Asunder

by David Gaider

  Knight- Captain paled. "Is such a thing possible?"

  "I said no and I believe that." The Lord Seeker glanced out the window, shaking his head in disgust. "But I am also old enough to know that the impossible can and will occur when magic is involved. If this mage discovers any possibility that Tranquility can be reversed, I want you to ensure it never reaches any other ears."

  She opened her mouth to speak, then reconsidered. After a moment she tried again. "And how do you propose I accomplish that, Lord Seeker? I will be traveling with three mages, none of them weak in power."

  The man walked over to her, putting his hands on her shoulders and looking her straight in the eyes. His gaze was grim and intense. "You know what the Rite of Tranquility entails. It could hardly be called a kindness, but it spares mages too weak to resist the lure of demons from a more permanent alternative. If the mages of the Circle believed it was possible to escape Tranquility, whether it was safe or even wise to do so, we would have chaos." He squeezed her shoulders. "I am relying on you to do what you must, Ser Evangeline, in the name of peace and order. Of all the decisions Knight- Commander Eron made when he led the White Spire, it is clear that your promotion was his wisest."

  Evangeline—for that was surely her name, Cole realized— straightened and set her jaw firmly. "Thank you, my lord." She nodded. "I will see it done, if it comes to that."

  "Pray that it doesn't."

  With that, the Lord Seeker walked out of the room. When the door closed behind him, Evangeline relaxed. She leaned against the cot, her legs looking like they might give out from under her. She tossed the purple bundle to the side and exhaled a long breath.

  Cole shivered in the corner. He was relieved the frightening man was gone, but now he was torn. If he understood what had transpired, was Rhys in danger? His first impulse was to immediately find Rhys and tell him. But what if Cole was wrong? What if Rhys didn't believe him?

  What was he going to do?

  Rhys inhaled the fresh air, and found it far sweeter than he remembered.

  They were finally out of Val Royeaux with its teeming crowds, its buckets of slop being thrown out of windows, and its ever- present stench of horse manure and fish. The guards at the city gate had given their group a sidelong stare: three mages, noticeable due to their staves even if they were in traveling clothes, and a templar in full armor. It clearly wasn't something these men saw every day, despite garrisoning a city that held the White Spire. They were so eager to let the group pass, they barely issued any challenge.

  He'd forgotten what it was like to be not only out of the tower, but out of the city. Occasionally, the mages would be escorted somewhere by the templars, if their magic was required, but this was different. Rhys felt liberated. He admired the mighty oak trees lining the road, their leaves shades of yellow and burnt orange in the late autumn. He smiled at passing merchant wagons even if the drivers avoided looking at him. He laughed when a group of children assembled by the road, shouting out for petit alms. It was an Orlesian tradition, after all, and Rhys wished he had coins to throw them.

  Adrian was far less enthusiastic. She sat behind him on the horse, her arms clutched tightly around his chest, speaking only to complain about the chill and her sore backside. She would never admit it, but Rhys knew she was afraid of horses. The leery look she'd given the beast outside the tower had been vastly amusing. She would cope, he was certain, but only out of sheer determination.

  Evangeline remained quiet as well. She did not even look when they passed a village just off the road where lively music could be heard playing. People were dancing in the village square, a trio of elves playing harpsichords on a wooden stage. When Rhys wondered out loud if they might see what was going on, the templar dourly reminded him they were not traveling for plea sure. For the most part, she kept her eyes on the road ahead, her scarlet cloak fluttering in the crisp breeze, and attempted no conversation.

  Then there was Wynne.

  The old mage lagged behind the others; even when Evangeline pointedly mentioned they needed to make better time, she merely smiled and kept her steed at its easy pace. Wynne had wrapped a heavy shawl around her blue robes, and seemed content to pick through her packs and read while there was still daylight. When Evangeline attempted to ask her more questions about their mission, Wynne's responses were vague. Eventually, the templar gave up.

  If there was any presence that could dampen Rhys's spirits, it was Wynne's. He imagined he should be grateful she had gotten him out of the tower, but that almost made it more galling. It nipped at the edges of his consciousness, reducing his initial joy until he was almost as quiet as the others.

  Finally, Evangeline called for a halt at the first highway inn they reached. Such buildings were fairly common on the major roads, especially in the Heartlands. They were fortified stone structures with blue slate roofs easily recognizable from a distance, designed to offer safe shelter to merchants and travelers. This one seemed in good shape, the Imperial crest hanging outside its gate kept polished and the courtyard inside teeming with horses and wagons.

  Evangeline didn't seem eager to go inside, but they needed traveling supplies they couldn't acquire at the tower. Adrian declared that she would join the templar, although Rhys knew it wasn't out of any desire of Adrian's to keep her company. She wanted off the horse.

  So he was left alone outside with Wynne. The two of them sat on their horses just outside the gate, the only sound a gust of wind that rushed through the nearby trees. A pair of shutters on one of the inn's upper windows repeatedly flew open and slammed shut again.

  Wynne closed her book and sighed. She was pretending not to notice Rhys staring at her, and looked speculatively up at the clouds. "It might snow," she commented. "That would be rather early, wouldn't it?"

  "It would."

  Her enigmatic smile faded into a frown. "Very well, Rhys," she sighed. "If you have something to ask, now would certainly be the time."

  "You got it." He turned in his saddle to face her directly. "Why am I here?"

  "I told you my mission."

  "But not why you need me on it," he snapped. "And don't feed me that line about being a spirit medium. You're as skilled with spirits as I am, if not more."

  "Very possibly."

  "You need a mage or two to help you with the ritual to enter the Fade. It could have been any mage. So the only reason to ask for me is because . . ."

  "Because you are my son," she finished for him.

  Rhys felt himself about to say something rude and barely bit it back. He had to look away. His eyes fell upon a little girl hiding in the bushes not ten feet away. She couldn't have been more than eight years old, staring at the two of them with eyes as big as saucers. Staring at their staves, rather. Wasn't it odd how children could be so fascinated by magic? It took them time and the lessons of the Chantry to learn real fear.

  "Is that the reason, then?" he asked. "I didn't even know about you until nearly ten years ago. You came after the Blight in Ferelden, and introduced yourself . . . and then I never saw you again."

  "I wanted to meet my son," she said. "To see the man he had become without any guidance from me. I did that."

  "Then what is your interest now? You didn't need me to come on this mission of yours. You didn't even need to come to the White Spire. Yet you did."

  "I didn't come to the White Spire seeking you out, Rhys. It was the closest tower at hand after I met with the Divine." She pulled her shawl more tightly around her shoulders, staring in the direction of the inn's gate as if hoping Evangeline and Adrian would appear. "When I arrived, I was told you'd been thrown in the dungeons— the prime suspect in a murder investigation conducted by the Seekers of Truth." Then she looked at him, her eyes hard. "Ten years ago I found a man who needed nothing from me. That is no longer true."

  "I don't need your help," he growled. "I didn't kill anyone."

  "According to the templars you've done everything to convince them otherwise." She snorted der
isively. "And you've mixed yourself up with the Libertarians, as well. I assumed you had more sense."

  "Not every mage is interested in rolling over and playing dead like a well- trained mabari hound. We're not children, yet the templars treat us like we are."

  "Because many of you act like you are."

  "Is that what you think?" He felt the anger rising inside him again, and this time didn't try to fight it. "The mighty archmage lectures us on responsibility? Do you even remember what it was like to live in a tower, or ever consider what it must be like for those of us who still do? After the rebellion in Kirkwall—"

  "Must we repeat this argument?" she interrupted.

  "I suppose not. What's the point?" They remained there in their saddles, saying nothing as the wind howled overhead. The Imperial sign squeaked as it slowly swung back and forth on its post. It felt cold. Wynne felt cold. There was a wall between them built of all the things left unsaid, things he had been storing up in the years since he'd met her. He felt it growing larger, now.

  The little girl let out a squeak of terror and burst from her hiding place in the bushes. She sped off into the distance, as if she was being chased. Neither of them watched her go, frozen as they were in their tense silence.

  "Why did you help me at all, then?" he finally asked.

  "Is that important?"

  "It is to me."

  "If I had known this was how you would react," she sighed, "then perhaps I would have left you in your cell. Perhaps that is where you belong."

  That stung. He didn't know how to respond, so he just shook his head. "You've changed," he muttered.

  "You don't know me well enough to say that."

  "I remember the woman I met ten years ago," he said. "I assumed I'd come from a family in Ferelden, and had just been taken too young to remember them. All my life I'd wondered who my mother was, and then she appeared out of nowhere. She was this warm, kind woman— and she was a hero. That she was my mother made me proud."

  Wynne said nothing, her eyes remaining fixed on some faraway place.

  "That woman told me she was relieved we'd finally met. She told me she would return . . . and I never saw her again. I still wonder what happened to her."

  "I am right here," she said stiffly.

  "The woman I met wouldn't have stood in the great hall and told us that it's better to endure than to hope for better. She wouldn't have been the one who convinced the College of Enchanters that surrendering is our only option."

  "Then I'm sorry to disappoint you."

  He shrugged. What else could he ask her for? First Enchanter Edmonde told him once that this sometimes happened to mages. They lived their entire lives separated from humanity until finally they forgot they were ever part of it to begin with. The Wynne he remembered had been gentle and caring, not aloof and imperious; it didn't seem possible the same woman was across from him now.

  But perhaps he should be grateful. Even if this was only a respite from his fate, it was better than nothing. For what it was worth, he was out of the tower— for now.

  Chapter 7

  Evangeline was beginning to find the tension wearying.

  As uncomfortable as these mages might be with the idea of a templar chaperone, it seemed to her they disliked each other far more. Adrian and Rhys whispered to each other on their horse from time to time, brief exchanges that the others were clearly not intended to overhear, but to the archmage they said nothing. The old woman might as well have been alone.

  Until the moment Wynne and Rhys had greeted each other in the Lord Seeker's office, Evangeline hadn't realized they were related. None of the templars in the White Spire had. They’d known the man had been born to a mage, and raised in a Chantry orphanage until he was old enough to come to the tower. It was a common enough practice, seeing as the Circle was no place for a newborn. How Rhys had come to know of his mother, however, was a mystery. If they'd met, they did so in secret, although evidently not one kept hidden from the Seekers.

  Their relationship did not seem to endear them to each other, however. It made her think of her own mother, who had passed away before she'd joined the order. They’d bickered, particularly because Evangeline had embraced none of the things expected from a young Orlesian woman of breeding. She had enjoyed neither dancing, nor music, nor outings to the city to seek a suitable husband. Instead she'd favored her father's teachings, the sword play and martial skills he'd learned from his years spent as a chevalier in the Empire's ser vice.

  Yet when her mother died Evangeline had felt nothing but regret that they'd not been closer. All those years spent resenting a woman who'd wished the best for her, and only feared her unwomanly pursuits would lead to unhappiness. It hadn't, but she didn't imagine her life as a templar was what her mother pictured.

  Without a husband or children, it also meant her father's estate had fallen outside of the family upon his death. She still remembered the day a messenger had arrived with the news. Knight- Commander Eron had asked whether she wished to retire from the order and take up her inheritance. It would have meant marriage, with scores of noble families arriving at her doorstep with younger sons they couldn't pawn off elsewhere but would assume a spinster like herself would be desperate to accept. Even so, it hadn't been an easy decision. Last she'd heard, her uncle had gambled away his fortune and sold the estate to a Nevarran merchant. This made her sad.

  So the life she was left with was the one she had chosen, a life of protecting the world from all the harm magic could do. While many of the mages resented templars for it, she knew there were also many frightened of their abilities. What would they do without the Circle of Magi there to bring them into the fold, to teach them what they needed to know?

  Order had to be kept, just as the Lord Seeker said.

  It had been four days since they'd left the safety of the White Spire. Evangeline had led the group off the main roads, preferring instead to keep to the side paths that passed through the countryside, away from cities. Still, this was the Heartlands. Even those roads were busy with traffic. They passed merchants, pilgrims on their way to the Grand Cathedral in the capital, farmers bringing their wagons to market, taxmen, elven laborers looking for late- season harvest work . . . the list was almost endless.

  What she didn't see were Imperial enforcers. Normally, soldiers flying the purple banner were a common sight, even on the side roads. Anyone traveling could expect to be stopped by a patrol at least once, but there had been no sign of any.

  There were other things, too. On the third day they spotted a pillar of black smoke in the distance, and a pair of dwarven merchants they stopped told them of riots in the city of Val Foret. They said things were worse outside the Heartlands as well, telling a tale of roving bandits and press gangs hired by the country lords to force commoners into army ser vice. Later they saw a disorganized group of refugees, ragged- looking folk carrying everything they owned on their backs, who said they were fleeing a battle in the east. They didn't even know who was fighting, only that the soldiers were killing everything in their path.

  It was troubling to hear. News in Orlais traveled slowly even in the best of times, but it seemed to her that even insulated in the White Spire, she should have heard such things. The capital was a hotbed of gossip, and although there'd been rumblings of displeasure against the Empress and the usual talk of elven rebellion in Halamshiral, there'd been not a single whisper of a brewing civil war.

  Just to be careful, Evangeline elected not to seek lodgings in any of the villages they passed. She'd purchased camping gear at the highway inn— indeed, her horse was laden down with it— and despite the protests of the mages, she insisted they sleep outside. Rather, it was Rhys and Adrian who protested. Wynne smiled when they did, and reminded them that she'd all but lived out of a camp during the Blight. If she could endure it, so could they.

  It rained the first night, a bitterly cold downpour that kept the group huddling in their tents. The next morning there was a thin layer of
ice covering everything, though it didn't last long into the day. Regardless, a chill permeated the air, and, combined with a sky of hazy grey clouds, told them the weather would be decidedly foul. By the time they returned from the Western Approach, there could very well be snow on the ground.

  Adrian complained constantly. Not loudly enough for Evangeline to argue with her explicitly, but quietly muttering to herself and to Rhys. It was like an angry fly buzzing in her ear, one that wouldn't desist no matter how much she swatted at it. The red- headed woman's self- righteous indignation set Evangeline's teeth on edge, and had her wishing it would rain even more than it did.

  "Why are we going this way?" Adrian demanded as they rode, the third time she'd asked in as many minutes.

  "I intend to avoid Val Foret," Evangeline answered.

  "Why? Because of what that vagrant said? He was drunk."

  "Indeed he was. That doesn't make him stupid."

  "I once knew a dwarf," Wynne suddenly announced, "who was drunk more often than he was sober. Yet he could still cleave a darkspawn in two without so much as blinking an eye."

  Adrian rolled her eyes. "That's nice."

  "My point," the old woman responded coolly, "is that some things don't require sobriety. Like knowing that your home village isn't a safe place to be."

  "That's odd, isn't it?" Rhys asked. He looked questioningly at the others. "With all the trouble we've been hearing about, you'd think the Imperial army would be here in force. I can't even remember the last time I heard of there being so much chaos."

  "It probably isn't—" Adrian began.

  Wynne interrupted her. "It's the war," she said. "If I'm not mistaken, I believe Gaspard is making his move."

  "The Grand Duke?" Evangeline blurted out, surprised.

  "Of course."

  "The only news in Val Royeaux was of a rebellion in Halamshiral. If the Grand Duke was moving against the Empress, everyone in the palace would have been buzzing about it."