Asunder

by David Gaider

  "A dragon!" Adrian exclaimed excitedly. She cradled her chin in her hands, staring at the older mage with bleary, awestruck eyes. Her red curls had dried into a frizzy mess of comical proportions. Unlike Wynne, she was a complete wreck. "A real, honest- to- goodness dragon?"

  "Adrian is fond of dragons," Rhys explained with a smirk.

  "It was an Archdemon," Wynne said, "a dragon tainted by corruption, transformed into a thing of evil with no match in all of Thedas." She couldn't contain the smallest of proud smiles. "Save for the Warden, of course."

  "The Warden! The Hero of Ferelden?"

  "The one and the same."

  Adrian gesticulated inarticulately for a few moments before she realized she couldn't put her excitement into words. Then she stared at Wynne as if an incredible thought had just occurred to her. "They let you out of the tower to do all that?"

  "Not quite. The Circle of Magi in Ferelden had been . . . disabled."

  "I heard about this," Evangeline commented.

  "Most of the mages had been overcome by demons," Wynne continued. "There were only a few of us left, really, when the Warden arrived."

  "The Warden saved you?"

  "Indeed."

  "And took you away from the tower!"

  "My help was needed."

  "Lucky for you." Adrian picked up her cup, disappointing herself all over again to find it empty. She searched around for the serving girl and, not seeing her, tried to stand up. That only succeeded in nearly knocking over her chair, of course, and she stumbled back into it in the most ungraceful manner possible.

  "Be careful, Adri," Rhys warned, grabbing her shoulder out of concern. She looked at him with a mixture of surprise and bleary affection.

  "Oh! You haven't called me that since . . ."

  He attempted to look blasé but failed. "You're drunk," he muttered. Adrian reached up and cupped his cheek, her expression suddenly so tender and sad that Evangeline felt embarrassed to watch. Rhys reddened and gently removed her hand, his grin apologetic.

  "I didn't realize you two were . . ." Wynne left the thought unfinished, clearly uncertain how to end it. Rhys glanced at her, his eyes flashing with annoyance.

  "We're not."

  "All evidence to the contrary."

  "I said we're not." He straightened in his chair, busily pouring himself another cup of wine— the last in the bottle, Evangeline noticed. "And even if we were, I don't really see how that's any of your business."

  "Did I say it was?" She chuckled gaily. "I'm no stranger to the idea of a mage seeking the company of others in the Circle, Rhys. How do you think you were born?"

  He looked disquieted. "I . . . don't want to think about that."

  Wynne waved a hand dismissively. "You're a grown man, and then some. I'll assume that you can handle the notion of someone you barely know having lain with a templar forty years ago— even if she does happen to be your mother."

  The old mage downed the rest of her ale even as Rhys's eyes widened in shock. He tilted his head awkwardly, as if not quite capable of pro cessing this news. Adrian appeared to have no such problem. She slammed a fist down on the table, squealing with delight so loudly it drew the attention of the entire tavern.

  "You laid with a templar?"

  Wynne paused, apparently realizing what she'd revealed. "Well," she hemmed, "it was a long time ago." The old woman looked helplessly at Evangeline, and sighed when Evangeline just looked the other way. She wasn't getting involved in this conversation, no how and no way.

  "That's marvelous!" Adrian cackled.

  Rhys appeared mortified. "I don't think it's marvelous."

  Wynne smiled patiently at him. "Demonize them all you like, a templar is a man like any other." The corner of her mouth twitched as it tried to form into a mischievous smirk. It succeeded. "Trust me," she chuckled.

  The man groaned, and Adrian laughed so uproariously she had to pound the table several times in order to punctuate just how much she loved the entire notion.

  "You robes seem pretty satisfied with yourselves."

  The new voice was gruff, and cut through the merriment instantly. Adrian stopped laughing and stared. Evangeline turned in her seat to see a huge, burly man looming beside their table. His beard grew out of his chin like some wild, black bush, and his arms were thick as tree trunks. This was a man hewn from wood, probably one of the local freeholders or one of their workers. Indignant rage smoldered in his eyes like fire.

  Adrian looked like she was about to retort, but Rhys spoke first. "We're just travelers who came in out of the rain," he said amiably. "How about we buy you a drink, in thanks for your town's fine hospitality?"

  "And what are we going to toast?" the man growled. "You mages trying to kill Her Holiness?"

  "We had nothing to do with that."

  The burly man slammed his fist down on the table so hard it sent the wine bottle and cups clattering to the ground. The entire tavern went dead silent. "But it was you and your stinking magic that done it! If Her Holiness had a right mind, she'd tell everyone to string you up! Burn your curse out of this world once and for all!"

  Wynne looked calm, but Evangeline saw her hand creeping toward her staff . Rhys remained still, his smile fading. Adrian, however, lurched drunkenly to her feet, her temper clearly aroused. "Our curse?" she spat. "Our only curse is to be faced with ignorant louts like you, as if you mundanes never did anything terrible in all of history!"

  "History." The man repeated the word with disgust, his upper lip curling. "I don't care about history. I care about Jean- Petit. His farm house got burned down two weeks ago, with him in it. You know who done it? His daughter, a spiteful little thing the templars had to drag off before she killed anyone else." He loomed closer. "You think your magic impresses me? Impresses anyone?"

  Several voices chimed in with the man now, as others got up from their chairs. The mood of outrage was thick. These men had been simmering, waiting for someone to express what they'd been thinking all along. The fat innkeeper came out of the back, his look of concern turning into fear. When his daughter started to pass him, he stopped her. They both retreated to the kitchen.

  Adrian's eyes narrowed in hate. She held out a hand in front of her, an aura of blue flame crackling into life around it. The hum of her power reverberated around the room. "I don't know," she said, her tone low and dark. "We can be very impressive."

  Evangeline jumped up. She reached out with one hand and grabbed Adrian around the neck, channeling her own power into the woman so quickly it disrupted her magic. The flames disappeared with a flash. Before Adrian could do more than widen her eyes in shock, Evangeline shoved her hard. She stumbled back over her chair, falling to the ground and slamming her head against the side of the fire pit.

  Evangeline felt, rather than saw, the burly man move. She grabbed his thick arm before he could touch her, spinning around and shoving him back. Enraged and clenching his fists, he made as if to charge her—

  —and halted. Her sword was out, and pointed at his throat.

  "Don't be a fool," she warned him.

  Other men were drawing closer now, fists clenched at their sides. Wynne rose, staff held protectively; thankfully she had enough sense not to invoke more magic. Rhys knelt down by Adrian's side, helping her up as much as restraining her.

  "You're going to kill us? For these mages?" the man snarled. "You of all people should know what they are."

  "I'm here to protect them, and to protect you from them. Nothing more."

  "They don't deserve protection!"

  "What they don't deserve," she stated firmly, "is to be strung up by an angry mob. I know you're angry. What happened to Her Holiness was unforgivable. But you'll not condemn the innocent for it, not while I stand."

  "How are they innocent?" he shouted. He turned to face the growing crowd, holding his hands out to them in supplication. "It wasn't just Jean- Petit. Last year there was the man in Val Bresins who turned into a demon in the middle of the marketplace!
The hedge witch who blighted the Arlans crop! The Wickens boy who talked to ghosts— you know it was him that was killing our poor dogs!" The gathered crowd murmured in agreement. "How long are we going to stand by and let this evil fester? The Maker would not have it!"

  "The Maker does have it!" Evangeline roared. She glared challengingly at the crowd, and many of them shrank back. "These mages serve the Chantry, as do I! Do not forget that in wars past it was we who have stood between the good folk of Orlais and oblivion!"

  Adrian wrested herself free from Rhys and lurched forward. "Yes!" she shouted belligerently. "You should all be grateful!"

  Evangeline wheeled on her. "Silence, you foolish woman! It is you who should be grateful, grateful that you have the luxury to worry just how free you are. Do you honestly think mages are the only people in this world who suffer?"

  Adrian took a step back, startled, and bumped into the table. For once, she seemed at a loss for words. Rhys stepped between her and Evangeline, an angry look on his face. "No," he stated. "We don't think that."

  "Yes, you do," Evangeline snapped. "You live in an ivory tower, without the slightest clue just how much worse it could be."

  "I know how much worse it could be," Wynne said. The old woman frowned as she turned to address the crowd. "Please, good folk of Velun. We meant no harm to any of you. Leave us in peace, and we shall do the same, I beg you."

  There was a mutter of discontent among the men, but none of them seemed willing to press the issue any further. Even the burly giant who began the fight did little more than glare. What was one man, even one as large as himself, to do against an armed warrior and three mages? That one of the mages appeared to be no more than an old woman took the wind out of his sails.

  "You're not welcome here," he said gruffly. "We would have you gone."

  "We'll go," Evangeline assured him. "In good time. And we won't be back."

  The man looked around at the others with disgust. Finally, he let out a frustrated growl and stormed toward the door. Evangeline watched him go, keeping her sword at the ready until the others in the tavern began to follow. They complained quietly, reassuring each other that things could have gone very differently. Within minutes the room was almost empty, save for a few scattered merchants who stared purposefully at their beers and pretended they were elsewhere.

  Wynne approached Evangeline. "That was well done."

  "I did it to keep you drunken fools from using magic to hurt these poor people. They wouldn't have stood a chance."

  "It was well done, nevertheless."

  "Is that how you protect us?" Adrian snapped. She lurched toward Evangeline, standing close enough that the stench of ale on her breath was all too apparent. "I wasn't the one looking for a fight! Yet you would have let them drag me out into the street!"

  "That didn't happen."

  "Thanks to the generous protection of the templars!" she said mockingly. "We mages in our ivory tower and our heads in the clouds, we don't know anything about abuse or what it means to stand up for ourselves!"

  "Adrian," Rhys warned her. He gently guided her away by the shoulder, and she resisted him for only a second. Her glare lingered, even as Rhys nodded to Evangeline. "Thank you," he said. "I know we don't seem appreciative, but if that mob had pushed it . . . we would have had no choice but to use magic. Nobody wants that."

  He didn't give her time to respond, instead leading Adrian out the front door. The innkeeper poked his head out not a moment later, looking vastly relieved to find his tavern empty of bloodshed. He simpered over to Wynne and Evangeline, clutching his hands nervously.

  "My, that was . . . unexpected!" he declared.

  "Sadly, it wasn't." Evangeline took out her purse and handed him some coins. "This should cover the drinks, and any damages. We won't stay in your rooms, just in case those men decide to come back. If you have a hayloft, we'll sleep there and be gone by morning."

  “There's one in the stables out back." He hesitated, obviously torn between wanting the templar and her mage friends gone and hoping for more coin. "I . . . just want you to know that Velun is not always like this. Had I known the men would be so uncivil . . ."

  "These are strange times," Wynne assured him.

  He had to be satisfied with that, and could only watch anxiously as they left.

  The rain had slowed to a fine drizzle, coating Rhys's skin like ice. He shivered uncontrollably. It would have been nice to have a warm room in which to dry off completely. As it was, he felt as if he would never be warm again. If he'd been wise, he would have stayed in the hayloft with everyone else. It wasn't the warmest place to sleep, but at least it was out of the rain.

  As it was, he was creeping through the town streets in the middle of the night. The windows were all dark now and, short of the occasional hungry dog that wandered up to him with its tail wagging hopefully, everything was still. The guardsman they'd met on the way in was nowhere in evidence, but Rhys still kept to the shadows as much as he could. He didn't need to answer awkward questions, not from the guard and most certainly not from his companions.

  They were asleep, thank the Maker. Adrian had collapsed into a blanket, still wound up from the incident in the tavern and furious at Evangeline, but too drunk to stay awake even so. She would be impossible to live with come morning. Wynne had retired without so much as a word. Evangeline stayed up for almost an hour longer, however, watching for any sign of the townsfolk returning to make trouble.

  Rhys had pretended to sleep, watching out of the corner of his eye until finally she nodded off. He'd been certain the creaking of the old ladder would give him away, but she hadn't stirred. He could thank his lucky stars, for once.

  Now he was beginning to wonder why he'd bothered. The hush of the town was impenetrable, and for all his searching, he was finding only empty alleyways and more shadows. Perhaps he should give up and go back. If someone woke, he could always explain that he'd needed to use the privy.

  Then he caught a glimpse of movement. A silhouette darted into the alley between two dark shops, and Rhys raced toward it. He turned the corner, half expecting to discover it was just his imagination, but instead was greeted by the sight of a man crouching by the wall. He looked like a drowned rat, blond hair plastered against his face and his leathers drenched black. He shivered miserably, staring up at Rhys with a mixture of fear and wariness.

  "Cole," Rhys sighed. He kept his distance, a firm grip on his staff just in case the young man decided to attack . . . or run, as he had last time. Rhys had first noticed someone was following them only yesterday, keeping far enough back on the road so they were just out of sight. As soon as Rhys realized that Evangeline, alert as she was, didn't spot their shadow, he knew exactly who it must be.

  "I'm sorry," Cole moaned.

  "Did you follow us all the way from the tower? What, in Andraste's name, are you even doing here?"

  The young man rubbed his shoulders, his teeth chattering. "I had to come. I had to warn you, but I was afraid . . ."

  "Warn me?"

  "I saw Knight- Captain speaking with a man, a frightening man in black armor. He told her that if you found something, nobody else could know about it." Cole looked up at him, his expression full of concern. "I couldn't let anything happen to you; you're my only friend! I just . . . I was so afraid that you'd never . . ." He buried his head between his knees, misery overtaking him.

  Rhys stared, unsure what to think. Could Cole be lying? Perhaps making up some story to earn his way back into his good graces? That seemed unlikely. Cole might omit the truth, but there was little guile to him. That much Rhys was still certain of, if little else.

  "You came all this way to tell me that?" he said, shaking his head in disbelief.

  "Yes," Cole said. "I was so scared I might lose sight of you, and I wouldn't be able to find my way back. I'd be lost forever. I didn't realize it would be so far!"

  Despite himself, Rhys felt bad for the young man. He knelt down beside him, sighing. Cole flin
ched, and then realized that Rhys wasn't going to attack him. He clutched desperately at Rhys and hugged him tight.

  Rhys hugged him back. What else could he do? Yes, Cole had killed people . . . but he wasn't doing it out of malevolence. Nobody had taught him how to control his magic, or given him an answer he could understand. He was frightened and lost, and a part of Rhys understood that.

  But what now? He couldn't take Cole along, and the idea of leaving him to his own devices had no more appeal. It would be like abandoning a child in the wilderness. Maker only knew how Cole had been feeding himself so far. Stealing his food, probably, with no one the wiser . . . but there would be nowhere to steal from once they were in the badlands.

  "Cole, you have to go back," he said.

  The young man disengaged long enough to give Rhys a hurt look. "I can't."

  "Yes, you can. If you find one of the main roads, it should lead you straight back to Val Royeaux. It's a hard city to miss."

  "I need to protect you!"

  Rhys patted the man's shoulder sympathetically. "It's enough that you've warned me. I can take care of myself, Cole."

  "No, you can't. They took you away to the dungeons, and I should never have let them. I should have listened to you! I should have gone with you; I'm so sorry!"

  "We can deal with that when I get back to the tower."

  "No." Cole backed away and stood up. "I'm not going to let anything happen to you. I won't let them hurt you again." Without another word, he turned and ran off into the darkness.

  Rhys watched him go. Giving chase would be as pointless as it had been the last time, although he couldn't help but have misgivings. What was Cole going to do? Would he try to hurt Evangeline? He might not realize how much more trouble that would mean for them all.

  Even so, it was a relief to once again see a glimpse of the young man he'd known. It was troubling to think of Cole as a murderer, and the shock of the discovery still lingered. How much more was there about Cole that he didn't know? If he didn't find a way to help the young man or stop him from killing again, the blood of his victims would be on Rhys's hands. He had to remind himself that while Cole wasn't a monster, that didn't mean he wasn't dangerous.