming with you."
"Keep building your pyre, lad," said Ten.
"Hey! Don't call me lad. I'm older than you."
"No you're not," she said, "Elves just don't get all wrinkly in the sun is all."
"Now that was just mean."
"Well those crows' feet aren't from wisdom, after all," she shot back.
"Maker's breath, now I know never to even suggest I'm insulting you."
"See that you remember this lesson."
The sparring match was interrupted with a great explosion, that knocked Ten flat on her back. Picking herself up, her ears ringing, she saw that ahead on the bridge, a burning boulder had landed, taking out several archers.
"They have artillery?" she all but squealed, failing to keep the hysteria out of her voice.
"Andraste's left tit," Alistair swore, "We'd better get a move on before they bring the whole thing down."
And then she ran, leaping over corpses, ducking arrows - and catching one in her shoulder pad - making it to the safety of the other side of the gorge. There was something wrong there, though. There were supposed to be magi there, guarding the base. It was, however, populated only by corpses - darkspawn and mages alike.
"Were you hit?" she asked.
Alistair pulled an arrow from his gauntlet, "No. Bit through two layers of chain, though."
"Same," Ten said, pulling the arrow from her shoulder pad and examining its nasty barb, "Ooh, that would have hurt."
"Hey!" came a cry over the wall which surrounded the tower, "You're Gray Wardens right?"
"Yes," said Ten. Down the stairs came a blue-robed mage of the Circle, absolutely soaked in blood.
"What happened to you?" demanded Alistair.
"They've taken the tower," said the mage, "It's crawling with them. You can't go in there."
They looked at each other. "I think we have to," Ten said, "Unless you want to scale the walls."
"We definitely have to," Alistair said.
"Well, you wanted a battle," she said.
The mage coughed, and Ten saw the red trickling down his chin.
"Sit down, man," she said, "Where were you hit?"
"More like where wasn't I. Little fucker with grapeshot," he chuckled, "Think I'm done for. My own stupid fault, always dozing off when they were teaching healing spells."
"Don't be ridiculous," said Ten, "Open your robe."
"What?"
"I've got coagulants and bandages. Should hold you together until the healers can find you."
Silently, the mage obeyed, and Ten grabbed a bottle of powdered clay that she had added witch hazel and moonshine to. He winced as she she carefully packed each of the small, deep wounds, bandaged them over, and instructed the mage to stay still, play dead if he needed to.
"Thank you," he said, "Maker watch over you."
"You need it more than I," Ten said.
"Does that actually work?" Alistair asked.
"Of course it does," said Ten, "Most of the time. I'm not a physician, I have no idea how badly he's hurt or how long it will be before the actual medics show up."
"But you knew what to do."
"That's not an invitation for you to run headlong in there counting on me to stick parts of you back on," she said, "We're going to be heavily outnumbered, so we need a plan."
"What else do you have in that bag of yours?"
"I have," Ten said, "About three bottles of that dwarven whiskey."
"And how's that going to be helpful?"
"Grab a torch," she said.
"Oh. Oh! That's rather clever."
"Thank me later. Let's move in and see what we're dealing with."
There were stragglers in the courtyard, which were easily dealt with, but from the roaring and gnashing coming from within the tower, she imagined within lay quite a challenge indeed.
The tower itself was guarded by a great oaken door that was, thankfully, not bolted. She heard the cries, felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise. She surveyed the room. It was large, and round, flagstoned, but someone - likely the spawn themselves - had hacked up every bit of furniture and made makeshift barricades.
"Well doesn't this look flammable," she said, approvingly. She took one of the bottles of whiskey out, popped the cork, took a swig, handed it to Alistair, who also took a swig, and then hurled it at the barricade. She found a flint and tinder at the bottom of her pack, and up the barricade went.
They felt the horde before they heard it, and heard it before they saw them pour down from the staircase at the other end of the room. The darkspawn had only a small opening in the flames to get at them, meaning they could only go one by one, making each fight two against one. If they had been any other types of creature, they would have figured something out, but their dark little minds could think of nothing else but slaughter, and so they took only the most obvious path, piling up behind the wall of flames, all but trampling each other in their bloodlust. The fire burned high for about twenty minutes, but by the time it had, the corpses of darkspawn were piled high in the center of the room.
"Splendid bit of work. Suppose there are any left up there?" Ten asked.
"Just stragglers. Why, you need a break?"
"Wouldn't dream of it," she said, "Come on, up the stairs we go."
As Alistair had predicted, there were a handful of them, to be sure, but nothing in so large a number that she broke a sweat from anything from the fires down below.
That is, until they came to the top.
"Um, what the fuck is that?" she asked. It was a great being, looking like all the jokes about farm lads and goats came true, except giant. It was probably around twelve feet tall, and proportioned like a very well-muscled man of that height would be. It didn't wear armor, but its skin looked thick and impenetrable. And, most importantly, it was standing between them and the pile of tinder and grease that formed the beacon.
Skull's probably five inches thick. Waiting for it to bleed out will take too long. Fucking musclebound back and front, not going to get to the heart. Soft spot, base of the skull, where the muscles go in at the back of the neck. Or… wait. Neckbones real big. And the gaps between them. Just have to get up its back…
"I… I don't know," Alistair said, "Haven't seen one of those before."
"You were a regular encyclopedia out there in the wilds," she said, "What do you mean you don't know what the giant… goat man thing is?"
"I've never seen anything like it before," he said, "This is probably a bad sign."
"And you've been at this how long?"
"About six months."
"And in all that time, you've never seen one of those?"
"I just told you twice that I haven't," he said, irritated, "They must only show up when the horde's reached a critical mass, which is terrible news for you, me, and everyone down below."
"Well, it has a spinal cord," she said, finally, observing the line that ran up its enormous back, and the prominent vertebrae where it met its neck.
"A what?"
"A spine," she said, "A spine that, if I get close enough, I can sever. No spine, no moving."
The creature chose that moment to pick up a chunk of rock, likely deposited there by a poorly aimed trebuchet, and hurl it at them. They scattered just in time.
"I'll keep it busy," Alistair said, "Can you climb?"
Ten nodded, "Don't be a hero."
"Don't see as I've got much of a choice now," he said, "Hey! You! Big fucker with the horns!" He planted his feet and positioned his sword in front of him.
Ten went around the side, doing her best to be silent. She didn't see anywhere she could get a purchase as it threw himself at Alistair, picking him up in one fist and throwing him against the wall, roaring in triumph. While it was distracted, she plunged her left hand dagger into the creature's unguarded left kidney, and used the protruding hilt as a step to climb high enough to get one foot on its right shoulder as it bucked and roared, trying to throw her off. She grabbed one horn for purchase, she aimed, and plunged her right hand dagger in the space between its enormous vertebrae. She leapt clear, only managed to narrowly escape being crushed by its great weight as it crumpled and fell.
"Was that bad or did it just look bad?" she asked, watching her companion struggle to his feet as she retrieved her weapon with no small effort.
"Head's in one piece," Alistair replied, "Legs, fine. Arms… pretty sure it dislocated my shoulder."
"Which one?"
"Left. Off arm. It'll be fine, it's happened before. I'll have it seen to after the battle. Just… smarts a bit."
"Don't be silly," she said, "Take your armor off."
"You can fix that too? Or are you just going around ordering every man in the field to take his shirt off?"
"Don't flatter yourself. You think the elves of Denerim go to the finest physicians in the land? Of course not. Between me and the midwife, we learned to patch up most basic injuries."
"And how many of them wind up worse off than before," muttered Alistair, but began to try to unbuckle his mail one-handed. Ten helped him out, and eased the chain off his shoulder, which was rapidly swelling. She probed at it, and he cursed in pain.
"Oh don't be a baby," she sighed, putting one hand on his back, "Now stay still I'm going to push it back on three. One. Two."
As the "two" left her lips, she pushed. The joint popped back in.
"You said I had until three," Alistair protested. He made a fist with his left hand and uncurled it. He raised his arm, and winced.
"You would have flinched and I've had hurt you worse. It'll be sore for a bit, but you'll have use of it," said Ten, "Now go see how it's going. I don't know shit about battlefields."
They went to one of the windows, where the many torches of the battle spread out below them like orange stars.
"Soon," he said, "Couple of minutes."
"All right," she said.
"That was very clever," he said, adjusting his shoulder, "Did Duncan even know about your… other talents?"
"He doesn't know that half of it," Ten chuckled, "And try not to move it too much, you'll hurt yourself worse."
"You're good in a pinch," he said, "Thank you."
"It's what I do," she said, "Do you want something for the pain?"
"Will it make me loopy?"
"No, but you'll bleed more if you're wounded again," she said, "Up to you."
"I think I can grin and bear it. Wait, there! There's the end of the horde. Go! Now! Light the beacon!"
He didn't have to ask her twice, she seized a burning torch from a sconce on the wall and thrust it into the heart of the pyre. She thought, fleetingly, of Daveth, whose pyre she had lit that very day. How quickly things changed. The flames leapt up, and up, to the very sky above. She returned to the window, where she heard a shrill bugle call. She smiled, imagining that it was signaling Loghain's great army to join the battle. She turned to congratulate Alistair on a job well done, but he was looking down at the field in utter dismay.
"That's the retreat," he said.
"What?"
"The bugle call. That tune. It doesn't mean "charge." That one means "retreat!""
"Could it be the battle's won?" asked Ten, looking down in consternation.
"I don't think so, Ten," said Alistair, "I think something's gone dreadfully wrong."
She should have seen the bolt and gotten away from the window. She should have sensed whatever darkspawn five stories below had loosed it. She should have danced away. But she didn't, and she was bowled over, the wind knocked out of her as it hit her squarely in the chest.
"Ten!" she heard Alistair call, and she vaguely felt him catch her as she fell and ease her to the ground, but it was as though he were at the bottom of a well, and she were soaring through the air miles above.
"Absolutely unacceptable, recruit, you are not going to die on me now. That's an order."
She tried to take a breath and tell him to piss off and she would die if she damned well pleased, but her lungs were not cooperating, and the world around her grew hazy, and then black as night.