Unknown - Dragon Age

Still, it bothered him that everything was going so smoothly. He had hoped for a surprise attack on Gwaren before they left, an ambush, an alarm raised at the fortress, something to put his mind at ease. He had over four hundred men in his command, and the Arl was in charge of an even larger force, easily the greatest army they had assembled to date, with many strangers provided by the nobles who had joined them at Gwaren. Any one of them could be a traitor. They had been careful, but for it all to go exactly as planned made his skin itch.

Maric was pleased, naturally, and taunted Loghain for deliberately looking for trouble. Loghain was tempted to punch him in the mouth to wipe that smile off his face, but that probably wouldn’t look good in front of the men.

“We stand for now,” he informed the lieutenant. “The Arl attacks first.”

The soldier saluted and marched off to deliver his orders. Nearby, several of the Night Elves fingered their bows anxiously as they perched on higher rocks to watch the battle. He waved to one of them. “Any sign of movement, yet?”

The elf looked off into the distance, shielding his eyes from the sun. “I think . . . Arl Rendorn is here, now.”

It was true. Loghain watched as a large force of men marched into view at the base of the hill and began ascending the rocky path up to the open gateway. There were signs of frantic activity in the fortress, but no resistance had appeared yet. He half expected the gates to swing shut, but they remained open. Katriel had said in her last response that it would not be difficult to sabotage the crank, which meant the gates could be closed only with difficulty. So far, she seemed as good as her word.

Surely it couldn’t be this easy, could it? If the Arl’s forces got inside the fortress, they could overwhelm the defenders within the hour. Loghain’s men might never even have to march. Had they caught the usurper completely unawares? Was that possible?

Almost as if on cue, he heard the distant sounds of a horse riding hard toward them, and several men nearby shouted. He turned in his saddle and was startled to see Rowan approaching, fully armored but missing her helmet. She was sweating profusely as she rode full-bore toward him.

Worse was the look on her face: terror.

I knew it , he swore to himself. Without hesitating, he kicked his warhorse into a gallop and raced down the hillside to intercept Rowan. Many of his men were stirring now, uneasy as they sensed something was amiss.

“Loghain!” Rowan pulled her horse to a halt as Loghain reached her. “They’ve attacked the camp! Maric is in danger!”

“What! Who? Who has attacked the camp?”

Rowan gasped for air and tried to collect her breath. Her

horse pranced nervously beneath her, and she had trouble keeping him under control. “Some of my scouts didn’t come back . . . we thought maybe they were delayed or . . . or deserted, but—” She shook her head in disbelief. “—I rode out with some men to look. There’s a whole army approaching.” She looked at Loghain with wide, horrified eyes. “The usurper . . . he’s here, they’re all here !”

His blood went cold. They knew, then. They had been waiting.

“I sent my men to try to warn Father,” she continued numbly, “and then I rode back to the camp to tell Maric. But . . . the camp is gone. It was attacked. I didn’t even see Maric. I didn’t . . . I don’t . . .” She stopped herself, unable to continue, and looked at Loghain as if he might be able to right everything.

Loghain considered. His horse nickered irritably, and he patted its head absently. Then he looked at Rowan and nodded curtly. “Let’s go. We need to find him.”

“Find him? Find him how?”

“There’s going to be tracks. Let’s find them, and quickly.”

She nodded, relieved, and spun her horse about. The men in the area were talking, a ripple of fear moving through the ranks, the sounds of concern getting louder and louder. “Commander Loghain!” One of his lieutenants ran up anxiously, with several others behind him. “What is happening? You aren’t leaving?”

Loghain looked at the man sharply. “I am. You’re in charge.”

The lieutenant’s face turned ashen. “Wh-what?”

“Do it,” he ordered. “Take the men and charge, get to the fortress and help the Arl. The King’s army is coming.”

The ripple of fear became even stronger. The lieutenant looked at him in stark terror. “Take the men? . . . But . . .”

“Maric . . .” Rowan sounded uneasy.

Loghain frowned at her. “Maric needs us. Do you want to stay?”

Rowan stared off in the direction of her father’s forces and a look of guilt crossed her eyes. Then she reluctantly shook her head. Loghain kicked his warhorse, and the two of them rode off, leaving the panicked lieutenant and the rest of the rebel force behind. Loghain felt an unaccustomed coldness inside him. It was about to fall apart, all of it. He could feel it slipping through his fingers.

But it didn’t matter. If they won this battle and Maric died, it was all for nothing. Even if it meant abandoning their charge they were either going to find Maric and save him, or they would avenge his death. He owed his friend that much. He exchanged glances with Rowan as they rode swiftly into the hills, and he saw that she felt the same way. She knew he would help; that was why she’d come looking for him.

The Arl was on his own.

Pain lanced through Maric’s leg as he rode hard through the forest. His horse was struggling and whinnying in pain, but fear kept it running. He was certain that it had been struck with an arrow or two at the same time his leg had, but it was impossible to stop and look. He clutched the horse’s neck, shutting his eyes as low-hanging branches slapped at him. He wasn’t even sure where he was or where he was headed, or how far his pursuers were behind him.

At some point, the horse had raced off the path into the lightly forested hills, and he thought he could try to lose them among the trees. The forest was proving to be more of an annoyance, however. With each leap of the horse over a log or an exposed root, the arrow in his leg was jarred. He was bleeding heavily, he knew, and fighting against a weakness that threatened to drag him off the horse’s back. He

had no saddle, or his armor, though luckily he did have his sword.

It had happened so quickly. One second he was watching the army march off and complaining about how he had to remain behind, and the next, his handful of guards were being slaughtered outside the tent. Maric barely had enough time to cut through the fabric and leap onto a nearby horse. His bodyguards had bought him a few seconds, but that was all.

Thoughts ran frantically through his head. Was he headed toward the battle or away from it? How had the enemy known where their camp was? How had they known he was going to be left behind?

The afternoon sunlight filtered down through the trees in patches, leaving shadows deep enough that he had no idea where to turn. Sometimes it seemed like a path was forming only to have it disappear just as quickly. As a wave of light-headedness washed over Maric, he realized he was letting the horse find its own way more often than not. For all he knew, it could have turned around and headed back toward his attackers.

Maric felt a sudden jolt and was thrown from the horse as its leg caught between some roots. The horse whinnied in pain as its leg snapped with a sickening crack. For a single moment he flew, twisting in the air, and then slammed hard against an oak tree, the wind knocked out of him all at once.

He slid upside down, cracking his head hard on the uneven ground. Everything went white and numb. He barely heard the horse as it collapsed and thrashed on the ground, screaming madly. That sound seemed very far away and not quite connected to him. He hardly felt the searing pain in his leg as well, though he finally did spot the broken haft of the arrow in his thigh now. That pain also seemed very far away.

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