Unknown: Dragon Age

Dannon leaped at the interruption, letting the urgency of the new threat cover up the fact that he had just backed down. As though their standoff had never happened. But Loghain knew.

Something was coming toward them, fast and clumsy. Whatever it was, it scrambled madly through the bushes, heedlessly pushing branches away in a panic. The fox, Loghain surmised. Of course it would end up right in their lap, wouldn’t it? If there truly was a Maker up in the heavens, as the priests said, He had a troublesome sense of humor indeed.

Dannon retreated a few feet, nervous and agitated, while Loghain drew his sword, waiting. Their guest suddenly fell into view, deposited out of the shadows like an unwanted gift, and then stopped short, staring at the two of them with wide, fearful eyes.

It was a young man, Loghain’s age or perhaps younger. His fair hair and fairer skin were obscured under scratches, leaves, dirt, and a healthy dose of blood. He certainly wasn’t dressed for a run in the woods, wearing only a tattered shirt and enough mud to make one think he had escaped whoever he was running from by crawling around on his belly. The blood covered his face as well as his hands. Probably not all his. Whoever this man was, he had likely killed to get away, which told Loghain just how desperate the intruder might be.

The new arrival crouched before them in the shadows like a caught animal, frozen between fight and flight. Behind him, the shouting drew near. Loghain slowly raised a hand, carefully showing his palm to the fugitive to demonstrate that he meant

no harm. And then he put his sword back in its scabbard. The blond man didn’t move, only narrowed his eyes suspiciously. His attention darted nervously behind him as more muffled shouts came through the trees.

“Let’s get out of here!” Dannon hissed behind him. “He’s going to lead them right to us!”

“Wait,” Loghain whispered, not taking his eyes off the fugitive. Dannon bristled, and Loghain caught a glimpse of the knife now in his hand. Holding out his hands to calm both of them, Loghain turned back to look at the blood-covered man in the shadows. “Who’s chasing you?” he asked slowly.

The blond man licked his lips, and Loghain saw calculation in his eyes. “Orlesian dogs,” he said evenly. Still he didn’t move.

Loghain glanced at Dannon. The big man was grimacing, but Loghain could tell he wasn’t without sympathy for the fellow’s situation. No doubt he was interested only in his own hide, but finally he relented with a grunt.

“Good answer.” Loghain took a step back and half turned as if to leave. “Come with us.”

Dannon swore unhappily, refusing to look at anything but the ground as he sheathed his knife and stalked off. Loghain made as if to follow him, but watched to see if the fugitive would fall in, too. For a long moment, the blond man was visibly torn. Then, without further hesitation, he sprang up from his crouch and ran after them.

The three proceeded quietly back the way Loghain and Dannon had come, the blond man trailing and Dannon staying ahead as if he were close to leaving them behind. The set of the big man’s shoulders said he was angry and resentful. Loghain didn’t care.

They kept up a brisk pace, and after a short time, the shouts of the blond man’s pursuers were left behind. The stranger seemed relieved, and appeared even more at ease as they approached the edge of the forest and moonlight could be seen

more clearly overhead. Getting a better look at him, Loghain couldn’t help but be a bit mystified. The man’s clothes, while torn and dirtied, were plainly of quality if not fancy. The boots in particular seemed solid, made of fine leather, the sort that Loghain saw templars wear on occasion. So no pauper, certainly. He was also shivering and jumped at every strange forest sound, so this hike was no normal event for him. Not by a long shot.

“Dannon, wait,” Loghain called out as he came to a halt. Dannon stopped only reluctantly. Loghain turned to the blond man, who now edged back with renewed suspicion, his eyes darting between them as if wondering who was going to come after him first. “This may be as far as we can go,” Loghain reluctantly acknowledged.

“Thank the Maker!” Dannon muttered under his breath.

The blond man considered for a moment, looking around as if to judge his location. The field outside the forest could be seen from where they were. “I can find my own way from here.”

Loghain couldn’t place the young man’s accent, but from the way he spoke it was clear he was educated. A merchant’s son, perhaps? “Is that so?” He gestured at the blond man’s tattered clothing, noting he didn’t even have a cloak. “You look more likely to freeze before you even reach town.” He raised an eyebrow. “If that’s where you intend to head, with those men after you.”

“Why were they after you?” Dannon demanded, shoving his way up beside Loghain.

The blond man paused, glancing between Loghain and Dannon as if uncertain to whom he should be responding first. Then he looked down at his hands and saw the dark stains of blood in the moonlight as if for the first time. He was clearly repelled, despite his efforts to fight down his reaction. “I think I killed one of them,” he breathed.

Dannon whistled appreciatively. “They won’t give up easily, then.”

Loghain’s brow furrowed. “These were Bann Ceorlic’s men, I take it?”

“Some of them,” the blond man agreed reluctantly. “They killed . . . a friend of mine.” The pain that crossed his face told Loghain that the last statement was true enough, at least. The blond man closed his eyes, shivering again and trying vainly to wipe some of the blood from his cheek. Loghain glanced at Dannon, and the big man shrugged in response. Whatever the full story was, Loghain doubted they were going to get it. And perhaps it wasn’t necessary to do so. This stranger wasn’t the first person they had encountered who had crossed the Orlesians. And if Loghain was in this man’s shoes, he wouldn’t trust them either. There was definitely more here than met the eye, but Loghain’s gut told him that whatever this was, it wasn’t a trick. And his gut was seldom wrong.

“Look.” Loghain sighed heavily. “We don’t know for sure who’s hunting you back there. You say they’re working with the Orlesians, I’m willing to take your word for it.” The blond man looked about to object, but Loghain held up a hand. “Whoever they are, it sounded like there’s quite a few of them. They’re going to figure out soon enough that you got out of the forest. First place they’re going to look for you is in Lothering. Do you have somewhere else to go?”

The blond man hung his head, looking grim. “No, I . . . suppose not. Nowhere I can get to easily.” Then he set his jaw and looked up at Loghain. “But I’ll make do.” For a moment, Loghain actually believed he might try. No doubt he would fail, but he would try. Whether this was a sign of stubbornness or foolishness or even something else, he couldn’t tell.

“We have a camp,” Loghain offered. “It’s hidden.”

“You both . . . You didn’t have to help me, I know that. I’m grateful.” His look was reluctant. “It’s not necessary.”

“If nothing else, I’m sure we could find an old cloak for you. Get you cleaned up and . . . less conspicuous.” He shrugged. “Or you can go your own way. Up to you.”

The fellow squirmed, shivering again in the cold as a breeze blew in from the field. For a moment Loghain thought he looked lost, adrift in his own little free fall from whatever life he had led. Fate could hand you a poor hand when you least expected it, that Loghain knew very well. He recognized the signs, even if his sympathy was minimal. This offer was all the blond man was going to get, after all.

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