Asunder (42 page)

            Lord Seeker Lambert stood near the throne with the templars lined up on either side of the chamber, all of them standing at attention. Evangeline stood with them, her face an unreadable mask. Cole was . . . somewhere nearby, in the shadows. Watching. Only the mages stood out on the open floor. Rhys found the wait almost excruciating.

            Then a gong rang. A line of priests filed into the chamber, each of them holding their hands in prayer and chanting. Their voices filled the room with echoes, sending a shiver down his spine.

            Immediately following them was the Divine. This was no wizened crone, but a much younger woman who walked straight and proud. She needed no assistance save for the single attendant that carried the train of her voluminous red robes. Everyone in the room fell to one knee as she passed. For a long moment there was nothing but the hushed sound of the Divine's footsteps as she ascended to the Sunburst Throne.

            "All hail the Most Holy Justinia, Fifth of Her Name, Exalted Servant of the Maker!" a templar shouted, his voice booming across the chamber.

            "Grant us wisdom," a chorus of voices answered.

            There was a pause, and then the Divine spoke: "Rise, all of you."

            Everyone stood. The woman sat upon the throne, and unlike its previous occupant she appeared to fill it. She sat up straight, utterly in command, and took in her audience with a warm and welcoming gaze.

            The attendants hung to the rear of the chamber. Only one of them actually stood on the dais next to the throne: a pretty woman with short red hair, wearing a priest's robes but standing with such ease and grace that Rhys couldn't help but get the impression she was a bodyguard. Rumor said the Divine was employing bards in her personal ser vice. He'd assumed the tales were exaggerated, as so many of them were, but perhaps that wasn't so?

            "Such a late hour for an audience," the Divine commented. Her voice carried easily in the room's acoustics; it was almost as if she spoke directly in Rhys's ear. "But it is good you all are here. I have awaited this for some time."

            "Your Perfection, if I may." The Lord Seeker strode toward the dais. He made a perfunctory bow, and did not wait for permission to continue. "There is no need for this. With the state of the Empire, I'm positive you have more important concerns than an internal matter of the Circle of Magi."

            "Your advice is appreciated, Lambert," she said. Rhys thought he detected a hint of sarcasm in her tone, and certainly the lack of an honorific did not go unnoticed by the man. He glared indignantly, but said nothing. "The Empire faces war, and while we pray for the souls of the many innocents trapped in its wake, the Chantry cannot forsake its responsibility for the sake of politics."

            "I am dealing with the matter, Your Perfection . . ."

            "Indeed?" Her eyebrows shot up. "And yet a mage made an attempt on my life scant weeks ago. The templars have had an increasingly difficult time of managing the Circle ever since that unfortunate business in Kirkwall. Perhaps some assistance is in order, wouldn't you say?"

            His nod of assent was grudging, at best. "If you believe it so, Your Perfection."

            "I do." The Divine cast her gaze around the room, clearly looking for someone, until she spotted her amid the line of templars. "Speaking of the attempt on my life, I never did have the opportunity to thank the one personally responsible for my rescue. Ser Evangeline, be so kind as to step forward."

            Rhys saw Evangeline's eyes go wide in shock. She hestitated, until the Divine finally beckoned her over. Reluctantly she left the templar line, and when she reached the bottom of the dais she instantly dropped to one knee.

            "The report I received on the events at Adamant fortress were quite thorough," the Divine said. "I understand you're responsible for ensuring the mission's completion and safe return to Val Royeaux."

            Evangeline didn't look up. "I . . . did my best, Most Holy."

            "Indeed you did. Here I find myself thanking you for not one ser vice rendered to the Chantry, but two." The Divine looked over at the Lord Seeker. "You have a most promising templar in your ranks, Lambert. I trust you'll see her adequately rewarded?"

            The Lord Seeker said nothing. For a long moment there was tense silence as he and the Divine locked stares, until finally he relented. "As you wish, Your Perfection."

            "Good. Someone will need to look after the White Spire when you return to your regular duties, after all."

            "Most Holy!" Evangeline spluttered. "I . . . cannot ask you to . . ."

            "You did not ask. Rather, it is I who am asking you to continue serving the Maker." She waved for Evangeline to come closer. "Stand at my side while I deal with the matter at hand."

            Evangeline exchanged a look with the Lord Seeker. Standing behind both of them, Rhys couldn't see the details . . . but from the man's rigid posture, it was easy to tell he wasn't pleased. Someone was being overruled. Rhys would be a liar if he claimed that didn't make him at least a little happy.

            He watched Evangeline walk up the steps toward the throne, where she was met by the red- haired woman. She looked proud, if a little flustered.
Good for her,
Rhys thought to himself.
At least someone's going to benefit from all this.

            "Now then," the Divine began. "Let us continue. Enchanter Wynne?"

            Wynne stepped forward, leading Pharamond by the hand. The elf was shaking so badly from terror, he looked ready to vomit. As soon as he reached the dais, he prostrated himself before the Divine. "Please, Your Perfection!" he begged in a quavering voice. "I did only as you asked of me, I swear it!"

            Wynne knelt down and tried to console him, but the elf was having none of it. He trembled and sobbed, snot running out of his nose in a pathetic display almost painful to watch. Finally the Divine raised her hand. "Stand," she commanded him. "For the moment, I wish only to speak."

            Slowly Pharamond allowed Wynne to help him up. He attempted to collect himself, though not very well. "I . . . did only as you asked, Most Holy," he repeated.

            The Lord Seeker strode forward, wheeling on the Divine with an expression of outrage. "What does he mean by that,
exactly
?"

            "I believe you are forgetting yourself, Lambert."

            "And I believe the templars have a right to know what transpires in our own domain!" he snapped. "We have a difficult enough time dealing with the mages, we most certainly do not need interference!"

            She frowned, and Rhys wondered if things were about to come to a head. These were two of the most powerful people in Thedas butting heads, right there in front of everyone. The unease in the chamber was conspicuous, and he couldn't help but notice the templars were not only armed but also handily outnumbered everyone else. But . . . they served the Chantry. The templars would never openly oppose the Chantry, would they? That was unthinkable.

            "Allow me to explain, then," the Divine said in a crisp tone. "Five years ago I asked someone to undertake an investigation into the nature of the Rite of Tranquility. It is a pro cess we use even though we do not fully understand it. I wished to know if the Rite could deny a mage their power without also neutering their mind. I also wished to know if the pro cess could be reversed." She gestured to Pharamond. "As you can see, that much appears to be true."

            "But why?" the Lord Seeker demanded. "The Rite of Tranquility has served the Circle for centuries. It is our last defense against mages who cannot master their own powers. We must keep order, Most Holy! We must protect the innocent from the mages, and the mages from themselves!"

            She nodded. "A convenient tale, so we may sleep better at night. The Maker says that magic is to serve mankind . . . but we possess a responsibility to those who serve us, Lord Seeker. We cannot hail them when their magic is useful and then lock them in a cage when it is inconvenient. They are the Maker's children, not to be tolerated, but to be cherished."

            Rhys was stunned. He'd never thought to hear such words from anyone in the Chantry before, never mind the Divine. From the murmurs that traveled around the room, he suspected many others felt the same way. Looking to his right, he caught a glimpse of Adrian standing not far from him and watching the throne.

            She was crying.

            The Lord Seeker furrowed his brow, staring at the Divine in consternation. "And what price would you have us pay for such idealism, Most Holy?"

            "Idealism is our stock- in- trade, Lambert. A religion without ideals is tyranny. As for the price"— she turned back to Pharamond—"that is what I intend to discover."

            Wynne bowed low. "Your Perfection, with your permission, perhaps I could answer your questions. Since Pharamond's . . . restoration . . . he has had difficulty controlling his emotions. I fear this may be overwhelming for him."

            The elf smiled gratefully at her, but the Lord Seeker was not nearly as impressed. "And this is a man we should now trust to resist possession?" he growled.

            The Divine silenced him. "Your report was very detailed, Enchanter Wynne. For that I thank you. There are, however, questions remaining. If you would be so kind as to answer them, it would be appreciated."

            "Of course, Your Perfection."

            The Divine sat back in the throne. She steepled her hands together and rested her chin on them, narrowing her eyes in thought. "First I wish to know what happened to the people of Adamant."

            Wynne appeared reluctant to speak, and Rhys could well imagine why. He remembered the room full of charred corpses, the blood smearing the walls, and shuddered. "They are dead," she whispered.

            "Speak up!" the Lord Seeker snapped.

            "They are dead," Wynne said, more loudly.

            The Divine closed her eyes, moving her mouth in a prayer. All was quiet for a long minute until she opened her eyes again. Rhys could see they were moist— she was clearly moved, and it made him feel guilty. As horrified as he'd been by the carnage, other concerns had seemed far more pressing than that of lost lives.

            "How?" she asked, her voice hoarse with emotion.

            Wynne hesitated. "The Veil was already thin at Adamant. Pharamond's experiment allowed demons to pass into our world. They possessed the keep's people . . ."

            "And tore each other apart," the Lord Seeker finished for her.

            She nodded.

            "And then possessed the corpses."

            She nodded again.

            The Lord Seeker didn't look at the Divine. He didn't have to.

            "And this experiment," the Divine continued, "is there promise in it? Is it an accident the Rite of Tranquility has been reversed in this man, or can it happen again?"

            Wynne made to answer, but now Pharamond spoke up. "I did not intend to be possessed, I swear it," he said. He cleared his throat uncomfortably. "In fact, I believe the pro cess can be replicated far more safely . . . if, that is, you wish it to be. . . ." His voice trailed off into silence.

            "But have you learned more of the Rite's nature?"

            "Yes, I believe I have."

            "And do you believe a way can be discovered to allow the Rite to restrict a mage without rendering them Tranquil?"

            Rhys noticed the nervous sweat pouring down Pharamond's brow. He glanced helplessly at Wynne, but she merely nodded for him to answer. He faced the Divine again, stuttering several times before he managed a response: "No," he said quietly. "I don't believe that's possible."

            His answer hung in the air.

            "Then there's nothing further to discuss," the Lord Seeker declared. "If the only result of this man's research is to discover the Rite may be reversed, then I deem it a failure . . . and a dangerous one, Most Holy. Even now there are those in the White Spire who believe we are about to turn every Tranquil back into a mage!"

            The Divine pondered his words and did not respond. She did not have to, however, as Adrian suddenly stepped forward. Rhys groaned inwardly, seeing the outrage written clearly on her face right next to the tears. "And so you should!" she shouted. "They should never have been mutilated in the first place!"

            The man glared at her in fury, but it was the Divine who responded. "And what would you have us do, my dear? Execute them?"

            "Yes!" Adrian looked around at the shocked glances she received, and they only seemed to fuel her outrage. "Yes! You think it's
kinder
to turn them into automatons, into servants? If you really fear us so much, then kill us! Don't pretend that killing everything that makes us human isn't the same thing!"