The Edge of the Korcari Wilds
Dark trees towered over the Cousland vanguard as the light of the Sun slowly faded towards the horizon. Anxious soldiers gathered into squares, preparing for the next assault from the Darkspawn. Spears bristled outward from the squares like giant hedgehogs, their tips gleaming in the gloomy forest. Blue and white banners, bearing the laurel wreath with upturned ends, fluttered in the wind. In the center of one of the squares, knights sat astride their warhorses, directing the men-at-arms in planting stakes for the defense. One mounted warrior, clad in a suit of full plate with a surcoat of blue and white, held up a map to the light and shook his head.
"Maker's Teeth," Fergus Cousland swore with a groan as he raised the visor of his armet helm. He looked at the map that Loghain had given him and could not make heads or tails of it. He turned it upside down, but it still made no sense. "Bann Armand, what do you make of this?"
"My lord, this cannot possibly be correct."
Fergus stabbed his gauntleted finger at a point on the map. "We are here. This is where the gap in the Darkspawn forces are supposed to be, but we have run smack into the main force." It was supposed to have been a flanking attack against light resistance to pin the Darkspawn for the main attack that King Cailan would lead. However, it was anything but.
"My lord, we must withdraw. Night will be here soon and we face annihilation," Armand said gravely.
Fergus let out a sigh dripping with disappointment. He had hoped for a chance to prove the Couslands' valor, but the bann was right. They had been hit by three massive waves of Darkspawn and he was forced to abandon the attack and form his army into defensive squares. "Very well, we must preserve our force. We'll march back to Ostagar and inform Loghain that his reconnaissance was incorrect. My father should have arrived by now as well."
He stood up in the saddle and raised his sword. "Signal the withdrawal! Forward units form column of march! We will form the rear guard!"
Signaling flags shifted positions and the Cousland banners were lowered at an angle in a sharp display of command and control. The outer squares marched slowly towards the center of the line and began to unfold like wrapped presents, forming a column of soldiers for quicker movement. Fergus was proud of the disciplined army that his father had forged. They would get another chance at proving their mettle. He could still hear his father's lessons at warcraft – discretion is the better part of valor.
He snorted, thinking about his earlier insouciance with his son, Oren and sister, Alice, about marching to war. It all seemed like playing the knight errant, galloping at dragons, lance in hand until the brutal, hard reality of battle met him, face to face. Granted, he had ridden in his father's chevauchées, fast cavalry raids against brigands and sometimes, troublemaking bann, but this was butchery on an unimaginable scale.
He pointed to the men in his square and bellowed, "Form line of battle! Skirmishers to the flanks!" The rear of the square peeled open and swung into a line, spears forming a wall of steel and wood as cavalry pickets and archers rushed to the sides of the line.
Suddenly, their Mabari Hounds began to bay and howl, straining against their chains. Fergus grit his teeth. He knew what was coming next. The hounds went silent and all that could be heard was the shuffling of armored feet and the rustling of the leaves of the forest. An eerie chill settled over the rear guard and Fergus felt a shiver down his spine as a trickle of cold sweat ran down his face.
Then, a low moan echoed through the trees as leaves blew into the air from the icy wind. The moan grew slowly into a demonic wail of shrieking ululations that seemed to fill the wilds. "Dear Andraste, give me five minutes and I can get us to safety." He looked down from his horse and saw men, looking backwards, fear gripping their faces. He could see the urge to flee rising into their throats. "Stand firm, men! We must have discipline!" he urged and hands gripped spears ever the more tightly like reunited lovers.
At the edge of sight, emerging from the gloom of the forest, he could see them now, an endless horde of misshapen and grotesque forms, horrific caricatures of men, elves and dwarves. Adding to the blood curdling wail, the Darkspawn beat upon their shields with sword and axe, the pounding reverberating through the wilds.
"Archers, hold your fire!"
Like a raging river bursting through a dam, on they came, a flood of corruption – one hundred paces…seventy five paces…fifty paces….
"Fire!"
A rain of arrows flew into the charging mass and two score of the beasts crashed down, long shafts piercing throat and heart, eye and lung. Bowmen plucked arrows from quivers and pulled strings to cheeks. Twenty five paces….
Another volley tore into the ragged ranks of Darkspawn. Broadhead arrows sank into flesh, tearing muscle, tissue and organ. The front rank of the enemy sagged to the ground, lying as they had stood in rows. The next ranks leapt over the fallen, oblivious to their comrades' demise. Fergus could see their red eyes, mindless with violent intent. Ten paces….
A final volley flew into the shrieking horde and then the sea was upon them. Spears bit into the Darkspawn as hounds tore into throats. One Hurlock, impaled on a spear, pulled himself along the shaft so that he could sink his axe into the soldier before expiring. Others were intentionally letting themselves be speared so that their fellows could rush the shield wall.
"Madness," Fergus growled. Two spearmen went down near the left flank and Genlocks scrambled through the gap.
"Armand, plug that breach!"
The bann lowered his lance and spurred his horse. Rider, horse and weapon became one and the tip of the lance pierced the heart of the lead Genlock, carrying through into the next one before it snapped at the tip. Fergus was about to charge himself, but the line just in front of him began to unravel as Hurlocks climbed over their own dead to tear at the shield wall. He tossed his lance aside and pulled a flail from a pouch on his saddle. A Hurlock came at him, but he spun the spiked ball in a half circle and pounded it on top of the beast's head, which came apart like a melon.
With a sweep of his arm, he shattered the shield of another Hurlock as his mount kicked it away. He swung the reins around, repositioning his horse and spun the ball of the flail into the neck of another Hurlock. The spikes lodged into its flesh, but it pulled the flail from his hand as it went down.
In the blink of an eye, Fergus' hand swept down to a scabbard and he drew his sword in time to knock a mace away. His horse kicked again, leveling two of the beasts. "Reform the line! Fall back!"
All was chaos around him now with screaming, howling and barking. Axes and swords flashed as bodies fell, hacked and bloody. Nearby, two Genlocks held a man down as a Shriek tore his throat out. A knight grappled on the ground with a Hurlock and plunged a thick, Cinquedea dagger into its eye. Riderless horses ran about, panicked.
Fergus hacked down at an enemy, his blade sinking inches into its skull. As he yanked the sword out, he could see a Darkspawn lifting a staff. Waves of energy rippled from the staff and his horse reared, throwing him from the saddle. He crashed to the ground, metal impacting with hard dirt, knocking the wind out of him. On instinct, born of training, he rose and parried another attack, deflecting a mace away as he redirected his blade into the Hurlock's groin. He pulled the sword through and looked around, trying to get his bearings. Despite the cold, sweat poured down his face, soaking the padding under his helmet. Barely able to breathe, he tore off the straps to the armet and tossed it away.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw the Darkspawn mage. He braced to rush at the thing when an arc of electricity leapt from its staff and seared into his metal armor. Fergus howled in pain, but ran at the mage, thrusting the tip of his sword with both hands square into its chest. The creature raged, flailing and grasping at the blade as he pushed forward, pinning it to a tree.
As the mage went limp, he searched for Armand, but the line was collapsing all around him. He grabbed a handful of knights and they put their backs together, swords, axes and halberds facing outward. "We must make a break for it!" He thought about the map and the plan to flank the Darkspawn and he began to understand that they had been set up. They had been marched right into the maw of the enemy.
"My lord, you must escape," one knight shouted. "We'll stand rear guard."
"No, we all escape together. We must stick together!"
Then, he saw something tiny fly at him. A sling stone crashed upon his cheek and his vision went white with pain. He sagged to his knees, barely feeling armored hands trying to drag him backwards to safety. Shrieking and howling erupted around him along with the ring of steel on steel and he was dropped to the ground. Through blurry eyes he saw armored men warding off waves of Darkspawn. He couldn't keep his eyes open anymore. If he could just rest a moment they could escaped. He tried to will his sword arm up, but it fell back on the forest floor.
"Damn," he whispered through pained teeth. "A Cousland, felled by a Maker forsaken rock."