Finally, Gareth nodded. “Do your best.”
“Of course,” came the curt response.
Maric was now wearing the coat and ready. The sister hesitated and reached into her robe, taking out a dagger so wicked-looking, Maric’s eyes widened with surprise. Before he could say anything, she placed the blade in his hand and closed his fingers over it. The sister’s eyes looked into his then, and they said, May the Maker forgive us all. He nodded his thanks, feeling chilled.
Gareth readied his sword and stepped to the door, all business. “Give me one minute. Then run.”
Sister Ailis stood beside him. “I will go with you,” she said quietly. Gareth looked as if he would have preferred to argue with her, but decided against it. With a quick nod, both of them rushed out the door into the storm.
Loghain put an arm out, stopping Maric from following them, not that he had been about to. Loghain stared at the vacant door. His face was passive, but his eyes were intense, and Maric decided it was best to say nothing. Instead they waited in the dim light and listened. First they heard Gareth bellowing, his voice carrying even over the thunder and rain as he rallied the panicked outlaws to his side. There was more shouting, and Sister Ailis cried out for someone to stop, in the name of the Maker. The sound of battle erupted, coupled with cries of agony and the ring of steel on steel.
Loghain ran out the door, not saying a word, pulling Maric with him. Maric almost stumbled, but kept his footing while dashing headlong into a sheet of freezing rain. Recognizing nothing in the rain and darkness disoriented him. Something large was burning nearby, and the sound of fighting surrounded him on all sides. He then felt a pull at his coat.
“Pay attention!” Loghain snapped.
Maric barely heard him over the commotion. Though the rain obscured much, he could make out the fight at the other end of the camp. He spotted Gareth, the big man swinging his sword in wide arcs and cutting a swath through soldiers that had undoubtedly expected nothing like this kind of resistance. But the soldiers were armored, and they outnumbered the handful of men Gareth had managed to rally. It was not going to be much of a battle.
Others fled the camp in all directions, some gathering what little they could and others scrambling just to get away as they realized the extent of the assault. Several bodies lay on the ground in Maric and Loghain’s path, one of them a young woman. Maric almost tripped on her, causing Loghain to hiss in fury again.
They were running away from the main fight, but Maric could hear other soldiers ahead of them in the darkness. Out of nowhere a man appeared, dressed in chain mail and wearing an undecipherable emblem on his blue tunic. His eyes widened in surprise and he was about to shout for help, but Loghain was too quick for him and ran the man through without slowing down. Loghain pushed the soldier off his sword with his boot, the man collapsing in a gurgling heap.
“Don’t just stand there!” Loghain snapped, and Maric realized that was exactly what he was doing. He started to run forward but felt someone grab his arm from behind. Without thinking, he spun around and sank the dagger given to him by Sister Ailis into the neck of a black-bearded soldier. The man roared in surprise and pain, losing his grip, and when Maric yanked the blade out, a fountain of blood followed it. The soldier clutched uselessly at the wound, careening away, and before Maric could stab at his foe a second time, he felt himself being dragged away.
“Go! Now!” Loghain roared. The pair of them sprinted, running past several tents and directly into a clump of trees at the edge of the camp. Loghain led Maric through thick bushes, the branches slapping wetly at their faces, and as they came out into another part of the camp, they veered sharply. Avoiding an obscured scuffle not far away, they ran past two soldiers fighting to drag a screaming woman out of her tent. The soldiers did not even notice them pass, and when Maric slowed out of concern for the woman, he felt himself yanked forward again. Reluctantly, he did as he was bidden.
Two more soldiers sprang up in their path but were dispatched by Loghain with savage precision. The camp was little more than chaos and confusion. Maric heard the bloodcurdling cries behind him and the sounds of people fleeing in every direction. He heard a child wailing and men begging for help, soldiers shouting orders and giving chase. It was all he could do to avoid keeping his foot on the mud and grass, Loghain pulling him forward whenever he began to fall behind. It came as a shock when he realized that they had reached the edge of the camp. The hillside sloped down steeply into the forested valley below—and into the Korcari Wilds, the southern wilderness uninhabited by all but the savages and the most dangerous of creatures. No sane man went there.
“Why are we stopping?” Maric asked, turning back to Loghain. He shivered with cold, the merciless rain pounding down. Loghain ignored him, and Maric followed his gaze to where Gareth was fighting in the distance. He was far away, but the fire had spread enough that he could still be spotted even through the deluge. Heavily wounded and covered with blood, he had dozens of enemy soldiers surrounding him. His swings were becoming desperate. Maric knew they should continue running and not waste any opportunity, but Loghain remained still, transfixed by his father’s battle.
Then, though their vision was obscured by smoke and the rushing soldiers, they made out a defiant shout that ended abruptly: Gareth’s final cry.
Maric turned to Loghain to say something, but wasn’t sure what that might be. He said nothing. Loghain’s face was stone cold, his eyes glinting. Almost instantly, Loghain sprang to action. He grabbed Maric’s coat once again, practically pulling him off his feet as they bolted down the hill.
Loghain’s voice was icy and low. “Stay close, or I swear I’ll leave you behind.”
Maric stayed close.
3
Maric had no idea how long they continued running. Panic transformed much of their flight into a blur, and even when the sharp edge of fear had worn off, he found it difficult to get his bearings in the rain and darkness. They were deep in the Korcari Wilds now, he knew. The forest’s dangerous reputation had yet to prove itself, but it certainly looked unlike anything he had ever seen before. The giant trees twisted like they were frozen in the throes of agony, and a perpetual cold mist clung to the ground. It gave the forest an ominous feel, one that deepened the farther they ran. One of Maric’s tutors had explained the reason for the mist, something relating to one of the region’s old legends, but he couldn’t recall any of the particulars. Especially now, when it took everything he had to keep pace with the seemingly tireless Loghain. Hours of panicked running through the thick and uneven foliage had turned into exhausted trudging, and finally become a limping crawl.
Maric collapsed in a natural alcove formed by the roots at the foot of a fallen tree. It was an elder poplar, papery white and ten times as wide as himself, and some unknown force had ripped it out of the ground. Massive exposed roots snaked around the alcove like giant tentacles, and a bed of thick moss and delicate white flowers grew in the shade.
Dim light filtered down from overhead, and he could just barely make out the overcast sky through patches in the tree canopy. Had they been running the entire night? It seemed impossible that he had survived a second consecutive night fleeing through the wilderness. At least the storm had petered out a few hours before. As Maric lay there inhaling the scent of moss, sweating and gasping for air, he felt the mist settle coolly on his skin and was grateful for it.
“All spent, are you?” Loghain said with annoyance, returning from a short distance ahead. Maric suspected the man was almost as exhausted as he was. He, too, was pale and had rivulets of sweat running down his face and over his stained leather armor. Despite his heavier burden, however, he didn’t seem inclined to slow his pace. Maric was beyond caring.
“I think we lost them,” he gasped, still trying to catch his breath.
“Are you sure?” Loghain drew his belt knife and hacked viciously at one of the low-hanging root tendrils that hovered near his head. “You’re a prince, aren’t you? You’re an important person. You might have the entire Fereldan army after you. They may have unleashed a small horde of mabari hounds into the forest to sniff you down. They might even have mages scrying after you.” He strode over to where Maric lay and stared at him with fury in those cold eyes. “Just how safe do you feel, Your Highness?”
“Err . . . at the moment? Not very.”
Loghain snorted in disgust and walked away several steps. He stood there, staring into the mist and bristling. “The truth,” he stated, “is they’re not going to come into the Wilds. This is savage country, and dangerous. They’d be stupid to follow us. About as stupid as we were desperate to flee this way.”
“That . . . makes me feel so much better.”
“Good.” Loghain’s calm tone was icy. “Because you’re on your own from this point.”
“You’re just going to leave me out here.”
“I got you out safely, didn’t I? You’re here, you’re alive.”
A chill ran down Maric’s spine and settled uncomfortably in his gut. “You think that’s what your father intended?”
Loghain’s eyes went wide. With two quick steps, he was on top of Maric, hauling him up off the moss and throwing him against the fungus-covered tree. Maric gasped, the wind knocked out of him, as Loghain lifted a threatening fist. It hovered, as if he wasn’t willing to actually punch Maric, but judging by the furious expression on his face, he wanted to. “You shut up about him,” Loghain hissed. “You’re the one who got him killed! You don’t get to tell me what to do. You can’t knight me to make me throw my life away for you.”
Maric coughed, trying to regain his breath. “You think I meant for any of this to happen? I didn’t want your father to die. I’m so sorry. . . .”
Loghain went rigid. “Oh, you’re sorry? You’re sorry!”
Maric saw the punch coming and closed his eyes. His chin exploded into a ball of white pain and he bit down hard on his tongue. Metallic-tasting blood filled his mouth as he collapsed on the moss below, too exhausted to put up any resistance.
“How wonderful that you’re sorry!” Loghain raged, towering over him. “I watched my father die, along with everyone he promised to protect, but how much better it is now that I know you’re sorry!” Tearing himself away, he stalked several feet off and stood there with his back turned, fists clenched at his sides.
Maric gasped and spat out blood and saliva, much of it dribbling down his chin. His jaw throbbed like it was about to fall off. Gritting his teeth and sucking back the blood welling out of his tongue, he forced himself to sit up. “I watched my mother murdered, right in front of me. And I couldn’t do a thing to stop it.”
Loghain made no sign he was even listening.
Feeling shaky and weak, Maric continued to speak. “I was running from her killers when I met you in the woods. I had no idea that you weren’t going to just throw me to the wolves once you found out who I was. I was going to go my own way, but you convinced me to follow you.” Maric held out his hands in supplication. “Why did you do that? You knew I was being chased. You knew there was danger.”
Loghain didn’t answer. He remained with his back turned, and for several minutes all he did was cut at low-hanging roots with his knife and toss them aside. Maric couldn’t tell if Loghain was ignoring him or just thinking.
Eventually Maric wiped his mouth gingerly with the back of his hand. The flow of blood had lessened, though his jaw still hurt and his ears were ringing. With effort, he pulled himself back to his feet.
“I wish I’d known earlier, about your father,” Maric continued. “He was willing to give up his life to save me. And why? Same reason he led all those poor people, I’ll bet, when where he belonged was with the rebel army. He was a great man, even I could see that. That’s why I knighted him.” Tears welled up in his eyes, and his voice became hoarse. “My mother was great, too. Let me tell you, if I . . . If I’d had the chance to say good-bye to her, I wouldn’t have wasted it.”
Loghain did not move, or even look at him.
It was obvious nothing Maric said was going to get through to him. Maric wiped the tears from his eyes and nodded. “But I get it. I don’t expect you to stay and help me, I really don’t. You need to go back to the camp, see if . . . anyone survived. If I were you, I’d want to get back to my people. How could I not understand that?” He wiped the last smears of blood from his chin. “So . . . thank you for saving me.”
With that, he straightened the torn and wet coat and left. The boots were still his good ones, he figured. He had the dagger the sister had given him, and was not completely helpless. With a bit of luck, he could find a route back out of the forest. Maybe he would run into some passing merchant caravan. The dwarves came this far south on the way to Gwaren, didn’t they? It was a long shot, but it was better than nothing. At this point, he had little choice but to try.
Maric trudged across the treacherous terrain, leaving Loghain well behind him. The mist made traveling difficult; he couldn’t see where he was stepping most of the time, and his boots got caught between gnarled roots or in small depressions in the mud. Eventually he cut down one of the low tree branches, making himself a stick to help him find firmer ground in the mist. The forest around him seemed to be getting thicker and darker, if possible, when he realized that he really had no idea even which direction he was going. He couldn’t tell where the sun was, as he could barely see the sky. For all he knew, he could be heading farther south into the Wilds.