“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.
It was quiet except for the gentle burbling of the stream as it flowed past and the occasional nervous nickering of one of the horses. A breeze rustled the nearby trees gently, and Loghain breathed deeply, taking in the smell of pine and fresh water. He felt oddly at peace. The imminent battle seemed very far away indeed.
Some of the knights kept glancing his way, their uncertainty about him noticeable despite their efforts to keep it hidden. They had to wonder who he was, Loghain thought. There had been little time for introductions, barely any chance to explain what was in store. The Arl had called for volunteers from among his most experienced men, and here they were. Volunteers, they were told, because the chances that none of them might make it back were quite high.
Why did he think this was a good plan, exactly?
One of the knights leaned toward him, an older fellow with a bushy gray mustache showing inside his helmet. “This place we’re to ride to,” he asked quietly, “do you know of it, Ser Loghain?”
“No need for the title. It’s just Loghain.”
The knight seemed surprised. “But . . . His Grace said that your father—”
“I suppose he was. I, however, am not.” Loghain looked at the man curiously. “Does that bother you? Being led by a commoner?”
The knight glanced at several of his fellows who had been listening to their exchange. He looked back at Loghain, shaking his head firmly. “If this plan will truly see Prince Maric safe,” he stated, “then I would gladly follow my own enemy into battle. I will give my life, if need be.”
“As would I,” said another, much younger knight. Others nodded their assent.
Loghain looked around at them, marveling at their determination. Perhaps their chances were not so bad, after all. “I have been through this area once before,” he told them. “Down this stream to the south, across the ridge and a plain, there is a bluff—a cliff with a broad and sharp face. It has a single narrow path leading up its side.”
“I know of it,” one of the men called out.
“When we get there, we ride up that path as fast as possible. There is a flat area up there that is defensible. If we can defend the path, we can hold it.”
“But,” the same man said uncertainly, “the rocks behind it are too steep. There’s no way out of there.”
Loghain nodded. “No, there isn’t.”
He let that sink in. Loghain was guessing the enemy would want what they thought was the Prince badly enough that they wouldn’t just give up and ride back to attack the rest of the rebel force. So he and the Arl’s volunteers had to make this look good. Gradually, the murmuring among the men quieted and they returned to waiting for the enemy to show their faces. There was nothing else they could do, after all.
Fortunately, it didn’t take long.
When the first soldier poked his face out of the trees, Loghain unleashed an arrow. He hit the man in the shoulder when he could just as easily have taken him in the throat, since he wanted the man to run and panic—and he did.
More soldiers followed within moments. Many of the knights around Loghain were armed as he was, and the twang of bowstrings was followed by men shouting in pain and falling. The horses stomped nervously in the water, backing away from the bank.
Now the counterattack began as the enemy realized what was awaiting them. Rather than charging blindly out of the trees onto the bank, they began assembling just inside cover. The din of many feet and shouts resounded through the forest like an approaching storm. As arrows drilled through the air toward them, the knights raised their shields against the angry torrent.
“Your Highness,” one of the knights bellowed loudly toward Loghain, “we need to get you to safety!”
“Protect the Prince!” another shouted.
“South!” Loghain raised his sword up high. “Follow me!” With that he turned and sped his horse to the south, splashing water loudly as the other knights followed suit. Even above it all, however, Loghain heard cries from the enemy of “It’s the Prince!” and louder cries of “After them!”
More arrows streaked by, a hornet’s swarm of angry projectiles that began to come faster and faster as Loghain and the knights raced down the stream. The purple cloak billowed in his wake. One of the men directly behind him shouted out in pain and fell from his horse, splashing awkwardly into the stream. Racing for their lives, the other knights could do nothing but leap over him or go around.
The water was just high enough to slow them. They didn’t want to go too fast—they wanted the enemy to see them and pursue, after all—but the arrows were coming in too great a volume. The sound of the mass of men behind them was growing too quickly. What if the scouts’ estimates had been wrong? “Faster!” Loghain cried.
Another man fell, screaming, as they reached the ridge. Here the stream turned and a steep embankment had formed. Loghain raced up the side, urging his horse to greater exertions as an arrow sang by his ear. For a moment his mount struggled and slowed jarringly on the way up the ridge, and then almost painfully reached the top and leaped forward.
“Follow me!” Loghain shouted to the men behind him.
Like a wave crashing against a wall, they surged up the side of the ridge. The water churned under their hooves as the horses struggled, and not far behind them the enemy spilled out of the forest and into the stream in hot pursuit. They had no riders of their own, thankfully, but they were hardly slow. Now that they were in the open, they could move more rapidly.
Whipping his horse almost until it bled, Loghain led the charge across the open plain. The bluff was in sight, a long cliff along the edge of the rockier hills that marked the southern tip of the valley. He saw the path they needed, as well, and at the same time spotted a group of enemy soldiers coming out of the trees ahead. They were scouts, he assumed, or were part of the enemy’s broader lines. They were in heavy leathers and moderately armed, and spun about to face the approaching line.
Well, Loghain thought, if they truly intend to stand in the way of charging horses, best give them what they deserve. He let out a cry of attack, raising his blade once again, and sped directly toward the enemy. The knights responded to his cry and followed.
There was a thunder of hooves and war cries as they landed with full force upon the soldiers. For a moment it seemed to Loghain as if time moved at a crawl. He watched the horror dawning on their faces, saw how some of them in the back scrambled too late to get back into the trees. He saw his own horse crush one of them underfoot, an unfortunate man who went down without a single word. A sword slash opened the throat of a soldier to his right, before the man could swing his own blade, and blood fountained out.
And then everything was moving fast again. Men screamed in pain, bones crunched, and steel rang on steel. Loghain struck at several men with his blade, but all too quickly, he was past and riding onward to the path. The rest of his men were busy overriding the enemy behind him; he didn’t even need to look to know it was so.
It felt good, though it didn’t negate the fact that the army hot on their tails was a great deal larger than anyone could have expected.