The Stolen Throne

They were cautious, wary of attack from the shadows, but Loghain felt reassured. So far they had not begun to search the buildings. They expected to be attacked openly, or at the very least to encounter resistance in the streets. The fact that no one was in sight was keeping them alert and on their horses for now, but he knew that would not last very long. That was all right. It didn’t have to. They just needed to get as much of the usurper’s army into the town as possible.

More of the mounted knights moved slowly into the square, and now Loghain saw a new figure: a dark-skinned old man in yellow robes. He had a long white beard and a bearing that said he was used to power. A mage, then. The chevaliers beside him were adorned with golden cloaks and fancy plumes and surrounded by the thickest array of the riders. They were concerned. Where were the rebels? He could see them asking each other. It was time for the next part of the plan to begin.

Several figures moved out of some of the buildings and began to run furtively toward the chevaliers. The horsemen wheeled on them immediately, drawing their swords and preparing for an immediate counterattack. The new figures shrieked in fear, however, and cowered before the blades. They were commoners in dirty rags, some of them splattered in blood. The chevaliers realized this quickly and relaxed their weapons, though not completely. Shouts went up along the enemy line, and the commoners were grabbed and brought before the mage and his commanders in the middle of the square.

Three women and one old man, and Loghain recognized only one of them. The young woman with the curly chestnut locks, her face covered with smudges of soot, was Rowan. She had volunteered to play what Loghain considered a risky role. Her father had nearly forbidden it, but Rowan had insisted—Loghain wasn’t the only one who should have to risk his life in these plans, she had said, glancing toward him when she said it. He had kept his eyes strictly on the ground. In the end, the Arl had relented. Maric had commented that he couldn’t remember the last time he had seen Rowan in a dress, filthy and tattered though it was.

And now she was on her knees before the dark-skinned mage as he studied her and the others who had run out with her. They were locals, fishwives and an old carpenter, who had begged Maric to let them help. Loghain had argued that only Rowan should go. What if one of these fools were to betray them? All they needed to do was blurt out that the rebels were hiding in the buildings, or collapse under the pressure. But Maric’s belief was unshakable. Let them help, he had said. It will make Rowan more believable. The Arl had agreed, and Loghain watched nervously now, wondering if they would be proved fools after all.

So far, so good. The fishwives and the old man were suitably terrified and prostrating themselves before the mage. Loghain could clearly hear them babbling about the rebels attacking and then fleeing, but they gave away nothing of the plan. Indeed, they sounded like they were trying desperately to tell the mage anything and everything they possibly could. Rowan was bowing her head, but saying nothing.

“Silence!” the mage shouted angrily, the commoners immediately quieting and prostrating themselves again. The dark-skinned mage glared back at the commanders, who were now removing their helmets and looking far more peevish than concerned. If the cowardly rebels had actually fled, they were not going to have a battle after all. “Now, one of you—only one! Tell me how it is that the rebels fled!”

Rowan looked up now, seemingly nervous but calm. “They left on the ships, ser.”

“What ships? What are you talking about, woman?”

“There were ships, many of them. They came and took them away.”

“Lies!” he roared, slapping her across the face. Loghain almost leaped out of his hiding spot right then, but controlled himself. Rowan was no wilting flower—she put on a good show, cringing from the mage in fear and holding her cheek, but Loghain knew her far better than that. “The ships all left here days ago!”

“I . . . I don’t know what to tell you, Ser Mage.” She sounded desperate. “There were ships! I don’t know who they belonged to!”

The mage seethed in rage and raised his hand to strike her again. One of the commander knights distracted him, however, stepping forward to whisper in his ear. After the two conferred for a moment, the mage seemed displeased but no longer furious. When the commander left the mage’s side, he shouted orders to the chevaliers that were still slowly riding into the town. They were in Orlesian, but Loghain understood the intent well enough and smiled. It was too easy for them to believe, after all, that the lowly rebel prince would rather run than fight.

The old mage turned back to regard Rowan once again. “Stand up,” he commanded her. Reluctantly she did so, covering her tattered dress and keeping her eyes averted.