by David Gaider
Finally Wynne turned her horse about. With a beaming smile she asked if Shale wouldn't be so kind as to lead the way instead. It was a challenge the golem was only too happy to undertake, and it actually worked out quite well. The path it trudged through the sand was much easier to follow. The golem only vanished into a sinkhole once, requiring an hour's worth of effort for the horses to haul it back out.
Shortly after they left the badlands and green grass appeared on the hills, Wynne made the suggestion that Shale deliver a message to the Circle of Magi at Montsimmard. It was the nearest, and the mages there could use the sending stone to contact the White Spire. Sendings were not done lightly, she said, but considering the interest of the Chantry it might be a good idea to let them know of their expected arrival— and the urgent need for an audience with the Divine. Montsimmard, however, was well out of their way.
Evangeline seemed almost relieved to agree. Shale sighed at being reduced to the level of messenger— did Wynne expect it to fetch a chair, next? Perhaps she'd prefer to place a saddle on its back and ride it instead of her horse? A withering look from the old woman was enough to silence the golem. It accepted her letter and was off.
Rhys had a moment of amusement imagining the golem showing up at the gates of the Montsimmard Circle. He supposed it might, in fact, make Wynne's letter all the more convincing. How many golem messengers could there be, after all, especially ones with such an endearing attitude?
After Shale was gone, things were quiet again. Evangeline led them along the same back roads they took getting there, hurrying them as much as she dared. They didn't meet a single soul until late on the third day of travel, when a dwarven merchant on a small wagon met them going in the opposite direction.
The man almost didn't stop, and eyed even the Chantry insignia on Evangeline's armor with suspicion. When questioned, he said he was planning on taking the long route to Montsimmard on account of all the unrest since the battles began. Their raised eyebrows made him chuckle with amusement. Hadn't they heard? There was war in the east. Who was fighting whom was the subject of rampant rumor, but the flood of citizens fleeing into the Heartlands had turned the countryside upside down. They would be lucky to reach the capital, he said.
They stood there, stunned, as the dwarf urged his horses onward. A civil war, then? But there had been no mustering of the chevaliers, no call to arms under the Imperial banner? What had happened while they were in the badlands?
It was ill news of the worst sort. A civil war, then? Had the chevaliers been musters, or a call of arms made to the Imperial banner? What had happened while they were in the badlands? Rhys watched Evangeline staring pensively off into the distance, as if she could somehow discern what awaited them at the capital. The wind howled through the hills as the group waited for her to lead them, but she did nothing.
"Ser Evangeline?" Wynne asked hesitantly.
The templar remained quiet.
"Ser Evangeline, we've still an hour of light left."
"If we travel into the night we could reach Velun," Rhys suggested. "Maybe we could ask for news there?"
That seemed to get her attention. "No," she said firmly. "We stay away from any settlements. If there is anarchy, we're at risk now more than ever." She turned in her saddle and scanned the rest of them, frowning as her eyes fell on Pharamond.
Rhys could almost read the thoughts running through her head. Bring the elf into a populated area and the chance he might run away became even greater. Would he do so? Rhys couldn't say for certain— but short of Evangeline spending every waking moment watching Pharamond, not to mention Cole, there was no way to ensure he didn't have the chance.
"Let's make camp now," she said. It was raining. Rhys didn't think he would miss the rain, but after that trek through the badlands it felt almost glorious to stand out in the open and let the sand wash off. He turned his face up to the night sky, closing his eyes and enjoying the icy raindrops pelting his skin. The sound of thunder off in the distance seemed welcoming rather than ominous.
Everyone had finally succumbed to nervous exhaustion at the camp, leaving only Evangeline to stand guard. He couldn't join the others in sleep, and so sat in silence by the smoldering remains of the campfire. He'd offered to let Evangeline get some sleep, but she'd barely responded except to shake her head. Perhaps she thought he would try to run, as well. He certainly had every reason to.
Cole was curled up next to him, as close as he could get to the fire without burning. He didn't even stir as the rain fell on him, although Rhys saw fluttering behind his eyelids. Bad dreams. Considering all the young man had been through, he couldn't blame him for wanting to forget. He might not understand why Cole felt the impulse to kill, and couldn't let himself forget what Cole was, but he wasn't without sympathy.
He wiped a wet lock of blond hair out of Cole's eyes, and prayed silently that the Maker might deliver him a few days of peaceful rest before they got to the tower. The Maker owed him that much, at least.
"They may not listen to us," Evangeline suddenly said.
Rhys looked up, startled. The templar stood next to the campfire, watching him with a pensive expression. Her silvery armor glistened from the rain, her scarlet cloak dark and soaked through. Even with her black hair wet and plastered against her face, she was beautiful. He didn't want to admit it to himself, but there it was. "The templars?" he prompted.
She nodded. "I do not know Lord Seeker Lambert well. I believe he's a fair man, if harsh, but if there's war in the land . . ."
"You think he might not be inclined to listen."
"I think he might see our duty to keep order as being more important than finding the truth. Convincing him that Cole is not a demon will be . . . difficult enough." She paused, considering. "And the templars I spoke to . . . they will return to the Lord Seeker with their own tale. I have no control over that, and indeed any defense I offer might be considered biased. I wish I could say otherwise."
He thought about it, and then let out a slow sigh. "What other option do we have?"
"You could run." He was startled, and stared at Evangeline as she knelt down by the fire. She picked up a stick and stirred the coals, sending up sparks and thick smoke into the rain. "I have to bring Pharamond to the tower. You, on the other hand, were not the object of this mission. You could take Cole and flee. To Ferelden, if you dared to cross the Dales with these rumors of war, or north to Tevinter."
He gulped. Was this a test? "I would just be hunted," he said.
She reached into her cloak and pulled out a small glass vial. It glowed a deep and sinister red, something within it making the hairs on the back of his neck prickle. Magic, but something more as well. "This is your phylactery," she explained. "I would use it to track you if you escaped. If you overpowered me and broke it, however . . ."
"Why would you do this?"
The question made her pause. She stared at the coals, a grim frown etched onto her face. "I don't like being forced to choose between my duty and what's right. Knight- Commander Eron used to say that a templar's duty should always be questioned, and that the moment we stopped doing so was when we stopped being templars."
"He . . . sounds like a good man."
"He is. Wherever they've sent him, I hope he's treated fairly."
She looked back at Rhys, her eyes intense. "You saved my life, Rhys. You could have left me to die when Adrian cast that spell in the keep, but you didn't."
"Oh, I doubt you would have died."
"I don't."
He grinned, embarrassed. "I didn't think about it. I just knew I had to warn you . . . though by rights we probably both should have burned."
Evangeline watched him carefully. Perhaps she was trying to determine if he was just being modest; he couldn't tell. After a moment she nodded, as if coming to a decision. "I was wrong about you. You're a good man, and if there were anyone able to resist a demon it would be you. Letting you go would be endangering no one."
"And what about Cole?
"
"Teach him. Keep him safe. He deserves a second chance."
"Even after what he's done?"
"I won't judge Cole, not after what I've seen. I'll leave that to the Maker."
They were both quiet for a long time, only the slow hissing of the coals and the occasional peal of thunder overhead to keep them company. "You could come with us," he said quietly.
"I have to bring Pharamond to the tower."
"Pharamond be damned! Let Wynne take him back. It was her mission all along, not yours. If you go back with him still alive and me vanished . . ."
Evangeline smiled at him, faintly. She replaced the vial in her cloak, and then took out a small bundle of purple silk. Without speaking, she placed it on the ground and unwrapped it. There were five tiny vials within. Four seemed empty, but one of them had a small amount of shimmering blue liquid inside. He didn't need to hear the music in his mind to know what it was.
"Lyrium," he breathed.
She nodded. "We're not mages, Rhys. Our training would not be enough to deal with magic unless we used lyrium, I'm sure you know this."
"But what does . . ."
“There's only one vial left." Carefully she wrapped the vials back up in the silk and put the bundle away. "Once that is gone, I'll have perhaps a week before I start to feel the effects. Within a month, perhaps two, I'll go insane."
"You're addicted."
"And there's nothing to be done about it. The Chantry controls the supply of lyrium, and thus they control the templars. There is no turning back from the order once you're within." She shrugged. "My course is set. Yours need not be."
He thought about it. After a while, he stood up. There was just no way he could sit there with her staring at him and think this through rationally. He turned to leave the camp, hoping she would let him be alone. She'd just suggested he run, after all, so arguing he shouldn't leave camp didn't seem likely.
She didn't. Rhys walked off into the distance, far enough away that the faint light from what remained of the campfire was gone. The moon was obscured by the rain clouds, and thus the darkness seemed almost complete. He walked up the nearest hill, marveling at the slush of the wet grass and the fresh, crisp smell of the air.
When he got to the top, he stared out over the horizon. He couldn't see far— more hills were in the distance, with only a lingering mist glowing faintly silver under the moonlight. The patter of the rain was almost hypnotic. Soothing. He took a deep breath and let the chill air steady him.
Fleeing. That would make him an apostate, of course. Even without a phylactery, the templars would still look for him. He would be on the run, with Cole to look after . . . assuming Cole would even be willing to join him. And where would they go? Anywhere might be safer than the tower, but it still seemed hopeless.
Then again, he'd promised to help Cole. Now that he'd seen it was possible for people to remember the man, he might actually be able to do something. He could continue his research into spirits, something he hadn't been able to do for the last year. Perhaps he could find some remote location, some place where the locals weren't so inquisitive, set up a workshop . . . and end up exactly like Pharamond.
That wasn't a cheerful thought. As much as he disliked the constant supervision of the templars, their vigilance meant he couldn't harm anyone. Without them, all it would take was one mistake, one encounter with the wrong demon, and he would doom far more people than just himself.
"Don't go," someone said behind him.
He spun around. Adrian stood there, wet and bedraggled and hugging herself as the rain poured down. As miserable as she looked, however, her expression was determined. Her jaw was set, and he knew what that meant.
"You were eavesdropping," he sighed.
"You were talking right next to me."
Rhys turned away, staring out over the valley and trying to recapture the serenity he'd felt only a moment before. It had vanished with the wind, evidently. "I don't want to argue, Adrian. And why would you not want me to go, anyhow? You've made it perfectly clear how much you hate me."
She threw her hands up. "I don't hate you," she sighed irritably. "I hate that you're not doing anything to stop the templars before they kill you. I hate that you're letting one pretty templar turn you into a fool."
"So this is about Evangeline."
Adrian scowled. She walked to the top of the hill and stood beside Rhys, looking out over the dark valley below as he was. "Fine, I'm jealous," she admitted. "Is that what you want to hear?"
"Evangeline is a good person. You heard her offer."
"I heard her telling you to spend the rest of your life on the run, to give the templar order one more reason to believe mages are exactly who they think we are." She shook her head in dismay. "You need to face them, Rhys. For you, and for all of us."
"And what would you have me do, exactly?"
Adrian grabbed his arm, turning him to face her. Her gaze was intense. "Return to the tower. Let them refuse to see the truth. Let them try to make an example of you. Show them for what they are."
"Maker's breath, Adrian! You want me to become a martyr?"
"The mages know you, Rhys. They’ll rise to defend you."
He pulled away, trying not to look as angry as he felt. It was easy to send others to fight her battles, wasn't it? Let them die for the cause, while she stands on the sidelines rabble- rousing? But perhaps that wasn't fair. He knew how much Adrian cared— too much, perhaps. As long as he'd known her, she'd always kept her eyes on the goal. It was what he had always admired about her.
"And what about Cole?" he asked.
"Haven't you done enough for him?"
"No, I don't think anyone has."
Adrian frowned. He could tell she was struggling to find the words, ones that wouldn't upset him. It was an effort she usually didn't make. "If you really wanted to help Cole," she said carefully, "you wouldn't bring him to the tower. You know the templars aren't going to try and help him." She cut him off before he could interject. "And, yes, I know Ser Evangeline said she would help. But she can't, and she knows it. That's why she suggested you run."
"And so maybe I should."
She gave him a knowing look. "Cole's managed to live right under the noses of the templars for years. I imagine he's in no danger of being hunted. You, on the other hand, would be. It isn't a better choice."
"You think I don't know that?"
"You're not acting like you do." She put a hand on his shoulder, looking at him earnestly. "If news of what Pharamond learned gets out, it will remind everyone how desperate the templars are to keep power over us. When they try to punish you, it will be just like in Kirkwall. This is our chance, Rhys. This is what the Libertarians have been waiting for."
"And I'm the sacrificial lamb; that's great." He sighed, rubbing a hand over his wet hair. The rain was beginning to slacken, although somehow it seemed like it should be coming down stronger than ever. He expected thunderstorms, lightning, the sky opening up above him. Instead, all he got was drenched. "Not everyone lives in a world of black and white like you do, Adrian," he said. "It doesn't have to end in a rebellion. There are other options."
"Such as?"
"My mother, for one. I refuse to think she'll—"
Adrian's face hardened, and she pulled back. "I know Wynne is your mother," she said, "and I know how much that means to you. But you can't put your hopes in her. You can't trust her."
"You don't trust anyone."
"It's not that." She considered carefully, glancing at Rhys in a way that suggested he wasn't going to like what she had to say. "I couldn't say anything earlier, not in front of Ser Evangeline."
"Now you're making me nervous."
Adrian steeled herself. "When we reached the demon, Wynne defeated it— by herself, without any help from me. I don't think she even really wanted me there."
"And that's bad?"
"It's how she did it. Rhys, there's a spirit inside of her, a powerful one. I saw it emerge.
It wasn't a spell, and she didn't summon it. I think it was there all along."
He stared at her, stunned. "Are you saying . . . ?"
"I think Wynne is an abomination."
The next morning, just as the sun began to creep over the horizon, the camp stirred. Rhys had spent the rest of the night jittery and sleepless, and finally convinced Evangeline to get some sleep. How she managed to stand guard every evening and not succumb to exhaustion, he had no idea. An effect of the lyrium, or a sense of vigilance?
It had been strange, sitting there in the quiet camp and watching the sleeping faces of the others. Wynne, in particular. Even in sleep, she looked tired and pale. An old woman who chose to travel across half the Empire and sleep out in the rain. She certainly didn't look possessed— abominations were twisted, hideous things like what Pharamond had become. Even when a demon didn't twist its host's body, there should still be some evidence of its presence. He should be able to sense it.
Could Adrian be wrong?
Everyone got to their feet sluggishly, wiping off their clothes and rubbing themselves vigorously to get rid of the chill. The dawn sky was clear, bursting with red and orange, and Rhys might have thought it pretty had he not been so preoccupied.
As Evangeline collected the mounts from where they were grazing, Rhys called out to her. "Leave one of them here," he said. "I'd like to speak to Wynne. Alone."
Wynne stopped brushing her hair and looked up in surprise. The others were similarly curious, but no one said anything. Evangeline merely nodded. "We'll go slowly. Catch up as soon as you can." He could only imagine what she thought he was planning. She hadn't asked him anything since he and Adrian had returned to the camp.
Everyone quietly mounted and rode off, leaving Rhys and Wynne behind. Cole was the only one to look back. He seemed worried. Perhaps he thought Rhys was planning to leave him? Reluctantly, the young man turned back to the road ahead . . . and within moments they were gone.
Wynne kept brushing as if nothing were amiss. She took several pins from her robe and put her hair up into a bun, all the while not looking in Rhys's direction. He was stumped as to where he should begin. He'd spent the night waiting for this moment, but all the things he'd rehearsed evaporated from his mind. How did you accuse someone of being an abomination?
