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When the smaller enemy force entered the valley from the north, its commanders —Fereldan noblemen who were serving their king, Orlesian though he might be—they had expected to find a rebel force in disarray, possibly in the midst of a full rout.
Instead, they found themselves under assault by the bulk of the rebel force. Magical balls of fire landed in their midst, the explosions sending them scattering. Immediately afterwards, a giant stone golem was the first to reach their line, great fists swinging and sending men flying into the air. Rebel infantry followed immediately thereafter, shouting their war cry and charging into the line.
Maric was with that infantry, but well enough behind the front line that he wasn’t face-to-face with the enemy. Rowan watched him from farther up the hill, her own mounted troops pawing impatiently to enter the fight. Her father had told her to wait, hidden in the trees, until Maric’s force was well and truly engaged before she rode in to attack from the flank. Their only chance was to hit the enemy fast and hard, and hopefully to scatter them in time to reach Loghain. If they could catch the enemy at the bluff, they could smash them against the cliffs—they would be caught, unable to rout.
It was a long shot. The worry that had lined her father’s face as he agreed to the plan told her that much. But if the plan had been impossible, he would sooner have clubbed Maric over the head and dragged him off personally than agreed to it.
She could see Maric shouting orders to the men, urging them forward. He was trying to push through to the front, attempting to join the fight. The men immediately around him pressed close, however, forming a circle. Father would have told them to do that, she assumed. Even though Maric was wearing a helmet, she could tell he was becoming frustrated as he realized what the soldiers were doing.
More magic crackled in the air as a blizzard formed around a large part of the enemy forces. They were beginning to retreat back out of the valley and regroup, their commanders becoming frantic, but the ice that was magically forming on the ground beneath their feet was making that difficult.
One of the enemy commanders started shouting loudly and pointing at Wilhelm, who was standing on a rock not far beyond Maric’s men. The mage’s yellow robes unfortunately made him stand out, as did his exposed position. He needed to see his targets, however, and his range was limited. As arrows began to fly in his direction, he was forced to jump off his rock, his angry swearing so loud, even Rowan could hear it from where she stood. A wave of Wilhelm’s hand sent the stone golem ponderously charging toward the archers, its fists swinging. That would definitely keep them distracted.
It would be close. Rowan couldn’t see just how many men there were here, but she figured it likely they had at least as many as the rebels did. As soon as they dug in and began to fight back, their offense would be ground to a standstill.
Her warhorse whinnied nervously and she patted its head, shushing it gently.
One of the riders nearby looked to her, apprehensive. “When do we charge, my lady? If they back out of the valley, we’ll never flank them.”
“They won’t back out completely,” she assured him. “But we have to wait.”
Still, she shared the anxiety. Already she could see signs of the enemy reorganizing and struggling to outflank Maric’s men by racing into the valley proper. Many of them were urged on, in fact, by their desperation to get away from the rage of the golem’s fists. It was going much as her father had forecast, but there were more men than the scouts had reported. That meant this would take longer. Even if they were able to defeat this part of the usurper’s forces, what would become of Loghain?
Picking up the reins, she rode over to where her own lieutenant was waiting. A stout woman by the name of Branwen, the lieutenant was one of the few other women who served with the rebels as a soldier. Rowan knew that many of the men who didn’t know either of them well believed she had promoted Branwen for that reason only, but it wasn’t so. The lieutenant was strong and determined, perhaps because she had more to prove. Rowan knew exactly what that was like.
“Lieutenant,” she called, “I need to speak to the Arl.”
Branwen nodded solemnly. “Any orders, my lady?”
“If I’m not back within twenty minutes, charge the flank as planned.” Rowan smiled grimly. “I’ll trust your judgment on everything else.”
Branwen blinked with surprise and her lips thinned, but she otherwise took the unusual order without comment. “Understood, my lady.”
Rowan spun her horse about and raced out of the trees and down into the valley. She tried to pay little attention to the battle that was still going on, though she did notice that Maric had at last gotten his wish: the circle of men around him had been spread out by the melee, meaning Maric could engage. Rowan worried about that, but not as much as her father would have. He had wanted to keep Maric out of the fight completely. Rowan knew that Maric was well-armored and a much better swordsman than he would ever admit to. One of the reasons she had worked so hard, after all, was to gain his respect.
Her father’s men were waiting on the opposite side of the valley, and it took several minutes of hard riding to reach him. She splashed across the wide but shallow part of the stream, and when she came up the other bank, her father’s men were already running out to intercept her. Her father was brought out a moment later, riding on his own dark stallion, and looking more than a little concerned by the interruption.
“What is it?” he asked. “You should be with the horsemen.”
“There’s more men here than we thought, Father. That means that there might have been more coming from the east, as well. We need to help Loghain.”
Her father grimaced. Sunlight glinted brightly off his silverite armor as he turned back to the soldiers standing just a few feet away. “Go”—he waved to them—“I wish to be alone for a moment.”
His men hesitated momentarily, confused, but did not question the order. They left.
He slowly turned back to her, white brows furrowed with concern. Rowan couldn’t tell exactly what he was going to say, but she already understood what he was thinking. She felt her fury rising. “I can see the same things you do,” he began. “And I agree. It will be difficult enough to defeat the usurper’s men here in the north.”
“But . . . ?”
