by David Gaider
Who could it be? One of the guards? Both of them sat there, at a loss. "Go away!" he called.
From behind the door, he heard an angry whisper: "Rhys, it's me!" It was Adrian. She quickly darted through the door and closed it behind her, skidding to a startled halt when she realized Wynne was also present.
"For the love of Andraste," Rhys breathed, "what are you doing? Shouldn't you be locked in your room?"
Wynne stood up. "I'll leave the two of you to your business."
Adrian blocked her path. "Actually, I wanted to talk to you as well."
"I think you and I have spoken enough. If anyone asks, I never saw you." She walked around Adrian and slipped out the door. Rhys watched her go, and had a sinking feeling she wasn't going to come back. Suddenly he regretted saying what he did. That wasn't a good way to leave things.
He frowned as Adrian plopped herself down on the cot. "Rhys, she's here!" she gushed, positively vibrating with excitement. "The Grand Enchanter is here!"
"So I've heard."
"No, I mean here. In the tower!"
"How do you know that? And how did you even get here?"
She waved the question away dismissively. "Says the man who snuck out of his own room not too long ago. I've been busy all week, staying in contact with the Libertarians. What have you been doing?"
"Keeping low."
"Well, stop it. We need you. The Grand Enchanter is going to call for a new vote at the conclave."
He sat back, stunned. "That's insane. We're supposed to be debating Pharamond's research, not talking about in de pen dence. The Lord Seeker will be watching us like hawks. There’s no way he'll let that happen."
Adrian was thrilled. He could see the determination in her eyes. What she was waiting for her entire life seemed close at hand, but what was that? War? Would they all be slaughtered? How far did they want to push it?
"That doesn't matter," she said. "It's a gesture, and one that needs to happen. If the templars do anything, the entire Circle of Magi will know about it." She grabbed Rhys by the shoulders, almost shaking him in her intensity. "Just think! We'll be there, right at the center of everything when it happens. History in the making!"
"A lot of bad things happen in history, Adrian."
She pulled away, instantly switching to a hurt expression. For a moment she was silent, and then she frowned. "It's that templar, isn't it?" she asked suspiciously. "Are you worried she'll get hurt? If the Lord Seeker makes a move, you think she'll be forced to stand with him?"
He sighed. "No, that's not it."
"Then what?" Adrian stood up, agitatedly pacing around the tiny room before wheeling on him and holding her hands out in desperate appeal. "Tell me what's changed! We joined the Libertarian fraternity together. We used to sit up at night and talk about what a Circle run by mages would be like, how we would help run it. Don't you still want that?"
Rhys ran a hand through his hair, trying to control his frustration. She was looking at him in helpless confusion, and he gestured toward the bed. "Sit down, Adrian." When she hesitated, he repeated it more forcefully: "Sit. Down."
She sat.
He took her hands in his, to make certain she listened. "I do still want that," he stated. "I just don't want anyone to get hurt. Not Evangeline, not you, not Cole, not anyone."
Her brow furrowed. "Who's Cole?"
"Never mind that. We have to be careful, that's all I'm saying. If we do this the wrong way, if we act too rashly— especially when the Lord Seeker will be expecting us to— we could ruin it, for everyone."
Adrian sighed, shaking her head sadly. She looked at him almost like he were naïve, and she didn't quite know how to tell him. "It may come to violence, Rhys. We have to be prepared for that. And if it does, we have to be prepared to work together."
He scowled, but he had to admit she had a point. He had just been thinking, after all, about how there seemed to be no middle way. "What do you need me to do?" he asked.
"Talk to Wynne."
"I've been talking to Wynne. She's come almost every day this week."
"There are a lot of Aequitarians wavering. Astebadi of Antiva and Gwenael of Nevarra are both going to be here, and the Grand Enchanter said it wouldn't take much to convince them to act." Adrian paused dramatically. "Rhys, this is our chance. The winds are changing. If Wynne stands up in front of the conclave and says she believes the Circle should separate, the entire Aequitarian fraternity will fall behind her. Even the Loyalists might agree."
"She won't do it."
"Then you have to convince her."
"Wynne has a plan, and she has the Divine's help. I think she should at least be given the opportunity to see if she can pull it off."
"No, no." She shook her head, refusing to even consider the idea. "They’re giving us a conclave to placate us. No matter what we say in there about the Tranquil, you think that will change anything? This is the only opportunity we're going to get to actually make a stand."
"Then we have to do it without Wynne."
"No!" she said, frustrated. She made as if to stand up from the cot, but he held her hands fast. With a growl of anger she pulled them away. "You have to make her listen, Rhys! She's your mother. If anyone could convince her, it's you."
She might be right. He could even picture in his head what he might say: If I mean anything to you, Wynne, you'll help us. I've never asked you for anything, but I'm asking now. Please . . . do this. For me.
Even so, it felt wrong. Wynne had used him, so now he was supposed to use her back? Exploit what ever connection was between them, no matter how slight, to get what he wanted?
"Adrian, I . . . can't."
She gave up. She sat there, defeated, and for a moment Rhys thought she might actually cry. She had so much of herself wrapped up in this cause, it made him wonder: What would happen to her if she ever got what she wanted? When there was no one left to fight? They used to talk about what they would do if the Circle were ever free, yes, but was there anything of that girl still left? He'd watched that part of her get swallowed up over the years, while he remained the same. Left behind.
Rhys started to formulate an apology when Adrian leaned in and kissed him. He was taken completely by surprise, and grabbed her by the shoulders to push her back— perhaps more forcefully than he intended. "What . . . what are you doing?"
"I don't want to lose you." She was crying. Now that the tears were coming, they came forcefully, her entire face twisted in grief. "All those years I told myself it was better to be your friend. I assumed we would always be together, and that together we could do anything. But . . . I feel you drifting away from me."
"Adrian." He tried to console her, but she turned away from him, embarrassed by her tears. "Adrian, this isn't the way to keep us together."
"Isn't it?" She looked at him, her eyes red and pleading. "Don't you love me?"
He couldn't answer that, just like he couldn't answer it the last time she'd asked him so long ago. The question had hung between them ever since, and it had taken Adrian forever to get over those feelings of rejection . . . and here she was digging them up again.
The truth was that the woman he loved had been gone for a very long time.
Adrian didn't need him to say anything. She could see it on his face. Quickly she stood up and collected herself, wiping away her tears. "It doesn't matter," she said, her voice controlled. "We'll find a way . . . with or without you."
"I said I'll help, Adrian."
She regarded him with a withering look. "Rhys, you can't even help yourself." With that she turned and walked out the door, and he was left there in his chambers . . . alone.
Chapter 18
Something big was happening. It had been building up for weeks, like the charge in the air right before a storm. Everyone in the tower was on edge. They didn't want the storm to begin, but couldn't stand waiting for it to happen.
Cole understood only a little. There was going to be a meeting, and it involved import
ant mages who had been slowly arriving from faraway places. Everyone called them "First Enchanter," though he had no idea how so many people could be first at something. Didn't there have to be a second, and a third?
As important as they might be, however, they were afraid of the templars. When they argued, they did so quietly because there were templars nearby . . . watching, always watching. They folded their arms and scowled at the mages, the same way the kitchen cooks scowled when they spotted a rat. These mages could wear all the fancy black robes they wanted, it didn't mean they weren't prisoners.
Big Nose showed up sometimes. Cole didn't know where he got his new suit of armor, but it was polished to a shine. He had a scarlet cloak now, as well, just like the one Evangeline wore. Big Nose liked to loom over the mages. He circled them, feigning interest in their discussions until they slowly quieted. They didn't like Big Nose much, and Cole didn't blame them. Cole didn't like him, either.
It was strange. Once Cole would have said there was nothing he was more afraid of than templars . . . but now? Now he walked up to them. He stood inches away, looking into their eyes, and knew they saw nothing. They stared right through him. I can see you, he wanted to say. I can see what you are, now.
Rhys couldn't help him. They’d locked Rhys into his room, and while Cole had considered going to visit, what would he say? Cole had caused him enough grief. It was better to stay away— maybe that would make things easier for Rhys.
Evangeline couldn't help Cole, either. She was so pretty and gentle it made Cole's heart ache. When she'd promised to take him before the templars, he'd been afraid . . . but it gave him hope as well. She seemed strong, and who would know the templars better than she? But now she was down in the Pit, forced to do things a Knight- Captain wasn't supposed to do. That's what the other templars said. They gossiped about her, saying mean things that made Cole angry.
Old Woman couldn't help Cole either. He'd seen her coming and going, sometimes heading up to Rhys's room. She was watched closely at all times, and she knew it. Maybe she even knew Cole watched her, and pretended not to notice. He suspected she'd always been able to see him, right from the very beginning. It just didn't matter, because he didn't fit into her plans.
Red Hair— Rhys called her Adrian— she wouldn't help Cole even if she could. The templars had locked her inside her room, just like Rhys, but that didn't change anything. There were others who snuck up to her door to deliver messages, and she even managed to get out once or twice. The lengths she and her friends went to in order to distract the guards was fascinating for him. Adrian had just as many plans as Old Woman, and while Cole could probably have listened in and discovered what her plans were, he didn't want to know. What ever she planned, it wasn't going to help him.
None of them could help him.
But he might be able to help them. When they'd ridden back to the city, he'd been listening. The things the others said about the templars made sense. They were the problem. When he looked into their eyes he didn't see the danger he used to. He saw fear. A terrible fear that was going to burn up everything in its path.
For so long the templars had been the demons haunting his world, and all he'd done was hide in the shadows . . . but maybe it was time to stop hiding. He wasn't locked in a room, after all, or banished to the Pit. Nobody was watching him. He was free to act.
Cole moved through the dark hall carefully, acutely aware of everything around him. The tower was asleep, or trying to be. The meeting everyone had been waiting for was tomorrow morning, and the tension had reached such a fever pitch it screamed at his senses. One false move and he would turn a corner and bump into a guard, and everything would be over.
A fat templar was waiting outside the doorway Cole sought, half- asleep. His head kept drooping and then snapping up again. If he'd just nod off, this would be easier, but there was no such luck. Fear kept him awake. Fear of the man in the black armor.
Cole shuddered at the memory. That man was made of steel, honed to a fine edge. When Cole had been in Evangeline's chambers, that man had sensed him. He had something in him, something different from the other templars, but Cole couldn't put his finger on it. He didn't want to find out what it was.
Slowly he walked over to the guard, heart pounding in his chest. Pharamond said that everyone forgetting him wasn't just something that happened. It was something Cole did. A power. If so, maybe he could use it.
You don't see me. You won't notice anything I do. He stared into the guard's eyes, concentrating, summoning up . . . something. He could feel it. Way down inside of him, in the dark place he never dared to look, something was there. He tried not to let it frighten him. Instead, he told it to come.
Reaching out, ever so carefully, Cole plucked the keys from the templar's belt. He maintained eye contact the entire time. The keys jingled, and he froze. Nothing. The man didn't blink, didn't react at all.
I can do it. I can make them not see me.
It was an exhilarating feeling. He carefully backed away from the guard, clutching the keys to his chest. When he moved to the doorway, he watched for any signs of a response. Nothing.
Cole closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Now that he'd summoned the dark place, it was spilling up inside of him. He tried to will it away, tried to push it back down, but it wouldn't go. It seeped into every part of him, trying to take him away. It was trying to make him fade.
No, I won't let you.
He clenched his teeth. He breathed, each moment slow and excruciating, until finally it wasn't so bad. It almost felt like the shadows in the hall lengthened, like they stretched out toward him, but he tried to ignore them. He was real. He was standing right there, and he was going to act.
Cole unlocked the door. The slightest click as he turned the key, and then the faintest noise as he pulled the handle. Even though the guard stood not two feet away, he didn't look. Quickly Cole slipped inside.
The bedroom was tiny and dark. The barred window showed only night sky, and a hint of snow— the first of the season. A single candle burned on the table, reduced almost to a puddle of melted wax. It did nothing but make the shadows seem all the more mournful. This room was a tomb, or was waiting to become one.
"Who . . . who's there?" A quavering voice from the darkness. Cole could barely make out the figure of a man lying on the small cot. Not that he needed to. He knew exactly who it was.
"It's Cole," he said.
Pharamond jumped up, staring at Cole in bewilderment. He had the look of a man who hadn't slept in days, perhaps in weeks. Worn and pale, dark circles under his eyes, haggard and stretched to the very limits of his endurance. Once someone might have said this elf was handsome with his silky white hair and his blue eyes . . . but not to night. To night he just looked old.
"I can see you," Pharamond breathed in amazement. "And I remember who you are. Why is that? Has something changed?"
"You've changed." Cole walked over to the elf and sat down on the edge of his cot. Pharamond glanced down at the dagger in Cole's hands, his eyes widening in fear. "You can see me and remember me because you want to die."
The elf gulped once, loudly. He didn't look away. He didn't question how Cole could know such a thing. He also didn't say Cole was wrong. "Tomorrow morning they're going to make me Tranquil again," he whispered, the words a croak torn from the depths of his throat. "I want to die more than anything."
Cole nodded sadly, but didn't respond. He stared at the flickering candle instead, and for a long time the two of them sat in silence. Being Tranquil didn't sound so bad to him. He'd been terrified of being swallowed up by the darkness for so long it seemed like it would be a relief to get it over with. You were only scared of becoming nothing until you were nothing.
Just like dying.
"I can get you out of here," he said. "That's why I came."
"Get me . . . out? How?"
"The same way I got in." Cole considered the idea carefully. "I think . . . I think I could make them not notice
you either, if you were with me. We could walk out the doors together, and they won't ever be able to harm you."
"What if that didn't work?"
"Then you would die."
Pharamond looked shocked, like the possibility of escape had never entered his mind. He stood up, pacing back and forth on the floor with growing agitation . . . and then he paused, staring grimly out the window at the blowing snow. "And where would you take me?" he asked.
"Where do you want to go?"
"I don't know there's anyplace I can go."
Cole didn't have any suggestions. He didn't know anything of the world outside the tower. What little he'd seen during the voyage to the keep made it seem frightening and cold, full of people who paid less attention to each other than they did even to him. "Wouldn't anywhere be better than here?"
Pharamond walked up to the window, running his fingers lightly along the bars. They were already covered in a faint layer of frost. "Winters in Adamant are horrible," he said. "The badlands become cold as ice, and that sand . . . the winds blow so hard the sand feels like it's going to strip the flesh from your bones. The people at the keep spend months preparing, yet every year a few still die. Hunters caught out in a storm, visiting merchants who don't know any better, a foolish child . . ."
Cole didn't know why the elf told him this, but he listened even so. It was all very strange. Every time before when he'd sought out some lost and hopeless soul, it had been because a burning need had driven him there. He needed them just as much as they needed him. There was no time for talking because he needed that recognition in their eyes, that moment when they made him real.
What did he feel now? Even with the darkness unleashed, crawling up inside of him like a horde of hungry insects, there was still no burning need. He ran his thumb along the edge of the dagger. Sharp. Giving Pharamond that way out would be easy. If he didn't need to do it, did that make it mercy instead of murder?
"The first snowfall," Pharamond continued, "there is always a celebration. I thought it so strange. The winter is dangerous, not something to celebrate. But the badlanders still put up their wreaths and hold a great feast, with dancing. I am always included and asked to dance, even though they know I won't. I just watch them, puzzled by it all." He stopped, his voice catching, and looked at Cole. He was crying. "There won't be any celebration in Adamant to night."
