by David Gaider
"Speak up!" the Lord Seeker snapped.
"They are dead," Wynne said, more loudly.
The Divine closed her eyes, moving her mouth in a prayer. All was quiet for a long minute until she opened her eyes again. Rhys could see they were moist— she was clearly moved, and it made him feel guilty. As horrified as he'd been by the carnage, other concerns had seemed far more pressing than that of lost lives.
"How?" she asked, her voice hoarse with emotion.
Wynne hesitated. "The Veil was already thin at Adamant. Pharamond's experiment allowed demons to pass into our world. They possessed the keep's people . . ."
"And tore each other apart," the Lord Seeker finished for her.
She nodded.
"And then possessed the corpses."
She nodded again.
The Lord Seeker didn't look at the Divine. He didn't have to.
"And this experiment," the Divine continued, "is there promise in it? Is it an accident the Rite of Tranquility has been reversed in this man, or can it happen again?"
Wynne made to answer, but now Pharamond spoke up. "I did not intend to be possessed, I swear it," he said. He cleared his throat uncomfortably. "In fact, I believe the pro cess can be replicated far more safely . . . if, that is, you wish it to be. . . ." His voice trailed off into silence.
"But have you learned more of the Rite's nature?"
"Yes, I believe I have."
"And do you believe a way can be discovered to allow the Rite to restrict a mage without rendering them Tranquil?"
Rhys noticed the nervous sweat pouring down Pharamond's brow. He glanced helplessly at Wynne, but she merely nodded for him to answer. He faced the Divine again, stuttering several times before he managed a response: "No," he said quietly. "I don't believe that's possible."
His answer hung in the air.
"Then there's nothing further to discuss," the Lord Seeker declared. "If the only result of this man's research is to discover the Rite may be reversed, then I deem it a failure . . . and a dangerous one, Most Holy. Even now there are those in the White Spire who believe we are about to turn every Tranquil back into a mage!"
The Divine pondered his words and did not respond. She did not have to, however, as Adrian suddenly stepped forward. Rhys groaned inwardly, seeing the outrage written clearly on her face right next to the tears. "And so you should!" she shouted. "They should never have been mutilated in the first place!"
The man glared at her in fury, but it was the Divine who responded. "And what would you have us do, my dear? Execute them?"
"Yes!" Adrian looked around at the shocked glances she received, and they only seemed to fuel her outrage. "Yes! You think it's kinder to turn them into automatons, into servants? If you really fear us so much, then kill us! Don't pretend that killing everything that makes us human isn't the same thing!"
The Lord Seeker angrily waved at several of the templars off to the side, but the Divine shook her head. He stared at her in disbelief, but she ignored him. "I understand your frustration," she said to Adrian, "but we are placed in a difficult position."
"One that is about to be made even more difficult, Most Holy," the Lord Seeker said. He got down on one knee before the throne, a show of earnest supplication Rhys found surprising. So did Ser Evangeline and the red- haired woman on either side of the throne. Both stared at the man in surprise. "We cannot indulge this research any further," he said. "By the elf's own words, it leads nowhere. We must put our efforts toward keeping order before word of this spreads."
More surprising still, the Divine appeared to consider his words. She frowned thoughtfully, staring off into the distance as she weighed the options. Rhys almost expected Adrian to object, but then he saw her shaking her head in dejection. She was giving up.
"No!" he cried out. The words were almost ripped from him before he realized what he was saying. They sounded too loud in the massive audience chamber, reverberating until all eyes were turned toward him.
There you go again, he scolded himself. When will you learn, exactly?
Steeling his nerves, Rhys approached the dais, kneeling down in the same manner the Lord Seeker had before him. "Forgive me, Most Holy, but I have to speak."
The corner of the Divine's mouth twitched in amusement. "Why not? It seems as if none of us are standing on ceremony today. Who might you be?"
"Enchanter Rhys, Most Holy."
She smiled. "Ah! The son, is it? I can see the resemblance."
He was taken aback by that, a combination of Wynne clearly having told the Divine about their relationship and the woman even remembering. Plus, he didn't look like Wynne . . . did he? In the space of his hesitation, however, the Lord Seeker interrupted. "Do not listen to this man. He is under suspicion of murder, and anything he says will undoubtedly be an effort to save his own skin."
The Divine chuckled, lowering her hands and easing back in the throne. "We all have our biases, Lambert. Seeing as you allowed this man to accompany the mission, I'm willing to listen to what he has to say." She nodded to Rhys. "Please continue."
"I believe setting aside this man's research would be a mistake," he said. "So much of what we know of the Rite of Tranquility, indeed of magic itself, is based on tradition and hearsay. What he has learned may not be an alternate solution to the Rite, but that does not mean one cannot be found."
"And how do you know this?" the Lord Seeker demanded.
"I have been speaking with Pharamond since we left Adamant. Considering my own research deals with spirits, I've found what he has to say quite illuminating."
The Lord Seeker stared, stunned. He spared a withering glance at Evangeline, who kept her own expression stony and did not look away, and then turned to face the Divine. "Do you see? Already it spreads. Next he'll be trying to convince us that demons are required to further this agenda!"
"Not demons," Rhys insisted. "Spirits!" At the incredulous look from both the Lord Seeker and the Divine, he spoke more emphatically. "Not everything about spirits is evil. We use spirits to heal, and the Chantry accepts this because it's useful. This is no different."
"Of course it's different!" the Lord Seeker boomed. "We have an entire keep of innocents horribly slaughtered to show us how different it is!"
"And would you make their deaths meaningless?"
"Not I!" he said. "Their deaths were made meaningless by the selfish act of a man who used them to reverse something that should never have been reversed! It is blasphemy!"
Rhys laughed bitterly. "Blasphemy? This door is opened. You can try to slam it shut, or you can see what's on the other side! It might just be a way to avoid the rebellion even you must know is coming!"
The Lord Seeker drew his sword. The metallic sound it made as it left its scabbard rang throughout the room, and the reaction was instantaneous. At least half of the templars drew their blades, and Rhys didn't get the impression they intended to stop him; rather the opposite. Rhys fell back, alarmed, and immediately channeled mana. Adrian rushed to his side, summoning a wreath of fire to her hands.
"Enough!" the Divine cried. "There will be no bloodshed!"
Evangeline ran toward the Lord Seeker, weapon already in hand, but the red- haired priest got there first. She grabbed his sword hand, and when he wheeled about to force her off she glared at him with steely eyes. "Don't be a fool," she warned, her voice low and deadly.
He scowled, though he did lower his blade. Pulling his hand from hers, he turned to face Rhys. "I see no rebellion coming," he seethed. "I see mages who take every inch they're allowed and demand ten more, forgetting the very reasons the Circle exists. And what I hear are threats, coming from a Libertarian who would be the very first corrupted if power were ever placed in his hands."
Rhys allowed his power to fade, but it was difficult. The Lord Seeker was so full of contempt and self- righteousness it was sickening, and Rhys wanted nothing more than to wipe that sneer off his face . . . even though it would surely mean his own death.
; "I'm not making threats," he said. "I'm telling you there are alternatives, but you're too blind to see them. If you keep trying to strangle the mages, you'll lose us. That I promise you."
The Lord Seeker ignored him, instead turning to the Divine. "Do you see what we contend with? Resistance at every turn. End this, here and now, before it spreads beyond these walls."
"It's too late," a voice cried out. It was Wynne. She reassuringly patted the anxious Pharamond's hand and then left him to approach the dais. "I'm sorry, Most Holy, but the Circle of Magi already knows about Pharamond."
"What do you mean?" the Lord Seeker demanded.
She smiled sweetly at him. "The sending that went to the White Spire and the Grand Cathedral was also sent to every other Circle in Thedas. The first enchanters are already on their way to Val Royeaux as we speak."
Adrian gasped, and Rhys was similarly stunned. Had that been Wynne's plan all along, then? Had the golem been so incredibly caustic just so Evangeline would be happy to see it leave? He couldn't help but feel a little chagrined at the realization.
The Lord Seeker wheeled on the Divine. "Execute them," he growled. "Execute them all. This flies in the face of everything the Chantry stands for, a direct challenge to our authority!"
The Divine frowned and regarded Wynne with a speculative look, tapping her fingers on the arm of the Sunburst Throne. Wynne bowed, and spoke in a carefully guarded tone. "This is a chance for you to work with the Circle, to greet Pharamond's findings as an opportunity rather than as a threat."
"You put us in a difficult position," the Divine said. Rhys could tell she was displeased, perhaps even backed into a corner. She exchanged a dire look with the Lord Seeker, one that made Rhys nervous. Might she refuse, after all this? Had Wynne alienated a woman who had seemingly been their ally?
"None more difficult than we mages are in, Your Perfection," Wynne answered.
The Divine's fingers thrummed on the throne for several more moments before she nodded curtly. "So be it." Before the Lord Seeker could object, she held up a hand. "Expedite the arrangements, Lambert. They will hold conclave here at the White Spire, rather than in Cumberland. Set it to happen in one month's time. Let the mages debate a policy that both of us can live with."
The Lord Seeker ground his teeth, but it was easy to see he was just as caught as she. "Very well," he said curtly. "I believe it a fool's errand, but it appears we are left with no choice. The templars will allow this, but I have three conditions."
"Name them."
"One, that we restrict the size of the conclave. I do not wish to see the tower packed with every senior enchanter from here to Ferelden. Too much power in one place may give these mages foolish ideas."
The Divine nodded. "I believe those in this chamber will be required at the conclave. Beyond that, I agree. First enchanters only."
"Two, I wish these mages imprisoned. I do not want them stirring up trouble, not in the White Spire or anywhere else."
"Confine them to quarters." She looked at Wynne. "I believe we can make an exception for you, Enchanter, in recognition of your past ser vice. You will remain in the White Spire until the conclave. Should Lord Seeker Lambert believe you are abusing this privilege, you will join the others."
Wynne nodded. "I understand, Most Holy."
"Lastly"—the Lord Seeker gestured at Pharamond—"I wish this man to undergo the Rite of Tranquility once again."
There was silence as his words sank in, and then Pharamond let out a heart- wrenching wail of despair. The elf sank to his knees, staring at the Lord Seeker in utter horror. Tears welled in his eyes. "Please," he gasped. "Please do not do this, I beg you . . ."
Wynne ran to the man's side, keeping him upright. She pleaded to the Divine, "For the love of the Maker, have mercy!"
The Lord Seeker scowled. "The reasons he underwent the Rite are true today as they once were. Moreover, look at him. The man can barely control himself. How will he fare against a demon? What ever knowledge he possesses will remain."
Pharamond collapsed to the ground. The desperate keening sound he made was like an animal caught in a trap, and it tugged at Rhys's heart. "You can't do this!" he shouted. "After all he's been through, it's inhumane!"
"Perhaps you'd like to join him," the Lord Seeker said icily.
The Divine shook her head. "Enough, Lambert. The elf shall become Tranquil once again. It is done." With that, she rose from the throne. Every templar in the chamber immediately stood at attention. Before she left the dais, however, she paused and regarded Wynne with a warning look. "Let us hope you are correct, Enchanter, and this conclave allows the Circle and the Chantry to build a new accord. If not, may the Maker have mercy on you all."
The red- haired attendant took the Divine by the hand and led her away. All was silent as the two of them left the dais, save for the sound of Pharamond's pitiful sobbing. It echoed throughout the holy chamber, and Rhys found himself standing there, stunned.
What had just happened? There was to be a conclave . . . and he was to attend? It seemed he had another reprieve, though the way the Lord Seeker glared at him he imagined it wouldn't last much beyond that.
He was far luckier than poor Pharamond. Rhys walked toward the man, Adrian beside him, but neither could offer any more comfort than Wynne could. The old woman cradled him like a child beneath the Eternal Brazier as he howled in grief.
What ever he had done in the keep, what ever mistakes he had made, he was paying for it now. If there was anything worse than being stripped of all your emotion and made to live as a hollow shadow of what you once were . . . it was knowing exactly what it was like, and having it about to happen to you again.
Chapter 17
Three weeks.
Evangeline was Knight- Captain in name only, now. Despite pronouncements from the Divine, that did not make the Lord Seeker appreciate her presence any more. In fact, it made things worse. She had been relegated to tasks no Knight- Captain before her ever had the plea sure of doing: guard duty in the dungeons, for one. Alone.
Arnaud showed up on occasion to gloat. The man carried around his insufferable smile like a victory flag, taunting her with the knowledge that as soon as the first enchanters' conclave was done, so was her position within the White Spire. The Divine's favor only went so far. He was probably right. That didn't make her want to wipe that smile off his face any less. It might even be worth it, despite the consequences.
Not all the other templars felt as Arnaud did, of course. Some of them came to the dungeons late at night, offering their sympathies and advice. Apologize, they said. T row yourself at the Lord Seeker's mercy, lest you lose what ever standing you've earned in the order forever. This was ignoring the fact that Lord Seeker Lambert didn't have any mercy. That, and she no longer cared.
Well . . . that was a lie. She did care. She cared so much the helpless rage smoldered inside her like a burning coal. This wasn't the Templar Order she joined. That order was filled with protectors, people doing their best with an awful situation. People who believed the mages needed help just as much as the innocents outside the tower, and had a Maker- given duty to be compassionate with the power they wielded.
Knight- Commander Eron had believed that. Her father had believed that. She saw none of it in the Lord Seeker, however— just a cold certainty that froze out any hope of compromise. What made it worse was that many of the other templars feared the Lord Seeker, and saw him clamping down on them just as much as the mages, yet none of them were willing to raise a voice of opposition. Seeing their Knight- Captain serve as the perfect example of what happened to someone who did made that willingness fade all the more rapidly.
So there she was, stuck for days on end down in the darkness. She'd tried several times to request an audience with the Lord Seeker, all to no avail. He didn't want to speak with her, or even acknowledge she existed. Evangeline knew he was watching her like a hawk, however, just waiting for the slightest opportunity to accuse her of insubordination.
Evangeline stood there, brow knitted in confusion, and then suddenly dug into her tunic. From there she pulled out a small piece of parchment. Quickly she walked over to the sapphire light of the glowlamp and read it:
His name is Cole.
He's not that old, perhaps twenty years. No more. He has blond hair that hangs in front of his eyes and wears dirty leathers— perhaps the only clothes he owns. He was there when you found Rhys in the templar crypt, but you couldn't see him. Nobody can, and those who do forget him. Just like you are doing right now.
Remember the dream.
She lowered the parchment, closing her eyes and trying to cling to the memory. The dream in the Fade. That awful farm house, and finding a boy hidden away in a kitchen cupboard. She remembered everything about it, but Cole himself slipped past her mind's eye. She couldn't see his face, or hear his voice. But she wanted to. It was her duty to remember.
What had happened to him? He had come to her, in the days after the audience with the Divine. Her recollection was like that of the dream— an impression of an event rather than something solid. He'd asked her about Rhys, and asked her if he was going to be given over to the templars.
I'm sorry, Cole, she'd said. I really don't know.
She'd felt helpless, and it had been terrible to watch him sag in defeat. He'd been so terrified on the ride back to the White Spire, she remembered that much. All his hopes and fears wrapped up in anticipation of a moment that never arrived. They’d gone to the Grand Cathedral, and then everything afterward had been a blur of activity. The Lord Seeker had shut her out completely, and Cole had undoubtedly retreated back into the depths of the tower.
In fact, he might even be watching her right now.
