Dragon Age Book 3: Asunder

by David Gaider

  The confusion was too much to follow. Rhys ducked his head as a large chunk of masonry fell from the ceiling, just missing him. Another templar charged out of the smoke, uttering a war cry with his sword raised high. Rhys held out his staff and unleashed a bolt of force, knocking the man back into the fray.

  He turned and saw Wynne cradling the fallen woman in her arms. She desperately summoned healing spirits to mend the woman's injuries, but the magic she poured into the body was pointless. The woman was dead and gone. Wynne shook her head in horror, tears running down her face. "No! No, this is all wrong! That can't be happening!"

  Rhys tried to pull her away, but she resisted. So he grabbed Wynne by the shoulders and dragged her up, forcing her to look at him. She did so, staring with wide eyes, perhaps not comprehending what he was doing. "We have to get out of here!" he shouted.

  Evangeline appeared out of nowhere. He noticed blood on her sword, and from her grim expression it was clear she hated all of this. She saw the two of them and ran over. "The front gates!" she cried, wincing as another explosion rocked the great hall. "They’re sealed, but you can blow them open!"

  Evangeline grabbed his hand and pulled him along, and he pulled Wynne. Together the three of them stumbled through the battle. Spirits swirled about, their ethereal forms attacking templars without any defense against them. The Veil had been torn asunder by the magic ripping through the hall, and it made Rhys uneasy. How long before one of the mages gave in to rage and despair and allowed a demon to possess them? Then the battle would become something much, much worse.

  "And where do you think you're going?"

  Fear clutched his heart as Rhys saw the Lord Seeker standing before them, a glittering obsidian blade held casually before him. He appeared undisturbed by the chaos, grey eyes focused on them and only them.

  "Get out of our way, Lambert," Evangeline warned.

  "No one is leaving this room," he said, his tone cold as ice. "Not a single one." A dozen templars appeared behind him, and Rhys saw more coming. Mages were scattering now, some trying desperately to flee even as they were cut down. Others were being overwhelmed, their mana disrupted until they couldn't cast a single spell. The mages were losing.

  Wynne pushed herself away from Rhys, wiping the tears from her face. "You won't get away with this!" she cried, her voice hoarse.

  "Get away with bringing a murderer to justice? With stopping a new rebellion in its tracks? The Maker's work is being done today, nothing else." He strode forward, summoning power into his sword as the other templars surrounded them.

  Evangeline raised her blade with a look of determination. Wynne, too, gripped her staff and prepared for battle. Rhys couldn't let it happen. He dug deep down into the reserves of mana within him, deeper than he ever had before. With a cry of rage, he held up his staff and unleashed a torrent of magic.

  The wave of force that expanded from him sent every templar flying back, as if they weighed nothing. The entire building shook, and for a single moment Rhys felt exhilarated. The power . . . it was like nothing he had ever tapped into before. It flowed through his veins, filling him up.

  It would have been so easy to do more. The Veil was fragile, and he could sense the demons, lurking just beyond and eager to enter this world. A single call would give him all the power he needed. He could take many of these templars with him, one last hurrah they would never forget.

  Forbidden power at his fingertips, beckoning.

  With a shout of exquisite agony, Rhys pulled back from the brink. He turned to Wynne and Evangeline, his eyes flashing with power. "Go!" he shouted. They stared at him in shock, but neither budged. "GO!" he roared.

  Without waiting, he spun around to face the templars. A sparkling wall of pure force rose up between them, the men slamming against it uselessly. Holding up his staff , Rhys summoned a storm of energy, adding it to the maelstrom. He would tear the entire hall down, if he had to, stone by stone.

  The Lord Seeker reached the wall of force. He channeled his own power, shattering it with a single blow of his black sword. Hot pain flashed through Rhys. He fired one magical bolt after another at the Lord Seeker. The man blocked each one, but it was enough to give him pause. His brows knitted in effort as he fought to get closer.

  And then something hit Rhys from behind. A blow to the back of his head, making his vision swim. He lashed out with a spell, flinging the unseen attacker up into the ceiling with enough force to shatter his bones. Then something else slashed at Rhys's side. He unleashed a spell in that direction as well, not even bothering to look.

  Then the Lord Seeker was there. The man's eyes were filled with hate. "Andraste guide my blade," he uttered, and swung his sword with all his might.

  The shock of the disruption sent Rhys stumbling back. The world spun around him, and he fell to the ground. Several templars leapt on him instantly, beating him with metal gauntlets and sword hilts. The pain was blinding until he surrendered to it.

  As the world began to fade, he looked around. The Lord Seeker was standing over him, watching the beating Rhys received with his cold, cold eyes. But Wynne and Evangeline were nowhere in sight. They were gone.

  Good. At least I did something right.

  And then the blackness reached up and claimed him.

  Chapter 19

  Evangeline and Wynne trudged through the sewers, knee- deep in water so foul Evangeline didn't even want to think about it. The tunnels had originally been built as a refuge against siege— a means to transport supplies behind enemy lines, and at times even a way to house the city's population. The years since those days had not been kind, and now this was a decrepit and forgotten place filled with nothing but waste.

  That included the human kind, as well. There was evidence of habitation: tattered shelters, cold fire pits, bits of clothing, and even weapons. The poorest of the poor lived in these depths, called the sous des gens by the city folk, but none of them seemed to be here. No doubt the press gangs had scoured the sewers weeks ago, looking for anyone they could drag into the army no matter how sickly. For a square meal, some of these people might even have jumped at the chance. She supposed she should be grateful for the lack of eyes to witness their passing.

  The sewers were freezing. Frost gathered around each of the grates that led up to the surface, sometimes in piles several feet thick. The murky water chilled Evangeline's legs even through her armor. Wynne was far worse off in her robes, now stained up to the waist.

  The woman was in no mood to complain, however. Ever since they'd eluded their pursuit and fled beneath the streets, Wynne had said nothing. She walked fast, her expression one of cold fury, and it wasn't even clear she knew or cared Evangeline was behind her. Save for the echoing sounds of sloshing water, it was completely quiet. Evangeline had no idea where they were going.

  She'd started offloading Wynne, forcibly pulling the old woman along despite her screams that they needed to save Rhys. He'd been right, however. Either someone kept the other templars at bay or they would all have been caught. That hadn't made it any easier to do, and it hadn't made Wynne any more forgiving.

  Evangeline understood completely. Even now, she wanted to turn around and march right back to the White Spire. What if Rhys was still alive? What were the rest of the tower's mages going to do? They must have heard the explosions. She imagined the Lord Seeker had dealt with them before coming to the conclave— separated them into the dormitories and kept them under close watch. That way they could be left frightened and guessing. For all they knew, every mage who wasn't in the room with them was being made Tranquil, and they could easily be next.

  The Lord Seeker had clearly planned it all, possibly since the audience in the Grand Cathedral. The templars would call it another rebellion, an excuse for even harsher restrictions. It filled her with disgust. They wouldn't be satisfied until they made the mages bleed, and would feel completely justified doing it.

  They proceeded through the old tunnels for some time, Wynne leading the w
ay with her glowing staff the only source of light. Occasionally they passed a sewer grate, the lack of visible sunlight telling Evangeline it was now evening. An entire day spent running, then. What would the morning bring? Would they have to leave Val Royeaux?

  "Wait," she said. "Where are we going?"

  Wynne didn't slow down. "Leliana always told me to be prepared, and thankfully this time I listened to her." As she turned another corner, her staff showed what appeared to be a metal casement embedded into the sewer wall. Its locking mechanism looked incredibly complex. "Ah, here it is. I thought I'd forgotten the way."

  Evangeline watched dubiously as the old woman began fiddling with the lock's dial. "This is yours? Here in the middle of the sewers?"

  "I rented this from an upstanding young man from the local thieves' guild when I first arrived in the city . . . just in case." The casement opened with a loud clang, revealing two things: a staff made of a burnished red metal, and a sack. She took the staff out first, running her hand along its length lovingly.

  "Don't you already have a staff ?" Evangeline asked.

  "This one is different." She placed her white staff in the casement, and handed the sack to Evangeline. It felt heavy, clinking as if it were full of coin. It probably was. "Something from my time in the Blight, given to me by the Hero of Ferelden. It's not something I dare use casually."

  "Couldn't you have used that at Adamant?"

  "Not unless I also wanted the templars to know I possessed it." She turned to Evangeline, regarding her with a serious look. "Tell me: What will the templars be doing now? Still hunting for us, no doubt."

  Evangeline considered. "They’ll scour the streets, searching anywhere they think we might hide. Presumably the Lord Seeker will claim a fugitive apostate is on the run— that will get the cooperation of the citizens rather quickly. Then they'll close off the city gates, and as soon as they realize we haven't left they'll come down here."

  "So we still have time."

  "Some. Are we going to the Grand Cathedral?"

  "We're not." The red staff began to glow. This wasn't the comforting light of her old staff , however. It was dim and menacing, making every shadow in the sewers writhe as if alive. Evangeline's skin crawled. She wanted to get away from it, run back up to the surface and keep running until she stopped shuddering.

  "I intend to go back," Wynne stated, the determination in her eyes leaving no room for denial. "I will tear down the White Spire brick by brick if I have to, but I intend to either find my son alive or make the man who murdered him pay."

  Evangeline felt uneasy. It was obvious why the old woman had kept the staff a secret— the templars held to the belief that any mage, no matter how noble, would resort to forbidden magic when backed into a corner. That Wynne had access to such an artifact would only serve as proof that she considered using it an option, and she would be censured accordingly.

  Even so, Evangeline found it difficult to credit the templar position when it was they who backed the mages into that corner. She didn't remember any of the desperate first enchanters in the great hall turning into abominations— but if they had, could she truly blame them? Out of fear, the templars were driving the mages to do the very things of which they were accused. It was a vicious cycle that needed to be stopped.

  She said nothing. Instead, she met Wynne's gaze and nodded. It was an intense moment, and the old woman appeared satisfied by the answer. Wynne spun on her heel and marched through the tunnels once more, quicker this time. "You realize if you do this, your future with the templars is done?" she asked.

  "My future with the order is already done."

  "And what of lyrium?"

  “There's more than one way to get lyrium." One of her duties over the years had been, in fact, hunting down the various dwarven smuggling rings that brought lyrium into the district. Before today, she'd never have believed that knowledge might come in handy, though convincing men she'd once hunted to trust that she now only wanted a transaction would be . . . difficult. "I have at least a week before I'm useless to you."

  "Let's not waste time, then."

  As they walked into another tunnel, however, Evangeline became aware of something ahead in the shadows. It was no rat. Someone was down there with them, moving quietly enough so as not to disturb the sewage— but enough to alert her. She swiftly drew her sword. "Wait," she told Wynne.

  The figure approached, crouched low and cautious. It wasn't a templar, but a young man in rough leathers with shaggy blond hair hanging over his eyes. If he was one of the sous des gens, then he was also dangerous, for he held a wicked- looking dagger at the ready. Still, she hesitated. There was something about him that seemed oddly familiar, like he was someone she should know. Someone important.

  "Cole," Wynne said, scowling.

  The young man seemed relieved. "You remember me."

  Remember the dream. It all came back to Evangeline in a rush. She sheathed her sword and walked toward Cole, who stared at her in confusion. When she got near, she hugged him close. "I'm glad you're safe," she breathed. Initially he squirmed in her embrace, clearly unaccustomed to it, but then he relaxed and hugged her back. For a moment they were two lost souls, embracing in the darkness.

  "Step away from him," Wynne warned. The menacing glow of her staff deepened, casting the old woman in sinister shadow.

  Evangeline let Cole go and turned to face her, but instead of leaving his side she placed herself protectively in front of him. "Why? What do you think he's done?"

  "Isn't it obvious? Pharamond was murdered in his chambers. I can believe Lord Seeker Lambert capable of many things, but not this."

  Evangeline hesitated. The knife the Lord Seeker threw down hadn't been Cole's . . . but could he have been mistaken? She didn't want to believe the young man had killed someone yet again, but what if he had? How big a fool would she be, sympathizing with someone who endangered his friends? Rhys might be dead because of him.

  She looked at Cole questioningly, her suspicions slowly giving way to dread at his guilty expression. "I didn't kill him," he said . . . but the way his eyes stared at the floor said otherwise.

  Wynne's gaze intensified. "Stand aside, Evangeline."

  "Wynne, I . . ."

  "I said stand aside!" The old woman stamped the staff on the ground, and suddenly black flame leapt from it. It twisted and curled around her, ribbons of some dark power that fed on her rage and drew strength from it. She was a force of vengeance now, eyes red as blood, and Evangeline was terrified.

  Cole ran. He darted down the tunnel, splashing through the brackish water even as Wynne unleashed a bolt of flame at him. Cole leapt to one side, the bolt narrowly missing, and as it struck the sewage it burst into a curtain of cold fire. The whoomp of expanding air struck Evangeline like a fist, and she staggered back. Wynne remained unmoved, searching for Cole through the smoke.

  "Stop!" Evangeline cried. She lunged toward Wynne, grabbing the red staff . It was so cold it burned, blistering her hands . . . but she refused to let go. As they struggled for control, gouts of black flame spurted from its tip. One blast just missed Evangeline's face, the lick of it caressing her cheek.

  "Leave me be!" the old woman growled at her like an animal.

  With great effort, Evangeline shoved forward and drove Wynne against the tunnel wall. The impact forced her to release her grip, and Evangeline tore the staff away. Spinning around, she smashed it against the ground with all her might . . . and it shattered.

  Wynne screamed, a primal cry of loss and fury. Evangeline didn't have time to react as a blast of force struck her. She was lifted off her feet, tumbling end over end down the tunnel. With a grunt she landed in the sewage, inhaling evil- tasting water, and for a moment all was blackness. She flailed about in confusion, her shout a muffled roar in her ears.

  Then she broke to the surface. A single gasp of air filled her lungs with agony, and she floundered to reach the embankment. Blinking, she looked up and saw Wynne standing over he
r. The old woman's eyes were narrowed in outrage.

  "That was a foolish thing to do, Ser Evangeline."

  She raised a hand and summoned mana, a sphere of power coalescing in her hand. Evangeline tried to speak, to somehow reason with the woman . . . but all that came out were hoarse coughs.

  And then the spell simply vanished. Wynne froze in place . . . and Evangeline realized it was because Cole stood behind the old woman, dagger at her throat.

  "I won't let you hurt her," he said.

  For a moment, Evangeline thought he might cut Wynne's throat. He didn't. He carefully forced her to back away with him. Evangeline crawled onto the embankment, retching and spitting that foulness up from her lungs. Once the world stopped spinning, she gave one last cough and wiped her mouth.

  "You defend him," Wynne seethed.

  "That staff was evil," Evangeline said. Slowly she got to her feet. "What ever happened, what ever you plan, it should never have been an option and you know it."

  The old woman scowled. Evangeline could see the regret in her eyes, however. Finally she relented, the rage draining out of her all at once. She would likely have fallen to her knees had Cole not still held the blade to her neck.

  "It's all right, Cole," Evangeline said. "You can let her go."

  He did, quickly hopping away. His expression was morose. "I didn't kill Pharamond," he said. "He begged me to. He wanted to die. But I . . . I couldn't. I knew Rhys would be unhappy, and I didn't want to cause him any more trouble . . ."

  Cole wasn't guilty because he was lying . . . he was guilty because he didn't kill Pharamond? Even though he thought he should have? It made a strange sort of sense. Evangeline remembered the elf's pleas, the stricken look on his face as the templars dragged him away. Had she the chance, and he'd asked her to show him mercy . . .

  "Then who did kill him?" Wynne asked, confused. "Surely not the Lord Seeker."

  "Why not?" Evangeline said. "Pharamond was a threat to his authority. As is Rhys. He'd already ordered me to kill all of you once, remember?"