Unknown: Dragon Age

It took a moment for the shock of the act to settle in.

Bann Ceorlic and the other three men stared, dumbfounded, as Maric turned calmly toward them. The pale dragonbone dripped bright red blood, Maric’s eyes shining with an intense light of their own. Loghain slowly edged around the group, cutting them off from their exit.

“You’re mad!” Ceorlic shouted. “What are you doing?”

Maric didn’t remove his eyes from the man. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“This . . . this is murder! In a chantry of the Maker!” another bann cried.

“Do you expect,” Loghain snarled, “the Maker to come down and protect you? If so, then I suggest the four of you begin praying.”

Bann Ceorlic raised a hand slowly, sweat pouring down his face. “You need our men,” he said carefully, though Maric could hear the quivering in his voice. “Keir was right about that, you do this and our children will fight you with their last breath! They will tell everyone about this cowardly, dishonorable act!”

Maric took one step toward the four men, and all four of them jumped back, startled. Maric smiled coldly once again. “Your children will be given exactly one day to denounce the acts that you committed to earn your deaths here. If they agree, and join my forces without reservation, I will remember that your ill-considered acts were done for their sakes.” He raised the longsword, the tip of the blade pointing toward

Ceorlic. “And if they refuse, I will ensure your families die and your lands be given to men who know the meaning of words like cowardly and dishonorable .”

The room was silent save for the crackling of the fire in the holy brazier. The tension hung thickly as the old men glanced from one to the other, their swords held before them. Maric could see their calculations. Two to one, they were thinking. They were not so young as their opponents, but they were skilled enough with their blades.

Let them come .

With a shout of terror, one of the elder banns made a break for the chantry door. Loghain gracefully swept low toward him and knocked his legs out from underneath him. The man went down hard on the stone floor. He gasped and opened his eyes wide in fear as he saw Loghain rise above him, holding the sword pointed down toward his heart.

Loghain made no expression as he thrust the sword down into the man. The blade penetrated with a wet, crunching sound and a single strained groan escaped the Bann’s lips.

Ceorlic raced toward Maric with a war cry, his sword held high to strike, but Maric raised a foot and connected with the man’s chest, pushing him back and slamming him against the wall. A second man rushed at Maric’s side and swung his blade low, but Maric parried easily.

He turned and swung the blade in a wide arc at his attacker. The man raised his blade, but the magical longsword sliced through it. Sparks flew and the man screamed in agony as Maric’s blade cut a deep slash across his chest. Blood spurted from the wound as Maric spun around again, slicing into the man’s abdomen. The Bann fell heavily to the ground, clutching his chest as he died.

The third ran at Loghain, charging him at full speed as he shouted in a mix of rage and terror. Loghain frowned in annoyance at the man, quickly pulling his blade from the one he had

just slain and thrusting it before him like a spear. The charging Bann practically skewered himself on the blade, rushing up half its length until he stopped, quivering, bright blood running from his mouth.

Ceorlic watched them from the wall, horror twisting his features into an ugly grimace. His eyes flickered from Loghain to Maric and back again, and he threw down his sword to the floor. It clattered there noisily as he sank to his knees, shaking in abject terror.

“I surrender!” he shouted. “Please! I’ll do anything!”

Maric walked up to him slowly. The man cowered before Maric, and then lost what little dignity he had left as he bowed his forehead to the floor and crawled toward Maric’s boots. “Please! My . . . my armies! I’ll raise double the men! I’ll say that . . . that the others attacked you!”

“Pick up your sword,” Maric told him. He glanced toward Loghain, who only nodded coolly as he pushed the dead man off his blade.

Bann Ceorlic rose to his knees, looking up at Maric and putting his hands together in prayer. “For the love of the Maker!” he cried, tears running down his face. “Do not do this! I’ll give you anything you wish!”

Maric bent down and grabbed the man by the ear. He felt his rage bubble up, remembered how this man had run his sword through his mother, how he had raced through the forest while his men chased him. This man’s treachery had started all of this, and Maric was going to end it.

“What I want back you can’t give me,” he said, shaking with rage as he thrust the longsword through Ceorlic’s heart.

The man’s eyes went wide with shock. Blood trickled from his mouth, and he stared uncomprehendingly at Maric as he gasped. Each gasp became weaker, and Maric slowly lowered him to the floor. When he drew his last breath, Maric gritted his teeth and yanked the blade out noisily from Ceorlic’s chest.

The shadows grew longer in the chantry as Maric crouched there over Ceorlic. Five dead men surrounded them, their blood spreading and cooling on the stone and the statue of Andraste looking down from the dais upon it all. Loghain stood only a few feet away, but Maric thought he might as well have been alone.

“It’s done,” Loghain said evenly. There was a hint of approval in his voice.

“Yes. It is.”

“There will be an outcry. They weren’t wrong about that.”

“Maybe so.” Maric slowly stood up. His face was grim, and he felt as if something hard had settled within him, as if his heart had become a little more still. It was a strange feeling, peaceful and yet oddly disquieting. He had avenged his mother, but all he felt was cold. “But they can’t pretend, now. They have to choose a side and suffer the consequences, and they have to know I won’t forgive. Not now.”

Loghain looked at Maric, those icy blue eyes piercing into him uncomfortably. Maric tried to ignore it. He couldn’t tell what Loghain was thinking any longer. Was he pleased? This is what he had wanted. A Maric who did what needed to be done.

Loghain turned to leave, his black cloak swirling behind him, and then he paused at the door. “I had word shortly before we came. The two legions of chevaliers sent from Orlais will be crossing the River Dane in two days’ time. That is where we’ll need to engage them.”

Maric did not turn to look at him. “You and Rowan will be leading the attack.”

“You won’t reconsider? . . .”

“No.”

“Maric, I don’t think the—”

“I said no.” Maric’s tone was final. “You know why.”

Loghain hesitated only a moment, and then nodded firmly and left. The rush of wind through the chantry as the door

opened was freezing cold, eagerly telling of the coming winter. The flame in the brazier fluttered wildly and then finally went out.

The die was cast. Maric felt the disquiet in his heart calm at last, leaving only an icy silence. There was no turning back now.

19

A dragon had taken to the air.

Loghain had seen it first thing in the morning. He had been disturbed in his sleep by the strangest sounds coming from far off in the distance, and had gone out of his tent with the sun just barely a sliver of pink and yellow peeking over the western mountains. He had stood there in the dim light, frost clinging to his tent and his breath coming out in white puffs, listening for the sound again.

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