The Stolen Throne

“No,” Maric repeated. “We fight!”

“That is the fool’s path,” Wilhelm sneered.

Rowan walked gingerly toward Maric, shaking her head sadly. “Maric, there’s no point in fighting. You would just die!”

“Then I die.” His voice was firm.

The Arl waved his hand dismissively. “No. I understand that you’re trying to be brave, lad. But this is the time for discretion.”

Maric set his jaw. “And I understand what you’re getting at, Your Grace, but that’s not your decision.”

Arl Rendorn turned now, regarding with Maric with growing rage. “Not my decision? I lead this army!”

“My army,” Maric insisted. “Or don’t you follow your king?”

“I don’t see a king here.” The Arl seethed. “I see a boy who’s trying to be brave! Queen Moira would have understood. She would have left these men, if she had to, for the rebellion to live on!”

“She’s dead!” Maric slammed his fist down on the table, hard. “And I would rather die beside these men than abandon them to save my own skin! I won’t do it!”

“Don’t be stubborn! There’s no point in fighting just to lose!”

“Then win,” Loghain suddenly blurted out.

His interruption was unexpected enough that even Arl Rendorn stared in surprise. Rowan arched a brow curiously as Loghain came forward, his expression annoyed. “Don’t stay and lose,” he repeated. “Stay and win.”

Rowan held out her hands helplessly. “We can’t. It isn’t that simple!”

“Why?” Loghain frowned at her. “Because he told you so?”

The Arl stiffened. “I know what I’m talking about.”

“I don’t doubt it.” Loghain crossed his arms, watching the Arl. “But my father stayed one step ahead of people like you for years by doing the unexpected.”

“And I understand your father is dead.”

“Our camp was surrounded, just like your army. If we’d had half the warning you have, had half the equipment, had any of the magic, my father would have seen us through it!” His tone was iron-hard. “I know it.”

The Arl shook his head. “No, you’re wrong.”

“You have advantages you don’t even know about. Trust me, you can win.”

Maric took a step toward Loghain, hope creeping across his face. “Do you have an idea?”

Loghain paused, his eyes darting uncertainly among Arl Rendorn, Rowan, and Maric, as if he’d just realized they all were, in fact, paying attention to him. For a moment it seemed he might back down, but then Maric saw it in those icy blue eyes: resolve.

“Yes.” Loghain nodded. “I do.”

5

Loghain glanced uncomfortably at the knights who had been assigned to his command, once again wondering just how he had allowed himself to end up here. Thirty mounted men in heavy plate armor, each with more combat experience in the last year than he had in his life, and he was supposed to lead them?

It served him right for suggesting a plan in the first place. If he had been smart, he would have kept his fool mouth shut after that and been on his way. But the more Loghain had listened to Arl Rendorn and Maric argue about who would play the most important role in the plan, the more irritated he had become. Finally he’d thrown his hands up in disgust and volunteered to play the role himself, if only to get the two of them to stop arguing.

Maric thought the idea a brilliant one. That really should have told Loghain right then that the whole enterprise was doomed to failure.

Even so, there he was, ready to play his part. Loghain wore a fine linen shirt, shining boots, and a helmet to hide his black hair. His heavy purple cloak had once belonged to the Rebel Queen, a signature garment he felt awkward wearing. The leathers he wore were lined with black velvet and almost too tight to wear, but they were the only trousers Maric owned that would fit. He had never worn such expensive, impractical clothing in his life, but it was necessary.

Loghain and the knights kept their horses calm, staying in the middle of a shallow stream as they waited for the enemy to arrive. The scouts Arl Rendorn had sent out reported the bulk of the force approaching from the east would come this way, and that they would see the enemy coming out of the trees along the stream’s bank. Loghain planned to make them believe they saw Prince Maric fleeing his army escorted by a small unit of his fastest and most heavily armed knights. To pass as Maric, Loghain figured he just needed to look important from a distance. With any luck, the enemy would see the purple cloak and his finery and assume that Arl Rendorn was doing exactly what he had intended to do: send Maric to safety.

So, Loghain’s job was to draw the eastern part of the attacking army away. Then the bulk of the rebel army would be able to deal with the northern attackers without also getting attacked from behind.

And after that? Well, Loghain hoped they would be in a position to come to his rescue. Because he would need one, without question. And that was assuming everything went according to plan, which, as his father had always said, was unheard of in any battle. How did I end up here? he asked himself. The truth was that he had no good answer.