The Stolen Throne

He was completely serious. Maric didn’t doubt that for a second, and he believed that Loghain would keep his word despite how reluctant and torn he looked. Still, Maric was stunned. If only he had known, he clearly could have trusted this man as soon as he arrived. He tried to think of something he could say in return, and a thousand inadequate apologies came to mind, along with something his mother had once told him.

What they will give us freely, she had said, is never free for them. Remembering that is the only way we will be worthy of it.

“Were . . . were you a knight, Gareth?” he asked.

The question seemed to take the man by surprise. “I . . . No, Your Highness. I was a sergeant-at-arms once.”

“Then kneel.” It was Maric’s best imitation of his mother’s tone, and it seemed to work.

Face blank with shock, Gareth knelt.

“Sister Ailis, I will need you to bear witness.”

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, May the Maker forgive us all. He nodded his thanks, feeling chilled.

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.