The New Ways of Old Gods Chapter 26

Part 26
Ambush

“Inquisitor!” A familiar, accented voice called to her.

Carr's Way was a tiny port village just to the southeast of the Western Approach.  The Griffin settled in to dock at one of the two berths available.  The other stood empty and it was obvious, as Astlyr and her people disembarked, that Carr's Way was not used to visitors.  The village abutted the desert and not many would have cause to come there.  Clearly the people sustained themselves with the fishing trade.  They had seen several fishing crafts as the The Griffin hove her route to shore.

“Professor Fredric!” Astlyr greeted as a man hurried up to her group, past a throng of watching villagers who all looked highly suspicious of the entire situation.  “I'm glad you are were able to meet us.”

“As am I,” the dragon researcher beamed.  Or at least, she assumed he was beaming.  The man insisted on wearing his Orliasian mask, even in the hottest desert sunshine.  “I arrived two days ago, as instructed, and procured the supplies you requested.”

“Wonderful,” Astlyr affirmed.  She had known that to locate and travel with desert supplies would have been challenging in Fereldan and a waste of space aboard The Griffin, so she had requested that the professor be contacted.  He was enthusiastic as ever and willing to help Astlyr to the ends of the earth after she had aided him in his dragon research.

“Ugh,” Varric made an annoyed sound as he stepped off of the dock, taking in the desert which was visible beyond the houses of Carr's Way.  “I forgot how much I hate sand.”

“At least it isn't snow,” Cullen pointed out, shouldering his pack and scanning the terrain.

Myfanwy seemed the most nervous of the bunch.  Astlyr guessed that the elf had never been in a desert.  She was clearly struggling not to look alarmed as she took in the sand and temperature.  The heat was already dry and intense, and that was without the deadly desert wind that could kick up at a moment's notice.

“You had best travel in the morning and evening,” Fredric advised as he led the way to a loaded wagon.  He began doling out supplies as he talked, as fast and excited as if he were describing the mating habits of high dragons.  “Here are your waterskins.  You will, of course carry more on your mounts.  Be certain to ration your water carefully.”

“I have been in the desert before,” Astlyr reminded him goodnaturely.

“Ah, but you had Inquisition reach camps to retreat to in those days.  Back when war, and rifts opening across the world required them.” Fredric said, passing out rolled up tents.

“Most of the reach camps have been withdrawn,” Cullen nodded, shouldering each new pack he was given with good humor, though the load would be impressive when all was told.

“Indeed,” Fredric said, passing out bundles of clothing.  “These are your desert clothes.  I highly recommend you change before you begin your journey.  Without the correct attire you'll soon bake out there.”

“I don't get hot.  Or cold.” Cole pointed out when the new clothes were offered to him.

“Er...right.  I remember you now.  You're he spirit fellow, right?  Why do I always forget that?  You have the right idea with that hat,” he gestured to Cole's head-wear.  “I should have included ones like it for everyone.”

“You like my hat?” Cole brightened.

“Perfect for keeping the sun off your face,” Fredric nodded sagely, passing bundles of clothes to Fen'Harel and Myfanwy.  Then the professor turned from the wagon and whistled loudly.  “Now for your mounts.”

Astlyr had been dreading this.  She knew the sort of creature they would be required to ride in this terrain.  Three young men came around a building leading prancing and squawking dracolisks.  The lean, scaled creatures were already saddled and bridled.  They stamped and pawed the sandy turf, snorting and honking loudly.  Astlyr caught sight of very sharp teeth flashing as they disagreed with one another, or their handlers.

“What in the name of the gods are those?!” Myfanwy's eyes went very wide and she stepped back.

Varric put a hand to the small of her back, “our rides.  Don't worry, Puppy, you can handle them.”

“These are carnivores,” Myfanwy said, still looking dismayed.

“Yes,” said Cole.  Even the spirit boy, who usually loved animals, was hanging back.  “And most of them want to bite us.”

“Oh, grand,” Cullen said, raising an eyebrow and standing well away from the pack as the lanky, scaly creatures were led forward.

Astlyr too was feeling a bit unwilling.  She had ridden a dracolisk once or twice and it was quite a different experience from horseback, that was certain.  They could not be beaten for desert travel, however.  They moved at a quick pace and needed little food or water.  Thick scales protected them from the blistering sun and fearsome personalities kept the other desert predators thinking twice before tangling with them.  Astlyr noted with satisfaction that these dracs wore bridles which held their mouths shut.  She knew the creatures to be nippy at their best, and willing to take a goodly chunk out of your flesh if they were feeling sassy.

“Here we are,” Fredric was beaming.  “These beauties are from my own, personal stables.  Wonderful creatures eh?  Excellent pedigrees all around.”

“Er...thank you Fredric.  We'll try to take good care of them.”

“They'll take care of you too,” the man sounded as proud as a father, striding forward and patting a dracolisk's muscular shoulder.  It swung its head, dark intent in its eyes, but its bridle, and a good grip on the reins by the stable hand, prevented any bodily harm befalling the draconologist.  “Each of these scrappers can hold their own in a fight,”

Astlyr grimaced inwardly, but kept a pleased smile plastered to her face.  By the look Cullen was giving her she guessed her grin was starting to slip, or perhaps just making her look slightly insane.

Fredric didn't seem to notice as he passed out mounts.  “Inquisitor, this beauty is yours.  Largest we have.  Her name is Thorn and she's got a real strong personality, so she needs a firm hand.  I knew you would be one who could handle her.”

“Thanks,” Astlyr managed as reins were set into her hand.  Thorn, a copper-red creature, blinked smokey yellow eyes and snorted some truly terrible smelling breath into Astlyr's face before lowering her head and attempting to head-butt with her horns.  “I think we'll get along fine,” Astlyr managed to deflect the horns skillfully.

“I don't know,” Myfanwy said, looking more than a little afraid as the stable hand stepped up with her mount.

“That's alright, Puppy.  Ride with me,” Varric offered, accepting his own mount with more grace than anyone else managed.  The dwarf had been with Astlyr on many of her desert sojourns and had actually come to know these creatures as well as she had.  “Old Ague here can carry us both, no trouble.”  Varric's mount, Ague, was green and scarred.  He was shorter than his fellows and looked like he came out on the bad end of most scraps.  Still, his angular face turned this way and that as though looking for a fight.

“Here you are, ser,” one of the men handed Cullen the reins of a silver scaled male.  “His name's Biter.  Guess what he likes best.”

“I can't imagine,” snarked Cullen as his new mount tried to open its jaws wide enough for a good chomp.

“Cole will be riding with me,” Astlyr assured the men as they looked concernedly at the strange boy.  Astlyr had not bothered to include him in the brief roster she had sent to Fredric requesting mounts.  He would spend his time teleporting and riding behind her on Thorn.

“And for you, master elf?” Four mounts remained and Fredric looked concernedly at Fen'Harel, “We expected Lady Cassandra, and that Tevinter you travel with sometimes, Inquisitor,” Fredric admitted.  “So you shall have your pick if you like,” he nodded towards Fen'Harel.

“Last minute change off personnel.” Astlyr said, as she attempted to placed her saddle bags over Thorn's scrawny rump.  The beast kept turning.

“Well, seeing as the young miss will not be needing her drac, you can have hers if you like,” Fredric gestured between Fen and the dracolisk intended for Myfanwy.

“This one will do fine,” Fen'Harel selected the reins of the second largest beast, dwarfed only by Thorn.  This one too bore silver scales, slightly reflective in the bright sunlight.

“Ripper?” one of the hands raised an eyebrow.

“She's sister to Biter, and we rather intended her for Lady Cassandra,” Fredric said, looking nervous.

“We shall get along splendidly,” Fen'Harel assured the concerned men as he gave Ripper's shoulder a firm pat.  The creature made a thrumming sound and swung her head down on her long, swan-like neck to examine this new rider with obvious disdain.

Mounts selected and stores disembarked, Astlyr and her company bade farewell to the crew of The Griffin.  The ship would sail up the coast, stopping at various port towns to trade.  They would take goods from Carr's Way further up the coast than the little finishing vessels could travel.  Not to mention that The Griffin's crew was well respected at most ports and promised to make good bargains. The ship was also laden with mail, for though crows could carry short messages, a good long letter would need to be delivered by hand.

“I suggest we find somewhere cool to wait out the day and you can embark at dusk,” Fredric said, standing beside them, arms folded.

With goodbyes finished Astlyr and her people moved into the shade of an awning to watch The Griffin disembark.  The Sunburst flag on the highest mast glistened in the sunlight like a challenge and Astlyr smiled to herself as she thought of the good crew.  Already she was wondering what they would all get up to on the trip home to Skyhold when the search for the foci was over.

“We travel at dusk and dawn in the desert,” Varric was explaining to Myfanwy, who was already curiously considering her pack of desert clothes.  “Daytime is too hot and the nights get very cold.”

“Why on earth would anyone live here?” the elvish woman asked, her brows knitting together.  She took a moment to lift her hair from her neck where it was sticking with sweat.

“The sand remembers elves here,” Cole muttered.  He was unbothered by the temperature and did not sweat.  He had remained standing in the sun so as not to take up valuable shade.  “This place was covered in their tracks before the desert churned over and over and pulled them down and away.  But they weren't forgotten.  Sand doesn't forget.  Bones under the shifting earth burned ivory-white with time.  They still sing the songs lost by the the living.”

Myfanwy gave Cole a confused and slightly alarmed look.  Astlyr chuckled as Fen'Harel explained, “I believe he means that once your people dwelt here as well.  The Elvhen ruled all this land before the humans came.  On both sides of the Frostback Mountains.”

Fredric stalled their talk by ushering them into the relative cool of a small public house, which was filled with curious townsfolk.  Astlyr hated being gawked at, but she tried to be good natured about it.  Cullen was sweet enough to look insulted on her behalf whenever mutterings about her size and her horns rippled through the room.  Astlyr took the time to lay out maps and go over their plans with Fen'Harel one more time, shooting occasional glances towards the windows, keeping an eye on the sun, eager to begin their journey.

~~~~~

At dusk their small party set forth.  Not before Astlyr had quizzed some of the less intimidated townsfolk about the goings on in the area.  She heard the usual reports of wild dogs, Quillbacks and the occasional Varghest sighting.  There were mutterings of complaint that the last of the Venatori had not vacated the desert either.  Astlyr supposed they had no where to go.  Almost certainly unwelcome in their old lands this worshipers of Corypheus were left without a god and without a home.  “We'll have to keep our eyes out for them,” she reminded her crew as they began their ride.  “Our actions in the war are not likely to endear us towards them.”

“That's an understatement, Pointy,” Varric chuckled.  “After all, you killed god.”

“And very dramatically from what I hear,” Cullen added, grinning, even as he fought to keep his dracolisk from charging off into the sands with him clinging to its back.

Astlyr was pleased that Thorn was behaving herself for the moment.  She seemed, as the largest and strongest of the dracs, to be the leader of the group, though Varric's little mount, Ague, appeared to believe it ought to be him calling the shots.  He made various attempts to nip, kick or headbutt anyone who came within range.  Myfanwy clung doggedly to Varric, her arms threaded under his, and hands clasped at his chest.  Though Astlyr suspected the dwarf had no romantic feelings for the elf, she knew he certainly didn't mind having a pretty woman wrapped around him either.  He looked a bit smug.

As night crept over the windblown sands Astyr looked around for a place to make camp.  She found a good spot under a rocky outcropping and they set up their low tents.  Each tent was a squat, one person affair.  They were meant to be able to withstand being completely covered in sand, should a storm kick up.  There was no sitting up in the tents, you merely crawled inside and fell asleep.  Their desert clothes were also quite different from what the friends were accustomed to.  Loose clothing that covered almost every part of their bodies.  Though they traveled in the between hours, when the sun was low in the sky, it was still a danger.  Astlyr had a bit of a trial with the head covering, trying to figure out how to strategically drape it around her horns.

They wore special leg protection made of fennic fur to prevent sand from wearing down their leather boots as they rode or walked.  Astlyr strapped her armor on over her new garb and found that she cooked in her platemail, even as tolerant of heat as she naturally was.  Cullen couldn't stand to wear it at all even as they rode.  Instead he settled for chain when they weren't sleeping and Astlyr found herself more than once wishing she had invested in some good scale.

Camp the first night was a pleasant affair before it became too cold and everyone had to retreat to their tents and snuggle in under fennic fur.  Astlyr found herself missing Dorian as they sat around the fire, chatting.  Cullen was sharp witted enough, but often failed to jump in with the banter, opting to merely listen quietly, or ruining a joke with some steadfast logic.  He annoyed Varric a bit.  “You're worse than The Seeker, Curly,” the dwarf griped.

“Forgive me,” Cullen said, though he did not sound remotely sorry.

It was pleasant to have Cullen along for other reasons, Astlyr noted to herself.  She had never been so doted upon.  While he was careful never to overstep, he was always there, passing her her waterskin, or sliding her foot into the stirrup.  Small gestures that gave her a constant, steadying reminder that he was hers.  Not to mention kisses whenever she wanted them.

~~~~

A few days into the desert put the group in less pleasant moods.  Everyone was now officially in need of bathing, and so coated in sand that Astlyr was constantly spitting it out and rubbing it from her eyes.  She was even starting to miss snow.  She was certainly missing Smoke and the other horses.  The night before a pack of wild dogs and invaded the camp, drawn by the smell of their dinner.  As Astlyr and her people woke to drive off the beasts the dracolisks had kicked up a fuss, tossing heads and screeching.  They came dangerously close to pulling up their tethers and attacking the dogs themselves.

“Remind me how many more days until we reach that foci,” Varric pleaded, wiping his hand across his brow then readjusting his headdress.  It was dusk on the fourth day, just as the sun was crawling unwillingly to bed behind the soft dunes.

“By my calculations it should only be another day, perhaps two,” Fen'Harel reassured him.  The elf had pulled his hair back into a sloppy tail.  He had wanted to shave it completely off, but Myfanwy had looked at him aghast and he had merely chuckled, respecting her wishes with a wry smile.  “The foci is secreted in a cave, which I hope we will be able to find easily.  It is magically concealed, but I know the place.”

“At least you knew the place.  Landmarks change in a few Ages.” Varric grumbled, tugging the reins to stop Ague from taking a swipe at Biter with his horns.  It was becoming second nature for the adventurers to stop their mounts from trying to harm one another or their riders.

Cullen spoke up, “I was hoping to clarify something.  When we find the foci, it is only an item of power, as the orb was, correct?  The god it is attached to will be hidden away somewhere else?  We will need to find him?”

“No,” Fen'Harel shook his head.  “Dirthamen was one who asked for my aid.  He was a friend to me at one time.  Together we hid him in a way that many of the gods have favored.  As you know,” he nodded towards Astlyr, “we gods may place part of ourselves into objects.  Pieces of our soul to be used later if the need should arise.  When Mythal was killed she was able to become herself again using one of the pieces she had tucked away.  It is the method I used with the dead bird.  Dirthamen did the same.”

“So where are the pieces?” Astlyr raised an eyebrow.

“It matters little where the others are, because one of them us bound to his foci.” Fen'Harel explained.

“They can do that?” Varric asked.

“Of course,” Fen'Harel replied.

“What happens to the other pieces once this one is awakened?” Astlyr questioned, struggling to contain Thorn as the creature tried to charge a nearby desert hare.  “I'll feed you later, you great lump,” she muttered to her unwilling mount as Thorn snorted and shook her head in frustration.

“The other pieces of the soul will rejoin once one has been returned to life,” Fen said, squinting into the shimmering sands as though he might see something besides barren land peppered with tall rock formations and pocked with gullies.

“And we need the foci to bring him back to life from this piece of his soul?” Myfanwy questioned.

“Yes.  It cannot be achieved without the foci.  However, we will also need a host if we wish to awaken Dirthamen.  Unlike Ghilan'nain he was not hidden in his own form.  That which was Dithamen is gone forever, just as my original body will never been seen again outside the Fade.”

Everyone fell silent for a moment, pondering this news.  “When were you planning to tell me we needed a host?” Astlyr questioned Fen.

“As soon as it became prudent to do so.  I did not think it an urgent matter.”

“Do you suppose there will be elves like Daveth who will willingly give themselves up for their god?” Cullen wondered aloud.  Everyone was shooting glances towards Myfanwy, though she said nothing and kept her head down, her nose almost touching Varric's shoulders.

“Perhaps,” Fen'Harel nodded in answer to Cullen's query.

Everyone fell silent again, riding on.

When night fell in around them, wrapping them in an almost unnatural cold.  Those on watch huddled close to the fire.  Cole, who was always one of the two watching, roamed farther from the camp, unbothered as ever by the chill.  Astlyr wrapped a cloak around herself, listening to the gentle desert sounds, and her friend's quiet breathed from their tents.  Nearby the tethered dracs were still for the moment, only occasionally trying to bite one another.  Cold blooded creatures, they were gentler at night, though by no means friendly.  Astlyr had found that they slept very seldom, and what little they needed they achieved while standing up, as horses did.  They too took it in shifts to sleep.  Astlyr did have to marvel at their efficiency.  It had taken her team longer to sort out guard rotations than it had the animals.

She caught a flash of movement from the corner of her eye, but she knew it was Cole.  These days she found she usually had a pretty good idea of where he was, even in the darkness.  Perhaps her new bond with him allowed her to sense his location. Then again, she was observant and Cole had a fairly recognizable way of moving.

Another shadow draped itself across the camp, flickering in the firelight.  It was Myfanwy, awaking and coming to relieve Astlyr for her turn at watch.  Astlyr stood, stretching quietly, stamping life back into her feet.  She nodded to the elf, preparing to retreat to her tent and crawl inside.  “Astlyr,” Myfanwy spoke in a hushed voice, looking tense.

“What is it?” Astlyr questioned, tugging her cloak tight around her and searching the Elf's bare face, visible in the flickering firelight.

Myfanwy's brown eyes avoided Astlyr's for a long moment, then she moved away from where the others slumbered, beckoning with a gesture that was a polite invitation rather than a command.  The qunari followed willingly until they stood at the edge of the firelight.  “I wanted to speak to you, Commander,” the elf said, tightly.  “Cole...Cole told me that you listen to your people, and it was safe to tell you.”

“Of course,” Astlyr said.  She resisted the urge to bend down to face the elf better.  She had learned the hard way that many people did not appreciate the gesture, and most found it flatly insulting.  “What is it?”

“I...I don't want to be Dirthamen's host,” Myfanwy's shoulders were tense and her eyes glistened.  She blinked rapidly.  “I know I should want to.  It should be an honor.  Daveth understood that.  To serve our gods in their time of need, but...” She seemed to choke on her words for a moment.  Astlyr wondered if she should interject.  She could sense Cole hovering nearby, concerned, but patient.  “I feel like I am disrespecting my brother, what he wanted for us, but it's...it's just not what I want.  I'm sorry.”

Astlyr realized Myfanwy was crying.  Silently with just a subtle shaking of her slender shoulders.  “Oh Myfanwy,” Astlyr said, her voice as gentle as she could make it.  “I would never ask you to give yourself up against your will, and I know Fen wouldn't either.  We only looked to you in case you wanted it.  You're not your brother, Myfanwy.  You don't have to lead that life.”

Myfanwy sniffled, swiping her hand fiercely across her eyes, clearly resolved to stop crying.  When she looked up her expression was difficult to read.  Guarded as ever.  “I feel so selfish.”

“You're not,” Astlyr assured her.  “You gave your life to something else.  You dedicated yourself to aiding your brother and then watching over Fen'Harel.  You've been a remarkably loyal friend to all of us, with so little reason.”

Myfanwy shook her head.  “Not with little reason.  I'm glad I met all of you.  Found a new clan with the Inquisition.  It's nice not being a pariah.  Don't tell anyone, because I think it means I don't get to call myself Dalish any more, but I much prefer a warm bed and food whenever I want it to having to tie myself into a tree to sleep so the wolves don't find me.” a thin smile tugged the corner of her lips.

Astlyr laughed a little too loud and she quickly quieted herself, worried she had woken the whole camp.  “Well, I'm glad you like us, and our warm beds.”

“I do,” Myfanwy said, her stoic expression for once a poor mask over her obvious feeling of pleasure.

The two walked slowly back into the camp proper.  Myfanwy stationed herself beside the fire, warming her slim hands.  Astlyr again marveled that the elf's feet were bare.  It didn't seem to matter how cold it got, these elves were always barefoot.  If she was honest she was a little jealous.  Her own feet were tired of being crammed into boots all the time.  Especially here in the desert.

Astyr watched to be certain that Myfanwy was not looking in her direction as she shed her cloak and warm garb for sleep.  Instead of heading for her own tent, she resolved to try to cram herself into Cullen's.  It was more cramped than she expected, but he was pleased to see her, even as they had to do some serious body rearranging to make certain she didn't crush the poor man.  He chuckled at her worries, “Astlyr, you're bigger than me, but not so much bigger that you squish me like an ant.”

All the same, it took them quite some time to arrange themselves and get down to business.  They had just figured out how they wanted to manage things when Myfany's alarmed shouts startled them.

Astlyr's head shot up and her horns punctured through the tent roof.  She was caught and Cullen, thinking quickly indeed for a man in a state of semi-undress, managed to free her, but then they were a jumble of failing limbs and swearing all rolled up in leather as they attempted to struggle free.  Outside more shouting had begun.  The rest of the camp was awake, she knew, and already fighting.  She felt the air prickle with magic, though she couldn't tell if it was from her team or the enemy.  By the sounds she heard she knew this was no wild dog attack.

Finally free, she and Cullen made a mad scramble for their weapons.  It was dark.  Someone had kicked sand over the fire.  The sliver of a moon that showed itself was hardly enough light for most of the fighters in her party.

Shield on her arm and sword in hand, though painfully aware that she had no armor, Astlyr tried to assess the battle.  Everything was chaos.  She had to rally her team, get them into formation.  She could tell that there were too many enemies for them to have a chance, spread out as they were.  She caught sight of white and gold garb in the thin light.  Venatori.  More than she had seen gathered before.  Usually they traveled in small parties.  This one was impressive.  “To me!”Astlyr shouted, hoping to rally her men.  She knew she risked drawing Venatori attention with her call, but she had little choice.

Cullen, who was near her already, moved to lock shield with hers.  She knew he was not as experienced as Cas, but he would do in a pinch.  The only other person who came was Cole, appearing at her other side, already looking battle ruffled.  There was a thin cut on his upper arm and his hat was off, missing somewhere in the melee.  “Where's everyone else?” she asked the boy as magic zinged past her head.  She knew her tiny shield line was caught in the middle of an ambush.  They had seconds before the enemy closed ranks around them.  Her skin prickled, alive with the fire of battle.

“Varric is trapped over there,” Cole pointed with a dagger to a jumble of Venatori, but Astlyr could not even see her dwarvish friend within.  “I don't know where Fen'Harel and Myfanwy are.”

“Shit.  Fuck!” Astlyr swore, bringing her shield around instinctively she deflected an arrow that was meant for Cole.  “How many?!”

“At least twenty,” the boy reported.

Then the enemy hit, and from all sides.  Astlyr was wounded in three places before she had time to think.  Swords, arrows, magic, everything chaos.  She and Cullen moved back to back, doing their best to turtle the worst of the hostility coming at them.  A Venatori rogue tried to dart in and slide a dagger into Astlyr's side, but Cole appeared, ramming his own dagger between the man's ribs, angled upwards for a perfect stab to the heart.  Cole vanished again, teleporting everywhere, trying to carve Astlyr and Cullen a path out of the mosh.  He moved so quickly Astlyr had no time to check him for wounds.  She wished she knew where Fen'Harel and Myfanwy were.

As if in answer the sand beneath her roiled, churning as though it had a life of its own.  Several Venatori tripped and went sprawling.  Cullen drove his sword into an unarmored thigh, then slashed a mage who was standing too near, overconfident.  The man might not have had all of his templar powers without the lyrium, but he still had his training and it showed through when he faced their mages without fear.

Astlyr and Cullen drove their way through the gap Fen had created with his sand magic.  She could see the mage now.  His white and green spells sliding over the earth, trying his best to disrupt the enemy.  The enemy archers targeted him,  and he reacted quickly, raising a barrier.  The deadly shafts deflected from his magical shield, but he had to turn his focus to defending himself.

Astlyr thought she caught sight of Myfanwy with Fen, firing back at the enemy, but she wasn't certain as she was forced to return her attention to the enemies before her.  “Shit,” she snarled as a spell hit her in her calf, buckling her down to her knees.  Cullen tried to grab her and pull her up, but at that moment someone attacked his other side and he had to turn from her.  Another spell and an arrow sailed her way.  She blocked the arrow with her shield, but the spell struck her square in the face.

Somewhere she heard Cole yelp.  Her world swam for a moment.  She wasn't certain what type of spell it had been, but it left her muddled.  She fought to clear her head, and to allow her own qunari rage to siphon through the fog.  If she could get a good blood rage going she could do some serious damage.  She could already feel the heat in her limbs, the driving of her heart growing stronger.  Something slashed her arm and she little noticed.  Good.  Pain wasn't effecting her as much now.  Something struck her shield.  A blade.  She turned to the wielder, still on her knees, and drove her own sword into him, straight through his chainmail without slowing.  She used the leverage of her sword in his torso to push herself to a standing position.  She'd lost Cullen.  He'd been driven from her side.  There were more than twenty Venatori, she realized.

And then the dracs got loose.  Thorn and her compatriots charged through the camp, attacking friend and foe alike.  The sheer numbers of the Venatori did allow for a better chance of them being bitten or trampled, but Astlyr didn't like that she couldn't find her own people.  “Cole,” she choked, dancing as nimbly as she could to avoid more magic flying her way.  The boy didn't appear at her side and her heart tightened like someone had it in a vice.  Her vision blurred again, but this time it was with blood rage.  She charged the nearest clump of Venatori and scattered them, rending flesh and bone, blunting her sword on their armor.  They screamed, they bled and they died as she drove into them.  She was aware that they were wounding her, but she felt little of it.  Only the deepest cuts registered in her attention.  One in her side, another on her calf.  The rest were superficial.  Beneath her notice.  “TO ME!” she tried again, turning from the scene of slaughter to begin another.  There were still so damn many Venatori.  They swarmed the camp like ants.

Something slammed against her.  It took her a moment to realize that a dracolisk had come from behind and bowled into her with its shoulder.  Sharp scales raked skin and her sword was pulled from her hand as she stumbled, swearing.  She reached for the sword of one of the Venatori she had killed, but not fast enough.  Another spell struck her, again in the face.  Were they aiming for her head?  She tried to bring her shield up but found that an arrow had become lodged in her shoulder, near her neck.  How long had that been there?  It wouldn't let her raise her arm properly.  Her blood rage was fading.  Damn that spell, whatever it was.  The Venatori were closing on her now and she was struck again in the head by magic.  More muddled she managed to grapple the sword free from the corpse's hand and swung it clumsily.  She was gratified with a yelp of pain from her attackers, but something struck her on the head again, and it wasn't a spell this time.  Some idiot was hitting her with a club.

She lashed out with her shield, bowling two attackers back, wishing she had a plan.  Wishing she knew where her people were.  Wishing they had trained better for a possible attack on the camp.  They'd been slopp and it was her fault.  As the leader she should have been thinking about defense, not frolicking with her new lover.  She snarled, taking out another attacker with a slice to the belly.  A spell hit her in the face and she fell to a knee, still snarling.  The club came in again, making an ugly sound as it smashed her just above her eye.  Joke was on them, the bone was thickest there.  Even on her knees she fought, and it was clearly taking all of them to bring her down.  Someone threw a grappling chain over her sword arm.  She felt little spikes dig into her flesh.  Another spell, another crashing blow from the club.  Her world was fading.  Her last thought, as she slid unwillingly into blackness under an onslaught of blows, was that she missed Cassandra.