Maric waited for Loghain to get near. Loghain didn’t say anything right away, but grimaced and unslung his bow, then adjusted the half-full quiver on his back. When he looked up again, he held up a single finger. “One, you have a way with words.”
“Really? You’d be the first to say that.”
Loghain ignored him, holding up a second finger. “Two, I don’t imagine my father meant for you to get away just to die like an idiot in the Wilds. Which is exactly what would happen if I didn’t help you.”
“No, I’m fine. You don’t owe me anything—”
Loghain grunted noncommittally. With a quick motion, he pulled an arrow from his quiver and fired it right past Maric’s head. Maric was so startled, he didn’t know what to think. He stepped back, and then jumped as he noticed something writhing on the tree behind him. He jumped even farther when he realized it was a shiny black snake at least as large as his arm. The arrow pierced it about a foot behind its head, staking it to the tree, where it frantically writhed.
Loghain stepped up to it, drawing his belt knife and cutting off its head with some difficulty. Angry red blood gushed from its neck, and its convulsions slowed. Yanking out the arrow, Loghain pulled the snake corpse down from the branches and turned back to Maric. “We sometimes saw these outside the Wilds. Silent Crawlers. Poisonous . . . but tasty enough if you can ignore the smell.”
“Oh,” Maric said, nonplussed.
“So I’m going to see you out of the Wilds and get you back to the rebels.” He looked at Maric sternly. “Once that’s done, we’re through. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Then no thanking me. I don’t want any reward.”
“Right.”
“And I’m not calling you ‘Your Highness.’”
“Please don’t.”
Loghain’s scowl deepened, like he had been half hoping for an argument. Since there was none forthcoming, he waved vaguely in the direction Maric had been heading. “At least you were walking in the right direction. Accidentally, I bet. Are you hungry?”
Maric eyed the long, shiny snake corpse dangling from Loghain’s hand dubiously, but his stomach growled before he could answer.
“Then let’s find something else besides a snake to eat. And a place to light a damned fire.” He brushed by Maric and headed off, not waiting to see if Maric followed.
For the next three days, the pair of them traveled the deep forests of the Korcari Wilds. It was slow going, considering that Loghain didn’t want to backtrack and was instead leading Maric west. Despite what he’d told Maric, Loghain wasn’t convinced the men after them wouldn’t follow them into the dense forest. At the very least, their pursuers might leave men stationed just outside the Wilds, hoping that he and Maric had hidden within the less dangerous fringe area and might be forced to come out soon.
Of course, that assumed they were even aware the two of them had fled into the Wilds. People had escaped the camp in all directions, and no soldier who had seen them face-to-face survived to tell of it. Still, Loghain believed in assuming the worst. Despite difficult travelling through rough terrain, he thought it best to get as far from the hills as they possibly could.
Shelter proved to be their most immediate issue. Thankfully, the Wilds were full of fallen, ancient trees, sometimes toppled in large groups that made Loghain wonder just what sort of force could do this. His mind turned to tales of dragons, but there had not been actual dragons seen south of the Waking Sea since they had been hunted to near extinction, long ago. Not that there couldn’t be other giant creatures lurking in the Wilds. Maric had heard tales of things like great savage bears as large as a house and the blue-skinned ogres with horns as long as a man’s arm. He supposed they should be just as thankful that those weren’t anywhere in evidence at the moment, either.
The fallen trees offered cover for the night, and for the first two nights, there was no rain. Loghain kept the fire going as long as he dared while Maric shivered in his sleep nearby. The fire wasn’t enough to keep the persistent mist at bay, which meant it clung to the clothes and the skin and left one feeling constantly damp and chilled. Each morning Maric had been more and more difficult to awaken, his skin pale and teeth chattering. Luckily, that was their biggest challenge—there was plenty of game to be found, and Loghain was able to detect the larger predators quickly enough to give them a wide berth.
Maric, for his part, was proving difficult to hate. He kept pace and had yet to complain, not about being hungry or exhausted or anything else. He also did as he was told and had saved himself more than once from blundering into danger by responding instantly to Loghain’s barked orders. If he had one flaw, it was the talking. The man chattered constantly and amiably about almost anything. If it wasn’t his amazement at the size of the trees, it was his assessment of the size of the Wilds or his recollection of the lore on the Chasind people that were supposed to live in the forest. Loghain listened quietly to the constant prattle, wishing nothing more than for him to shut up. After the second night, Maric became quieter and Loghain was disgusted to discover he actually missed the sound.
It must have been easy for the man to make friends, Loghain surmised. Even exhausted and half covered in filth, Maric had a natural, easy charm. As Maric was the favored son of a Queen whom Loghain’s father had all but worshipped from afar, Loghain truly wanted to despise him. He had every reason to despise him. But the truth was, he just couldn’t maintain the cold fury he had felt before, and that was almost worse than anything else.
On the third night, it rained. Freezing without a fire, Loghain and Maric huddled under an outcropping of rock, their breath coming out in plumes through chattering teeth. That night, the wolves made their appearance. Tentatively the beasts hovered nearby, gathering their courage before making any sort of attack. Several times, Loghain sent them running with a shot from his bow, only to have them edge back into sight later on. Loghain had only so many arrows and no way of making more, so he conserved what he had and used them only when there was no other choice.
By the time morning came, the wolves had decided there was less vigilant prey to be found elsewhere. Loghain was weary, chilled to the bone, and became more than a little concerned when he found Maric shivering and unable to wake up. So pale, he was almost white, Maric could at best be roused to a strange state where he uttered delirious nonsense through his chattering teeth.
Loghain built a fire, no mean feat considering that mist and rain had drenched almost everything. He dug for dead wood, searching for dry moss and twigs hidden away out of sight. And then came frustrating hours of smoke and embers, and him nearly nodding off while trying to maintain focus. When the flame finally caught, he could have jumped for joy and would have given much to listen to Maric ask twenty different questions about how he managed it.
He settled for finessing the fire into a sizable blaze. More damp wood was added, and more moss, and more sticks . . . and after those dried and caught fire, he repeated the process. Eventually he had what he needed: a crackling pyre that gave off more heat than smoke. He pulled Maric as close to the flames as he dared and sat nearby, trying to keep an eye out for the wolf pack’s return. After a time, the warm glow made his lids heavy and he fell asleep.
Loghain woke up hours later, discovering that Maric was not only already awake but also tending the fire. He was pale and shaky, but mobile. Maric nodded to Loghain, silently acknowledging his thanks with a slightly embarrassed grin, but Loghain only frowned back. “Do you have any idea how much trouble you’ve put me through?” he demanded.
Maric rubbed his arms, shivering. “I’m, uh, very happy not to be dead. And that you didn’t leave me here. To freeze.”
“The wolves would have eaten you long before you froze.”
“Well, that’s something.”
Loghain turned to leave. “I’m going to hunt, while I can. I’d appreciate it if you managed to not freeze while I’m gone. Do you think you could do that?” He didn’t wait for a response and felt pleased by Maric’s slightly injured expression.
On the fourth day, Loghain realized they were being followed.
The wolves had not returned, which was odd. After a time of having the strange sensation of being watched, he heard something out in the bushes. Whoever was out there—and he did think it was a who, since he doubted a predator would have spent so long stalking them—was skilled. Try as Loghain might, he could not spot anyone in the shadows.
He held up a hand, quieting Maric. “Don’t look now,” he muttered, “but I don’t think we’re alone any longer.”
To Maric’s credit, he didn’t look. “Are you sure?”
“Well, it is difficult to hear much with you blathering on like you do.”
“I’m not blathering!”
“Really? It’s no wonder you nearly froze to death the way you spend all your energy moving your mouth.” Their eyes glanced around nervously, without making it obvious what they were doing.
Maric made a subtle motion to his left. Loghain followed it, not quite believing that Maric could be capable of spotting something first. Then, he saw it. Just ahead, in the deep shadows between two of the taller trees, two points of light glinted at them, like a cat’s eyes as it watched you in the dark.
Like elf eyes.
“Blast!” Loghain swore, his panic catching him off guard. In a single motion, he shoved Maric to the ground and unslung the bow from his shoulder. As he dove for cover he heard an arrow whistling toward him. It sank into his shoulder with considerable force, sending him stumbling backwards with a grunt of pain.
“Loghain!” Maric shouted. He leaped up and ran to where Loghain was sprawled, gasping when he saw the arrow had passed almost completely through Loghain’s shoulder. Bright blood stained the tall grass. Looking around, his eyes wide with fear, Maric pulled out his dagger.
“Run!” Loghain rasped at him, trying to clutch at the arrow shaft and get up at the same time. But it was too late. Elves materialized out of the shadows around them, running toward them with barely a sound. They were dressed in hunting leathers, their foreheads tattooed in vivid colored patterns representing their pagan gods. The expressions in their bright alien eyes said murder. Some held bows trained while others held amber-colored ironwood blades in hand.
Maric raised his dagger, but even as he did, a thick net landed over them both. The elves were on them, grabbing at arms and legs and shouting angrily in their strange language. Loghain struggled, hissing in pain as the weight of the net forced the arrow farther through his shoulder, but it was futile. Maric thrashed in the net next to him until there was a loud thumping sound and Maric slumped to the ground. A moment later, held down by many strong hands, Logain felt something hard slam his head and he, too, slipped into darkness.
Loghain awoke to the sharp tingle of pain in his skull and a bath of heat on his face. He could hear a roaring fire nearby, a large one, and before his eyes opened, he could tell he was seated against some kind of pole with his arms tied together behind it. Was he going to be cooked, then? Roasted on a skewer over a roaring fire? Was that something elves did? It seemed unlikely, considering the arrow wound in his shoulder was now treated and bandaged. At least he was finally warm.
He opened his eyes and the light hurt.
Sure enough, he was set up before a bonfire with Maric slumped next to him. Beyond the fire was a group of long, oddly shaped covered wagons, circled in the forest clearing. Each of the wagons had a mast with one triangular sail attached to both it and an elegantly shaped piece of wood off the back, which could have passed for a rudder. Though Loghain had never encountered a landship before, he’d heard enough stories to know one when he saw it.
It was certain, then. These were Dalish elves, wanderers who had remained together in tightly knit clans ever since the destruction of the elven homeland long ago at human hands. Many elves had submitted to human rule and lived in the cities as second-class citizens, but the Dalish had refused. They had fled, and today remained aloof and hostile toward all outsiders. They worshipped strange gods and kept to the most remote lands, passing through forests that parted before them like waves on the sea, and beware the hapless traveler who encountered them unawares.
Travelers like Loghain and Maric. Loghain had no idea how much of the tales were true, as he had never so much as seen a Dalish up close before, but their ambush led credence to the rumors.