Unknown - Dragon Age

Maric looked up as he heard more men approaching. His hopes fell as he saw several soldiers in the usurper’s colors coming into the forest, pointing and shouting angrily, drawing their swords as they realized what was happening.

“Maric!” Rowan shouted, fear creeping into her voice. “Run while you can! We can’t hold them back!”

Gathering his strength, he limped over toward the soldier he had run through and yanked his sword out with great effort. He could barely hold the blade up, however, and almost fell backwards as it finally came free from the corpse. He had almost no strength left. But he was not going to run away and leave his friends behind. Not while he had a breath left in him.

Rowan finally bypassed the defenses of one of her opponents, slicing open his neck with a swing of her sword. Blood sprayed out as he stumbled to the side, gagging, and she turned to another. Loghain was gritting his teeth and holding his own, but it was inevitable that the three soldiers running their way would quickly overwhelm them both.

“Maric! Go!” Loghain shouted urgently.

“No!” Maric cried. He pushed himself to his feet with pure effort, his legs shaking. He heard the sound of another horse approaching and looked up, expecting fully to see another Orlesian

arriving. However, the cloaked and hooded rider didn’t dismount and join others. Instead, the horse rode directly at them without slowing down. The three soldiers realized belatedly that this new arrival was not one of their own, turning in surprise just as the rearmost man was trampled. He went down screaming.

The second soldier tried to leap to the side, but there was nowhere to go except into the nearby trees. He dived down only to be trampled by the horse as well. His horrid screams were quickly cut off.

The third soldier successfully scrambled out of the horse’s path. The horse stopped and reared up, neighing loudly as the cloaked rider slid off its back. Maric realized it was a woman, wearing a blue hood and black leathers, and when she pulled a long dagger from a scabbard and leaped on top of the third soldier, the hood fell back and revealed pointed ears and a mass of curly blond hair.

It was Katriel.

Maric watched in shock as Katriel quickly stabbed the soldier beneath her. The man desperately tried to fend her off, but his efforts became feebler as each strike hit home. Raising the blade high, she sank it into the soldier’s neck and cut open his throat. Blood splattered across her cloak and ran down her hand from the dagger. The look on her face was intense and vicious.

As the last three men fighting Rowan and Loghain realized their reinforcements had been run down, they began to panic. Rowan intensified her efforts and disarmed one, sending his sword flying as she spun about and cut off his arm. Loghain turned and kicked his opponent toward her, and she obliged by letting the man impale himself on her blade.

The last soldier turned and ran deeper into the forest, screaming in panic. Loghain grimaced and tossed his bloody sword aside. He casually unslung his longbow and notched an

arrow, tracking the man as he fled. The shot sped past the trees, cleanly lodging deep into the soldier’s back. He grunted and fell, sliding through the mud and leaves before coming to a stop and not rising again.

And then everything was eerily quiet again.

Rowan wiped her sweaty brow, her breathing heavy and ragged. Loghain turned toward her, putting a hand on her shoulder as he looked to see if she was uninjured. She only nodded and gestured toward Maric. “Never mind me,” she gasped.

Maric was stunned. Katriel was still seated on top of the man she had slain, jagged knife still in her hand. She looked around warily, as if searching for more attackers to spring out of the shadows. Overhead, a flock of birds startled into flight from the treetops. Dead bodies were everywhere, the smell of fresh blood thick in the air.

“Katriel?” Maric asked out loud, his voice shaky.

“Your Highness.” She nodded carefully, staring at him with her green eyes. She replaced the dagger in the sheath at her waist and stood up slowly, collecting her blue cloak around her.

“Didn’t I say . . . not to call me that? . . .” Maric grinned madly, feeling light-headed. The sense of numbness and distance had returned, and it felt as if Loghain and Rowan and Katriel were all staring at him from an absurdly long ways away. His strength drained from him, as if someone had opened up the spigot and let it flow.

He fainted.

“Maric!” Rowan shouted, running toward him as he went limp and fell to the mud. He was heavily wounded and pale, the broken arrow jutting out of his thigh looking particularly

grave. When Rowan reached him, she realized quickly he was still breathing. He was shaking and had lost a lot of blood, but he was alive.

“Is he . . . ?” Loghain asked, almost fearing to go closer.

Rowan shook her head. “No. Not yet.”

Katriel stepped away from the soldier she had slain and approached Rowan. She unslung a small pack from her shoulder and offered it up. “I have bandages, and some salves,” she said quietly. “They may be of help.”

Rowan looked at her suspiciously but took the pack. “Thank you,” she said reluctantly. She tugged off her gauntlets and began rummaging.

Loghain stared at Katriel curiously as he went to retrieve his sword. She seemed to feel his gaze and regarded him in return, her eyes betraying nothing of her thoughts. “Did you have a question, my lord?”

“I’m wondering how you got here.”

She gestured toward the many horses that remained among the trees, some of which were already wandering away nervously. “Did you not see me arrive?”

“I simply find your arrival . . . convenient.”

She appeared unfazed by the question. “I did not arrive here by chance, my lord. I overheard these men talking about their attack on the Prince, but it was too late for me to send a message. I followed them out after the gate opened.” She glanced to where Maric lay, her concern evident. “I must confess I wasn’t certain what I would do. His Highness is most fortunate that you were here to defend him.”

Rowan stood up and interrupted. “Maric will recover, but Loghain, we need to get back. Who knows what could be happening?”

Loghain looked at Katriel. “Did you see anything on your way here?”

“Only that the battle had begun.”

“Damn. Then we will need to move quickly.”

Maric was slung over the back of Loghain’s warhorse, and the three of them raced back toward West Hill. It was not difficult to see which direction it lay in: already a great cloud of black smoke could be seen rising into the sky. It seemed as if an entire forest was burning, or perhaps it was the fortress itself. Magical fire was the likely culprit, though whether it was Wilhelm’s doing or more of the usurper’s mages’ was impossible to tell.

Twice as they drew closer they were forced to change course as they encountered the enemy. The first time was immediately before leaving the forest, when they found hundreds of soldiers marching in formation along the road. The enemy gave the hue and cry, but the three of them were able to evade them and avoid a chase. They rode carefully through the treacherous forest only to spot a field of soldiers in purple marching northward.

Loghain turned them about and circled around to the east. When they finally came out of the brush, the sight that greeted them was horrifying. A battlefield of the dead, bodies strewn about grotesquely. The thick smell of blood lingered over the field, and the low sound of anguished moans indicated that some of these men still lived. The battle had proceeded elsewhere into the hills, and indeed the clashing of arms could be heard. The battle was still going on.

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