Dragon Age Book 3: Asunder

by David Gaider

  Adrian screamed in outrage, firing a magical blast from her staff . It struck Evangeline directly in the breastplate, sending her flying back. The templar fell to the floor amid several bodies, letting out a grunt of surprise. The sword did not leave her hand.

  "Adrian!" Rhys cried. "What are you doing?"

  "What we should have done when we arrived!"

  He turned to Wynne in alarm, but she remained where she was, frowning as she watched the scene unfold. She made no indication she would intervene. Shale moved closer to protect her.

  Evangeline got back up, wiping at the scorch mark left on her armor. Her expression was fearsome to behold; she was clearly done with playing nice. "That was a mistake," she growled. As she assumed a combat stance, white power coursed through her blade— the power of a templar ready to battle a mage. Adrian summoned mana, a ball of red flame already coalescing about her hand.

  "Wait!"

  Rhys realized the shout was his. Once again, his mouth had acted with a mind of its own. Stupid mouth, he chided himself. Why must you always do the talking?

  Evangeline hesitated, and even Adrian looked in his direction. The tension in the room was thick, and it seemed like all it would take was a spark and there would be no turning back. Rhys licked his lips, suddenly aware just how dry they were. His heart was beating rapidly.

  "There is another option," he said slowly. When nobody responded, he moved to stand between the two of them. Both eyed him carefully. Adrian in particular seemed filled with mute fury. Her eyes said You should be helping me, but he knew he couldn't do that, no matter how much she might want him to.

  "What other option?" Evangeline asked, her tone skeptical.

  "The Chantry asked Pharamond to do his research. Perhaps they didn't know what he intended to do, but isn't it possible they might consider his findings important, even so?" He paused, but Evangeline didn't respond. Her eyes remained fixed on Adrian, their standoff unabated. "Why not bring him to the Chantry and let them decide? Why must you pass sentence here?"

  "I have my orders," she stated.

  Wynne stepped beside him, her interest suddenly kindled. "Your orders come from the Lord Seeker, but where do his come from? My mission was approved by the Divine herself. If anyone would have an interest in this, it would be she."

  Adrian bristled at the talk, the magical fire curling its way up her arms. She wanted to fight, Rhys could see that. Evangeline, however, appeared to consider the idea. Her sword still crackled with energy, but instead of staring at Adrian, she was looking thoughtfully at Pharamond.

  "Do you really want to be the one who decides this?" Rhys asked.

  Slowly she lowered her blade, and its power vanished. "No," she said. "I have a duty to the Templar Order . . . but I have one to the Chantry, as well. In the end their decision may be the same, but I cannot deny them the opportunity to make it."

  Adrian almost seemed disappointed. She released the magical flame and backed off. A single glance at Rhys told him just what she thought of his interference.

  "Then it's solved," Wynne said. "We return to Val Royeaux, and I'll send word ahead for the Divine to expect our arrival. Let her solve this business."

  "And what's to become of Pharamond, then?" Adrian demanded. "What if the Chantry doesn't like what it hears?"

  "We shall see."

  "That was your answer before."

  "And it remains true."

  Evangeline nodded and sheathed her blade, although the room seemed no less tense for her agreement. She and Adrian exchanged a dire look that said there would eventually be a reckoning between the two. Rhys didn't understand why Adrian kept pushing it— if Evangeline had wished to be unreasonable, she could have been. Instead she chose to relinquish her decision to a higher authority. Surely that had to count for something?

  Wynne helped Pharamond to his feet. The elf seemed confused, uncertain if the matter was now truly decided. Would he be leaving? Was he being spared? Rhys could understand his hesitance. Like himself, Pharamond's fate was likely only delayed. In the meantime, however, bloodshed was averted.

  Pharamond gazed sadly at the corpses surrounding him, his eyes hollow. Once they were gone from this place, it would be as dead as the land surrounding it. Would anyone ever come to take the place of those who had lived here, knowing what had happened to them? It seemed unlikely; the keep would become a tomb.

  A fitting monument, perhaps, to the search for forbidden knowledge.

  Cole hid within the shadows of the upper keep's entry chamber. It was nighttime outside. He could see the moon in the clear sky through the few windows. That meant the place was blessedly dark, which was just as well. He didn't want to look at it. He didn't want to be reminded of what had happened here. Far worse was the stillness that had now settled over everything, a quiet so total it was overwhelming.

  Not long ago, it hadn't been nearly as quiet. He'd awoken to the sound of angry shouting. Slowly he'd made his way through the pitch black halls until he found the source: Rhys and the others arguing in a chamber full of death and smoke, the light from their staves offering a hint of the battle which had occurred there— bodies twisted and burned, scattered among the ashes in a way not unlike the soldiers he remembered from the city square.

  They weren't arguing about the bodies, however. This had something to do with a strange elven man in the tattered robes, someone Cole had never seen before. Knight- Captain wanted to kill him. Red Hair refused to let her. Nobody seemed to care what the elven man wanted. Even from a distance, Cole could see the despair in his eyes. He wanted death. Had it come for him, he would have embraced it gladly and let it wash him away into that dark and peaceful oblivion.

  But he wasn't killed. Cole hovered on the edge of the room, keeping one hand on his dagger in case Rhys needed him, and watched the tension build . . . and then eventually come to an end. Nobody seemed happy with the result, even though Cole wasn't certain what that was. Least happy of all was the elven man.

  Cole felt sorry for him, kneeling there so hopeless and alone.

  Now he didn't know what he should do next. The memories of the dream world plagued him. Many of the details were already slipping away, like dreams sometimes did, but the essence remained. Memories had bubbled up like some rotten buried thing, and its stink lingered in his nostrils.

  There was a vague recollection of sitting on top of his father's chest. Blood gurgled out of the man's mouth. Cole held the dagger up in front of his eyes, let him look at it. He wanted the man to know that it was Cole who was ending his life, stopping him from hurting anyone else. He remembered his father trying to speak, and imagined the man would have pleaded for his life, but nothing came out but more blood.

  The satisfaction of sinking the dagger into his father's heart was imprinted on his soul. His mother's dagger. The only piece of the wilder folk she'd kept, and when his father tried to sell it she'd buried it in the field. Cole had watched, and he now remembered digging the dagger up, clawing at the earth with bare fingers as tears stung his eyes.

  He remembered his sister, too. All too well. The thought of her made him wince, and he wanted to wipe the thoughts from his mind. Go back to forgetting. But the memories refused to leave, and every time he closed his eyes he saw unbidden images there, waiting.

  "Are you all right?"

  The voice was startling, primarily because Cole thought he had been listening. Instead he'd been so wrapped up in his own thoughts he hadn't noticed Rhys enter the room. The silvery- blue light from his staff drove back the shadows a little, at least for the moment, and he felt grateful.

  "You didn't need me," Cole admitted glumly. "I came all this way because I thought they would hurt you, but they didn't. I should have gone back when you told me to."

  Rhys didn't say anything. He had the look he always had when he came to see Cole in the tower, one of pity and concern. It was hard for Cole to look at him when he did that. He looked at the floor instead, and tried not to flinch when Rhys sat on t
he stair next to him.

  For several minutes they said nothing, the only sound the faint hum emitted by Rhys's staff . Finally Rhys broke the silence. "That house in the Fade," he began hesitantly, "that was your home? That's where you come from?"

  "I don't know. Yes."

  "And that man was your father?"

  "Yes."

  Another pause, and then Rhys nodded slowly. "I'm sorry that happened to you, Cole. I was born in the Circle, so I don't know what it's like for mages who aren't . . . but you hear things. Most don't want to talk about it."

  Cole didn't know how to respond. He'd never spoken to any other mages. It was true that he'd never overheard any talking about their old lives. He'd thought it was because they didn't want to think about what they couldn't have. But perhaps they wanted to forget, too?

  Rhys looked at him. After a moment, Cole lifted his eyes and met his gaze. He felt oddly uncomfortable, like Rhys had been exposed to something private, something Cole couldn't take back. That was odd only because Cole hadn't known it even existed before they'd gone into that dream realm . . . but there it was now, this awkward thing lying between them.

  "You're not responsible for what happened to her, Cole."

  And there it was. Cole looked away, feeling the flush rising in his cheeks. He wanted to cry, or scream, or . . . something. A dark lump deep down inside of him clenched, something that had been there all along, but he'd become accustomed to it. Silently gnawing away at him.

  "I don't even remember her," he muttered.

  "That's not true."

  He shifted uncomfortably on the stairs. "I didn't mean to do it."

  "I know."

  "I was just trying to keep her quiet, so Papa wouldn't hear us. I thought she was being so good, too, so quiet . . ." He choked up, unable to continue.

  "I know." Rhys put his hand on Cole's shoulder. Such a simple gesture, yet it was reassuring.

  He also found himself incredibly glad that Rhys wasn't angry at him any longer. Ever since the fight in the crypt, he'd been worried that Rhys would never want to see him again. And he'd have deserved it, too, after the way he'd pushed Rhys away. The relief was so unbearable he felt the tears come. They pushed their way up like a wellspring, and before he knew it he was weeping.

  Rhys put an arm around him and hugged him tight, and he buried his face in the man's shoulder. He couldn't remember the last time he'd cried. It felt like he never had, like he was so dry inside these tears were a foreign and unwelcome thing. But it felt good as much as it felt wretched.

  And then Cole froze as he realized someone else was in the room.

  Rhys realized it, too, and paused to look over at the entrance to the chamber. Knight- Captain stood there, staring at them. There was an ugly scorch mark across her breastplate, right where that sunburst crest was. It looked like someone had crossed it out.

  "I'm sorry I doubted you, Rhys," she said.

  He cleared his throat. "I didn't realize you'd followed me."

  "The others are helping Pharamond collect his things. I noticed you'd wandered off. . . again. It wasn't difficult to imagine who you'd gone looking for."

  "You can . . . see me?" Cole asked.

  "I can." She stepped forward, but paused when he sat up in alarm. "Could it be your curse is broken?"

  "I don't know."

  "It's possible seeing him in the Fade changed something," Rhys said. "But we have no idea whether that will last. You could easily forget him again."

  It was true. The thought troubled Cole, but at the same time he was being seen by someone with whom he hadn't gone out of his way to interact. And she remembered him. In the dream world that didn't seem so real, but here? Here it was everything.

  The way she looked at him was strange, however. It was like she couldn't quite believe he was there, or expected him to transform into something else. An insect, maybe. Or a demon. "Are you going to kill me?" he finally asked.

  Rhys looked at Knight- Captain in alarm. Then she shook her head, a troubled expression on her face. "No. I think I've made enough threats today."

  She walked toward him again, more slowly this time, and knelt at the foot of the stairs not far away. She scrutinized Cole with her pretty eyes. "I was there," she said. "I saw what happened to you. I felt it. I can't say you won't be judged for your crimes, but it won't be by me."

  He didn't know what to say.

  "Return to the Circle with us," she continued. "If Rhys is going to be cleared of the Lord Seeker's suspicions, he'll need evidence. If your curse isn't broken, we'll make him see you just as I've seen. What happens after that . . . I will speak on your behalf. That's all I can offer."

  Rhys smiled at her gratefully, but she didn't look his way. Knight- Captain's eyes remained intently on Cole. There was honesty there. Cole believed her. "Why would you defend me?"

  "Because the first duty of the templars is to protect mages. Rhys told me we failed you, and he's right. If there's any chance the Circle can help you, I believe we should try."

  "They’ll probably make him Tranquil," Rhys said. "You know that."

  Her expression filled with compassion. "Would that be so terrible?"

  A life without dreams, and without memory. Without the terror of being swallowed up by the darkness and fading away forever. "No," Cole murmured. "That wouldn't be so bad."

  Knight- Captain held out her hand to him . . . and he took it.

  Chapter 14

  Rhys tried not to think about what awaited him at the White Spire as the group journeyed back to Val Royeaux. It wasn't easy. Tension simmered just beneath the surface in the group, ready to spill over into hostility if anyone so much as spoke the wrong word, and thus everyone kept to themselves. That gave him far too much time to think.

  He tried to keep a close eye on Cole. It was easy to tell the young man was having difficulty spending so much time in the company of those who could see him, and each morning when they awoke he was surprised all over again to discover he was not only still visible, but remembered.

  By everyone but Pharamond, that is. As heartbreaking as it was to watch Cole's realization that his curse still affected him, it was also interesting to watch it in operation. As long as Rhys had known the young man, he'd never had the opportunity to see what happened when he was in someone's company for an extended period. Pharamond never saw Cole at all unless attention was brought to him, and each time that happened the elf was surprised anew to find a "stranger" suddenly among them. He barely recollected the introductions made previously, and within minutes Cole would slip out of his notice once again.

  What kind of magic could do this? Prior to entering the Fade, Rhys had told the others about Cole and they never forgot his name afterward. Why did Pharamond? Was it only because Cole was present? If meeting him in the Fade was what allowed the others to see and remember him, was that the solution to ending the curse for good? It was a puzzle, and very likely one Rhys would never get a chance to unravel.

  Adrian was not making things any easier. She seemed to be angry at everyone. Evangeline, she said, was going to betray them, and made no bones about voicing her suspicions. She seethed in Wynne's presence, making acidic comments about how the woman should have supported her— comments no doubt intended for Rhys, as well— and argued with her over the importance of Pharamond's research. She believed a confrontation awaited them the moment they stepped back into the White Spire, and Wynne's dismissal only made her more furious. Cole she avoided like the plague, glaring accusingly at him if he got too near.

  To Rhys she said nothing at all. The icy silence was unnerving, all the more because she sat behind him now that Pharamond rode with Wynne. He could feel her eyes boring into the back of his neck, and she gripped his chest so stiffly it felt awkward. Part of him wondered if he would ever have his friend back. The other part felt a little angry that, once again, everyone had to see things her way.

  Evangeline concentrated on keeping them moving. She'd said little since they lef
t the keep. He assumed it had something to do with the templars outside. She'd taken them aside, and at one point appeared to be arguing heatedly with their leader. Adrian's whispered warnings that they should prepare for a fight didn't seem so far- fetched.

  But then it was over. The templar leader waved for his men to surrender a horse to Evangeline, along with feed and supplies. They complied, albeit sullenly, and once they were done, the leader turned back to Evangeline. Rhys couldn't make out what the man said, but the expression of disgust on his face said plenty. The templars rode off without another word.

  Had they expected to attack? Had Evangeline dissuaded them? She wouldn't say when she returned, and tersely ordered the group to get underway— as soon as possible. They hastened to do just that.

  As they passed through the badlands, Shale became cantankerous. More cantankerous, rather. The golem complained constantly at the slow speed of the horses through the sand and the blowing wind. The first night when they finally stopped to rest, it moaned for over an hour . . . a long litany of offenses by "soft" humans, exhaustion not being the least of them.

  The group endured the golem's complaints, though Rhys caught Evangeline rolling her eyes from time to time. Pharamond appeared delighted to encounter an actual golem, however, and plied Shale with all manner of questions. Shale's answers were, for the most part, sarcastic. When asked what kind of rock it consisted of, Shale answered "petrified nug droppings." When asked how it was created, Shale responded with a long explanation of mother golems and father golems which Pharamond believed for five whole minutes. When asked how it could see through those points of lights in its eye sockets, Shale commented that it actually preferred tearing the eyeballs out of flesh creatures and using them instead— elven ones in particular.

  That, at least, gave Pharamond pause.

  Shale began the next morning by commenting on the noises everyone made as they slept. Then more observations on how slowly they got underway through what was the worst windstorm since they arrived in the badlands. Many of the golem's amused barbs were aimed at Wynne, with words like "decrepit" and "rusting" popping up.