by David Gaider
She halted her mount, trying not to let her dismay show. The others continued ahead. Rhys looked back, catching her eyes and silently expressing his sympathy. Behind him, Cole was doing his best to hide. Whether or not the Lord Seeker would have taken notice of the young man even if he could see him didn't seem to matter— Cole would clearly have been much happier if he could have crawled inside Rhys's robe and disappeared.
Within moments they were gone. "Ride with me" was all the Lord Seeker said as he turned his mount about and followed after them. Evangeline kept pace, and as soon as they were through the gates the gears began turning once again. A minute later the great doors slammed shut, the thunderous sound filled with such finality it chilled her bones.
They rode quietly through the Avenue of the Sun. During the day this would be a bustling place, the wide street lined with merchants of every kind as well as "greeters" who coaxed travelers to follow them to a special shop, a whore house, an inn . . . everyone would be bombarded with shouts the moment they entered Val Royeaux. At night it was quieter, and the greeters far seedier in their purpose.
This night it was deserted. The glowlamps, installed at great expense along the avenue and maintained by the Tranquil, cast a sapphire shroud over the area that was almost eerie. So much smoke hung in the air she knew it must be worse in the poor quarters. There were enough city guardsmen patrolling the streets to make her believe a strict curfew had been laid down.
"Perhaps I was unclear in my instruction," the Lord Seeker finally said.
"I do not believe so."
"Then can you tell me why these people are here? I sent a group of experienced templars to assist you should the inevitable occur. You dismissed them. Yet here I am confronted with the specter of the very chaos you were to prevent."
"My lord, I—"
"Not only do you allow them to leave the badlands with the Tranquil in tow, you let them go to the Circle of Magi to send word!" He glared at her scornfully. "A sending is seen by the mages before anyone else, leaving me no ability to stop word from spreading, and even if I had wished to keep this news from the Divine it did not matter! She received her own sending!"
He paused in his rant, clearly expecting her to speak now. "My Lord Seeker," she said stiffly, "there were circumstances that—"
"Circumstances."
"Yes, my lord. Most Holy has a personal interest in the results of Enchanter Wynne's mission. I decided it was best to permit her the opportunity to decide what should be done regarding the matter."
"You decided." He repeated the word with disgust and shook his head. They rode in silence, and he stared at the street ahead. Perhaps he pondered what to do with her? She doubted that— far more likely he'd decided what to do with her before she even neared the capital. "I gave you an order, Knight- Captain. Does that mean nothing?"
"I took vows to serve the Chantry," she insisted. Inwardly she despaired at the hole she was digging for herself, but a part of her was beginning to grow angry. "We have a responsibility to the Divine, as well as to the mages we protect— not only to keep order. With all due respect, my lord."
"I see no respect here. I see a woman who has left me no opportunity to deal with this matter in a way that will not lead to more upheaval. Is this what you intended?"
"I did what I judged to be best, and if you'll permit me the chance to explain myself fully, I'm hoping you'll agree."
"And yet there is no time for explanations, is there? We ride to the Grand Cathedral, our course set." The Lord Seeker clenched his jaw, refusing to look at her. "When we return to the White Spire, you will report to Ser Arnaud. He will be relieving you as Knight- Captain."
"Yes, my lord." Evangeline stifled her outrage. It was true she'd left him few options, having allowed the matter to go over his head, but she was increasingly certain that was for the best. She wasn't about to let fear of losing her position prevent her from doing what was right.
The streets led them briefly through the market district. Here she could see evidence of the turmoil the capital had suffered. Whole buildings burnt to the ground, some recently enough to still be smoldering, and enough refuse littered the cobblestones to make her think a battle had occurred. Even in the dim evening light the dark splatters of blood were unmistakable.
Lord Seeker Lambert was clearly finished with their conversation, but she couldn't leave it at that. "There is one other matter," she said reluctantly. "I have new information on the murders."
"Indeed?" His tone was acidic. "Strange how there have not been any more murders since Enchanter Rhys left us."
"Be that as it may, he is not responsible."
"Then who is?"
"That . . . will require some explanation."
He turned in his saddle to level an incredulous glare at her. She tried not to look away. She knew that Cole would be difficult to explain, even under the best circumstances, but that didn't mean she shouldn't try. "You will be debriefed at the White Spire," he stated. "You can make your explanations then, Ser Evangeline. Until that time, we have an audience to contend with."
The Lord Seeker appeared annoyed by the prospect, but it gave Evangeline hope. The Divine she remembered from the failed assassination in the palace struck her as a fair and just person. All Evangeline could do was silently pray to the Maker that His holy servant was granted the wisdom to see them through this.
It was a small hope, but she clung to it with all her might.
Chapter 16
Rhys had been to the Grand Cathedral only once before. Shortly after his elevation to senior enchanter, he'd been brought in with Adrian and several others who had been elevated along with him to meet Divine Beatrix III. A courtesy, really, and Rhys remembered standing there in the stifling heat for several hours before Most Holy made her appearance.
It had been less than a year before her death, and at the time he wouldn't have been surprised if she'd expired on the spot. He remembered a shriveled old woman helped into the chamber by no less than four attendants, all but collapsing under the weight of her scarlet robes. The thick, golden medallion hanging around her neck seemed to pull her head down toward the ground, and her great headdress hung askew.
When she reached the Sunburst Throne, the Divine had blinked her eyes and looked around in confusion. "Where are we?" she'd asked, Rhys noting that not more than three teeth remained in her mouth. "Is it time to break my fast already? I told them I wasn't hungry. No more porridge, I said!"
One of the attendants had leaned in close. "The mages, Most Holy."
The woman's beady eyes went wide in shock. "Mages?!" She searched the room, almost falling over in her agitation. "Andraste's grace, are we under attack?!"
It had taken the attendants, as well as a pair of nearby templars, to finally calm the Divine down and assure her that, no, the evil mages were not here to attack anyone. They got her settled, a pile of rags seated on a throne that dwarfed her in both size and majesty, and then she immediately proceeded to fall asleep. Rhys and the others had been "introduced" one after the other, everyone pretending not to notice the old woman's thunderous snoring.
He had never considered himself the most faithful of Andrastians. Perhaps it was being raised by the Chantry, or simply being a mage and thus less impressed by events some might call miraculous. Still, he remembered being disappointed. All that preparation, and the vast humility he'd felt stepping into that chamber, only to discover the most exalted person in all of Thedas was simply . . . human.
Now here he was, seven years later, and the Grand Cathedral looked just the same. The structure stood in a walled compound on the far end of Val Royeaux, once having existed outside the capital until the city literally grew around it. It was an imposing fortress of grey stone and arches that seemed to reach high up to the sky. Despite the beauty on display, golden statues and colorful stained glass that reached from one end of the structure to the other, the place possessed a somberness that told of its bloody past.
The Chantry, after
all, was a religion born from a war that had shaken all of Thedas. Places like the Grand Cathedral and the White Spire had once been fortresses that had endured countless battles, and all were built upon the bones of countless dead.
It made him wonder if more would be added to that count today.
Once again he stood in the audience chamber, staring at the empty throne. This late at night the stained glass windows were dark, and only the Eternal Brazier cast any light, the flames in its marble basin making every shadow dance. The forty- foot- tall statue of Andraste, depicted as a robed woman with the sword of justice held aloft, seemed particularly ominous now. It was as if she stared down, knowing what lay ahead and pitying him for it.
Lord Seeker Lambert stood near the throne with the templars lined up on either side of the chamber, all of them standing at attention. Evangeline stood with them, her face an unreadable mask. Cole was . . . somewhere nearby, in the shadows. Watching. Only the mages stood out on the open floor. Rhys found the wait almost excruciating.
Then a gong rang. A line of priests filed into the chamber, each of them holding their hands in prayer and chanting. Their voices filled the room with echoes, sending a shiver down his spine.
Immediately following them was the Divine. This was no wizened crone, but a much younger woman who walked straight and proud. She needed no assistance save for the single attendant that carried the train of her voluminous red robes. Everyone in the room fell to one knee as she passed. For a long moment there was nothing but the hushed sound of the Divine's footsteps as she ascended to the Sunburst Throne.
"All hail the Most Holy Justinia, Fifth of Her Name, Exalted Servant of the Maker!" a templar shouted, his voice booming across the chamber.
"Grant us wisdom," a chorus of voices answered.
There was a pause, and then the Divine spoke: "Rise, all of you."
Everyone stood. The woman sat upon the throne, and unlike its previous occupant she appeared to fill it. She sat up straight, utterly in command, and took in her audience with a warm and welcoming gaze.
The attendants hung to the rear of the chamber. Only one of them actually stood on the dais next to the throne: a pretty woman with short red hair, wearing a priest's robes but standing with such ease and grace that Rhys couldn't help but get the impression she was a bodyguard. Rumor said the Divine was employing bards in her personal ser vice. He'd assumed the tales were exaggerated, as so many of them were, but perhaps that wasn't so?
"Such a late hour for an audience," the Divine commented. Her voice carried easily in the room's acoustics; it was almost as if she spoke directly in Rhys's ear. "But it is good you all are here. I have awaited this for some time."
"Your Perfection, if I may." The Lord Seeker strode toward the dais. He made a perfunctory bow, and did not wait for permission to continue. "There is no need for this. With the state of the Empire, I'm positive you have more important concerns than an internal matter of the Circle of Magi."
"Your advice is appreciated, Lambert," she said. Rhys thought he detected a hint of sarcasm in her tone, and certainly the lack of an honorific did not go unnoticed by the man. He glared indignantly, but said nothing. "The Empire faces war, and while we pray for the souls of the many innocents trapped in its wake, the Chantry cannot forsake its responsibility for the sake of politics."
"I am dealing with the matter, Your Perfection . . ."
"Indeed?" Her eyebrows shot up. "And yet a mage made an attempt on my life scant weeks ago. The templars have had an increasingly difficult time of managing the Circle ever since that unfortunate business in Kirkwall. Perhaps some assistance is in order, wouldn't you say?"
His nod of assent was grudging, at best. "If you believe it so, Your Perfection."
"I do." The Divine cast her gaze around the room, clearly looking for someone, until she spotted her amid the line of templars. "Speaking of the attempt on my life, I never did have the opportunity to thank the one personally responsible for my rescue. Ser Evangeline, be so kind as to step forward."
Rhys saw Evangeline's eyes go wide in shock. She hestitated, until the Divine finally beckoned her over. Reluctantly she left the templar line, and when she reached the bottom of the dais she instantly dropped to one knee.
"The report I received on the events at Adamant fortress were quite thorough," the Divine said. "I understand you're responsible for ensuring the mission's completion and safe return to Val Royeaux."
Evangeline didn't look up. "I . . . did my best, Most Holy."
"Indeed you did. Here I find myself thanking you for not one ser vice rendered to the Chantry, but two." The Divine looked over at the Lord Seeker. "You have a most promising templar in your ranks, Lambert. I trust you'll see her adequately rewarded?"
The Lord Seeker said nothing. For a long moment there was tense silence as he and the Divine locked stares, until finally he relented. "As you wish, Your Perfection."
"Good. Someone will need to look after the White Spire when you return to your regular duties, after all."
"Most Holy!" Evangeline spluttered. "I . . . cannot ask you to . . ."
"You did not ask. Rather, it is I who am asking you to continue serving the Maker." She waved for Evangeline to come closer. "Stand at my side while I deal with the matter at hand."
Evangeline exchanged a look with the Lord Seeker. Standing behind both of them, Rhys couldn't see the details . . . but from the man's rigid posture, it was easy to tell he wasn't pleased. Someone was being overruled. Rhys would be a liar if he claimed that didn't make him at least a little happy.
He watched Evangeline walk up the steps toward the throne, where she was met by the red- haired woman. She looked proud, if a little flustered. Good for her, Rhys thought to himself. At least someone's going to benefit from all this.
"Now then," the Divine began. "Let us continue. Enchanter Wynne?"
Wynne stepped forward, leading Pharamond by the hand. The elf was shaking so badly from terror, he looked ready to vomit. As soon as he reached the dais, he prostrated himself before the Divine. "Please, Your Perfection!" he begged in a quavering voice. "I did only as you asked of me, I swear it!"
Wynne knelt down and tried to console him, but the elf was having none of it. He trembled and sobbed, snot running out of his nose in a pathetic display almost painful to watch. Finally the Divine raised her hand. "Stand," she commanded him. "For the moment, I wish only to speak."
Slowly Pharamond allowed Wynne to help him up. He attempted to collect himself, though not very well. "I . . . did only as you asked, Most Holy," he repeated.
The Lord Seeker strode forward, wheeling on the Divine with an expression of outrage. "What does he mean by that, exactly?"
"I believe you are forgetting yourself, Lambert."
"And I believe the templars have a right to know what transpires in our own domain!" he snapped. "We have a difficult enough time dealing with the mages, we most certainly do not need interference!"
She frowned, and Rhys wondered if things were about to come to a head. These were two of the most powerful people in Thedas butting heads, right there in front of everyone. The unease in the chamber was conspicuous, and he couldn't help but notice the templars were not only armed but also handily outnumbered everyone else. But . . . they served the Chantry. The templars would never openly oppose the Chantry, would they? That was unthinkable.
"Allow me to explain, then," the Divine said in a crisp tone. "Five years ago I asked someone to undertake an investigation into the nature of the Rite of Tranquility. It is a pro cess we use even though we do not fully understand it. I wished to know if the Rite could deny a mage their power without also neutering their mind. I also wished to know if the pro cess could be reversed." She gestured to Pharamond. "As you can see, that much appears to be true."
"But why?" the Lord Seeker demanded. "The Rite of Tranquility has served the Circle for centuries. It is our last defense against mages who cannot master their own powers. We must keep order, Most Holy! We mu
st protect the innocent from the mages, and the mages from themselves!"
She nodded. "A convenient tale, so we may sleep better at night. The Maker says that magic is to serve mankind . . . but we possess a responsibility to those who serve us, Lord Seeker. We cannot hail them when their magic is useful and then lock them in a cage when it is inconvenient. They are the Maker's children, not to be tolerated, but to be cherished."
Rhys was stunned. He'd never thought to hear such words from anyone in the Chantry before, never mind the Divine. From the murmurs that traveled around the room, he suspected many others felt the same way. Looking to his right, he caught a glimpse of Adrian standing not far from him and watching the throne.
She was crying.
The Lord Seeker furrowed his brow, staring at the Divine in consternation. "And what price would you have us pay for such idealism, Most Holy?"
"Idealism is our stock- in- trade, Lambert. A religion without ideals is tyranny. As for the price"— she turned back to Pharamond—"that is what I intend to discover."
Wynne bowed low. "Your Perfection, with your permission, perhaps I could answer your questions. Since Pharamond's . . . restoration . . . he has had difficulty controlling his emotions. I fear this may be overwhelming for him."
The elf smiled gratefully at her, but the Lord Seeker was not nearly as impressed. "And this is a man we should now trust to resist possession?" he growled.
The Divine silenced him. "Your report was very detailed, Enchanter Wynne. For that I thank you. There are, however, questions remaining. If you would be so kind as to answer them, it would be appreciated."
"Of course, Your Perfection."
The Divine sat back in the throne. She steepled her hands together and rested her chin on them, narrowing her eyes in thought. "First I wish to know what happened to the people of Adamant."
Wynne appeared reluctant to speak, and Rhys could well imagine why. He remembered the room full of charred corpses, the blood smearing the walls, and shuddered. "They are dead," she whispered.
