The Stolen Throne

“I wish I’d known earlier, about your father,” Maric continued. “He was willing to give up his life to save me. And why? Same reason he led all those poor people, I’ll bet, when where he belonged was with the rebel army. He was a great man, even I could see that. That’s why I knighted him.” Tears welled up in his eyes, and his voice became hoarse. “My mother was great, too. Let me tell you, if I . . . If I’d had the chance to say good-bye to her, I wouldn’t have wasted it.”

Loghain did not move, or even look at him.

It was obvious nothing Maric said was going to get through to him. Maric wiped the tears from his eyes and nodded. “But I get it. I don’t expect you to stay and help me, I really don’t. You need to go back to the camp, see if . . . anyone survived. If I were you, I’d want to get back to my people. How could I not understand that?” He wiped the last smears of blood from his chin. “So . . . thank you for saving me.”

With that, he straightened the torn and wet coat and left. The boots were still his good ones, he figured. He had the dagger the sister had given him, and was not completely helpless. With a bit of luck, he could find a route back out of the forest. Maybe he would run into some passing merchant caravan. The dwarves came this far south on the way to Gwaren, didn’t they? It was a long shot, but it was better than nothing. At this point, he had little choice but to try.

Maric trudged across the treacherous terrain, leaving Loghain well behind him. The mist made traveling difficult; he couldn’t see where he was stepping most of the time, and his boots got caught between gnarled roots or in small depressions in the mud. Eventually he cut down one of the low tree branches, making himself a stick to help him find firmer ground in the mist. The forest around him seemed to be getting thicker and darker, if possible, when he realized that he really had no idea even which direction he was going. He couldn’t tell where the sun was, as he could barely see the sky. For all he knew, he could be heading farther south into the Wilds.

As he stood there, scratching his head in confusion, he heard steps behind him. He turned to find Loghain approaching. Maric had to admit that he had never felt quite so relieved to see anyone, especially Loghain in his formidable leather armor, stepping as easily in the mist as he might have on even ground. The man certainly didn’t look happy. Those icy blue eyes glared at Maric as if to say, I’m going to regret this.

Maric waited for Loghain to get near. Loghain didn’t say anything right away, but grimaced and unslung his bow, then adjusted the half-full quiver on his back. When he looked up again, he held up a single finger. “One, you have a way with words.”

“Really? You’d be the first to say that.”

Loghain ignored him, holding up a second finger. “Two, I don’t imagine my father meant for you to get away just to die like an idiot in the Wilds. Which is exactly what would happen if I didn’t help you.”

“No, I’m fine. You don’t owe me anything—”

Loghain grunted noncommittally. With a quick motion, he pulled an arrow from his quiver and fired it right past Maric’s head. Maric was so startled, he didn’t know what to think. He stepped back, and then jumped as he noticed something writhing on the tree behind him. He jumped even farther when he realized it was a shiny black snake at least as large as his arm. The arrow pierced it about a foot behind its head, staking it to the tree, where it frantically writhed.

Loghain stepped up to it, drawing his belt knife and cutting off its head with some difficulty. Angry red blood gushed from its neck, and its convulsions slowed. Yanking out the arrow, Loghain pulled the snake corpse down from the branches and turned back to Maric. “We sometimes saw these outside the Wilds. Silent Crawlers. Poisonous . . . but tasty enough if you can ignore the smell.”

“Oh,” Maric said, nonplussed.

“So I’m going to see you out of the Wilds and get you back to the rebels.” He looked at Maric sternly. “Once that’s done, we’re through. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Then no thanking me. I don’t want any reward.”

“Right.”

“And I’m not calling you ‘Your Highness.’”

“Please don’t.”

Loghain’s scowl deepened, like he had been half hoping for an argument. Since there was none forthcoming, he waved vaguely in the direction Maric had been heading. “At least you were walking in the right direction. Accidentally, I bet. Are you hungry?”

Maric eyed the long, shiny snake corpse dangling from Loghain’s hand dubiously, but his stomach growled before he could answer.

“Then let’s find something else besides a snake to eat. And a place to light a damned fire.” He brushed by Maric and headed off, not waiting to see if Maric followed.