Chapter Eleven: Ambush
She found her body begging for sleep in spite of her own rule against it. She felt sick, dizzy and lightheaded; her feet were throbbing and also numb at the same time. The bruised and battered young rogue had followed Duncan for almost a week with little to no sleep. She found that when she allowed herself the comfort of slumber, she would awake periodically, heart racing with anxiety, fear in her heart and rooted deep into her mind. All of the horrible feelings and emotions that hit her at the moment of awakening forced her consciousness into a state of permanent awareness and paranoia. However, after three days with only minor bouts of napping during food consumption, Krista Cousland was overdue for replenishing the body's natural energy source.
Duncan had watched as she had trudged through the wide open grasslands for days now, sparsely covered with trees and scenic boulders. He had told her on multiple occasions that she needed rest, but he had awoken to hear her panic-stricken breathing for many nights now and knew that sleep was something that was not pleasant for her. But it was necessary. The nightmares would stop eventually. Soon, the memories of her family, home, and the Arl's face would be replaced with visions much more grim than she could possibly fathom. She had no idea was sort of hell awaited her just beyond the horizon. Convincing her of that was proving to be difficult. To her, the darkspawn paled in comparison to the fresh wounds in her heart –the missing pieces of her shattered life: this he knew.
The Grey Warden had observed her behavior. He watched her cry behind the trees at night and sit up to stare at the moon, watching the sky vigilantly with puffy, confused eyes. There were screams when she let sleep overtake her and she would then awaken abruptly, Howe's face imprinted on her mind. She did not know the screams were her own until Duncan was rousing her back to consciousness. The young woman would shake and convulse, deeply traumatized from the ordeal; it was something Duncan could not knock her unconscious to carry her away from –save her from. All he could do was place a hand on her shoulder and solemnly accept the young woman's devastated embraces. The Cousland girl clung to him –her only friend- for support, but there was nothing he could do or say. Not really. Not now. And they both knew that.
He had tried to take her mind away from the tragedy of her home by agreeing to train her in the way of two-weapon fighting, not just the proper way, but in his own style. She got the feeling that few people were ever offered such a thing and she did appreciate it, but she was hardly in the mood for sparring. No matter how hard she attempted to put on a brave face and tell him it was all she wanted to do, she honestly never wanted to pick up a sword again. There was so much bloodshed already. She never wanted to add to it. Her pipe-dream of joining her brother in the army was foolish. She wasn't meant for this life. Why hadn't she just listened to her mother? But she learned from Duncan- kill or be killed techniques that stemmed from his attitude on life. He had shared brief snippets of his past to allay the pain of feeling alone. They were tales of his conscription and early adventures as a Warden. He told her that the past made her who she would be, but it wasn't something to dwell on –for there is nothing that could be done- lest her heart become filled with revenge and hatred. She knew he was right in some way, but unfortunately she just couldn't see it. The pain masked the truth in his words and she dismissed it. How could she not think of what happened? It was one of those moments where things were easier said than done.
The previous evening was the only in which he seemed to have gotten through to her. He had told her the truth. He didn't pretend like things were just going to get better. In fact, he assured her that things might get worse before they improved. The only thing that could heal her wounds was time. But he said that she must not brood on the negative. She had her life and she had her hound. And she would soon find a place in the Wardens to call family. This is what he hoped for her. It did not allay her pain, but it lessened the fear of starting anew.
She didn't want to be alone anymore. She hated this feeling. The girl merely cried and clutched to him with hatred and sadness in her embrace, wishing he would have just left her behind when Garnet died. She yelled at Duncan furiously, asking him why he did not do just that. She had punched the armor on his chest repeatedly as he patted her head lightly in a fatherly sort of way, stating his condolences quietly. She might have hated him for saving her, but he knew it was a venting mechanism. She was truthfully very grateful for life, but she had lost so much that she was bitter, angry and confused. It was hard to draw a line between the blurry emotions. If she knew the truth, she might have been twice as furious or she might have been relieved, but Duncan knew he could carry the blame until the time came that she was reunited with the rogue –if that time would ever come at all.
With Arl Howe haunting her every thought -every movement- she needed someone physically within her reach to lash out against. Also with her mind deteriorating from sleep deprivation and trauma, she failed to see the logic behind Duncan's actions. But he had convinced her to eat at least a bit of hunted deer meat the night before, a rarity for the weeks it had taken to come this far. She had also taken him up on the offer to nap just a little while, but her nightmares returned and she remained awake, living in constant panic that a Howe soldier would come for her and Duncan to finish the job. She had often found herself wondering if Nathaniel Howe -the Arl's oldest son- could possibly be sent out to complete such a task. Would he? It was hard to say. Krista didn't even know why her family was slaughtered, let alone how a man she had not seen in a decade would feel about killing her from an ethical standpoint.
Today -after nearly two full weeks- they had finally reached the south. Ostagar was within their sights. A granite tower stood proudly before any other structure and Krista could just make it out in the near distance. She looked towards her faithful hound and he looked back at her, panting with a seemingly wide grin. Nugget knew rest was near.
"We are close," Duncan stated as he nodded towards the structure. "That is the tower of Ishal; it marks the entrance point to Ostagar."
It was a sunny afternoon, clouds missing from the normally dreary-seasoned sky. The trees surrounding the destination were obscuring everything save for the tall tower. Shades of dark green and black prevailed and painted the landscape through tough bristles of pine and maple trees. She flashed her silvery bloodshot eyes at the peak of the tower, which was just barely visible through the dark trees. Under different circumstances she might have been excited to come so far south to such a historic destination. But now it just seemed odd to be here. She felt severely out of place and incredibly alone -not to mention she was cranky.
"Mmm," she grunted, her voice sounding foreign and irritated to her own ears.
Nugget perked his head up and cocked it to the side as he examined his mistress. She patted his head lightly to comfort him. She knew that she shouldn't be so angry with Duncan. He saved her and he had tried to save her family. Krista understood that he had good intentions, but it did not stop the pain boiling inside that told her to lash out. Duncan merely brushed off her unfriendly demeanor and shifted the weight to the Cousland shield at his back. He placed a comforting palm on her shoulder.
"There will be tents and bedrolls set up when we arrive in the Grey Warden camp. I want you to rest. There's no point in sending you to fight darkspawn if you're unfit for combat," he said in a clipped tone, crossing his arms.
He was unfaltering in his statement; it reminded her of her father. There was no intent to insult behind the words, but the young woman furrowed her brows as they continued onwards. The tone of his voice had been strict and demanding. Part of her wanted to run away like she used to when she was younger and being scolded by her father, but she held her ground and suppressed the urge.
"I could fight..." she tried to argue with a gruff disposition. "I could use a good spar, actually."
Duncan quirked an eyebrow at her suspiciously. "Your reaction time is impaired and your strength is nearly depleted. You cannot defend yourself adequately, should you need to."
"You're wrong," she said as she clicked her tongue impatiently. "I could still beat the pulp out of-"
"Hush," he commanded suddenly, breaking her train of thought.
Before she could interject further, Duncan halted. He held out an arm to stop her progress. Nugget stopped as well, his ears raised and his eyes narrowed. The hound moved in front of his mistress in a defensive stance and growled lowly. Duncan's eyebrows were knitted together and his eyes were darting around the dark spaces between the trees. He felt the pull -the pulsing- within his blood; it was primal. And it was familiar.
Krista saw the look in his eyes, dark and terrifying. It wasn't about shutting her up. She understood that now. Something strange was happening. Did he hear or see something that she did not? Her hound seemed to notice something was amiss as well.
"What?" she whispered in a low voice. "What's wrong?"
Then she heard it. A guttural growl emanated from the air around them, unnatural and demonic. She saw nothing, but it sounded as though it came from behind her, next to her, and on top of her all at once. The girl looked around furtively as Duncan pulled out his longsword from its sheathe slowly. Her heart was beating erratically with fear, anxiety, and adrenalin.
He glanced at her once before quickly pulling out the dagger in his other hand.
"Darkspawn," he stated in fierceness.
In automatic response, her eyes widened and she grasped at the weapons on her back. This was something she could do. She could release her stress and be useful at the same time instead of being a burden. But the steel hilt of the longsword in her right hand felt foreign. Heavy. Her left arm felt clunky and awkward as she positioned it in front of her, barely feeling the sensation of the dagger's hilt in her palm. Was she even here? Was any of this real? Was she alive? The Cousland survivor felt as though even though her body was present, her cognitive faculties were taking her far away; it all held the sensation of a surreal dream.
"A group," he said quickly. "Six of them. Be on your guard."
Before she had a chance to respond or ask how he knew, the enemies appeared. They came upon the pair swiftly and in silence. A chorus of abrupt shrieks pulled her mind back to her, fear taking hold of her body and freezing it. Duncan lashed out to his right, turning his back to her as a yellow-skinned creature materialized there. His longsword stuck into the throat of the tiny thing and gruesome blackened blood sputtered out onto Duncan as he drove the being forcefully to the ground.
"Krista!" he shouted, turning his head to look at her as the creature beneath his blade stopped struggling. "On your left!"
She swung clumsily with her longsword at the empty space to her left and threw off her own balance as it clanked against the ground. A deep grunt emanated from behind her ear as she tried to recoil. It was too late. She felt inhuman fingers grabbing both sides of her head and pulling her backwards. She screamed as she felt her neck twisting along to compensate with the forceful nature of her attacker. As the creature pulled his prey backwards, Duncan spun towards them, fear in his eyes. Her mabari hound growled as it tackled a smaller darkspawn that appeared before it. Everything was happening so fast.
She felt her buttocks hit the ground and a sharp pain shot through her tailbone as she dropped her blades and tried to grab at the throbbing ache that was growing there. Her thighs scraped against the dirt and rocks, though the small amount of leather between her body and the ground took the brunt of the beating. She reached for her head while she attempted to stand up and thrust her body forward, though her feet merely slid when she planted them as firmly as she could into the dirt. The face of her attacker stared her down with beady black eyes and a contorted expression. Its jagged teeth jutted from its mouth like razorblades. Krista couldn't see anything there other than sheer loathing. She screamed again as it growled lowly and resumed dragging her along, saliva hitting her face as it hissed at her.
She looked back at the Grey Warden for assistance as she batted her hands at the creature and wiped the spit from her face in disgust.
"Duncan!" she shrieked in panic, her strength too weak to break its hold on her. "Duncan! Help!"
Duncan rushed towards her but was immediately interrupted by a group of three darkspawn, surrounding him in a triangular tactical fashion. He readied himself for their attacks and gazed desperately at the young woman being dragged away by the hulking creature nearby. Each second he was delayed was a second for the darkspawn to take the recruit away. He knew what would happen to her, what she would become if he were to let that occur. This group of darkspawn was farther north than the rest. The Kocari Wilds were more to the south. The horde would be spawning and spreading from there. But this was probably an early scouter group; they were organized and prepared for battle. An archdemon was definitely leading them; it would only be a matter of time until it reared its head. With the enemies so close to the camp, it made Duncan even more worried about the upcoming battle. They were spreading faster than expected.
"You must fight!" he yelled through the commotion, hoping to reach her.
"I'm
trying!" she screeched back as she fought against her attacker's grip.
She grunted and bucked her body as the rocks scraping against her thighs became unbearable and caused blood to stream out from tiny wounds. She was afraid to turn her body for fear of snapping her own neck, but she knew that something had to be done; it surely would kill her. It must have gotten fed up with her struggling because it grabbed her arms and continued dragging her along, not even pausing to do so. Her arms burned and her bones felt as though they were about to pop out of their sockets. Suddenly, an idea ran through her brain in this new position. She lifted her legs into the air using all of her strength, letting her back take the brunt of the scrapes. She felt the flaps of her armor lift and reveal most of her skin and did not let it affect her; there would be tire for embarrassment when she survived the attack. The woman tucked her head forward and then bent her knees, trying to build up power. As she rolled backwards even further, they snapped towards her enemy's form. The woman felt his grip around her sore arms falter and she fell to the ground, gracefully tumbling forwards and bustling to her feet.
Krista scrambled for her weapons, her arms feeling like limp noodles. She caught sight of her hound taking down its first darkspawn and whimpering in pain as the creature's black blood gushed into her hound's mouth. She stole a glance towards Duncan and found three darkspawn surrounding him. Thanks to her shield on his back, he was visibly slower than when he had trained with her. It would only be a matter of time before they took him down. He was down on one knee, panting, as he held off the sword of one hulking creature. The other two were quickly closing in on him. She had to do something fast.
All she could think of at that moment was how helpless she felt back at her castle when Howe's soldiers were ravaging it. Why was it that she always needed saving? Surely she could help herself, couldn't she? How pathetic she must seem to others. Why didn't she have any strength of her own? Why was she so weak? Why couldn't she protect them? One by one their faces appeared in her mind and they faded, reminding her of how useless she was. Mom. Dad. Oriana. Oren. Roland. Garnet. Never again. She stifled burning tears that fueled the fury inside of her.
The Cousland picked up her weapons in both respective hands and took a deep breath. Turning, she saw her attacker coming back to reclaim her. She positioned herself for her own attack on the creature, holding her blades out in front of her body with determination. Though her strength was diminished, she knew she had to pull more out -be faster,
stronger. The young woman lunged for her opponent without a second thought. She had trained for years to fight deftly and this was her chance to prove it; this was the only moment that mattered. With a high-pitched battle cry, she whipped her longsword out in fury and plunged it through the creature's chest. Her dagger slit its throat in a quick jab as she spun around and kicked. The creature, sputtering with gory horror, fell and did not stir again.
Duncan was weary as Krista Cousland approached with blades drawn. He blocked a second set of attacks from his opponent but was not ready for the third. A smaller green darkspawn, which had stood quite a bit farther back than the rest, drew its bow back and then released an arrow; it was heading straight for the fatigued Grey Warden. Krista ran towards the target; she knew he could be killed if it hit him and she had to stop it. She ran in and sliced one of the two closer creatures with her blades simultaneously. She began to turn, meaning to deflect the arrow with her swords. An intense piercing radiated from her left shoulder. Immediately, her dagger fell from her hand and she screamed. She failed. How could she fail in such a time of need? Duncan's brows raised in surprise and concern as she stumbled forward a bit, the shaft sticking out of her back. The tip was thoroughly wedged inside of her body, no doubt. He was grateful it had not surfaced on the other side.
"Fuck," she cursed as she cringed in pain, finishing off the darkspawn she had cut down seconds before. Rage ebbed at her insides; she would not quit. Part of battle was never being afraid to be wounded. Wasn't that what Fergus used to tease her about? Those days seemed so fuzzy now.
'Once you're hurt... You keep going. You have to... keep... going!' she urged herself to remember, as she fought back tears.
'...Who knew... being shot hurt so damn much though?' Her mabari hound attacked the archer before she could lunge at it. The second arrow it had been preparing shot straight up into the sky as it was thrown onto its back by vicious jaws covered in ebony blood. In one strong swing, the Cousland girl beheaded the darkspawn that was left with Duncan. Was it her rage that gave her this renewed strength? Before she had a chance to contemplate this, her hound barked as it ran to her, looking for congratulatory pats on the head and belly rubs. Duncan merely watched her, a wise smile that told her he was unsurprised by her battle prowess.
As he rose, she felt her sword become heavy, as if it was made of the heaviest boulders in Highever. It dropped to the dirt as the bones in her arm throbbed as though she just smashed it into a wall. She let out a small groan as the rage inside disappeared and was replaced by relief for her companions' safety. Her energy vanished entirely and the arrow in her back shoulder stung with a sharp ache. She could feel the warm liquid in her leather armor seeping out and down the inner workings of her back; it sickened her.
"Don't move," the Grey Warden commanded. "Krista, did you hear me? Do not move!"
If she was walking towards him or even away from him, she did not realize it. The world began to blur; her head felt heavy and also light at the same time. Her eyelids slowly drifted shut, though to her it felt like a sudden snap and all she saw was the darkness. It was horrible for her to see it in such a way, but -to her- the rest was welcome. There was no more pain, no more guilt or worry, no more sadness or anger. There was just a Cousland, finding a strange peace within her dreams.
