Chapter 33: Plans and Tactics - Ambush

Alistair stared at him for a moment as shock turned to anger and confusion. “What do you mean? I’m supposed to be in the battle.”

“Not according to Duncan or the King.” Raviathan flipped up his hood as the first drops of cold rain hit him.

With a shake of his head, Alistair started towards the gate, his long strides gaining speed.

Stupid templar. “Hey.” Bloody stupid templar. “Hey!” Raviathan had to jog to catch up. “These are Duncan’s orders.”

“Were they now?”

Raviathan grabbed Alistair’s arm, forcing him to stop and face him. “They said you would know the signal. I don’t.”

“The signal,” Alistair said in disgust. “They need two Wardens to light the signal. Right.”

“Duncan is down in the valley fighting. They will be overwhelmed if Loghain’s forces don’t get the signal to charge.” Raviathan shook his arm. “You are needed. Stop fighting your orders.”

Alistair jerked his arm away. “Yeah. Fine.” He glared at the gate, mouth tight and nostrils flared. “Let’s go, shall we?”

Shems and their attitudes. Raviathan watched him as they turned, half sure Alistair would make some stupid run for the gate as soon as his back was turned. Instead, Alistair grudgingly trotted along through the fortress with him. In truth, Raviathan agreed that this mission was a waste of two Wardens considering their immunity. The only reason he could fathom not sending a messenger was that the king knew Alistair for a fool. Loghain too? Odd that that seasoned general had agreed without any comment considering how he hated Wardens.

“Maker’s breath! Would you just look at that.” The soldiers manning a ballista crowded around the edge of a platform.

“Andraste’s tits! Word is they’ve been growing, but this?”

Despite their hurry to get to the tower, both Alistair and Raviathan took a moment to view the valley below. Raviathan shook his head then rubbed at his eyes. He couldn’t make sense of the scene. Maybe the light was wrong or the rain blurring the world? Having lived his whole life surrounded by walls, he wasn’t sure he could see right in open spaces. Or the taint wasn’t done poisoning his blood. What he saw couldn’t be real.

Alistair swore under his breath. “Come on. Signal lighting suddenly seems very important.”

Dazed, Raviathan followed. That wasn’t real. Shadows from campfires playing tricks on him. His mind kept stuttering over the image, unable to make sense of it but unable to let go. Panic started to bring him out the trance he had been in since the Joining. Raviathan had to fight an overwhelming urge to race down to the rest of the Wardens. Duncan shouldn’t be there.

Raviathan glared at the templar’s back as new fury flooded him. This idiot! What kind of Warden needs to be protected doing some simple task like this? Duncan has an army to face, and I’m stuck with this sorry excuse of a mage-hunting shem. By the fires, how did this man survive the Joining?

Instead of following, Raviathan glanced back at the scene before him. Black clouds, dark as in the Fade, roiled unnaturally, so close Raviathan thought he would be able to touch them from the top of the Tower of Ishal. The storm clouds moved too fast, appearing more like boiling metal that undulated in a thick, bubbling mass. For a second, Raviathan felt trapped as if he were back in the ruins. The taint pressed in from above, swarmed from below, chocking off any escape. Trapped. His heart beat faster. Trapped.

Camp fires and torches sparred with the rain, spitting their proud light against the total blackness that lay thick as a shroud over men and monsters alike. Only the armor of humans picked up light, the fire’s energy dulled by iron and steel. The tainted army had fire as well. Torches made eyes glow, illuminated snatches of arms, crude weapons with many blades, shown red in the long lines of horns. What was shadow and what was the walking evil? Where did the darkspawn end?

Pressurized air made the sounds from the army thicker, sluggish and almost physical. The bray of dogs competed with the shouts of men. Back in Denerim, the march of guards signaled trouble. This, though greatly magnified beyond what Raviathan had ever experienced, had the opposite effect. The sounds of orders and thuds from hundreds of feet filled him with a strange passion. He could feel the tension of all these men and women, their fear and excitement. Just as strange as this passion that thrummed through his blood was the kinship he felt for the soldiers below. Not once in his life would he have ever thought it possible that he would be on the side of shems.

Beyond the army of humans, other sounds emerged: growls, far off shrieks that sounded like metal scraping against tortured metal, and a roar that made his stomach clench and skin turn cold. Whatever made that roar, it was huge. His Joining nightmare was coming to life in the valley below. There would be no escape from the horde. He couldn’t hide. He couldn’t outrun them. They were coming, and the only barrier between him and the mass of living evil was the army of humans. Although they had been part of the unbreakable barrier that had kept his kin behind walls for centuries, the humans seemed so pitiful in that moment. A few humans against that?

Again, the roar echoed like thunder through the valley. The sin of the world was coming for him. Raviathan almost threw up at the sudden leaden weight in his blood. The sin of the world was in him, in his tainted blood. There was no escape. No way out. There had always been his father, Valendrian, the friends and neighbors who stood by him. He had never been alone before or had to face this kind of danger. Even with Vaughan, Raviathan’s kinfolk stood with him. Frightened, yes, but they were together. The darkspawn swarmed under his feet in the tunnels, crowded over his head in blackened clouds, surrounded him in every direction. No alienage anymore. Not even a god to pray to anymore.

Alone. So alone it made his bones ache. Just one tiny elf against the world, like a grain of sand to hold back the ocean.

“We need to cross the bridge to get to the Tower of Ishal!”

When Raviathan tore his eyes away from the swarming mass, he saw Alistair waiting for him near the bridge tower. Please be careful, Duncan. You’re all I have now.

Shouts of alarm rose from soldiers on the bridge. Raviathan couldn’t see why they were scattering for the brief moment he was behind the bridge tower. The bridge grew brighter, alarmingly red, and a rough hand shoved him back behind the tower wall as he was about to run out. The crash vibrated through the stone. Raviathan crouched low, his hands over his stinging ears. The ringing pounded in waves in his skull. He would have cursed the damage done to his sensitive ears if he hadn’t had the power to heal them. Now he glared at the templar standing over him. If the bastard shemlen would go away, he could heal this. Raviathan huffed out a breath. Better not chance anything until the templar was distracted.

Past the tower, rubble lay strewn from a new scar in the bridge, flames licking up along the sides, but the bridge stood strong. Raviathan blinked in astonishment. How did the flames stay alive? A few smaller stones continued to burn, the translucent fire coating the stones like a gel. It must be made from fire crystal. The darkspawn knew how to make potions? The fire stones had to have been hurled from a great distance, so they also knew how to operate if not make complex weapons of war. Maybe the low ranked darkspawn were unintelligent, but there was intelligence somewhere in the horde. Had Duncan not known? Raviathan couldn’t comprehend Duncan being ignorant of these creatures, but either his mentor had truly been ignorant, or he was hiding knowledge. Why?

Soldiers picked themselves up, brushing off rubble, and returning to their posts. A few weren’t moving as fast as they should, their bodies held in tight from damage. Impact wounds. Shock. There were other healers in the fortress, weren’t there? Raviathan bit his lip, wanting to tend these men first, to get them off the bridge and out of harm’s way until they were patched up. He hesitated as he passed the soldiers, but there was nothing for it. Not only was the templar close, Raviathan wasn’t sure about his position yet. Duncan hadn’t had time to make any announcement to protect some errant apostate turned Warden. There just had to be healers around. These were seasoned, well organized armies. They would know to prepare.

Fear drove Raviathan across the bridge. He didn’t want to see the mass below again. He didn’t want to think of his body falling on the steep rocks below, his bones fragile as glass from this height. He didn’t want to think of the black clouds overhead, pressing down on him. He didn’t want to think of the mage-hunter running after him. Raviathan was trapped, trapped and running in panic. The stone around him started glowing red. The color intensified with every step until he was running along stones bright as fire.

Men shouted, their cries sounding distant and unimportant. The bridge vibrated under his feet, the crash searing his ears, hot air like a blacksmith’s furnace pressing against his back. Raviathan focused only on the second bridge tower. The open corridor dark but holding safety. His whole world focused down to that point as he ran.

Raviathan hit the wall of the tower with a cool rush. He pressed his cheek to the stone as if the it could slow his heart. Comforting shadows blocked out the strange fire that clung to the bridge. The fire didn’t speak to his mind, but he could feel it inside, in a place beyond thought. There was a song to fire that he understood deep in his magical heart. Fire sang to him, the pureness of energy like birdsong, always calling out its existence to a kindred soul.

That fire on the bridge had been different, slippery in its movements, enticing his power as if a seductress danced about him, bewitching as it ensnared him in veils of raw power. The Fade was energy, pure energy. On this side of the Veil, few things compared to the raw force of the Fade. Fire sang to his soul as the sun sang to plants. He needed to be away from the sliding, slippery power when he was in a panic. The flames wound around his soul in long, caressing fingers. In his state, he would feed that fire into a whirling towers. Not only would he expose himself, he was a danger to every soldier on that bridge. Fire was his comfort and could be as dangerous as a demon.

Raviathan glanced back at the bridge. The templar was slowly getting back to his feet, shaking his head gingerly. Taking the opportunity, Raviathan healed the damage to his eardrum and nerve fibers. Inside the bridge tower, a tight interior stair lead to a roof for archers. Had there been a door, Raviathan could have knocked the templar out and stowed him there while he finished this business in peace. That would keep the templar safe for Duncan but out of the way. Raviathan sighed. The bloody signal, and he needed that bloody templar. The fool started to jog, his feet clumsy but gaining sureness with each step. Good to know the fool healed quickly.

“Head alright?” Raviathan felt like he should ask.

“Um, fine.”

Wasting no more time on the shem, Raviathan jogged out of the alcove. Rain shot down in icy needles. He flipped his hood up as he ran through the heavy night. Get to the tower. Light the signal. Duncan will be fine. They’ve won all the battles thus far. Duncan will be fine.

A flash of fire on metal caught Raviathan’s attention. Swords. Fighting? Up here? The cry of a human sounded over the din of rain followed by a low chuckle that echoed through the fort. Raviathan’s heart sped up. The heavy feel of adrenaline numbed his arms. That sound. That dreaded sound he was learning to fear like the stomp of soldiers’ feet in the alienage. It didn’t belong, the sound heralding coming pain.

One large hurlock grinned down as the soldier fell, the blade of a second darkspawn buried in the man’s side. Raviathan picked up speed, his blades in his hands without thought. How did the darkspawn get here? Did they invade from the road? How many? Raviathan raised his sword block a blow as he charged into the hurlock’s side, his dagger striking deep into the hurlock’s back. Three hard thrusts of his dagger, then Raviathan hopped back before the second could pin him in an awkward position.

An arrow flew by, missing Raviathan’s head by inches. Maker! How many of them? Wouldn’t Loghain’s army have known if the darkspawn had outflanked them? Black blood erupted from the injured hurlock’s mouth. Though the monster tried to lumber forward, its injury had it doubled over. Raviathan didn’t remember moving his blades. They flashed before him in a quick dance. A deflected parry jarred his elbow. In an instant of flurried blocks and attacks, black blood coated Raviathan’s sword.

They were down. Dead? Raviathan’s stomach churned with the nearness of the taint. Another arrow passed a few feet away from him. Shaking his head to rid himself of shock, Raviathan tried to focus on the scene before him. Two genlocks had the high ground by the tower entrance, their dark grins full of soulless malice. Two more soldiers fought three hurlocks with little success. More darkspawn charged the scaffolding to his left. The templar was there, outnumbered but the narrow paths kept him from being overwhelmed. Maybe this wasn’t a splinter army from the horde below, just a few stragglers to make chaos.

Dead or not, the hurlocks were down. Raviathan circled behind a hurlock attacking the soldier. The monster caught sight of him at the last second, but Raviathan’s blades whirled into motion until the monster lay still. Together he and the soldier turned on the genlocks at the gate. A crude blade gutted the second soldier just before Raviathan could kill the monster. A howl of pain sang to the night, and another hurlock fell.

With a start, Raviathan recognized the remaining two soldiers. Rain spattered the face of the guard who had been watching over the prisoners. He had given Raviathan part of his lunch to feed a caged deserter. The prison guard lay on the ground, squinting from the rain splattering his face. Steam rose from his torn stomach. The prison guard looked down, his shaking hand touching the broken tubes of his own intestines.

Steam, Raviathan thought. In the cold, bodies steam. But he’s not dead yet. The prison guard blinked, his fingers trembling in shock. He’s a dead man who hasn’t yet died.

Heal? The templar. Try to patch him up? No time. More darkspawn were coming. No light to work by. I’m letting this man die.

The other soldier lumbered up to the tower, a pronounced limp breaking his gait. That was the taskmaster who had yelled at the elves before Raviathan went into the Korcari Wilds. Fire lit the thick beard and broken nose, the scarred armor of innumerable fights. What was he doing here? The leg injury must have been before the hurlock got to him since the taskmaster hadn’t yet taken damage in the fight. He hadn’t been limping before, but maybe he strained an old injury?

Raviathan gave himself a mental shake as he followed the taskmaster up the steps leading to the tower’s clearing. The taskmaster grunted, his body jerking twice, so hard he nearly lost his footing, but he kept going. Raviathan glimpsed an arrow shaft sticking out of the man’s side before they split to take on the genlocks. Shot twice and still fighting. How could he take the pain?

The small genlock growled at him, a mouth of thick protruding fangs gnashing at him. Shining black eyes stared hate. Strange eyes, Raviathan thought. Alive, but eyes that held no soul. The sin of the world stared out from the wizened face. Raviathan’s dagger bit into the genlock’s neck. No soul, but the life was gone.

Lightning split the sky. Only a second, yet that moment was seared into Raviathan’s memory. The tower loomed like a broken bone, the splintered top impaling low clouds. The taskmaster charged a hurlock, the largest Raviathan had yet seen. That shem was going to die. Raviathan knew it, knew that shem had no hope, knew the shem was racing towards his death to give everyone else that extra chance. Raviathan had hated the man earlier.

Blocking one blow but unable to defend a second, the hurlock’s sword dove deep into the taskmaster. That man had lived near four decades, and this was his end. Whatever battles he had fought, whatever his hopes for the future or knowledge gained, they would be gone in minutes. How much was a life, and how little was it worth?

With the hurlock’s blade in the shem’s stomach, Raviathan flanked him, drove his blades in while he had the best chance. He hacked at the hurlock, the damn monstrous thing shrugging off the blows as if Raviathan were a mere nuisance. Raviathan’s blades raised again and again to little use. The taskmaster struggled, kept the hurlock from acting. The man’s stained teeth grimaced in pain, but he would not stop his last stand against the monsters. Why wouldn’t the horror die? End this torture and just die!

The taskmaster slumped, his body a great lump sodden by mud and rain. The hurlock jerked his sword free, the movement knocking Raviathan back. What was a life? Lost, Raviathan stared at the hurlock, at the horns in the monster’s helmet, at the hateful grin created by the sin of the world. What is the worth of one life? A thought screamed in Raviathan’s mind--I don’t want to die.

A sword struck clean though the hurlock’s back and into its heart. The blade flashed in the flicker of lighting, dripping with black blood but still bright. Alistair pulled his sword out with a swift jerk. He looked so tall then. Calm.

“Are you alright?”

Raviathan nodded, his hands shaking. He had lost all form against the hurlock. He had been like a child banging on a post with wooden swords rather than the precise fighter his mother had trained. One day ago he and Duncan had been sharing a meal by a campfire. Raviathan had never seen a darkspawn. He had still kept his vow to his wife. His secrets had been under his control. Had it only been a day?

“I’ll be okay,” he said to Alistair who was still watching him. “The Joining. I’m just tired. I’ll be fine.”

Alistair looked like he was about to speak when two other men joined them, one wearing the robes of a mage. The soldier spoke. “We heard fighting and shouts. Do you need help?”

“Yes,” said Alistair. “And not a moment too soon.”

Raviathan had just gotten back to his feet when the three of them ran into the tower. He would have shouted for them to wait, but no use would have come from it. His limbs felt strange, heavy, yet he moved as if in a dream. Was this the aftereffects of adrenaline? How much more did he have to give before his body quit on him? How was Alistair so unaffected by all the fighting done today? He seemed unstoppable. Raviathan was still underestimating the mage-hunter, a dangerous habit he couldn’t afford.

Duncan. I can’t fail Duncan.

Just as Raviathan got to the high doors, a blast sounded within. Pressured air whooshed out causing the doors to bang fully open. The three shems were lying against the wall in disarray. A hasty barrier of chairs and tables divided the circular room, fresh scorch marks staining the wooden furniture. More darkspawn. So they hadn’t been stragglers. They had come in from the base of the building.

The darkspawn’s focus remained on the shems. Still undetected, Raviathan hid himself in shadow and crept along the barrier. Three archers stood by the far wall, and what looked like a magic using genlock stalked its way towards the fallen shems. Alistair was the first to stir, his eyes still dazed but showing alarm as the genlock came forward. He was getting his shield in place when the genlock lowered its staff. It was Raviathan’s sword that struck the blow this time. Clean, right through the genlock’s throat. The monster gurgled, its hands seizing as it dropped the staff, then fell.

Arrows flew in their direction. All three shems recovered their wits enough to scramble behind the barrier. Between Raviathan’s bow and the mage’s blasts of power, they fired at the archers.

“The darkspawn aren’t supposed to be here,” Alistair said.

All four men huddled down as a volley of arrows flew over the barrier. Raviathan sighted his arrow, the careful shot hitting its mark. The force of the arrow spun the hurlock back, slamming it into the wall. A blast of energy from the mage finished the thing off. Bloody useless templar. Why didn’t he carry a bow?

With the barrier close to the main door, the darkspawn had no place to hide. Whatever caused the blast from before, this was meant to be the darkspawn’s shield. Not the best tactics on the side of the darkspawn, but Raviathan had no complaints. A few more volleys took out the remaining two hurlocks.

Raviathan took a deep breath. His long practiced control was back, but it was a tenuous thing. He needed rest. With luck, the darkspawn hadn’t infiltrated the rest of the tower to block their progress. Luck was not his friend lately, Raviathan thought with a grimace.

“There were problems with the tower this morning,” Raviathan said. “Maybe they thought to outflank the army? Surprise attack from behind where we’re weakest.”

“They aren’t supposed to be capable of plans. Not sophisticated ones at least.”

Raviathan snorted. “Those fire rocks weren’t hurled by muscle, or didn’t you notice that?” Maker’s ass. Just when he had cautioned himself not to underestimate the mage-hunter, that shem showed his idiocy all over again. The templar had been a Warden for half a year now and had been at Ostagar since the battles started. How could he have learned so little in all that time? “Anyway, that doesn’t matter now. We have to get to the top.”

“What if the signal fire wasn’t readied?”

The worry that really gnawed at Raviathan was that they were going to trap themselves. If the darkspawn were coming in from the bottom, and they were headed towards the top, there would be nowhere to retreat other than jumping out a window. If they made it to the top. That taskmaster who had treated Raviathan’s kin so poorly had given his life to see the others make it just a bit further. That courage, despite the taskmaster’s nature, weighed on him. This had to be done.

Still, no reason to be blind to alternatives. Best to send a messenger instead of relying only on the signal. A messenger wasn’t guarantied considering the darkspawn surprise, just the opposite, but it was another chance. Glancing at the two shems, Raviathan wondered who would have the best chance. The soldiers outside hadn’t lasted long against the darkspawn, but a stray arrow would kill the mage. However, even if the mage did make it, who would listen to him? Better to send the soldier. “You. Get to Loghain. If we don’t get to the signal fire, you’re the only chance the King has. You have to tell him what happened and that he must attack immediately. Do you understand?”

“Yes, ser.”

“Go now.” Raviathan didn’t have time to ponder the soldier’s obedience to an elf. Instead, he turned to the mage. “Do you know a fire spell?”

“Yes. It’s a minor one.”

“Bright?”

“I can make a bright fire, yes.”

“If all else fails, that fire has to be bright enough to rival the sun. You need to make it to the top and be the signal.”

The mage nodded. He had the soft, juvenile hairs on his jaw young shems grew to try to impress the world with their age, but he was earnest.

“Let’s go.”

They raced through the circular passages, slowing only to check the next room for darkspawn before continuing. One long room used as barracks made them all stop. Dead soldiers littered the floor. Not just dead, but ripped apart, their extremities tossed about as if by a spoiled child throwing a fit with rag dolls. Worse, the bodies had been played with. Raviathan hoped the soldiers had been dead when that happened. Ropes made of their own intestines tied the dead men to bunks or in strange altars made of weapons and body parts. A naked leg covered with dark hair hung drunkenly next to an arm of a lighter shade, the motley of limbs spreading like a fan. Sticky blood coated the floor. “Have you ever seen this before?”

The mage hurried off to a corner. Soon the wet sounds of retching erupted.

“No,” Alistair said, his voice sounding strangled. “I’ve heard a few stories about the Deep Roads, but the other Wardens didn’t like to talk about them much.”

No wonder. If there was a later, he’d have to ask Duncan about the Deep Roads. Whatever they were, they sounded ominous.

When the mage rejoined them, his skin held a slickly pale complexion, his eyes red from vomiting. “This place looks like the Mage’s Tower. If so, there should be a stair that way so we don’t have to circle the entire floor.”

With a nod, Raviathan followed the mage’s directions and found the smaller passage. “Let’s try to block these as best we can. Slow the darkspawn coming from below.” The tower rumbled, a vibration felt through the stone. The storm outside must be getting worse.

“Wh-what if we’re trapped in,” the mage asked.

“If the darkspawn are coming up, it will slow them down. Maybe give us a fighting chance until the army can make it.”

That seemed to mollify the mage. At least the man hadn’t forgotten his spine.

“I hadn’t thought about it before, but he’s right,” Alistair said with a nod at the mage. “They’re both Tevinter construction. If that’s...” Alistair turned around, calculating with his fingers where the rooms would match. “Then the center would be through the hall above then on the right. That’ll take us to the next stair.”

The mage nodded in agreement. If the mage and templar could agree, who was he to say no.

More evidence of the darkspawn greeted them on the next floor. The tower had been thoroughly trashed with broken furniture and body parts turned into more of those strange altars. Another rumble shook the building. Tiny ripples from the vibration rippled the last pools of blood that hadn’t dried. The thunder hadn’t been so bad before. Would the weather effect the darkspawn as it would the human armies?

“Do you know why the darkspawn do this?”

Alistair shook his head. “Not a clue. It looks like it’s for rituals, but I couldn’t say for what. Center of the tower is just there.”

The center was more of a long oblong room that held the curve of the tower in a leftward bulge. The architects must have been drunk. A massive hole opened the floor along the room’s outer curve. Piles of rubble, from foot sized rocks to chunks of stone the size of two men, lay strewn in haphazard piles. The remaining ledge on the right was wide enough for two men to walk abreast if one did not fear heights. Though Raviathan was no judge, he thought the damage looked new. The broken stone didn’t have the worn edges that older damage would have taken on in time.

Another shudder shook the tower. Alistair led the way across while Raviathan snatched a few forgotten pouches left on the ground before following. Where were the darkspawn? They had left plenty of remains. They must have been running through the tower for hours. How had there been no word?

Alistair just reached the hole when he shouted, drawing his blade. The mage blanched and backed up, his feet catching on rubble and falling against the wall. Raviathan froze when a hand as large as a pony gripped the edge of the hole. The skin was grayish blue, pebbled, the fingers ending with thick broken nails as long as Raviathan’s forearm. He froze, mind blank, as he stared at the hand.

No, Maker, no, this cannot be. This can’t be real.

With a yell, Alistair’s sword swung down to cut deep into the fingers. Blood gushed, and a roar emanated that shook the stones under Raviathan’s feet. The roar punished his ears, but he could not cover them in protection. He stood there, helpless, as a second hand emerged. An elbow propped on the ledge, the monster’s horned head coming up. Alistair’s blade slashed at the beast’s face. He cut enough to show bone, then the monster punched him hard enough to send the templar flying across the room.

A monumental effort of giant muscles pulled the ogre up. The thing wrestled with the ledge, it’s torso balancing on the floor as legs kicked the wall below to push it up. How was this real? It couldn’t be real.

Standing for a moment, the ogre’s heavy breathing filled the room, its eyes focused on Raviathan.

It can’t be real. This isn’t real.

Bone and flesh melded together in the monster’s face. Split horns cleaved from the its skull, twisting upwards like the jagged roots formed by a tree planted in hard rock. Spiked armor and tatters covered arms and legs that were too large, too bulbous for the body. It lumbered in great, heavy steps. Raviathan could feel the slight vibration with each step the ogre took. It was a thing made only for killing.

Maker, please, I don’t want to die!

The ogre stood over him, reaching for him. It looked dead, the way its skin shriveled back to expose teeth, in the cloudy grey of soulless eyes. Raviathan felt the stink of its hot breath. The hand came for him, slow, and finally, Raviathan’s brain snapped into focus.

Not die.

I’m not going to die!