“Wilhelm!” From her horse, Rowan grabbed his wrist. “This is not necessary!”
“It is!” he snapped, wrenching his hand free. He finished casting, the words uttered just barely audibly under his breath, and Maric felt the magic wash over him. It was a tickle of pinpricks dancing upon his skin and behind his eyes. Loghain watched nervously from nearby but only worked to keep his horse calm.
Wilhelm then stood back, apparently satisfied by whatever his magic had discovered. “My apologies, Your Highness. I had to be sure.”
“I think I would know Maric if I saw him, don’t you?” Rowan said crisply.
“No, I’m not sure that you would.” Wilhelm turned to face the quiet masses of soldiers that were now staring at him. “Men!” he called out. “You must prepare for battle! Your prince has returned to you! Now ready to defend him!” As if to punctuate his shouts, the stone golem fell into place directly behind him, scanning the crowd with its fearsome, baleful eyes.
The soldiers immediately burst into life, several commanders among them bellowing orders. Maric stared at the mage with growing alarm. “Why? What’s going on?”
“Come, I’ll let the Arl explain.” The mage turned and briskly walked deeper into the camp, the golem lumbering after him.
Maric and Rowan exchanged a look and dismounted. A man ran up and took their horses. Loghain remained mounted, however, and looked down at Maric awkwardly. “Perhaps this is a good time for me to leave,” he said.
“And go where, exactly?” Maric frowned up at Loghain, but Rowan took him by the arm and led him after the mage before he could receive an answer. He allowed himself to be taken away, but looked back as they walked. Loghain seemed vastly out of place sitting there as the man waited expectantly to take his horse. Maric almost felt sorry for him. Eventually Loghain sighed and dismounted, surrendering his horse before running to catch up.
The activity among the soldiers grew more intense as they went farther into the valley. Something was definitely amiss. Soldiers were falling into formation, tents were being torn down rapidly, everyone seemed to be running and shouting all at once. . . . It seemed to Maric to be controlled chaos, something he was not unused to. There was an edge of panic to it all that he didn’t like, however. He had seen his mother’s army scramble many times to flee before an attack by the usurper’s forces—this had that feeling to it.
At the center of all the activity he saw Arl Rendorn, Rowan’s father. He was hard to miss in his silverite plate mail, a gift from Maric’s mother to her most trusted friend and general many years before. Silver-haired and distinguished, the Arl was the very picture of nobility, and Maric found himself feeling more than a little relieved to see him. The man was giving orders to the soldiers around him with quick, efficient precision. The orders never needed repeating, and were obeyed without question.
Wilhelm waved to the Arl, though it was hardly necessary, as the stone giant behind him drew notice from almost everyone. The Arl turned, and upon seeing Maric he strode forward through several ranks of men to greet him with a wide and happy grin.
“Maric!” he shouted, clapping Maric on the shoulder. “It is you!”
“That’s what everyone keeps telling me.” Maric grinned.
“Maker be praised!” His eyes grew sad for a moment. “Your mother would be proud to see that you survived. Well done, lad.”
“I told you I would find him, Father,” Rowan said.
The Arl regarded his daughter with a look that was both impressed and eternally frustrated. “So you did, so you did. I should never have doubted you, pup.” He turned then and barked several sharp orders to his immediate lieutenants, who were staring at Maric dumbly. Now, they snapped to attention and took over whatever preparations had been under way.
“Come,” the Arl said, “let us move inside. Whatever tale you have will need to wait. You’ve come at an awkward moment, truth be told, and not a minute too soon.” He stepped to the large red tent immediately behind him and held open the flap. Wilhelm brushed inside imperiously, as if the honor should have been his to begin with. Truly, Maric had never understood why Rendorn put up with such behavior from a man who was technically a retainer, hired from the Circle of Magi. The Arl, however, appeared to be more amused than offended by Wilhelm’s antics.
That amusement disappeared instantly, however, when he saw Loghain approach. He put up a hand to stop Loghain from entering the tent. “Hold now, who’s this?”
Loghain paused, regarding the Arl’s hand with a raised brow. “It’s Loghain,” he said. “Loghain Mac Tir.”
“He came with me,” Maric offered helpfully.
The Arl narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “I’ve never heard of you. Or your family.”
“There’s no reason you should.” The two men locked eyes, bristling. Maric stepped forward between the two, putting up his hands to halt any imminent escalation.
“Loghain helped me,” Maric told Rendorn, keeping his tone restrained. “He’s the reason I’m here, Your Grace. If it hadn’t been for him and his father, I . . . well, I probably wouldn’t have made it at all.”
Arl Rendorn paused, digesting this before nodding to Loghain. “If that’s true, then it’s greatly appreciated. You’ve done a great service, and I’ll see to it you’re rewarded.”
“I’m not interested in any reward.”
“As you wish.” With a frown, the Arl turned to Maric. “I need to speak with you, lad, and it’s not a discussion to be held in front of any commoners—especially men we don’t know.” He bowed politely to Loghain. “No offense, ser.”
“None taken,” Loghain growled.
Rendorn turned to enter the tent, considering the matter closed, but Maric interposed himself in front of him. “He’s
