I Was Told There Would Be Cake, This Is Bullshit
The prints on the winding path were clear, they were merging on to a route recently travelled by armored interlopers. These were Orlesian military boots in a place where Orlesian troops had no presence, only the deserters, the Freemen of the Dales as they called themselves. Judging by the number of different bootprints, they were a larger party than his own, but that should be of no concern with careful tracking. Arroyas had no need to warn the others to quiet themselves, they were already falling into position: Cassandra not far behind, ready to make a devastating charge on his signal, Varric waiting to pick off the weak and weaken the strong with a volley of shots and Dorian prepared to cast barriers and destructive spells. Arroyas had seldom been particularly impressed with a mage’s fighting abilities. They were rarely found among Tal Vashoth mercenaries, but he’d worked with some when he’d paired up with bands that were more of a mix of peoples. Those he had encountered were usually hedge-mages of meager ability and training, capable of surprises that could turn a conflict but too often better used off the field as healers than on as fighters; in a heavy fight they rarely could manage more than a few barriers and fireballs before their usefulness was outweighed by their narrow array of fighting skills. The Circle mages on the other hand were highly useful once they got past notions of theory to let the realities of combat guide them, but were seldom worth allying with as they brought unwelcome official attention. Both too often showed a lack of battle-sense that left them bleeding out from strikes a child could have foreseen. Solas and Vivienne were notable exceptions to his impressions of mages, but the Vint was something else entirely. Sometimes Arroyas wished he could be a bird overhead watching him fight. The way the man fought was... elegant. His casting was an intricate dance of purposeful grace that cut a swathe of havoc across the battlefield, a combination of precise footwork which reinforced glyphs and helped him dodge any missile that might pass a barrier while he rained a barrage of spells outward with convoluted swings and jabs with his staff that could and did rip the flesh and shatter the bones of enemies foolish enough to attempt a direct attack in close combat.
Hopefully they weren’t being led, though the broken brush and the careless meandering stride shown by the bootprints made that unlikely. Even so, he frequently paused to scan the periphery for any signs of flanking scouts or snipers waiting in a vantage point. As long as they maintained silence, they would hear their quarry before they saw them. The goal was to close the distance from the party ahead and use the verdant undergrowth to conceal their own numbers and location; rush out from the shadows, dispatch them quickly and create commotions that would flush the rest of their quarry to join a melee that they would never reach.
The enemy were not far in advance; the clearest prints were still filling with water. But the increasing light levels meant the forest was thinning. This could be to their benefit if the decreased cover exposed the enemy, but if there was a clearing ahead, his people would not only lose the advantage of concealment for attack, but it would also become risky to continue following them directly. They needed to unambiguously locate the Freemen and make their move quickly.
The trail appeared to lead to a short but steep slope. He could see the first target. There was a scout travelling at the rear, with the purpose of scanning behind to ensure the Freemen weren’t followed, but not as intent on that task as he should have been. He could hear the rest of them moving ahead. It sounded like a moderate party, tired from the days march and in all probability with their guard down as they moved downhill with thoughts of a break. The incline and the spacing of the voices indicated switchbacks. Perfect for picking the enemy off with the advantage of higher ground, especially if they were spread over separate sections. It would be best if he took the man down himself with the quiet efficiency of a cut throat rather than signalling to Varric to pick him off. He indicated his intent and began moving in.
There are trackers undone by a missed tripwire as they peered ahead or by studying the path so intently they failed to realize they had attracted an enemy’s notice. This beautiful afternoon in the Emerald Graves, the Inquisitor Adaar failed to notice a straight piece of branch on a steep slope already slippery with wet leaves and stumbled when it rolled under his foot, alerting the the scout he’d been about to eliminate as he shot past him off the path. Worse, he slipped down the length of the slope into a hollow occupied by an enormously tall Chevalier who had been about to sit down and had unsheathed his greatsword to sharpen it while he rested. No element of surprise, his own daggers not even out and he could very well find himself gutted while he drew them.
He preferred it when humans were smaller than him. He preferred not to be cornered by anyone that had the advantage on him. Surrounded by a copse and damp, sloping ground, the glade would be impossible to exit quickly. The space was too small to give him many chances to surprise the man by a rogue’s usual bag of tricks and there were only so many times he could dodge before his luck ran out and he caught a blow.
This was a fight to be lost by a failure of defense and won by fierce attack. So he would attack.
He feinted as he went into stealth and as the chevalier swayed in response to the misdirection, flanked from the other side. He would never be sure what made the man pivot away; a movement of air too close by or perhaps an experienced soldier’s instinct, but instead of a pair of forceful blows to the man’s neck, the result was one dagger skittering uselessly over armour and the other gouging a wound that would at best enrage the man. A shadow strike to the chin that should have snapped back the head and could have stunned a bear merely made the brute hesitate before he forcefully brought the pommel of the greatsword down on Arroyas’ shoulder. The Qunari nearly dropped his own blade from the force of the blow. He leapt back, barely dodging a powerful kick that would have smashed into the side of his knee, would have more than likely brought him down and definitely would have left him in the path of the greatsword swinging so rapidly that it sang.
He had no barrier. He had no barrier! What in the void was Dorian doing?!
He and the Chevalier slowly circled one another. Above him on the hill, he could hear cries as the other Freemen were decimated. He could hear the rapid clank of bolts releasing, then hissing through the air, meaty thuds and screams as Varric hit his targets. A battle-cry, a violent clash of metal and a shout cut off as Cassandra charged into an opponent then thrust her sword into him. He couldn’t tell if any of the howls he heard were from terror, flames or lightning, he wasn’t close enough to note the consequences of the Vint’s magical damage. He certainly had no opportunity to pause and listen closely. He had no idea if the mage was in the thick of the fight or had been brought down and was lying well back on the trail dead or dying. Wherever he was, it was not nearby and he was in no position to aid Arroyas, Nobody was.
The warrior thrust again, a blow that Arroyas sought to evade by bowing backwards. Unfortunately the final part of the swing was aimed, not at his midriff as anticipated, but his legs and although the wounds were superficial rather than serious, there was pain and there would be blood-loss. He desperately wanted to get back to where his people were; protect them, fight with them at his side, and this horse-fucker was in his way. Arroyas attempted three attacks in rapid succession. All failed to connect, his opponent knocking him back on the third with such force that Arroyas was nearly sent sprawling and left briefly disoriented. He barely avoided an overhead swing that could have cleaved him in two.
The two of them continued striking at each other, neither managing decisive blows. They were evenly matched and survival would be a consequence as much of luck as skill. Several times in the fight he unleashed a frenzied series of attacks on his foe hoping to overwhelm him. He was fuelling himself on fear and anger, could see mistakes in strategy a fraction of a second after he made them. It felt like half his mind had slowed while the rest was racing and neither were functioning effectively. He thought he was going to fell the hulking Knight when he managed to exploit a gap at the side of the armour, exposed when the greatsword was lifted up to the side, but the savage jab hit bone as it sunk in and the blade was twisted away from inflicting a deep wound that would have bled out till the swordsman could no longer fight back. Maybe it would fester and take the Chevalier down before a week had passed but that was of no use now. He had no idea how long they had been facing off. He wondered if he’d simply drop from exhaustion before he had opportunity to finish the man. His opponent had diminished greatly in energy, however it was not the slowness of a badly injured or dying man, but one still capable of inflicting a grievous wound and carefully rationing his strength.
There was a pained grunt followed by a scream. A body with smouldering clothes snagged in the branches of the saplings, then fell to the forest floor. If Arroyas had not been fighting for his own life, he would have sunk to his knees in relief. Dorian was the only mage he had ever fought with that physically hurled opponents away from him with the end of his staff while hitting them with a fireball or lightning. Those magnificent shoulders weren’t there just to be admired. He felt a sensation like long fingers stroking the back of his neck before a brief impression of warm hands cupped everywhere on his body as the barrier settled around him. Wherever Dorian was specifically, he was close enough to see Arroyas and turn this fight in his favour.
Arroyas knew what was coming next. He backed up and readied his daggers then hurled them at the Chevalier as Dorian cast a static cage and the Chevalier was trapped, howling in anguish and helpless. He rushed forward, grasped the handles of the daggers and cut the throat, ending the last bit of life keeping his enemy upright. The body toppled to the ground, sprawling heavily to one side. Arroyas wanted to join him. He was spent, panting so hard that he needed to draw in more air before he’d finished exhaling the last breath.
The other sounds of fighting were gone, this had been the final combatant. Dorian swung down into the clearing and immediately began pacing furiously while he tore into a series of Tevene curses before eventually switching back to common.
“Fast-vas! I forgot to cast the main barrier on you. Always protect the leader! Cassandra was closer. And then you were gone before it could wrap around you. I am absolutely horrible. It was a sloppy, unforgivable shortcut. I’ll not forgive myself for the injuries you suffered. I’m sorry. I’m so very sorry”
His throat was tight, overwhelmed with the emotion of a fight full of near misses and a dread of fallen comrades. He bent forward with his hands on his knees. He was exhausted and still gasping for breath but he wanted to speak. He wanted to say so much, the thoughts swirled in his head like twigs caught in rapids. He grabbed Dorian’s hand to get his attention, looked up and locked eyes with him. Dorian’s perfect eyes, Dorian’s perfect hand. For a moment he wondered if he was passing out, there was that feeling of slipping sideways while the world jolted away in another direction. But he was fine, no dizziness, no weakness, he was starting to feel the pain from his injuries but it was from nothing beyond mending.
“I fucking thought you were dead, don’t be dead.” He blurted out while inwardly cursing himself for being so damned crude and inarticulate.
Dorian said only one word, so softly only Arroyas could hear it “Amatus”
There would be plenty of time to say more later.