Unknown - Dragon Age

“He is the Prince,” Gareth said, as if this was explanation enough.

“He’s not my prince. He’s going to get us all killed!” Loghain jumped to his feet and strode over to Gareth with purpose. “Father, they aren’t just coming through the forest! They’re coming through the valley as well! We’re surrounded, and all because they want him!”

“Look”—Maric tried his best to sound reasonable—“I don’t want anyone to be hurt on my account. Just hand me over. I’ll go willingly.”

“Maker preserve us,” Sister Ailis stared at Maric in dawning horror.

Gareth stiffly stood up and walked over to the door, opening it. He stood there, looking out into the storm while they listened to the sounds of the people scrambling in the dark. His people. Off in the distance, terrified screaming could be heard, coupled with the deep-voiced shouting of strangers.

“They’re here already?” The sister asked in a tremulous voice. Gareth merely nodded. “Then what are we to do?”

Loghain snatched up his blade from the ground. “We give him to them,” he argued. “Father, he said it himself. We need to make a deal.”

“No.”

In a fury, Loghain leaped forward and grabbed his father’s shoulder, spinning him around. “Father—” The word was

stated with unmistakeable emphasis. It said listen to me . “—we don’t . . . owe him . . . anything .”

Gareth’s expression became sad, and with a gentle gesture he reached up and removed Loghain’s hand from his shoulder. Loghain did not resist, and the fury seemed to drain out of him as realization grew in his face. A witness to the moment that passed between father and son, Maric didn’t immediately understand it.

“Can you get him away?” Gareth asked.

Loghain looked numb, but he nodded.

“Wait,” Maric protested feebly, raising a hand. “What?”

Gareth sighed. “We need to get you to safety, Your Highness. Loghain knows the forest. You can depend on him.” With a swift motion, he drew his sword. “I will buy you time. I and everyone I can gather.”

“You could come with us,” Loghain said to his father, his voice hopeless.

“They would just give chase. No, that won’t do.” He glanced over at Sister Ailis, who was watching with tears streaming down her cheeks. “I’m sorry, Ailis. I had hoped for . . . something else.”

She shook her head emphatically. Her eyes glowed fiercely despite the tears. “You have no need to apologize to me, Gareth Mac Tir.”

Maric’s sense of calm was rapidly draining away. Could they actually be proposing what he was hearing? Listening to the distant screams, it was all becoming real far too quickly for his liking. “Stop!” he cried. “What are you talking about? This is madness!”

Loghain stared at him like it was Maric who had gone mad, but Gareth stepped up to him and put a strong hand on his shoulder. “I served your grandfather, once.” Gareth’s voice was firm and steady, and Maric stared up at him with wide

eyes. “The Orlesians don’t belong on that throne, and if your mother is truly dead, then it is up to you now to remove them.” He paused, setting his jaw, and when he continued, his voice cracked with emotion. “If I can help you do that, then I will give anything, even my life.”

“Father . . .” Loghain’s protest died on his lips as Gareth turned toward him. Maric could tell that Gareth was resolute, and perhaps Loghain saw the same. Still, Loghain bristled with rebellion, furious at his father . . . perhaps for giving so much to someone they barely knew, the very person who had put them in danger. Maric could hardly fault him for that.

“Loghain, I want your word that you will protect the Prince.”

“I can’t just leave you here,” Loghain insisted. “Don’t ask me to just leave you, I won’t do it. . . .”

“That’s exactly what you will do. Your word, Loghain.”

Loghain looked stricken, and for a moment it seemed he teetered on the point of refusal. He shot a deadly look at Maric, no doubt blaming him for all of it, but Gareth awaited his answer. Reluctantly he nodded.

Gareth turned back toward Maric. “Then you need to go, Your Highness. Quickly.”

He was completely serious. Maric didn’t doubt that for a second, and he believed that Loghain would keep his word despite how reluctant and torn he looked. Still, Maric was stunned. If only he had known, he clearly could have trusted this man as soon as he arrived. He tried to think of something he could say in return, and a thousand inadequate apologies came to mind, along with something his mother had once told him.

What they will give us freely , she had said, is never free for them. Remembering that is the only way we will be worthy of it .

“Were . . . were you a knight, Gareth?” he asked.

The question seemed to take the man by surprise. “I . . . No, Your Highness. I was a sergeant-at-arms once.”

“Then kneel.” It was Maric’s best imitation of his mother’s tone, and it seemed to work.

Face blank with shock, Gareth knelt.

“Sister Ailis, I will need you to bear witness.”

She stepped forward. “I will, Your Highness.”

Maric put his hand on Gareth’s head, hoping fervently that his memory was not so faulty as he feared. “In the name of Calenhad the Great, here in the sight of the Maker, I declare you a Knight of Ferelden. Rise and serve your land, Ser Gareth.”

The man stood stiffly, his eyes glinting beneath furrowed brows. “Thank you, Your Highness.”

“For what it’s worth,” Maric apologized. There was nothing more to be said.

Loghain stepped forward, interrupting the moment. His face was stony as he gestured to Maric. “We need to go. Now.”

Maric nodded. Before he could move, the sister put up a hand and rushed over to the pile of clothes she had been mending in the corner. She pulled out a large woolen coat and without a word began helping Maric to put it on.

As they did so, Gareth turned quietly to his son. “Loghain . . .”

“Don’t.” Loghain cut him off, his voice harsh and bitter. He refused to meet his father’s gaze. The two of them stood awkwardly as the shouting outside drew nearer to the hut.

Finally, Gareth nodded. “Do your best.”

“Of course,” came the curt response.

Maric was now wearing the coat and ready. The sister hesitated and reached into her robe, taking out a dagger so wicked-looking, Maric’s eyes widened with surprise. Before he could say anything, she placed the blade in his hand and closed his fingers over it. The sister’s eyes looked into his then, and they said, May the Maker forgive us all . He nodded his thanks, feeling chilled.

Gareth readied his sword and stepped to the door, all business. “Give me one minute. Then run.”

Sister Ailis stood beside him. “I will go with you,” she said quietly. Gareth looked as if he would have preferred to argue with her, but decided against it. With a quick nod, both of them rushed out the door into the storm.

Loghain put an arm out, stopping Maric from following them, not that he had been about to. Loghain stared at the vacant door. His face was passive, but his eyes were intense, and Maric decided it was best to say nothing. Instead they waited in the dim light and listened. First they heard Gareth bellowing, his voice carrying even over the thunder and rain as he rallied the panicked outlaws to his side. There was more shouting, and Sister Ailis cried out for someone to stop, in the name of the Maker. The sound of battle erupted, coupled with cries of agony and the ring of steel on steel.

Loghain ran out the door, not saying a word, pulling Maric with him. Maric almost stumbled, but kept his footing while dashing headlong into a sheet of freezing rain. Recognizing nothing in the rain and darkness disoriented him. Something large was burning nearby, and the sound of fighting surrounded him on all sides. He then felt a pull at his coat.

Читать дальше