Dragon Age: The Stolen Throne

  “And go where, exactly?” Maric frowned up at Loghain, but Rowan took him by the arm and led him after the mage before he could receive an answer. He allowed himself to be taken away, but looked back as they walked. Loghain seemed vastly out of place sitting there as the man waited expectantly to take his horse. Maric almost felt sorry for him. Eventually Loghain sighed and dismounted, surrendering his horse before running to catch up.

  The activity among the soldiers grew more intense as they went farther into the valley. Something was definitely amiss. Soldiers were falling into formation, tents were being torn down rapidly, everyone seemed to be running and shouting all at once. . . . It seemed to Maric to be controlled chaos, something he was not unused to. There was an edge of panic to it all that he didn’t like, however. He had seen his mother’s army scramble many times to flee before an attack by the usurper’s forces—this had that feeling to it.

  At the center of all the activity he saw Arl Rendorn, Rowan’s father. He was hard to miss in his silverite plate mail, a gift from Maric’s mother to her most trusted friend and general many years before. Silver-haired and distinguished, the Arl was the very picture of nobility, and Maric found himself feeling more than a little relieved to see him. The man was giving orders to the soldiers around him with quick, efficient precision. The orders never needed repeating, and were obeyed without question.

  Wilhelm waved to the Arl, though it was hardly necessary, as the stone giant behind him drew notice from almost everyone. The Arl turned, and upon seeing Maric he strode forward through several ranks of men to greet him with a wide and happy grin.

  “Maric!” he shouted, clapping Maric on the shoulder. “It is you!”

  “That’s what everyone keeps telling me.” Maric grinned.

  “Maker be praised!” His eyes grew sad for a moment. “Your mother would be proud to see that you survived. Well done, lad.”

  “I told you I would find him, Father,” Rowan said.

  The Arl regarded his daughter with a look that was both impressed and eternally frustrated. “So you did, so you did. I should never have doubted you, pup.” He turned then and barked several sharp orders to his immediate lieutenants, who were staring at Maric dumbly. Now, they snapped to attention and took over whatever preparations had been under way.

  “Come,” the Arl said, “let us move inside. Whatever tale you have will need to wait. You’ve come at an awkward moment, truth be told, and not a minute too soon.” He stepped to the large red tent immediately behind him and held open the flap. Wilhelm brushed inside imperiously, as if the honor should have been his to begin with. Truly, Maric had never understood why Rendorn put up with such behavior from a man who was technically a retainer, hired from the Circle of Magi. The Arl, however, appeared to be more amused than offended by Wilhelm’s antics.

  That amusement disappeared instantly, however, when he saw Loghain approach. He put up a hand to stop Loghain from entering the tent. “Hold now, who’s this?”

  Loghain paused, regarding the Arl’s hand with a raised brow. “It’s Loghain,” he said. “Loghain Mac Tir.”

  “He came with me,” Maric offered helpfully.

  The Arl narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “I’ve never heard of you. Or your family.”

  “There’s no reason you should.” The two men locked eyes, bristling. Maric stepped forward between the two, putting up his hands to halt any imminent escalation.

  “Loghain helped me,” Maric told Rendorn, keeping his tone restrained. “He’s the reason I’m here, Your Grace. If it hadn’t been for him and his father, I . . . well, I probably wouldn’t have made it at all.”

  Arl Rendorn paused, digesting this before nodding to Loghain. “If that’s true, then it’s greatly appreciated. You’ve done a great service, and I’ll see to it you’re rewarded.”

  “I’m not interested in any reward.”

  “As you wish.” With a frown, the Arl turned to Maric. “I need to speak with you, lad, and it’s not a discussion to be held in front of any commoners—especially men we don’t know.” He bowed politely to Loghain. “No offense, ser.”

  “None taken,” Loghain growled.

  Rendorn turned to enter the tent, considering the matter closed, but Maric interposed himself in front of him. “He’s not a commoner!”

  The Arl looked startled by Maric’s vehemence. So did Rowan, who quietly raised her eyebrows from a step away. Even Loghain looked at Maric as if he might have been slightly mad. “He’s the son of a knight,” Maric insisted. “A man who died in my service. He’s also saved my life more than once, and I will see him treated accordingly.”

  Rowan’s father glowered at Maric, the moment thick with tension. He turned an appraising eye toward Loghain, who looked like he felt compelled to speak but wasn’t sure quite what to say. Instead, he met the Arl’s stare with a simple shrug and the slightest hint of an insolent grin.

  “Fine,” Rendorn snapped. “I’ve no time to argue.” He held the flap open and let Loghain and the others through, then followed them inside. The golem stood silent guard beside the entrance.

  The tent’s interior was dominated by the worn table around which Maric’s mother had gathered the Arl and her other commanders. Significantly, the large chair she had occupied for as long as Maric could remember stood vacant. He tried not to stare at it.

  “The usurper’s men are marching on us as we speak,” Arl Rendorn announced as soon as the tent flap was closed. They did not sit down. “Our situation is desperate. They know where we are and managed to almost surround us before we became aware of their approach.”

  “Magic,” Wilhelm’s hawklike face twisted into a disapproving scowl. “The usurper has gone to great lengths to plan this attack.”

  “Plan?” Rowan frowned. “But how could he have known we would still be here? You would already have left if I hadn’t insisted we look for Maric.”

  The Arl shrugged. “Perhaps they expected us to do just that. Or perhaps someone told them we intended to remain where we were.”

  “There’s no shortage of Fereldans willing to sell us out,” Maric sighed. “That’s what got my mother killed, after all.”

  “There is a plan,” the Arl stated. “Now that you’re here, lad, we have hope. All is not lost. They haven’t surrounded us completely. If we leave now, take only a small number of men with us, and use Wilhelm’s magic to our advantage, we can slip out of this noose before it tightens.”

  “And what of the army?” Maric asked.

  Rowan nodded gravely, already in agreement with her father. “It’s lost.” She put her hand on Maric’s shoulder. “It’s already lost. It’s you we need to get out, Maric. The royal line rests with you.”

  “No! We can’t abandon the army! That’s madness!”

  “We can rebuild the army again, just as your mother did,” the Arl sighed heavily. “The fact that Rowan found you just in time is a sign from the Maker. We need to take you away from here before it is too late.”

  “No!” Maric paced angrily, staring at Rowan and her father in outrage. “I can’t believe what I’m hearing! I didn’t come here just to lose my mother’s entire army! We have to do something!”

  “There’s nothing to be done, lad,” the Arl said gently. “We’ve got two groups bearing down on us, one from the north and a larger force coming through the forest in the east. They’ve got us cornered. If we try to withdraw, they’ll be on our flank. There’s no way.”

  “No,” Maric repeated. “We fight!”

  “That is the fool’s path,” Wilhelm sneered.

  Rowan walked gingerly toward Maric, shaking her head sadly. “Maric, there’s no point in fighting. You would just die!”

  “Then I die.” His voice was firm.

  The Arl waved his hand dismissively. “No. I understand that you’re trying to be brave, lad. But this is the time for discretion.”

  Maric set his jaw. “And I understand what you’re getting at, Your Grace, but that’s not your deci
sion.”

  Arl Rendorn turned now, regarding with Maric with growing rage. “Not my decision? I lead this army!”

  “My army,” Maric insisted. “Or don’t you follow your king?”

  “I don’t see a king here.” The Arl seethed. “I see a boy who’s trying to be brave! Queen Moira would have understood. She would have left these men, if she had to, for the rebellion to live on!”

  “She’s dead!” Maric slammed his fist down on the table, hard. “And I would rather die beside these men than abandon them to save my own skin! I won’t do it!”

  “Don’t be stubborn! There’s no point in fighting just to lose!”

  “Then win,” Loghain suddenly blurted out.

  His interruption was unexpected enough that even Arl Rendorn stared in surprise. Rowan arched a brow curiously as Loghain came forward, his expression annoyed. “Don’t stay and lose,” he repeated. “Stay and win.”

  Rowan held out her hands helplessly. “We can’t. It isn’t that simple!”

  “Why?” Loghain frowned at her. “Because he told you so?”

  The Arl stiffened. “I know what I’m talking about.”

  “I don’t doubt it.” Loghain crossed his arms, watching the Arl. “But my father stayed one step ahead of people like you for years by doing the unexpected.”

  “And I understand your father is dead.”

  “Our camp was surrounded, just like your army. If we’d had half the warning you have, had half the equipment, had any of the magic, my father would have seen us through it!” His tone was iron-hard. “I know it.”

  The Arl shook his head. “No, you’re wrong.”

  “You have advantages you don’t even know about. Trust me, you can win.”

  Maric took a step toward Loghain, hope creeping across his face. “Do you have an idea?”

  Loghain paused, his eyes darting uncertainly among Arl Rendorn, Rowan, and Maric, as if he’d just realized they all were, in fact, paying attention to him. For a moment it seemed he might back down, but then Maric saw it in those icy blue eyes: resolve.

  “Yes.” Loghain nodded. “I do.”

  5

  Loghain glanced uncomfortably at the knights who had been assigned to his command, once again wondering just how he had allowed himself to end up here. Thirty mounted men in heavy plate armor, each with more combat experience in the last year than he had in his life, and he was supposed to lead them?

  It served him right for suggesting a plan in the first place. If he had been smart, he would have kept his fool mouth shut after that and been on his way. But the more Loghain had listened to Arl Rendorn and Maric argue about who would play the most important role in the plan, the more irritated he had become. Finally he’d thrown his hands up in disgust and volunteered to play the role himself, if only to get the two of them to stop arguing.

  Maric thought the idea a brilliant one. That really should have told Loghain right then that the whole enterprise was doomed to failure.

  Even so, there he was, ready to play his part. Loghain wore a fine linen shirt, shining boots, and a helmet to hide his black hair. His heavy purple cloak had once belonged to the Rebel Queen, a signature garment he felt awkward wearing. The leathers he wore were lined with black velvet and almost too tight to wear, but they were the only trousers Maric owned that would fit. He had never worn such expensive, impractical clothing in his life, but it was necessary.

  Loghain and the knights kept their horses calm, staying in the middle of a shallow stream as they waited for the enemy to arrive. The scouts Arl Rendorn had sent out reported the bulk of the force approaching from the east would come this way, and that they would see the enemy coming out of the trees along the stream’s bank. Loghain planned to make them believe they saw Prince Maric fleeing his army escorted by a small unit of his fastest and most heavily armed knights. To pass as Maric, Loghain figured he just needed to look important from a distance. With any luck, the enemy would see the purple cloak and his finery and assume that Arl Rendorn was doing exactly what he had intended to do: send Maric to safety.

  So, Loghain’s job was to draw the eastern part of the attacking army away. Then the bulk of the rebel army would be able to deal with the northern attackers without also getting attacked from behind.

  And after that? Well, Loghain hoped they would be in a position to come to his rescue. Because he would need one, without question. And that was assuming everything went according to plan, which, as his father had always said, was unheard of in any battle. How did I end up here? he asked himself. The truth was that he had no good answer.

  It was quiet except for the gentle burbling of the stream as it flowed past and the occasional nervous nickering of one of the horses. A breeze rustled the nearby trees gently, and Loghain breathed deeply, taking in the smell of pine and fresh water. He felt oddly at peace. The imminent battle seemed very far away indeed.

  Some of the knights kept glancing his way, their uncertainty about him noticeable despite their efforts to keep it hidden. They had to wonder who he was, Loghain thought. There had been little time for introductions, barely any chance to explain what was in store. The Arl had called for volunteers from among his most experienced men, and here they were. Volunteers, they were told, because the chances that none of them might make it back were quite high.

  Why did he think this was a good plan, exactly?

  One of the knights leaned toward him, an older fellow with a bushy gray mustache showing inside his helmet. “This place we’re to ride to,” he asked quietly, “do you know of it, Ser Loghain?”

  “No need for the title. It’s just Loghain.”

  The knight seemed surprised. “But . . . His Grace said that your father—”

  “I suppose he was. I, however, am not.” Loghain looked at the man curiously. “Does that bother you? Being led by a commoner?”

  The knight glanced at several of his fellows who had been listening to their exchange. He looked back at Loghain, shaking his head firmly. “If this plan will truly see Prince Maric safe,” he stated, “then I would gladly follow my own enemy into battle. I will give my life, if need be.”

  “As would I,” said another, much younger knight. Others nodded their assent.

  Loghain looked around at them, marveling at their determination. Perhaps their chances were not so bad, after all. “I have been through this area once before,” he told them. “Down this stream to the south, across the ridge and a plain, there is a bluff—a cliff with a broad and sharp face. It has a single narrow path leading up its side.”

  “I know of it,” one of the men called out.

  “When we get there, we ride up that path as fast as possible. There is a flat area up there that is defensible. If we can defend the path, we can hold it.”

  “But,” the same man said uncertainly, “the rocks behind it are too steep. There’s no way out of there.”

  Loghain nodded. “No, there isn’t.”

  He let that sink in. Loghain was guessing the enemy would want what they thought was the Prince badly enough that they wouldn’t just give up and ride back to attack the rest of the rebel force. So he and the Arl’s volunteers had to make this look good. Gradually, the murmuring among the men quieted and they returned to waiting for the enemy to show their faces. There was nothing else they could do, after all.

  Fortunately, it didn’t take long.

  When the first soldier poked his face out of the trees, Loghain unleashed an arrow. He hit the man in the shoulder when he could just as easily have taken him in the throat, since he wanted the man to run and panic—and he did.

  More soldiers followed within moments. Many of the knights around Loghain were armed as he was, and the twang of bowstrings was followed by men shouting in pain and falling. The horses stomped nervously in the water, backing away from the bank.

  Now the counterattack began as the enemy realized what was awaiting them. Rather than charging blindly out of the trees onto the bank, they began assembling just i
nside cover. The din of many feet and shouts resounded through the forest like an approaching storm. As arrows drilled through the air toward them, the knights raised their shields against the angry torrent.

  “Your Highness,” one of the knights bellowed loudly toward Loghain, “we need to get you to safety!”

  “Protect the Prince!” another shouted.

  “South!” Loghain raised his sword up high. “Follow me!” With that he turned and sped his horse to the south, splashing water loudly as the other knights followed suit. Even above it all, however, Loghain heard cries from the enemy of “It’s the Prince!” and louder cries of “After them!”

  More arrows streaked by, a hornet’s swarm of angry projectiles that began to come faster and faster as Loghain and the knights raced down the stream. The purple cloak billowed in his wake. One of the men directly behind him shouted out in pain and fell from his horse, splashing awkwardly into the stream. Racing for their lives, the other knights could do nothing but leap over him or go around.

  The water was just high enough to slow them. They didn’t want to go too fast—they wanted the enemy to see them and pursue, after all—but the arrows were coming in too great a volume. The sound of the mass of men behind them was growing too quickly. What if the scouts’ estimates had been wrong? “Faster!” Loghain cried.

  Another man fell, screaming, as they reached the ridge. Here the stream turned and a steep embankment had formed. Loghain raced up the side, urging his horse to greater exertions as an arrow sang by his ear. For a moment his mount struggled and slowed jarringly on the way up the ridge, and then almost painfully reached the top and leaped forward.

  “Follow me!” Loghain shouted to the men behind him.

  Like a wave crashing against a wall, they surged up the side of the ridge. The water churned under their hooves as the horses struggled, and not far behind them the enemy spilled out of the forest and into the stream in hot pursuit. They had no riders of their own, thankfully, but they were hardly slow. Now that they were in the open, they could move more rapidly.