Asunder (34 page)

            Sweat beaded on her brow. The light emanating from her staff began to dim, and her knees buckled. There was an invisible con test of wills going on between Wynne and the demon . . . and she was losing.

            Shale realized it the same instant Adrian did. With a furious cry the golem charged. It bashed the elf aside with a stone fist, sending him flying away from Wynne with barely a sound. The old woman collapsed to the floor, dropping her staff .

            All at once the Tranquil burst into action. They surged toward Shale and Adrian, their faces still placid and completely silent as they clutched at them with strong hands. Adrian tried to back away, horrified, and felt her hair being pulled. She was surrounded by bodies, and someone was trying to tear her staff from her grip.

            "Enough!" she cried. The mana rushed out of her in a corona of flame, burning everyone around her. They screamed in agony and recoiled. She gritted her teeth, reminding herself they weren't really people— they were figments of a dream. The demon was the real target here.

            She concentrated, digging even deeper into the well of her power. The flames intensified, and she pushed them toward where she saw the demon just getting back to his feet. A ball of white fire soared toward him, everything she had poured into it, and when it struck him it exploded into an inferno.

            He was engulfed, as were the Tranquil nearest to him. They shrieked as they lit up, trying in futility to run away. The entire room was filled with smoke and the smell of burning flesh. Adrian fell to her knees, drained. She barely saw Shale through the fiery haze, thrashing about with its fists, sending bodies sailing left and right.

            And then the demon . . . walked out of the flames. He was untouched, and smirked in amusement. "Y
ou think to challenge me in the heart of my demesne? You were fools even to come."
He held up a hand as if beckoning, and the entire tower began to shake. Adrian's heart quailed.

            And then Wynne rose.

            Something had changed within her. Gone was the old woman; instead a force radiated from within. She stood tall and defiant.
"You are mistaken, creature of Pride."
Her voice rang out with unearthly power that pushed back the darkness. Adrian felt it pass through her soul like a cleansing wind. "Y
ou read my mind, but there is a place you could not and cannot reach . . . and that is what you fear."

            The demon's cool demeanor vanished. He hunched down low, baring his teeth in a furious hiss. Adrian saw his features change, subtly shifting from the handsome elf he presented to something ugly and evil, as if what lay beneath the skin were now bubbling up to the surface. "Y
ou do not belong here, spirit!"
he screamed.
"He is mine and you cannot take him from me!"

            Wynne walked toward him . . . no, not walked. Glided. Her robes had transformed into diaphanous silver, flowing in the air as her aura of power became even brighter.

           
"You have already lost him,"
she said. Her hand snatched the demon by the neck and lifted him up off the ground. He struggled, clawing uselessly at her arms, and then began to scream. Cracks formed along his skin, white light bursting out of them. He burned, until the light eclipsed him . . .

            Adrian heard the music.

            It was everywhere. She welcomed it and feared it at the same time, and in a single moment it swept her away. Up into the sky she was borne, away from the tower, from the fire, and the agonized screams of the Tranquil . . . the exquisite glory of it sharpened until she wanted to cry out for it to stop.

            And then she awoke.

            Chapter 13

           
The world came into clarity only slowly, and it took Rhys several
minutes before he realized he was on the floor of the laboratory. The others scattered around him, some standing, but all of them looking befuddled. It was as if a fog lifted from his mind, but at the same time it felt as if this were the dream and the world he'd just left behind was the reality.

            Magic trilled through the air like electricity. The Fade was torn— as if an invisible window had been left open, and a foul wind was now blowing in. He shivered in reaction, desperately wanting to scratch everywhere the magic touched.

            He looked around. Everything about the laboratory was unchanged: the air just as still, the darkness just as oppressive. The only thing different was the demon. Gone was the twisted abomination, replaced by an older elven man with long white hair. His face was ashen, his tattered robes soaked through with sweat, and he gripped the arms of the chair so tightly his knuckles were bone white.

            "Is . . . is this real?" he asked through ragged breaths.

            All eyes turned toward him, as if the sound of a voice had shattered the unnatural calm. Wynne got to her knees and crawled closer, but remained just outside the binding circle. "Pharamond?" she whispered, her voice laden with concern. "Are you . . . ?"

            The elf stared at her in disbelief. Tears welled in his crystal blue eyes, and he began to tremble . . . and then suddenly burst out into jarring laughter. He leapt to his feet, looking about at every corner of the room with a goofy grin even as the tears rolled down his cheeks. "I'm me!" he shouted. "I'm actually me!"

            Pharamond let out a joyous whoop and ran over to the startled Wynne, dragging her to her feet. He held her hands tightly, opening his mouth several times as if unable to formulate the words he needed. Then he crushed her in a tight hug. "Thank you, Wynne," he sobbed. "Thank you, oh, I can't even begin to tell you . . ."

            Rhys winced as he stood, his bones aching. There was no way to tell how long they'd lain there. Time in the Fade was not the same as in the real world. It could have been a day, a few hours, or even a few minutes. It felt like forever. They were probably lucky they'd slain the rest of the demons before the ritual was performed. Had they not, they'd likely all be dead. Trapped in the Fade forever, unaware of why they couldn't leave the land of dreams until finally they forgot they even needed to.

            He saw the golem standing nearby, its stony brow furrowed in consternation. Adrian was next to it, rubbing her shoulders. She seemed uncharacteristically quiet, watching Wynne with a distrustful glare. What was going on in her head, he couldn't even imagine— had something happened with Wynne after they'd parted ways? Evangeline, meanwhile, was just getting to her feet. He realized her intention even before she drew her sword.

            "Stand away from him," Evangeline ordered Wynne. The blade was pointed not at her, but at Pharamond.

            The elf stared at her, his expression turning instantly from joy to stark terror. "What are you doing?" he spluttered. He retreated, almost stumbling in his haste, but Evangeline kept pace. Her sword did not waver.

            "I think it's clear what I'm doing."

            Wynne interposed herself between the two of them. She ignored the fact that the tip of the sword was little more than inches from her breast. "I will not allow you to slay him, templar," she said firmly. Shale stood beside her, looming dangerously in a scene reminiscent of what had just happened in the Fade.

            "Is that so?" Evangeline ignored the golem, her eyes remaining fixed on Pharamond. "Can you even be certain he is no longer possessed? His appearance has changed, but you know that means nothing. It could be a trick."

            "It is not a trick." Wynne gestured to the binding circle, the blood runes now scuffed. Her meaning was obvious: Pharamond had crossed the threshold of his own accord.

            Evangeline stared at the runes, the truth sinking in, and reluctantly she lowered her sword. She did not sheathe it, however. "Very well," she said. She hesitated before addressing Pharamond again. "You, however, have much to answer for."

            "Answer for?" He seemed genuinely perplexed.

            "Your actions have led to the death of every innocent in this keep."

            The words seemed to strike him like a thunderclap. The elf recoiled, staring at Evangeline with wide eyes . . . and when Wynne tried to approach him out of concern he backed away from her as well. "You can't mean . . ." he began, his voice trailing off as realization dawned. Suddenly he darted toward the laboratory door.

            "Hold!" Evangeline cried. She paused long enough to glare accusingly at Wynne before racing after him. The others followed quickly on her heels.

            Pharamond hadn't gone far, however. They found him in the outside chamber, sunk to his knees in horror. The entire room was still littered with burnt corpses, the smoky haze carrying the stench of charred and rotting meat. It was almost too dark to see, and for that Rhys's churning stomach was grateful.

            "I never . . ." Pharamond was overcome, shaking his head in denial. He took a deep breath. "I thought I had protected them from . . ."

            "You sealed the doors," Evangeline pointed out.

            "A precaution!" he objected. "The Lord Mayor's suggestion!"

            "They knew about this?"

            He nodded slowly. "They . . . supported me. They believed in me. At the time I thought it was logical, but I never . . ." Staring around at the dead bodies, the elf began to shake. A mournful groan escaped his lips as he began to sob. "I killed them, didn't I? I'm responsible."

            Rhys watched uncomfortably as the elf broke down in tears. This was no ordinary grief, but more like a wretched pain forcibly extracted from the man. His whole body convulsed with sobs, and he covered his face as he rocked back and forth on the floor.

            Wynne hesitated only a moment before she ran to kneel at his side, a pained look on her face as she reassuringly held his shoulders. "Pharamond," she murmured, "I know this distresses you greatly, but we cannot stay. You must pull yourself together."

            He looked up from his hands, his eyes bleary and red with tears. "I can't!" he cried. "I . . . can feel everything now, and I can't stop! Oh, Maker help me!"

            Pharamond collapsed onto the floor, writhing in grief. He called out like a child might, pawing at the ashes on the floor. Wynne tried to help him, but he could not be moved. She looked to the others in alarm— and to Rhys specifically.

            Surely this was worse than being Tranquil— to feel nothing at all for so long, and then to feel everything at once? The man was at the mercy of his emotions, in such pain it was like watching a trapped animal. Part of Rhys cried out that he should try to help, but still he stood frozen in place.

            Finally, Evangeline strode forward. Wynne raised a hand in objection, but the templar ignored her. She pulled Pharamond up by his shoulder . . . and then roundly slapped him across the face. It was a hard blow, made all the worse by her metal gauntlets, and the elf crumpled with barely a whimper.

            "I could have done that," the golem sniffed.

            Wynne rose, her face twisted in fury, but stopped before a word was said. Pharamond was already picking himself off the floor. It seemed the blow had proven effective: his weeping had ceased. Now he rubbed his cheek, a red welt already forming, and stared warily up at Evangeline.

            "Tell me what you did," she demanded.

            Pharamond paused, glancing at Wynne as if for permission. The old woman nodded, a gesture Evangeline did not miss. "I've been studying the nature of the Rite of Tranquility for many years— how it severs one from the Fade so they no longer dream, why that prevents them from demonic possession, and whether an alternative was even possible. It has been . . . my life's work."

            "The Tranquil do nothing they're not asked to."

            "That's not true! We have free will. We just . . . desire nothing, we strive for nothing." He paused, staring off into the distance. "But it doesn't matter. I
was
asked to do this. I was commissioned to perform my research by the Chantry."

            "The Chantry?" Evangeline frowned. "They knew about this?" She looked accusingly at Wynne, but the old woman merely shook her head. Evidently she didn't know about this either.

            "Of course they knew about it," Pharamond said, almost affronted. "How else could I have been here? Why else would I even have come?"

            "But did they know what you were doing?" Evangeline gestured at the carnage around them. "Did they know you intended to summon a demon?"

            "I didn't summon it!" He paused, considering his words. "I realized early on that Tranquility wasn't repairable on this side of the Fade. It needed to be done from the other side. A spirit had to bridge that gap— and it could only do that if it knew exactly where to look. The Rite renders the Tranquil invisible to spirits."