She stepped forward. “I will, Your Highness.”
Maric put his hand on Gareth’s head, hoping fervently that his memory was not so faulty as he feared. “In the name of Calenhad the Great, here in the sight of the Maker, I declare you a Knight of Ferelden. Rise and serve your land, Ser Gareth.”
The man stood stiffly, his eyes glinting beneath furrowed brows. “Thank you, Your Highness.”
“For what it’s worth,” Maric apologized. There was nothing more to be said.
Loghain stepped forward, interrupting the moment. His face was stony as he gestured to Maric. “We need to go. Now.”
Maric nodded. Before he could move, the sister put up a hand and rushed over to the pile of clothes she had been mending in the corner. She pulled out a large woolen coat and without a word began helping Maric to put it on.
As they did so, Gareth turned quietly to his son. “Loghain . . .”
“Don’t.” Loghain cut him off, his voice harsh and bitter. He refused to meet his father’s gaze. The two of them stood awkwardly as the shouting outside drew nearer to the hut.
Finally, Gareth nodded. “Do your best.”
“Of course,” came the curt response.
Maric was now wearing the coat and ready. The sister hesitated and reached into her robe, taking out a dagger so wicked-looking, Maric’s eyes widened with surprise. Before he could say anything, she placed the blade in his hand and closed his fingers over it. The sister’s eyes looked into his then, and they said,
Gareth readied his sword and stepped to the door, all business. “Give me one minute. Then run.”
Sister Ailis stood beside him. “I will go with you,” she said quietly. Gareth looked as if he would have preferred to argue with her, but decided against it. With a quick nod, both of them rushed out the door into the storm.
Loghain put an arm out, stopping Maric from following them, not that he had been about to. Loghain stared at the vacant door. His face was passive, but his eyes were intense, and Maric decided it was best to say nothing. Instead they waited in the dim light and listened. First they heard Gareth bellowing, his voice carrying even over the thunder and rain as he rallied the panicked outlaws to his side. There was more shouting, and Sister Ailis cried out for someone to stop, in the name of the Maker. The sound of battle erupted, coupled with cries of agony and the ring of steel on steel.
Loghain ran out the door, not saying a word, pulling Maric with him. Maric almost stumbled, but kept his footing while dashing headlong into a sheet of freezing rain. Recognizing nothing in the rain and darkness disoriented him. Something large was burning nearby, and the sound of fighting surrounded him on all sides. He then felt a pull at his coat.
“Pay attention!” Loghain snapped.
Maric barely heard him over the commotion. Though the rain obscured much, he could make out the fight at the other end of the camp. He spotted Gareth, the big man swinging his sword in wide arcs and cutting a swath through soldiers that had undoubtedly expected nothing like this kind of resistance. But the soldiers were armored, and they outnumbered the handful of men Gareth had managed to rally. It was not going to be much of a battle.
Others fled the camp in all directions, some gathering what little they could and others scrambling just to get away as they realized the extent of the assault. Several bodies lay on the ground in Maric and Loghain’s path, one of them a young woman. Maric almost tripped on her, causing Loghain to hiss in fury again.
They were running away from the main fight, but Maric could hear other soldiers ahead of them in the darkness. Out of nowhere a man appeared, dressed in chain mail and wearing an undecipherable emblem on his blue tunic. His eyes widened in surprise and he was about to shout for help, but Loghain was too quick for him and ran the man through without slowing down. Loghain pushed the soldier off his sword with his boot, the man collapsing in a gurgling heap.
“Don’t just stand there!” Loghain snapped, and Maric realized that was exactly what he was doing. He started to run forward but felt someone grab his arm from behind. Without thinking, he spun around and sank the dagger given to him by Sister Ailis into the neck of a black-bearded soldier. The man roared in surprise and pain, losing his grip, and when Maric yanked the blade out, a fountain of blood followed it. The soldier clutched uselessly at the wound, careening away, and before Maric could stab at his foe a second time, he felt himself being dragged away.
“Go! Now!” Loghain roared. The pair of them sprinted, running past several tents and directly into a clump of trees at the edge of the camp. Loghain led Maric through thick bushes, the branches slapping wetly at their faces, and as they came out into another part of the camp, they veered sharply. Avoiding an obscured scuffle not far away, they ran past two soldiers fighting to drag a screaming woman out of her tent. The soldiers did not even notice them pass, and when Maric slowed out of concern for the woman, he felt himself yanked forward again. Reluctantly, he did as he was bidden.
Two more soldiers sprang up in their path but were dispatched by Loghain with savage precision. The camp was little more than chaos and confusion. Maric heard the bloodcurdling cries behind him and the sounds of people fleeing in every direction. He heard a child wailing and men begging for help, soldiers shouting orders and giving chase. It was all he could do to avoid keeping his foot on the mud and grass, Loghain pulling him forward whenever he began to fall behind. It came as a shock when he realized that they had reached the edge of the camp. The hillside sloped down steeply into the forested valley below—and into the Korcari Wilds, the southern wilderness uninhabited by all but the savages and the most dangerous of creatures. No sane man went there.
“Why are we stopping?” Maric asked, turning back to Loghain. He shivered with cold, the merciless rain pounding down. Loghain ignored him, and Maric followed his gaze to where Gareth was fighting in the distance. He was far away, but the fire had spread enough that he could still be spotted even through the deluge. Heavily wounded and covered with blood, he had dozens of enemy soldiers surrounding him. His swings were becoming desperate. Maric knew they should continue running and not waste any opportunity, but Loghain remained still, transfixed by his father’s battle.
Then, though their vision was obscured by smoke and the rushing soldiers, they made out a defiant shout that
