The Stolen Throne

Dim light filtered down from overhead, and he could just barely make out the overcast sky through patches in the tree canopy. Had they been running the entire night? It seemed impossible that he had survived a second consecutive night fleeing through the wilderness. At least the storm had petered out a few hours before. As Maric lay there inhaling the scent of moss, sweating and gasping for air, he felt the mist settle coolly on his skin and was grateful for it.

“All spent, are you?” Loghain said with annoyance, returning from a short distance ahead. Maric suspected the man was almost as exhausted as he was. He, too, was pale and had rivulets of sweat running down his face and over his stained leather armor. Despite his heavier burden, however, he didn’t seem inclined to slow his pace. Maric was beyond caring.

“I think we lost them,” he gasped, still trying to catch his breath.

“Are you sure?” Loghain drew his belt knife and hacked viciously at one of the low-hanging root tendrils that hovered near his head. “You’re a prince, aren’t you? You’re an important person. You might have the entire Fereldan army after you. They may have unleashed a small horde of mabari hounds into the forest to sniff you down. They might even have mages scrying after you.” He strode over to where Maric lay and stared at him with fury in those cold eyes. “Just how safe do you feel, Your Highness?”

“Err . . . at the moment? Not very.”

Loghain snorted in disgust and walked away several steps. He stood there, staring into the mist and bristling. “The truth,” he stated, “is they’re not going to come into the Wilds. This is savage country, and dangerous. They’d be stupid to follow us. About as stupid as we were desperate to flee this way.”

“That . . . makes me feel so much better.”

“Good.” Loghain’s calm tone was icy. “Because you’re on your own from this point.”

“You’re just going to leave me out here.”

“I got you out safely, didn’t I? You’re here, you’re alive.”

A chill ran down Maric’s spine and settled uncomfortably in his gut. “You think that’s what your father intended?”

Loghain’s eyes went wide. With two quick steps, he was on top of Maric, hauling him up off the moss and throwing him against the fungus-covered tree. Maric gasped, the wind knocked out of him, as Loghain lifted a threatening fist. It hovered, as if he wasn’t willing to actually punch Maric, but judging by the furious expression on his face, he wanted to. “You shut up about him,” Loghain hissed. “You’re the one who got him killed! You don’t get to tell me what to do. You can’t knight me to make me throw my life away for you.”

Maric coughed, trying to regain his breath. “You think I meant for any of this to happen? I didn’t want your father to die. I’m so sorry. . . .”

Loghain went rigid. “Oh, you’re sorry? You’re sorry!”

Maric saw the punch coming and closed his eyes. His chin exploded into a ball of white pain and he bit down hard on his tongue. Metallic-tasting blood filled his mouth as he collapsed on the moss below, too exhausted to put up any resistance.

“How wonderful that you’re sorry!” Loghain raged, towering over him. “I watched my father die, along with everyone he promised to protect, but how much better it is now that I know you’re sorry!” Tearing himself away, he stalked several feet off and stood there with his back turned, fists clenched at his sides.

Maric gasped and spat out blood and saliva, much of it dribbling down his chin. His jaw throbbed like it was about to fall off. Gritting his teeth and sucking back the blood welling out of his tongue, he forced himself to sit up. “I watched my mother murdered, right in front of me. And I couldn’t do a thing to stop it.”

Loghain made no sign he was even listening.

Feeling shaky and weak, Maric continued to speak. “I was running from her killers when I met you in the woods. I had no idea that you weren’t going to just throw me to the wolves once you found out who I was. I was going to go my own way, but you convinced me to follow you.” Maric held out his hands in supplication. “Why did you do that? You knew I was being chased. You knew there was danger.”

Loghain didn’t answer. He remained with his back turned, and for several minutes all he did was cut at low-hanging roots with his knife and toss them aside. Maric couldn’t tell if Loghain was ignoring him or just thinking.

Eventually Maric wiped his mouth gingerly with the back of his hand. The flow of blood had lessened, though his jaw still hurt and his ears were ringing. With effort, he pulled himself back to his feet.