The Stolen Throne

“Come,” the Arl said, “let us move inside. Whatever tale you have will need to wait. You’ve come at an awkward moment, truth be told, and not a minute too soon.” He stepped to the large red tent immediately behind him and held open the flap. Wilhelm brushed inside imperiously, as if the honor should have been his to begin with. Truly, Maric had never understood why Rendorn put up with such behavior from a man who was technically a retainer, hired from the Circle of Magi. The Arl, however, appeared to be more amused than offended by Wilhelm’s antics.

That amusement disappeared instantly, however, when he saw Loghain approach. He put up a hand to stop Loghain from entering the tent. “Hold now, who’s this?”

Loghain paused, regarding the Arl’s hand with a raised brow. “It’s Loghain,” he said. “Loghain Mac Tir.”

“He came with me,” Maric offered helpfully.

The Arl narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “I’ve never heard of you. Or your family.”

“There’s no reason you should.” The two men locked eyes, bristling. Maric stepped forward between the two, putting up his hands to halt any imminent escalation.

“Loghain helped me,” Maric told Rendorn, keeping his tone restrained. “He’s the reason I’m here, Your Grace. If it hadn’t been for him and his father, I . . . well, I probably wouldn’t have made it at all.”

Arl Rendorn paused, digesting this before nodding to Loghain. “If that’s true, then it’s greatly appreciated. You’ve done a great service, and I’ll see to it you’re rewarded.”

“I’m not interested in any reward.”

“As you wish.” With a frown, the Arl turned to Maric. “I need to speak with you, lad, and it’s not a discussion to be held in front of any commoners—especially men we don’t know.” He bowed politely to Loghain. “No offense, ser.”

“None taken,” Loghain growled.

Rendorn turned to enter the tent, considering the matter closed, but Maric interposed himself in front of him. “He’s not a commoner!”

The Arl looked startled by Maric’s vehemence. So did Rowan, who quietly raised her eyebrows from a step away. Even Loghain looked at Maric as if he might have been slightly mad. “He’s the son of a knight,” Maric insisted. “A man who died in my service. He’s also saved my life more than once, and I will see him treated accordingly.”

Rowan’s father glowered at Maric, the moment thick with tension. He turned an appraising eye toward Loghain, who looked like he felt compelled to speak but wasn’t sure quite what to say. Instead, he met the Arl’s stare with a simple shrug and the slightest hint of an insolent grin.

“Fine,” Rendorn snapped. “I’ve no time to argue.” He held the flap open and let Loghain and the others through, then followed them inside. The golem stood silent guard beside the entrance.

The tent’s interior was dominated by the worn table around which Maric’s mother had gathered the Arl and her other commanders. Significantly, the large chair she had occupied for as long as Maric could remember stood vacant. He tried not to stare at it.

“The usurper’s men are marching on us as we speak,” Arl Rendorn announced as soon as the tent flap was closed. They did not sit down. “Our situation is desperate. They know where we are and managed to almost surround us before we became aware of their approach.”

“Magic,” Wilhelm’s hawklike face twisted into a disapproving scowl. “The usurper has gone to great lengths to plan this attack.”

“Plan?” Rowan frowned. “But how could he have known we would still be here? You would already have left if I hadn’t insisted we look for Maric.”

The Arl shrugged. “Perhaps they expected us to do just that. Or perhaps someone told them we intended to remain where we were.”

“There’s no shortage of Fereldans willing to sell us out,” Maric sighed. “That’s what got my mother killed, after all.”

“There is a plan,” the Arl stated. “Now that you’re here, lad, we have hope. All is not lost. They haven’t surrounded us completely. If we leave now, take only a small number of men with us, and use Wilhelm’s magic to our advantage, we can slip out of this noose before it tightens.”

“And what of the army?” Maric asked.

Rowan nodded gravely, already in agreement with her father. “It’s lost.” She put her hand on Maric’s shoulder. “It’s already lost. It’s you we need to get out, Maric. The royal line rests with you.”

“No! We can’t abandon the army! That’s madness!”

“We can rebuild the army again, just as your mother did,” the Arl sighed heavily. “The fact that Rowan found you just in time is a sign from the Maker. We need to take you away from here before it is too late.”

“No!” Maric paced angrily, staring at Rowan and her father in outrage. “I can’t believe what I’m hearing! I didn’t come here just to lose my mother’s entire army! We have to do something!”

“There’s nothing to be done, lad,” the Arl said gently. “We’ve got two groups bearing down on us, one from the north and a larger force coming through the forest in the east. They’ve got us cornered. If we try to withdraw, they’ll be on our flank. There’s no way.”