Asunder

by David Gaider

  "She did. She's been taken to safety." Evangeline breathed a sigh of relief. One less thing to worry about, then. "I want to thank you," Leliana said. "I should have been here. If something had happened to Justinia while I was away, I would never have forgiven myself."

  "I understand."

  "Her Eminence is extremely grateful as well, I want you to know that. If there is ever anything you need . . ."

  Evangeline nodded, but couldn't bring herself to do more. Satisfied, Leliana squeezed her shoulder and then left. Already more templars were arriving. Order was being restored. Taking a deep breath, she got to her feet and straightened her armor. Despite the healing magic, it still felt as if her bones were covered in bruises and her lungs filled with soot.

  Magic can't do everything, she reminded herself.

  Chapter 3

  Rhys sat in the Knight- Commander's antechamber, waiting for the inevitable summons into his private office. It was a bare room of grey stone, furnished only with a pair of wooden chairs, little to recommend it beyond the enormous bay window that dominated the far wall. From there one could look down at the entirety of Val Royeaux, even as far as the port district at the sea's edge. It was a spectacular view of the capital, one that few mages got to see; they were rarely invited into the upper levels of the White Spire— unless something had gone wrong, of course.

  Which it had. None of the templars would actually say what had happened, but their grim faces spoke volumes. There had been another murder.

  He glanced over at Adrian, grinning as she stormed from one end of the small room to the other. Back and forth, back and forth, like she was just getting going when a wall balked her and forced her to turn around. Then she would spit angrily and glare at the Knight- Commander's great oaken door, as if willpower alone could command it to open. In all the years they'd served together in the Circle of Magi, he'd never known her to back down from a confrontation, imagined or real. Some people said it wasn't very mage- like of her, a comment that could get her frothing at the mouth.

  Rhys tended to chuckle at those remarks. What was a mage supposed to be like, anyhow? He knew what the common folk out side the tower thought. If they were kind, they'd say a mage was a thin old man with a white beard who spent all his time surrounded by scrolls and books. If they were unkind, then a mage was a sinister- looking fellow with black hair and a pointed beard, someone who lurked in shadows summoning demons whenever the templars weren't actively preventing him from doing so.

  Adrian was about as far from their idea of a mage as it was possible to be. She was tiny, for one, with a shock of red curls and freckles that still made her look like a child even though she was only a few years younger than Rhys, and he was rapidly approaching his fortieth. She despised such comparisons, and only Rhys could get away with the occasional teasing. If she was in a good mood. Plus, she swore like a fishwife.

  Come to think of it, Rhys wasn't all that mage- like himself. Adrian said he was too handsome, a comment that always made him laugh. He did think the grey that was starting to show in his beard was terribly distinguished, but it didn't cause women to swoon as he passed. That he noticed. Beyond that, Rhys was terrible at lurking in shadows, and not what most people would consider "scholarly." He'd done a great deal of field research in his time, but locking himself into a library and staring at books until his eyes became tiny was far from his idea of a good time. Not unlike being summoned to the Knight- Commander's office.

  It made him angry. Both he and Adrian were senior enchanters; having served the Circle of Magi faithfully in the de cades since their Harrowing made them mages in full . . . but here they might as well have still been apprentices for all the consideration that got them today.

  "This is bullshit," Adrian swore. As always, she was far more willing to show her rage than Rhys. She stopped pacing for a moment and shot him a scathing look that said Why aren't you doing something?

  "You're cute when you get like this."

  "You want to see cute? How about I set this room on fire? I wonder just how cute you'd think I was then."

  He chuckled lightly. "Well, I' d still think it was cute. The templars, on the other hand, might not agree."

  "It would bring them running," she fumed. "I'm tired of being ignored."

  "Well, why don't you tell them? They’re right in there, after all."

  "You think I won't?" She spun around to face the office door. "We've been waiting over an hour! They can't treat us like this!"

  Rhys didn't know whether to laugh or be horrified, and settled for a little of both. "Maker's breath, woman! Calm down, will you? You know why they've brought us up here. Don't plant more ideas in their heads."

  "You think those ideas aren't already there? They’ve decided that one of us is guilty. Now they're just trying to prove it." She marched over to the empty chair beside him and sat down. Then immediately leapt back up, as if sitting was a concession she wasn't willing to make just yet. "For all they know, it could be a templar doing these murders! Have they considered that? Who else has keys to the dungeons?"

  Rhys sighed, rubbing his temples. It was, of course, only the fifth time in the last hour that Adrian had mentioned her favorite theory, as if he were the one who needed convincing. "You're giving me a headache with all the yelling, you know that?" he complained.

  "You're as mad as I am, admit it."

  "If you mean mad as in crazy, then certainly. We're both of us completely insane." He gave her a sly wink, and though she rolled her eyes, she also chuckled ruefully. It worked to calm her down a little, as it always did. "I heard not all the victims were in the dungeons, actually. One of them was an apprentice."

  "You don't mean Jolen, do you? I thought he failed his Harrowing."

  "That's what everyone thought, but I overheard some templars talking about it in the courtyard a few days ago. They mentioned Jolen by name."

  "They talk where you can hear them?"

  He winked at her. "You'd be amazed at this spell I know that involves looking really busy while actually listening. It's amazing, and works even on templars."

  She ignored his jest, tapping her chin thoughtfully. "Jolen was doing so poorly with his lessons. Enchanter Adria said all he wanted to do that last week was hide in his cell, he was that terrified of his Harrowing. When he didn't appear as a Tranquil, I just assumed . . ."

  "So did I." He nodded. It wasn't unusual for apprentices to simply vanish. The templars gathered you for your Harrowing in the middle of the night, without warning. Succeed at the test and you were a mage in full. Fail and you were dead. If you refused the test, you were put through the Rite of Tranquility and rendered an emotionless neuter. It was a preferable fate for some, but Rhys found that hard to believe— he couldn't get near a Tranquil without shuddering. He would rather be dead than spend the rest of his life looking at the world through those dead eyes.

  When someone failed their Harrowing, however, the rest of the mages weren't told. The apprentice was just gone. It happened frequently, and considering a mage's life was never his own— you could be transferred to another Circle or whisked off to some duty assigned by the Chantry without so much as a by- your- leave— one became accustomed to people coming and going. You didn't question it. There could have been many more murders than any of the mages suspected, and only the templars would know for sure.

  "They should tell us." She seethed, her thoughts obviously mirroring his own. "They should at least tell the First Enchanter. They can't keep us in the dark forever."

  "I suspect they would argue otherwise."

  He fully expected Adrian to explode once again, but instead she looked pensive. She turned and walked toward the bay window, staring out at the city below. He knew what she was thinking. He'd taken his Harrowing almost twenty years ago, and since then he'd let himself believe he was someone of importance to the Circle, that they valued his abilities and his contributions. It wasn't easy to be reminded how untrue that was.

  Ever since the C
hantry ordered the closure of the College of Enchanters, things had been steadily growing more tense. Permission for travel had been suspended. Gatherings were forbidden, and even on those rare occasions when assembly was allowed in the White Spire's great hall, the First Enchanter had little to tell them. He was supposed to be their leader and their advocate, but now it seemed he was reduced to a figurehead.

  There was talk of rebellion, of course. There was always talk. Mages in the far- off city of Kirkwall had rebelled a year ago, and considering what happened to them Rhys wasn't surprised the talk never went further than that. It did make him wonder if that might ever change. If Adrian had her way, it would, and sometimes he even agreed with her.

  He jumped as the door to the Knight- Commander's office suddenly opened. Adrian spun around, her vexed expression indicating she planned to give the man a piece of her mind, but both of them were startled to see a woman standing in the doorway instead. It was Knight- Captain Evangeline, wearing full templar regalia and clearly in no mood to be trifled with.

  The First Enchanter was at her side. Edmonde was an elder statesman among the White Spire's mages, a man so grizzled and bent by age it seemed like he could barely wear his black robes without collapsing. Now he looked defeated, his limbs trembling with such weariness it was only by leaning on his staff that he was even able to remain upright. He glanced at Rhys, his bleary eyes full of apology— for what he had told them or what was about to come, it couldn't be said— and slowly tapped his way out of the room without a word.

  Ser Evangeline watched the First Enchanter leave, and for a moment her rigid demeanor faded. She closed her eyes and sighed, the small and tired sound of someone forced to do the unpleasant. When she opened them again, it was as if the moment had never occurred. "Enchanter Rhys," she said, indicating for him to enter.

  Adrian stepped forward. "And what about me?" she demanded.

  "In good time."

  "So I'm to be left out here until you're bloody ready? Why are we being treated like criminals? If you want our help with an investigation, this is hardly the—"

  "In. Good. Time," the templar repeated in a steely tone. Her warning look said that her patience was wearing dangerously thin, and it was enough to give even Adrian second thoughts. Rhys shook his head at Adrian in a manner he hoped she would find discouraging. She clenched her teeth and glared at him, but kept her silence.

  Rhys followed the Knight- Captain inside.

  The office was unchanged from the last time he had been there. The same war trophies from the Knight- Commander's younger days as a soldier. The same dull painting by some relative preoccupied with the pastoral Orlesian countryside. The same bookshelf filled with long- winded treatises on history and Chantry dogma. The fireplace had settled into a dull smolder, but put out enough heat to give the room a warm, smoky feel. About the only thing that was different about the office was that the Knight- Commander wasn't there.

  Instead, there was a stranger seated behind the massive oaken desk. Salt- and- pepper hair showed the man had some age, but his face was hewn from solid stone. The armor he wore was like a templar's, but was charcoal black and emblazoned with a strange image that looked like the Chantry's sunburst but with an eye in the center. Most noticeable were the man's grey eyes: sharp and cold. This man was a warrior, and one who would kill without a second thought. For the first time Rhys wondered if he was in real danger.

  "Sit," the man snapped, nodding to the small chair across from the desk. Rhys found himself complying before he realized it. He sat there quietly as the man perused several sheets of parchment. The air was tense, and Rhys couldn't decide what made him more nervous: the idea that what ever was written on those sheets was about him, or that Ser Evangeline stood at crisp attention next to the desk, her face completely blank.

  He cleared his throat. No need for this to be unpleasant, after all. "Is the Knight- Commander going to be joining us?" he ventured.

  The man glanced up from his reading, raising his eyebrows curiously at this impertinence. For a moment it seemed like he might say nothing. Then he put the sheets down, straightening them into a neat pile with slow deliberation. "Knight- Commander Eron is no longer the head of this order. I am Lord Seeker Lambert, and I will be in command of the White Spire until further notice."

  Rhys felt a chill run down his spine. He may not have recognized the symbol on the man's armor, but the name he'd heard of. The Seekers of Truth, an order that stood above the templars as personal servants to the Divine. Nobody spoke of them except in whispers, and even then only to say that when a Seeker showed up you knew there was trouble. "Does this have something to do with the murders?" Rhys asked.

  The Lord Seeker paused, his eyes boring a hole into Rhys's skull. "You know about them?"

  "Everyone knows. Just because you don't tell us what's going on doesn't mean we won't figure it out. We're not idiots."

  The Lord Seeker glared over at Ser Evangeline, but she steadfastly refused to meet his gaze. The slight twitch in the corner of her mouth said I told you so. Then he looked back at Rhys, folding his arms. "Odd that every other mage in this tower professes ignorance on the matter. I'd be curious as to what you think you know."

  Rhys could lie, but what would be the point? It was entirely possible the Lord Seeker already knew what he was going to say. Still, it galled him to give in. He didn't possess Adrian's talent for invective, but he believed in standing up for himself. These templars didn't control the tower because the mages asked them to, after all. They did it because they could, and because the Chantry said it was their holy duty. Mages were required only to be obedient, and Rhys wasn't the sort of mage who could accept such an imbalance of power without chafing.

  "I think there've been five," he said lightly, "but I've heard as many as twelve. Nobody knows how many for sure."

  "Go on."

  "The first one was an initiate. A farm boy who was brought in from the southern Heartlands. We never even got to find out his name because he was killed in his cell two days after the templars brought him in."

  "Strange you would hear anything."

  "Not so strange. Initiates aren't the only ones you stick in those dungeons, and they're not soundproof. Someone heard screaming from one of the other cells, and not the normal kind. The day after, the templars were buzzing around the tower like hornets."

  The Lord Seeker shrugged. "Initiates die."

  Rhys felt his temper rising. The way the man said it, you'd think young mages dying was of no consequence. He tried to maintain his casual demeanor, keep the smile on his face, and not let this man get the better of him. It wasn't easy. "Not screaming like that they don't," he managed through gritted teeth.

  The Lord Seeker ignored him. "How did you hear about the others?"

  "We . . . knew initiates were being brought in, but then we wouldn't see them later as apprentices. The templars told us they'd been transferred to another Circle, but you can always tell when a templar's lying like that. There were too many questions and surprise searches. And then Jolen died."

  The man glanced over at the Knight- Captain. "The fourth one," she said with a nod.

  "Ah," he said. "Yes, I suppose it's unsurprising that the order here wouldn't be able to keep that quiet."

  "And why should you?" Rhys demanded, feeling his anger bubbling up despite his efforts to keep it under control. "If someone's going around killing mages, don't we have a right to know? The templars are supposed to be protecting us! Isn't that part of why we're locked up in here?"

  The Lord Seeker leveled an icy glare at him, and he regretted his outburst instantly. He didn't want to regret it— he wanted to keep on yelling, make these people see just how wrong it was to treat grown mages, mages with power, like they were recalcitrant children. In the face of that look, he knew it didn't matter. He was a good judge of character. Given an excuse, this man would slit Rhys's throat before he even got off a single spell. And he would do it with the same cool, unblinking demeanor that
he had now.

  The Lord Seeker frowned, drumming his fingers on the desk as if deciding just what sort of response was required. "Protecting you is part of the reason you're in the tower, yes." His tone was suddenly pleasant, which somehow made it all the more frightening. "The other part, of course, is that magic is dangerous. It can be dangerous through no intention of the mage, should a demon take hold of them, but not all mages have good intentions, do they?"

  The question was ominous, and not entirely without merit.

  "Do you know a man by the name of Enchanter Jeannot?" the man asked.

  "Yes, of course. He's a senior enchanter here, as am I."

  "Was, I'm afraid. Last night he attempted to assassinate the Divine, in front of many witnesses, and was slain." The man watched carefully as he allowed that news to sink in.

  Rhys felt cold, as if discovering he was walking on far thinner ice than he'd realized. There was more going on here than just the murders, much more. Jeannot tried to murder the head of the Chantry? How would he even get out of the tower? To do so without help seemed . . . unlikely. Suddenly it made sense why the Knight- Commander was gone, why the First Enchanter acted as he had. "I . . . I see" was all he could manage.

  "He used blood magic during the attempt," the Lord Seeker continued. "Were you aware that Jeannot knew such forbidden arts?"

  "No, not at all."

  "Interesting." The drumming fingers continued, the only sound in the room. Rhys felt a bead of sweat slowly crawling its way down his forehead. It was impossible to keep an entire tower of mages under complete control, not without locking all of them in cells like prisoners. The templars knew that mages snuck around behind their backs and gossiped, and it wasn't unreasonable to think they shared other types of knowledge as well. Where there was one blood mage, there could be more. There could be dozens.

  They think I know. Or that I am one.

  "There have been six murders in the White Spire to date," the Lord Seeker announced. "Four initiates and two apprentices. What ever other numbers you've heard are speculation. Those six, however . . . they were interesting." He indicated that Evangeline should explain. She seemed unconvinced this was a good idea, but acquiesced.