The Stolen Throne

“Describe these ships,” he snapped.

“They were large,” she stammered. “They had a picture on their sails, like some sort of golden beast. I . . . didn’t get a very close look.”

“A golden beast? Was it a drake?”

“I think so, Ser Mage.” Rowan dropped her head low. “They were not here long.”

The mage stroked his chin thoughtfully. Loghain could almost see the calculations running through the man’s head. Golden drakes were the symbol of Calabria, a nation far to the north. The idea of an alliance between Calabria and the rebels was unlikely, but enough to give even him pause.

The Orlesian commanders were conferring among themselves, and after a long minute, they turned and spoke quietly to the mage. He nodded reluctantly, and more orders were shouted. These, too, Loghain could understand in spirit. Stand down your guard. Search the town for supplies. Send someone up to the manor

. They were the orders he would have given in their stead, had he been as eager as they to walk blindly into the town to begin with. The chevaliers were already visibly relaxing, chatting in their foreign tongue as they started to spread out. Many began moving farther into the square, calling for the supply wagons to set up tents.

It wouldn’t be long now.

Satisfied, the mage turned back to Rowan. He smiled lasciviously and held out his hand before him. Raw power coalesced around him, the air crackling with energy, causing the other commoners to scramble away from him in terror. Rowan looked up, standing her ground, and the energy surged toward her. It curled around her like tendrils, lifting her up off the ground while holding her still. She did not struggle, but instead kept her face stony and calm.

The mage stepped close, brushing some dirt off her dress just above her breasts. Rowan recoiled from his touch, eliciting a delighted leer from him. “My,” he said admiringly, “rather pretty for a common little mutt, no? It is sad that the rebels did not take you with them when they left.”

His hand stroked across one of Rowan’s breasts, and she violently spat in his face. The mage paused, nonplussed, and wiped the spittle from his cheek. The tendrils of energy tightened around Rowan. She hissed in fury but still did not struggle against the mage’s spell.

“Brave,” he said, his tone a mixture of amusement and contempt. “And fiery, too. I cannot say that I mind this at all.” Almost casually he struck her with a backhand slap, hard across her face. “But you must learn your manners.” He chuckled.

The mage turned away from Rowan, rubbing his hand, when suddenly he stared with shock at his chest. An arrow had sprouted there, the dark stain of blood already spreading on his yellow robes. He turned to look helplessly at an Orlesian chevalier who stood nearby, and as the two stared at each other in quiet horror, another two arrows flew toward the mage. One narrowly missed him, and another lodged in his throat. He went down gurgling, clutching at the arrow uselessly.

“Now! Attack now!” It was Maric shouting, leaping out of the bakery window with his sword held high. The archers beside him were already firing into the chevalier lines, and more men were running after him. The rest of the rebels suddenly sprang into action, spilling out of their hiding places throughout the square.

This wasn’t the plan. It was too soon! Damn you, Maric! Loghain swore. With a sharp wave of his hand, he called the Night Elves beside him to action. They began firing into the gathered crowd, trying to protect Maric as he charged madly toward Rowan. One armored knight turned to skewer Maric as he passed, only to fall as Loghain placed an arrow neatly into the flesh near the base of his helmet.

In the erupting chaos, a great roar of noise could be heard outside the square. Loghain was sure Arl Rendorn was charging the rear flank, closing off those within the square from reinforcement. There was no way the enemy would have committed their entire force to walking into Gwaren, so they’d planned to lure as many enemy soldiers inside as possible before bisecting their line and blocking the narrow main street that led to the square.

Had they waited long enough? Loghain watched Maric carefully as the man finally reached Rowan in the great melee. She had been released from the spell and was crouched low, and when Maric drew near, he tossed her a blade. The first thing she did was use it to stab the gasping mage on the ground, sinking the point deep in his chest. She even put her weight into it, causing blood to gush from the mage’s mouth as he groaned in agony. Maric stared at Rowan in momentary shock, but was forced to deal with two knights who suddenly rushed at him from behind.