Asunder

by David Gaider

  He wrested free, falling to the ground. The arrow shaft cracked under his weight, and a new jolt of pain shot through him. Nausea filled him, and his vision swam.

  How many were there? The sound of thunder suddenly seemed so distant, like he was hearing it through a tube. . . . He caught a glimpse of Wynne's blue robes, her boots in front of his eyes. He saw the lightning performing its blinding dance. He heard another of the creatures scream as it was struck by a magical blast. A pool of black darkspawn blood soaked the sands by his hands, the sickly sweet smell assaulting his senses.

  Rhys tried to summon more of his magic. He closed his eyes and trembled from the concentration; he wasn't going to let Wynne fight alone. But the mana wouldn't come, the pain was too severe.

  "Rhys, get up!" He heard Wynne shouting in his ear, but he couldn't quite place where she was. "There are more coming!"

  Oblivion reached up and dragged him down into its blissful embrace.

  Chapter 9

  Evangeline smiled as she watched Rhys stir on his horse. The way he blinked in confusion, not quite comprehending where he was or why he was moving, was a little amusing. Considering all he'd put them through the previous night, she couldn't help but think he was due a little discomfort.

  Adrian sat behind him, and grabbed him before he slid off. He had a heavy cloak wrapped around him to keep him warm, and the red- haired mage had been more or less supporting him since they left camp. Evangeline didn't want to risk waiting until he woke to get underway. If it took too long, after all, they might end up spending another night under that tower— and draw another attack.

  "Where am I?" Rhys rasped.

  "On a horse."

  He stared at her, not realizing she was joking, and then finally offered a weak grin. "All right, yes, that explains the smell— but what about the darkspawn? I remember . . ."

  Wynne pulled up beside them. The old mage looked pale and drawn, and for good reason. Evangeline couldn't begin to imagine the kind of power she had tapped. She'd lit up the badlands with her magic, and when Evangeline had gone running she half expected to find the entire side of the chasm crumbled into its depths.

  "I healed you, of course," Wynne said.

  "But how did we even survive?"

  "You almost didn't. If Ser Evangeline and Adrian hadn't arrived in time . . ."

  He sighed dejectedly. "I shouldn't have wandered off."

  "I was going to say that," Evangeline said. When he shot her a guilty look, she chuckled. "I would be angrier, but it seems you lived. We could easily have been attacked at the camp. Perhaps the lure of easy prey drew them off?"

  He looked back at Adrian, grinning crookedly. "You hear that? I'm a hero!"

  "You woke me up," she grumped.

  "Rhys," Evangeline said, her tone now serious.

  "Yes?"

  "Don't do that again." When his eyebrows shot up, she added a little more sternly: "Remember that you're still a mage of the Circle. You wander off once more and I'll treat you as an apostate."

  He made no comment.

  The winds had resumed shortly before the sun rose, or what passed for sun in these blasted lands. The grey haze in the sky was light enough to navigate by, and that would have to do. Just as Wynne claimed, the chasm became wider as they traveled west, and the other side could no longer be seen. Now it seemed less like a massive crack and more like the very edge of the world.

  Evangeline found these lands cold and uninviting, and not for the first time since they arrived she wondered what she was doing here. Following orders, of course, but how she was expected to do that when she couldn't even keep track of one mage's whereabouts unsettled her. She had a bad feeling regarding what was to come, but kept her thoughts to herself.

  Adamant fortress was slowly coming into view, its vague outline discernible through the blowing sand. It wasn't large but, through sturdiness and defensibility, had clearly earned its name. Tall walls of dark jetstone, and a massive gate with archer towers on either side. It perched almost precariously on the edge of the chasm, like a bird of prey waiting to swoop down upon its victim. Any attack against the place could only come from one direction— unless it came out of the chasm itself, of course, and considering its history, that wasn't implausible.

  As they drew closer, the fortress took on a decidedly sinister air. It was completely silent, for one. The towers were unmanned, and the gate stood half- open. A black haze wafted up from the courtyard, as if from a fire that had only recently been extinguished. Evangeline could smell something as well— even with the wind and the sand, the stench of carrion was unmistakable.

  Her horse shied away and fought against direction; she struggled to maintain control until she realized what it was avoiding: bodies, half- buried in the sand. There were dozens of them, fanning out in all directions from the open gate, now little more than suspicious mounds that only hinted at what lay beneath: an arm, a hand, the edge of a sword . . . all that remained to tell they were riding through a graveyard.

  Wynne's lips thinned into a grim frown. "These were the inhabitants of the fortress," she explained. "When we arrived, they rushed out to attack us. Mindless corpses, possessed by demons."

  Evangeline shuddered. She steered well clear, trying not to notice the wisps of blond hair on one of the exposed heads, now fluttering in the wind. A young woman in her prime, desiccated and taken by the badlands. If she was dead when she'd attacked, she was even more so now.

  "We?" Rhys asked.

  "I didn't come here alone."

  Adrian pointed down at the ground. "Are they still here? There’s a lot of tracks, and they can't be that old." She was right. The sand was disturbed in many places near the gate, and with the wind blowing as it was, it wouldn't take long for such tracks to be covered. Numerous horses had arrived here, a day ago or perhaps less.

  Wynne appeared suspicious. "This is too many. Someone else is here."

  “There." Rhys pointed off into the distance with his staff .

  A group of twenty men on horse back emerged from the swirling winds, slowly riding around the far edge of the fortress walls. They were in heavy armor, and it took a moment of squinting before Evangeline realized what they were: templars.

  "Friends of yours?" Rhys asked.

  "I have no idea why they're here." She cautioned the others to remain behind and urged her mount forward. Why would there be templars here, of all places? Had one of the other towers heard about the abomination? Were they too late? It didn't seem likely— if the templars had already dealt with the threat, they should be long gone.

  As Evangeline drew within range, the templar at the head of the group waved at her. She scowled as she realized she knew him: Arnaud, one of the lieutenants the Lord Seeker had brought with him when he assumed command of the tower. The man was far too handsome and arrogant, and clearly assumed he would be taking her position in the tower before long. Perhaps he was right. Either way, she didn't care for his superior air, and had made certain to speak to him as little as possible.

  "Ser Evangeline!" he called out. "You finally arrive!"

  She pulled her horse to a halt and appraised Arnaud's group. They were templars from the White Spire, every last one. "Indeed," she said to him, with a little more frost in her tone than she'd intended. "I'm curious, however, as to why you're here to greet us."

  "We were sent by the Lord Seeker, of course."

  "Oh?"

  He glanced to the mages waiting at the gate behind her. "As I understand it, you may need some . . . assistance. If things don't go as well as you hope."

  "I hope for nothing. I'm here to keep Enchanter Wynne safe for the duration of her mission, one agreed to by the Divine. Should she discover something that will prove harmful, I will deal with it then."

  "And that is why we're here. To help you deal with it."

  She bristled at the idea. It sounded almost as if the Lord Seeker expected Wynne to find something harmful. Did he know more than he let on, or was he merely b
eing cautious? Either way, she wasn't about to push things in a direction they didn't need to go. "Then let's hope your help is not required," she told him. She pulled her horse around and began riding back to the gate. "Stay here until we return."

  "And if you don't?" he shouted after her.

  She didn't respond. If she didn't return, after all, then the matter would be out of her hands . . . and Arnaud would have to figure out a way to impress the Lord Seeker on his own. When she got back to the mages, they looked at her expectantly. "They come from the White Spire," she told them. "To help."

  Adrian looked dubious. "Are they coming in with us?"

  "No. They’re staying out here."

  She hoped.

  The gate was open just enough for their horses to ride through. Evangeline noticed the amount of sand that had accumulated just within— the gate would take an incredible effort to close again, if anyone cared to reoccupy the fortress once their task was done.

  From what they saw in the courtyard, that idea seemed unlikely. The keep itself looked intact, the doors at the top of the stairs still closed, but everything else was a ruin. A battle had been fought here. The buildings that stood inside the walls had been burned to the ground, their charred remains no longer providing any clue as to what they had once been. Scorch marks were everywhere, evidence of magical combat, and the cobblestones around the shattered cistern in the middle of the courtyard were black and covered in ash.

  Evangeline noticed a pile of corpses, all of which had been recently burned. They were the source of the smoke they'd seen from afar. Everything else was long cold.

  The only thing that seemed out of place was the statue that stood at the base of the stairs. It seemed crudely built, about seven feet tall and made of bulky stone and crystals— an odd choice for a statue, truly, and not at all like the fine sculptures she would expect to see in an Orlesian castle.

  Then the statue moved. Its head swiveled around to face them, eye sockets glowing malevolently. "Watch out!" she cried, instantly drawing her sword.

  "Hold!" Wynne warned.

  Evangeline watched, stunned, as the old mage slid off her horse and walked toward the statue. Rhys jumped down and made to grab her, but Wynne merely shrugged him off and continued on.

  "The elderly mage took its time returning," the statue complained. Its voice was booming and gravelly, sounding like rocks grating together.

  "I told you to come with me, didn't I?"

  "And allow the creature within to flee? Perish the thought." It gestured to the pile of burned corpses. "I spent my time cleaning. Like a servant. What a plea sure it is to once again perform dull errands at the behest of a mage."

  Wynne chuckled lightly, and then looked back as she noticed the others gaping at her. "This is Shale," she said, indicating the statue. "She was with me when I arrived. I was, in fact, hoping Pharamond might be able to help her . . . condition."

  "Little chance of that now," it griped.

  "I'm truly sorry, Shale."

  "Is that . . . a golem?" Adrian asked.

  "Did you say she?" Rhys said. "It doesn't look female."

  The statue seemed almost indignant. "I most certainly am not!"

  Wynne sighed. "She is a golem, yes. Shale was with us when we fought against the darkspawn in Ferelden. We discovered she has the soul of a dwarven warrior placed into this stone body long ago, and she's been trying to regain her living form ever since." She patted the statue on its big arm sympathetically. "We've had little success."

  It appeared unmoved. "The advantages of a flesh body seem dubious at best."

  Evangeline dismounted, keeping an eye on the golem. She'd heard of such creatures— constructs made by the ancient dwarves, an art they'd since lost. Since golems didn't age, there were still many to be found, although she understood most were quite mad. She'd certainly never heard of one talking before. It made her suspicious, not least because Wynne had failed to mention it earlier.

  "Is it tame?" she asked.

  The golem turned to look at her directly, its eyes flashing with annoyance. "Perhaps the insolent templar would enjoy being crushed into pulp and discovering the answer for itself?"

  "That's not necessary, Shale," Wynne said. She turned to study the doors to the keep, squinting her eyes in concentration. They looked solid to Evangeline. If they were locked, they'd have a difficult time gaining entry. "Do you sense anything, Rhys?"

  Rhys closed his eyes. “There's definitely a demon within. Maybe more than one. The Veil is even thinner here than at the White Spire."

  She nodded. "Would you prefer to wait out here, Ser Evangeline?"

  "I prefer to stay by your side."

  "As you wish." She looked expectantly at the golem. It sighed, and stormed up the stairs to the doors, each one of its heavy footfalls thooming loudly in the courtyard. Rather than trying the handles, it sank its thick fingers directly into the wood. The doors let out an excruciating groan as iron reinforcements twisted. Finally, with a great heave, the golem ripped the doors off their hinges, large chunks of wood and metal hurtling out into the courtyard.

  Evangeline dove out of the way, just barely avoiding getting struck by one of the larger pieces. "Are you mad?" she cried.

  The golem looked back, and shrugged. "It is agile enough."

  Nobody was hurt, at least. The others seemed less perturbed than Evangeline, and more interested in the now- vacant doorway into the keep. Wynne walked boldly inside, and everyone else quickly followed. Evangeline had no choice but to do likewise.

  The keep was dark, and cold— colder than it had any right to be, even with the building being made of stone. Even worse, what little light came through the doorway offered a nightmare: an entry chamber splattered with dried blood and gore. It covered the floors, it was smeared across the walls . . . the smell of it was musty, thick. There were no bodies, but in the distant shadows she could hear things moving. Large things, dragging themselves across the ground. Her imagination conjured too many images.

  Wynne stamped her white staff on the ground; a ringing sound echoed as it began to glow. The shadows seemed to recoil from the light, revealing a grand staircase and passages leading off, but it didn't make Evangeline feel less uneasy. She felt like an intruder. Foreboding slithered across her skin like a cold eel.

  “There's writing on the wall," Adrian said in a hushed voice.

  Words were smeared in blood right beside the doorway. Most of them were unintelligible gibberish, but one sentence was clear: "WE WANT OUT."

  Evangeline frowned. "The doors were barred from the inside, weren't they? If they wanted out, couldn't they have . . . left?" She immediately regretted the volume of her voice as it echoed throughout the hall, and tried not to imagine who "they" might be. More possessed corpses, or something worse?

  "They weren't barred," Shale grunted, "they were sealed."

  "How?"

  "Its guess is as good as mine."

  Rhys stepped away from the writing, looking distinctly queasy. Evangeline felt much the same. "Where do we go?" she asked. "Up the stairs?"

  Wynne shook her head. "Down. Adamant is built into the side of the chasm. This part of the keep is merely the living quarters. Pharamond's laboratory lies below."

  "Down," Rhys repeated. He gave himself a shake, as if throwing off something unpleasant. "Of course it would be down, wouldn't it? One day I'd like to find a demon that enjoys pleasant, well- lit surroundings."

  "Not today."

  "The old mage is still eager to find its friend?" Shale asked.

  "Yes." Wynne's answer was not confident.

  They stood there in the darkness, the winds whistling outside the doorway with a vengeance. There was nothing further to say. They had best get started.

  Rhys had told Cole to go back to the tower, and there had been a moment when Cole considered it. He'd watched from the shadows as their horses rode out of the village, and he thought about what Rhys had said. He could retrace his steps, find the proper ro
ad, and go all the way back to that huge and terrifying city on his own. It could be an adventure.

  But then he felt lonely. He never knew that being out in the world, surrounded by a multitude of strangers, would make him feel more invisible than ever. In a way, going back to the tower would be a comfort. A place he knew, and safe. But Rhys wouldn't be there. Rhys would be in danger, and he might never come back. Cole would be alone forever. That thought drove him forward.

  So he followed them. For days he kept as far behind them as he dared, worried that Rhys would notice and force him to leave. The man kept looking back from his horse, searching, and each time he did, Cole flinched. He kept off the road and in the brush as much as he dared, but then a thought began to hit him: What if Rhys couldn't see him?

  What if he was invisible to Rhys now, as well?

  That fear began to gnaw on him, worming its way into the pit of his stomach and sitting there like cold lead. He woke up each morning, covered in dew and shivering, gripped by the immediate fear that Rhys and the others had already left their camp. He raced to find them, his heart pounding, until finally he saw them sleeping. Only then did he breathe a sigh of relief, even if part of him desperately wanted to wake Rhys up. Just to talk to him. Just to hear another voice.

  Sometimes when he followed the group, he walked in the middle of the road, hoping that Rhys would look back and do something. But it didn't happen. They were often so far ahead they were little more than a speck in the distance, and each time they disappeared around a hillside he started to worry. What if they turned off the road and he didn't notice? What if he became lost out here for good?

  And then the land changed. It became dry, and then nothing more than wind and purple sand. It was a strange desolation, as if the entire world had died and just shriveled away. The wind was a lonely howl that cried of pain and neglect; the sadness of it tugged at Cole's heart. He never imagined such a place could exist, or why anyone would want to go there.