They raised their blades, setting their jaws and ignoring the screaming. They were preparing to do as their commander bade, and Maric saw that this time they would act together.
Rage welled up inside him. The thought of his head decorating some pole outside of the royal palace in Denerim, right next to his mother’s, passed through his mind. The thought of Meghren smugly laughing to see him up there. This was how it ended? After everything he had accomplished? His friends dead, the rebellion defeated? It was all for nothing?
Maric raised his blade high over his head and let out a cry of fury. It rang through the trees and startled a flock of birds into sudden flight. Let them come. Let them try. He would take as many of them with him as he could; they would respect the Theirin name.
The soldiers appeared unnerved. They readied their blades . . . and paused.
A new sound grew behind them, the sound of hoofbeats approaching. Maric glanced up, sweat dripping into his eyes, and saw two horses racing through the shadowy trees. More of their fellows, perhaps? Did they really need more? It seemed like they had plenty.
The handsome commander turned irritably toward the noise, raising a hand as if to wave the new arrivals away—and then an arrow sped out of the shadows and struck him dead in the chest. He stared down at the protruding shaft in confusion, as if its presence were unthinkable.
The horses slid to a halt in the mud and leaves while their riders leaped from their saddles. Maric strained to see through the shadows. One was in heavy armor, a female figure that began dashing toward the soldiers. The second was in leathers, carrying a longbow, and let another arrow fly as soon as he hit the ground. It streaked through the air and struck the Orlesian commander in the eye. The commander was knocked backwards by the force of the strike, dead even as he hit the ground.
Relief washed through Maric. There was no question who they were.
“Maric! Are you all right?” Loghain shouted, loosing another arrow that just barely missed one of the other soldiers. Rowan burst toward them, swinging her sword in a wide arc that one soldier just barely parried, the force of her blow knocking him off balance. The enemy broke apart in confusion.
“Do I look all right?” Maric shouted back. “What are you doing here? Where’s the army!” The enemy split up their efforts, and the chaos was more than Maric could follow. He found himself fighting two soldiers at once, their initial rush almost overwhelming him immediately. They were trying hard to strike him down as quickly as they could, their blows clanging against Maric’s blade and numbing his arm.
“We’re saving you, you dolt!” came Rowan’s shout from nearby. Maric was peripherally aware of her fighting several men at once but he couldn’t actually see what she was doing. Winning, from the sounds of it, though he wondered how long she would be able to keep that up. Longer than he could, he feared.
A blade stabbing into his collarbone snapped him back to reality. Maric cried out in pain and knocked the sword aside, but both the men on him pressed their advantage.
“Maric!” came Loghain’s concerned shout. Another arrow flew through the air, and one of Maric’s attackers screamed in pain, clutching at something impaled in his back. He fell to the ground, squirming. The other attacker stared in shock at his comrade, and Maric used the opening to run him through. It took all Maric’s strength and several heaves as bright blood gushed in waves from the soldier’s mouth.
He fell backwards to the ground, taking Maric’s sword with him. Maric stumbled, almost falling on top of him, but managing to land on one knee. His wounded leg threatened to buckle completely.
Maric looked up, his hands shaking with exhaustion, and saw Rowan and Loghain battling furiously against four soldiers nearby. Loghain had dropped his bow and come to Rowan’s aid, but these last few opponents were fighting for their lives. Blade clashed loudly against blade. Maric wanted desperately to help them, but it was all he could do to stop himself from passing out.
Maric looked up as he heard more men approaching. His hopes fell as he saw several soldiers in the usurper’s colors coming into the forest, pointing and shouting angrily, drawing their swords as they realized what was happening.
“Maric!” Rowan shouted, fear creeping into her voice. “Run while you can! We can’t hold them back!”
Gathering his strength, he limped over toward the soldier he had run through and yanked his sword out with great effort. He could barely hold the blade up, however, and almost fell backwards as it finally came free from the corpse. He had almost no strength left. But he was not going to run away and leave his friends behind. Not while he had a breath left in him.
Rowan finally bypassed the defenses of one of her opponents, slicing open his neck with a swing of her sword. Blood sprayed out as he stumbled to the side, gagging, and she turned to another. Loghain was gritting his teeth and holding his own, but it was inevitable that the three soldiers running their way would quickly overwhelm them both.
“Maric! Go!” Loghain shouted urgently.
“No!” Maric cried. He pushed himself to his feet with pure effort, his legs shaking. He heard the sound of another horse approaching and looked up, expecting fully to see another Orlesian arriving. However, the cloaked and hooded rider didn’t dismount and join others. Instead, the horse rode directly at them without slowing down. The three soldiers realized belatedly that this new arrival was not one of their own, turning in surprise just as the rearmost man was trampled. He went down screaming.
The second soldier tried to leap to the side, but there was nowhere to go except into the nearby trees. He dived down only to be trampled by the horse as well. His horrid screams were quickly cut off.
The third soldier successfully scrambled out of the horse’s path. The horse stopped and reared up, neighing loudly as the cloaked rider slid off its back. Maric realized it was a woman, wearing a blue hood and black leathers, and when she pulled a long dagger from a scabbard and leaped on top of the third soldier, the hood fell back and revealed pointed ears and a mass of curly blond hair.
It was Katriel.
Maric watched in shock as Katriel quickly stabbed the soldier beneath her. The man desperately tried to fend her off, but his efforts became feebler as each strike hit home. Raising the blade high, she sank it into the soldier’s neck and cut open his throat. Blood splattered across her cloak and ran down her hand from the dagger. The look on her face was intense and vicious.
As the last three men fighting Rowan and Loghain realized their reinforcements had been run down, they began to panic. Rowan intensified her efforts and disarmed one, sending his sword flying as she spun about and cut off his arm. Loghain turned and kicked his opponent toward her, and she obliged by letting the man impale himself on her blade.
The last soldier turned and ran deeper into the forest, screaming in panic. Loghain grimaced and tossed his bloody sword aside. He casually unslung his longbow and notched an arrow, tracking the man as he fled. The shot sped past the trees, cleanly lodging deep into the soldier’s back. He grunted and fell, sliding through the mud and leaves before coming to a stop and not rising again.
And then everything was eerily quiet again.
Rowan wiped her sweaty brow, her breathing heavy and ragged. Loghain turned toward her, putting a hand on her shoulder as he looked to see if she was uninjured. She only nodded and gestured toward Maric. “Never mind me,” she gasped.
Maric was stunned. Katriel was still seated on top of the man she had slain, jagged knife still in her hand. She looked around warily, as if searching for more attackers to spring out of the shadows. Overhead, a flock of birds startled into flight from the treetops. Dead bodies were everywhere, the smell of fresh blood thick in the air.
“Katriel?” Maric asked out loud, his voice shaky.
“Your Highness.” She nodded carefully, staring at him with her green eyes. She replaced the dagger in the sheath at her waist and stood up slowly, collecting her blue cloak around her.
“Didn’t I say . . . not to call me that? . . .” Maric grinned madly, feeling light-headed. The sense of numbness and distance had returned, and it felt as if Loghain and Rowan and Katriel were all staring at him from an absurdly long ways away. His strength drained from him, as if someone had opened up the spigot and let it flow.
He fainted.
“Maric!” Rowan shouted, running toward him as he went limp and fell to the mud. He was heavily wounded and pale, the broken arrow jutting out of his thigh looking particularly grave. When Rowan reached him, she realized quickly he was still breathing. He was shaking and had lost a lot of blood, but he was alive.
“Is he . . . ?” Loghain asked, almost fearing to go closer.
Rowan shook her head. “No. Not yet.”
Katriel stepped away from the soldier she had slain and approached Rowan. She unslung a small pack from her shoulder and offered it up. “I have bandages, and some salves,” she said quietly. “They may be of help.”
Rowan looked at her suspiciously but took the pack. “Thank you,” she said reluctantly. She tugged off her gauntlets and began rummaging.
Loghain stared at Katriel curiously as he went to retrieve his sword. She seemed to feel his gaze and regarded him in return, her eyes betraying nothing of her thoughts. “Did you have a question, my lord?”
“I’m wondering how you got here.”
She gestured toward the many horses that remained among the trees, some of which were already wandering away nervously. “Did you not see me arrive?”
“I simply find your arrival . . . convenient.”
She appeared unfazed by the question. “I did not arrive here by chance, my lord. I overheard these men talking about their attack on the Prince, but it was too late for me to send a message. I followed them out after the gate opened.” She glanced to where Maric lay, her concern evident. “I must confess I wasn’t certain what I would do. His Highness is most fortunate that you were here to defend him.”
Rowan stood up and interrupted. “Maric will recover, but Loghain, we need to get back. Who knows what could be happening?”
Loghain looked at Katriel. “Did you see anything on your way here?”
“Only that the battle had begun.”
“Damn. Then we will need to move quickly.”
Maric was slung over the back of Loghain’s warhorse, and the three of them raced back toward West Hill. It was not difficult to see which direction it lay in: already a great cloud of black smoke could be seen rising into the sky. It seemed as if an entire forest was burning, or perhaps it was the fortress itself. Magical fire was the likely culprit, though whether it was Wilhelm’s doing or more of the usurper’s mages’ was impossible to tell.