across the battlefield and left a gaping, smoking hole in the fellow’s chest. Maric had at least enough sense to roll out of the way before the man toppled over like a falling building.
Evidently, Maric’s time on Thedas was not quite up yet.
He gritted his teeth against the pain in his shoulder and cast an eye over the battlefield. The first thing he wondered was what had happened to Rowan. He couldn’t see the green of her helmet, either racing across the field or lying on it. Nor were there any horsemen in the battle. How long had they been fighting? Was the bulk of the enemy force about to fall on them from the south?
He found himself worrying about Loghain most of all and the possibility that he might have asked the man to commit himself to a useless sacrifice. If Gareth’s son died trying to keep him alive, as well . . .
And then the horn sounded. Belatedly, to be sure, but it still had the desired effect. In the distance he could see Rowan’s horsemen charging into the enemy line, scattering them in every direction.
It proved to be enough. Over the next ten minutes, desperation surged among the soldiers on both sides. Maric could hear the Arl shouting to the men, urging them to press toward the hill, and Maric began to do the same. Blood was spilling rapidly as casualties mounted, but as the horsemen took their toll, the enemy began to pull back. The enemy commanders ordered a retreat, shouting for their men to regroup outside the valley.
Maric was almost tempted to give chase as he watched the enemy soldiers scrambling to get away, but Arl Rendorn’s arrival prevented him. “Let them go! We must make a run for it!” he shouted. The man was clutching his chest and bleeding heavily as he was supported by two others. Seeing this, Maric merely nodded and began calling for the men to fall back.
It was not a victory.
In the end, after hours of confusion and running as the rebel army retreated out of the valley, they managed to regroup at the edge of a small river several miles to the north. The men arrived in dribs and drabs, exhausted and wounded and sometimes carrying each other. Men on horses were sent out to look for others who had fled in different directions, but in the end it looked as if they had lost at least half their numbers. On top of this, much of their supplies and equipment had been left in the valley out of necessity.
But it felt like a victory to Maric. Instead of losing everything that his mother had built, they had survived. They had evaded the usurper’s trap and even dealt him a bloody nose on the way out. As sore as their condition was, the usurper’s forces would not be so quick to be on their trail. Not tonight, and that was all the rebels needed.
When Rowan finally brought a bruised and bloodied Loghain to the fire at their new tent, still wearing fancy leathers and the soiled, tattered remains of the Queen’s purple cloak, Maric cried out with glee and ran forward to sweep up the startled Loghain in a great bear hug. Loghain winced in pain but tolerated the display, staring down at Maric as if he had gone mad.
“It worked!” Maric cried. “Your plan bloody well worked!”
“Enough,” Loghain griped, shoving Maric away so that he was quickly dropped.
“Have a care, Maric,” Rowan chided him with amusement. “Loghain’s taken several wounds to his chest.”
“Bah! He’s invulnerable!” Maric laughed, and then danced away exuberantly. He circled the fire like some kind of barbarian shaman performing a strange victory ritual, all the while laughing maniacally.
Loghain watched him, mystified, and then looked incredulously toward Rowan. “He does this often?”
“I’m thinking he may have taken a blow to the head.”
Arl Rendorn walked up then, now out of his armor and sporting thick bandages around his midsection, the cloth already darkening with bloodstains. One of his eyes was likewise bandaged, and he limped heavily. His expression was angry enough to draw notice, and when Rowan went to offer him support, he waved her off with a glower. “Apparently,” he stated with muted rage, “you have decided that my orders do not need to be followed.”
Maric detected the tension and stopped his wild careening, turning to address the Arl. “Your Grace? Is something amiss?”
“Plenty. As she well knows.”
Rowan nodded soberly, accepting the recrimination. “I know you are angry, Father—” She held up a hand to stave off any further outburst from him. “—but I did what needed to be done. Had I not routed them, at least for a time, they might have marched north once Loghain was slain.”
“She also killed one of the Orlesian commanders,” Loghain pointed out. “Quite spectacularly.”
“We might have been away by then,” the Arl snapped. Then he looked at Loghain and softened somewhat. “But . . . it is good that you live, lad. And your plan did succeed.” From Loghain, he turned toward Maric, frowning. “I would be happier, however, if our condition were not so poor. We have lost a great number of men and much equipment. Moving forward will be difficult.”
Maric walked over to Rendorn and put a comforting hand on the Arl’s shoulder, grin remaining even if his enthusiasm was diminished. “I agree, but still I think there is much to celebrate. The rebellion drew blood, and lives on.”
Arl Rendorn attempted a wan smile. “Your mother,” he began, voice thick with emotion, “would have been very proud to see you today, my boy.”
Maric was startled at both the display of emotion and the tears he fought in his own eyes as he and Arl Rendorn hugged roughly. Backs were clapped fondly, and when Maric stepped away, he could only nod awkwardly to the Arl in the silence.
Maric turned then to Loghain, who had taken a seat by the fire. He held out a hand, and Loghain slowly shook it. “Thank you for everything you did today, Loghain. I do hope you’ll consider staying with us.”
“You should have seen him up on that bluff,” Rowan said. “He was magnificent. The knights that fought with him are already talking about it.”
Loghain smiled, a bit shyly. Maric wondered if it was, in fact, the first time he had actually seen the man smile. “It was a difficult situation, and we did what we had to.” He then looked up at Maric almost apologetically, holding
