Unknown - Dragon Age

Rowan stepped away from her father, frowning deeply. What he said wasn’t entirely a surprise, and yet still she felt disappointed. “We gave our word,” she protested. “He gave us the plan that is giving you your chance, and you’re going to abandon him?”

“The part he is playing in his own plan,” her father sighed, “is

that of the sacrificial lamb. Perhaps he didn’t realize it, but there it is.” He took hold of her gauntleted hand firmly, looking her straight in the eyes. “It’s a good plan. We must not waste it, for Ferelden’s sake.”

She pulled her hand away and turned from her father, but didn’t leave. He patted her on the shoulder again. “There are things we must do, things that must be done. To survive. Queen Moira did them, and so shall her son. This Loghain is doing a service, as are the men with him.”

She nodded slowly, grimacing. The Arl’s hand lingered on her shoulder a moment longer, but whatever else was on his mind he kept it to himself. “Go, then,” he finally said. “There isn’t much time.”

She didn’t look back.

When Rowan rejoined her own forces on the other side of the valley, she saw they were already preparing to ride. Her lieutenant rode toward her, flagging her down. “We were just about to charge,” Branwen informed her. “Did you want us to hold off, my lady?”

“What’s the situation?”

“The Prince seems to be doing well enough so far. He stopped the enemy from encircling him. The wizard is almost an army unto himself.” Her attention was then drawn as the sound of horns signaled from down in the valley. Two of the watchmen nearby waved to her, and she nodded an acknowledgment to them. “The Arl is engaging now, my lady.”

Rowan did not answer right away. The green plume on her helm fluttered in the breeze as she stared hard at the ground from atop her horse. The sounds of many men shouting and screaming could be faintly heard in the distance. Any of them could be Maric, she thought.

“My lady?” her lieutenant asked hesitantly.

“No,” Rowan stated. She looked up and spun her horse about. “We are reinforcing the bluff now, before it’s too late.”

“But my lady! What about the Prince?”

Rowan began to ride forward, her expression firm. “The Maker will watch over him,” she muttered solemnly. Then, louder to address the startled riders assembled behind her: “All of you! Follow me! We ride south!” Without waiting for a response, she kicked her warhorse into a gallop and began to head into the valley.

The enemy was on their third charge up the path.

Loghain was soaked in sweat and blood both, a burning, fiery pain in his chest from where a blade had successfully stabbed earlier. He ignored it and fought on. Seven were left of the thirty knights that had ridden up the path with him, and they stood their ground at the top of the bluff as wave after wave of the enemy soldiers tried to break through. These were Fereldan soldiers they were fighting, urged on by Orlesian commanders who remained safely below. Sending their dogs to do their dirty work , he thought angrily.

The enemy had brought halberds this time, wicked axe blades attached to long poles that gave them the advantage of reach. He had lost almost ten men immediately to the first rush of the halberdiers as they reached the top of the path and had nearly overtaken them. One man lost his arm as it was hacked off, blood spurting as the man stared at it, aghast.

“Push them back!” Loghain shouted.

An enemy soldier leaped on him, half to attack and half because he had been shoved forward from behind. Startled, Loghain was pushed back for a moment. The soldier, a short man with a weasel-like face, looked excited at the thought he might have struck a blow at the mighty prince and moved to strike again.

Loghain grabbed the man by the throat and threw him back. The short soldier stumbled, and his flailing hands caught onto

the royal purple cloak—which by now had been stained a sticky black by blood and filth. He fell to the side, tugging hard on the cloak, and Loghain slashed with his sword to cut the fabric. Released, the soldier stumbled back even farther and went careening over the cliff edge, screaming shrilly.

Another man was on top of Loghain before he could recover, a large man with a robust red beard. And then a second charged him, axe held high overhead. Loghain ducked down low and spun around, swinging a wide arc with his sword. It took the axe-wielder across the abdomen, slicing him open. As the man stumbled, Loghain struck out with his elbow and took the red-bearded soldier in the throat. It didn’t stop him from stabbing Loghain in the shoulder, but Loghain merely hissed in pain and jumped back, forcing the blade to be pulled out of him

He struck out with his sword again, and the red-bearded man barely parried as he gasped and coughed. They traded several blows, Loghain gaining greater strength and position with each one until finally he ran the man through.

The few knights with him were barely holding on, and yet still the enemy pressed forward. Loghain almost couldn’t see with the sweat stinging his eyes, and the gore covering the ground at the lip of the path made getting one’s footing on the rocks difficult.

Where is the damned reinforcement? he thought, striking out at new enemies as they pressed forward. Even as he asked the question he knew the answer. They weren’t coming. It didn’t make sense for them to come. In fact, if he was in the Arl’s shoes right now, he wouldn’t come, either.

He grunted angrily and slashed even harder, trying to keep the enemy from getting past their line. Another man rushed him and he got his boot up onto the man’s midsection and then kicked out, sending the man flying back and over the cliff edge with a horrified cry.

And then a horn sounded.

Loghain wiped his eyes and looked down the cliff, then began laughing out loud in sheer surprise. The thundering of hooves heralded the charge of the rest of the rebel’s force of horsemen as they struck the larger enemy force from behind. The armored figure leading the charge could only be Rowan, the green plume atop her helmet trailing.

The effect on the enemy was dramatic. The Orlesians were pushed back toward the cliff, their shouts turning to confusion and surprise. Almost immediately their organization broke. Panic overtook the foot soldiers, and they began to scramble and run, even as the commanders screamed ineffectually for them to hold.

Loghain had no more time to watch as the enemies still on the path became desperate. Caught between the crush of men trying to run up behind them to escape the cavalry charge and Loghain’s remaining men, their fearful cries became deafening.

“Now! Do it! Push them back!” he shouted. Six knights stood next to him, their armor smeared with gore and all of them heavily wounded, but they gritted their teeth and did as he commanded. They pressed their advantage and began swinging hard to drive the enemy back.

There was a long moment of frenzied resistance as steel met steel, and then the enemy line broke. With a victorious shout, Loghain moved forward and stabbed his blade into two men who scrabbled backwards while screaming for mercy. The knights beside him did the same, and as the enemy fell back, they ran out of ground and forced a whole group of their own soldiers off the cliff.

There was mass panic below. The enemy was racing to get out of the way of the horsemen, dashing into the forest at the edges of the valley. Some even dropped their weapons in their rush. One of the Orlesian commanders screamed at his men with indignation, attempting to lead a rally, but Rowan put a

quick end to that. A pair of hooves cut the pompous fellow off in midshout, sending his body flying against the rocks and galvanizing the nearest enemy soldiers into even quicker retreat.

Calling to several of her men to follow her, Rowan turned and raced up the path toward Loghain.

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