Asunder (17 page)

            Until the moment Wynne and Rhys had greeted each other in the Lord Seeker's office, Evangeline hadn't realized they were related. None of the templars in the White Spire had. They’d known the man had been born to a mage, and raised in a Chantry orphanage until he was old enough to come to the tower. It was a common enough practice, seeing as the Circle was no place for a newborn. How Rhys had come to know of his mother, however, was a mystery. If they'd met, they did so in secret, although evidently not one kept hidden from the Seekers.

            Their relationship did not seem to endear them to each other, however. It made her think of her own mother, who had passed away before she'd joined the order. They’d bickered, particularly because Evangeline had embraced none of the things expected from a young Orlesian woman of breeding. She had enjoyed neither dancing, nor music, nor outings to the city to seek a suitable husband. Instead she'd favored her father's teachings, the sword play and martial skills he'd learned from his years spent as a chevalier in the Empire's ser vice.

            Yet when her mother died Evangeline had felt nothing but regret that they'd not been closer. All those years spent resenting a woman who'd wished the best for her, and only feared her unwomanly pursuits would lead to unhappiness. It hadn't, but she didn't imagine her life as a templar was what her mother pictured.

            Without a husband or children, it also meant her father's estate had fallen outside of the family upon his death. She still remembered the day a messenger had arrived with the news. Knight- Commander Eron had asked whether she wished to retire from the order and take up her inheritance. It would have meant marriage, with scores of noble families arriving at her doorstep with younger sons they couldn't pawn off elsewhere but would assume a spinster like herself would be desperate to accept. Even so, it hadn't been an easy decision. Last she'd heard, her uncle had gambled away his fortune and sold the estate to a Nevarran merchant. This made her sad.

            So the life she was left with was the one she had chosen, a life of protecting the world from all the harm magic could do. While many of the mages resented templars for it, she knew there were also many frightened of their abilities. What would they do without the Circle of Magi there to bring them into the fold, to teach them what they needed to know?

            Order had to be kept, just as the Lord Seeker said.

            It had been four days since they'd left the safety of the White Spire. Evangeline had led the group off the main roads, preferring instead to keep to the side paths that passed through the countryside, away from cities. Still, this was the Heartlands. Even those roads were busy with traffic. They passed merchants, pilgrims on their way to the Grand Cathedral in the capital, farmers bringing their wagons to market, taxmen, elven laborers looking for late- season harvest work . . . the list was almost endless.

            What she didn't see were Imperial enforcers. Normally, soldiers flying the purple banner were a common sight, even on the side roads. Anyone traveling could expect to be stopped by a patrol at least once, but there had been no sign of any.

            There were other things, too. On the third day they spotted a pillar of black smoke in the distance, and a pair of dwarven merchants they stopped told them of riots in the city of Val Foret. They said things were worse outside the Heartlands as well, telling a tale of roving bandits and press gangs hired by the country lords to force commoners into army ser vice. Later they saw a disorganized group of refugees, ragged- looking folk carrying everything they owned on their backs, who said they were fleeing a battle in the east. They didn't even know who was fighting, only that the soldiers were killing everything in their path.

            It was troubling to hear. News in Orlais traveled slowly even in the best of times, but it seemed to her that even insulated in the White Spire, she should have heard such things. The capital was a hotbed of gossip, and although there'd been rumblings of displeasure against the Empress and the usual talk of elven rebellion in Halamshiral, there'd been not a single whisper of a brewing civil war.

            Just to be careful, Evangeline elected not to seek lodgings in any of the villages they passed. She'd purchased camping gear at the highway inn— indeed, her horse was laden down with it— and despite the protests of the mages, she insisted they sleep outside. Rather, it was Rhys and Adrian who protested. Wynne smiled when they did, and reminded them that she'd all but lived out of a camp during the Blight. If she could endure it, so could they.

            It rained the first night, a bitterly cold downpour that kept the group huddling in their tents. The next morning there was a thin layer of ice covering everything, though it didn't last long into the day. Regardless, a chill permeated the air, and, combined with a sky of hazy grey clouds, told them the weather would be decidedly foul. By the time they returned from the Western Approach, there could very well be snow on the ground.

            Adrian complained constantly. Not loudly enough for Evangeline to argue with her explicitly, but quietly muttering to herself and to Rhys. It was like an angry fly buzzing in her ear, one that wouldn't desist no matter how much she swatted at it. The red- headed woman's self- righteous indignation set Evangeline's teeth on edge, and had her wishing it would rain even more than it did.

            "Why are we going this way?" Adrian demanded as they rode, the third time she'd asked in as many minutes.

            "I intend to avoid Val Foret," Evangeline answered.

            "Why? Because of what that vagrant said? He was drunk."

            "Indeed he was. That doesn't make him stupid."

            "I once knew a dwarf," Wynne suddenly announced, "who was drunk more often than he was sober. Yet he could still cleave a darkspawn in two without so much as blinking an eye."

            Adrian rolled her eyes. "That's nice."

            "My point," the old woman responded coolly, "is that some things don't require sobriety. Like knowing that your home village isn't a safe place to be."

            "That's odd, isn't it?" Rhys asked. He looked questioningly at the others. "With all the trouble we've been hearing about, you'd think the Imperial army would be here in force. I can't even remember the last time I heard of there being so much chaos."

            "It probably isn't—" Adrian began.

            Wynne interrupted her. "It's the war," she said. "If I'm not mistaken, I believe Gaspard is making his move."

            "The Grand Duke?" Evangeline blurted out, surprised.

            "Of course."

            "The only news in Val Royeaux was of a rebellion in Halamshiral. If the Grand Duke was moving against the Empress, everyone in the palace would have been buzzing about it."

            The old woman chuckled lightly. "Oh, don't be silly, dear. Gaspard isn't going to send word into the capital, where Celene has all of her allies. No, the whole point was to lure her out east with that story of an elven rebellion."

            Rhys nodded slowly. "So he could ambush her."

            "I imagine Celene did not take as many soldiers with her to fight elves as she might have to confront Gaspard." Wynne shrugged. "Possibly he even has friends among the chevaliers. Either way, the more quickly and decisively he acts, the stronger he looks. The more chaos is sown in the Empire, the weaker Celene looks and the more desperate the Imperial Court becomes."

            It made troubling sense. Evangeline had to wonder just how much worse this would be if the assassin had managed to slay the Divine that night in the palace. Half the Empire would be up in arms. Which . . . did make her wonder if the mages might be innocent after all.

            She glanced at Rhys and Adrian on their horse. The red- headed mage was scowling and difficult to read, but Rhys seemed genuinely bewildered. Evangeline had to admit that were she going to assassinate someone, it would be clever to make it look as if the perpetrator were someone others would not question. Why would templars doubt that rebellious factions within the Circle were trying to lash out at the Chantry?

            That did not explain the murders, however. Perhaps the two events were not connected? Lord Seeker Lambert insisted on a larger picture, and saw schemes within schemes. She had to look with clearer eyes. It was worthy of some thought.

            "How do you even know this?" she asked Wynne.

            "Because Gaspard tried to recruit me."

            "Recruit you?"

            "I came here from Ferelden, which meant I passed through the Dales and the eastern lands. Evidently Gaspard got wind of my presence, for he sent men to collect me at Jader." The mage grimaced at the memory. "They were rather insistent. I don't know why Gaspard thought such treatment would make me inclined to assist him. The man has enough arrogance to believe night is day just because he pronounces it so."

            "But you refused him?"

            "Naturally. He tried to force the issue, but I'm not without my own resources." She said it with the barest shrug of her shoulders, as if it were nothing of consequence, although Evangeline imagined there was far more involved. Grand Duke Gaspard de Chalons was renowned for his temper; what would he think of an old woman who refused his offer? She could only imagine.

            "Then why didn't you tell anyone?" Adrian asked, shocked.

            Wynne chuckled bitterly at that. "Who would I tell? Celene was already gone from the capital. Even were that not the case, I doubt I would tell anyone."

            "What? Why not?"

            The old mage smiled coldly at her. "Because I am Fereldan, for one. I have no love for the Orlesian Empire, so the thought of it falling to pieces causes me no distress. Plus, there are other benefits if there is war here."

            "Benefits?" Adrian scoff ed.

            "She means the Circle," Rhys said, frowning sourly as he considered. "If there's civil war in the Empire, they'll come to the mages to ask for our help."

            Wynne seemed pleased at his insight. "That is so. I know you believe I desire no improvement to the conditions we live under, but that's not the case. A position of strength will only increase our bargaining power as we move forward."

            "With many innocent lives lost," Evangeline muttered.

            Wynne gave her a level stare. "Innocent lives are already being lost."

            She couldn't offer much argument. It was true, after all, that the Circle probably would be called if the Empire fell into chaos. The mages had been invaluable in the Blights, fighting against the darkspawn, and in the great Exalted Marches of ages past . . . and the amount of prestige the Circle gained after each of those wars was lost on no one. Could she honestly tell these mages they should be patriots? That they should care for people who feared and even reviled them? She couldn't, although that didn't mean she had to like such a mercenary attitude.

            It was clear Rhys didn't like it, either. He said nothing, but gave Wynne a dark look that spoke volumes.

            They rode on. The skies continued to darken, distant peals of thunder threatening a cold downpour. Adrian dug a blanket out of their pack and miserably huddled inside it. Rhys tried to sympathize with her, but got little more than grunts. As pleased as Evangeline was to have the woman finally quiet, she had to admit she wasn't looking forward to the weather taking a turn for the worse. It was only going to get colder as they headed south into the badlands.

            Wynne pulled up beside her, the first time she'd moved from the rear of their party the entire trip. "Perhaps," the woman suggested, "we might consider a night out of the rain?"

            "I thought you enjoyed camping."

            "
Enjoy
is a strong word. I can tolerate it, even if I am not as young as I once was." She glanced back at the pair behind them. Rhys was regaling Adrian with a tale about an elven apprentice who'd become incredibly ill after staying out in the rain, and when the Knight- Commander decided she was feigning her sickness she'd proceeded to vomit all over the front of his armor. Adrian appeared unamused, and Rhys chuckled at her expense. "I think," Wynne continued, "it might behoove us to take shelter for the sake of the others. It will not be long before we're in the part of the country where that won't be possible, after all."

            Evangeline considered it. "I know of a town up ahead, not far from where I grew up. Perhaps, if there's no trouble there . . ."

            "That would be wise." The tone she used was just forceful enough to remind Evangeline that she was accompanying them on this journey, not commanding them. Then Wynne allowed her horse to lag behind once again, giving Evangeline no chance to argue.

            They continued down the road for several more hours. It was all prime farmland, orchards here and vineyards up in the hills farther to the west. The men and women who worked the land had done so for generations, most under the auspices of a seigneur, but there were freeholders as well. They were the "poor man's landowner," and her father had been one of them. He'd held just enough of a title to acquire his land from a baroness desperate for coin, and it had always been a source of pride that he worked it well.