Asunder (50 page)

            "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?"

            Wynne slowly nodded . . . and turned away, unable to look at either of them. "I'm so sorry," she whispered. "I feel like such a fool. I just can't stop thinking . . . what if Rhys is dead? After all this, all I've been through, to have him die before me . . ."

            "He isn't dead," Cole said.

            Wynne stared at him in astonishment. "What . . . did you say?"

            "Rhys is hurt. They put him in the dungeon, but I can't get him out. There’s too many templars there, now." He paused, looking at both of them uncertainly. "That's why I came looking for you. I can't help him alone."

            "Why would you do anything at all?"

            He squirmed. "Rhys always wanted to help me. I don't know why he did, but he did. Everything that's happened to him is my fault. I have to do
something
."

            Wynne stared at him. Then she shook her head, ashamed. "I am an old fool. I acted without thinking, doing all the things I've cautioned other mages against. I . . . hope you can forgive me, young man. What I did was . . . inexcusable."

            "You're Rhys's mother," he said simply. "My mother tried to protect me, too."

            "And did she succeed?"

            "No. She died." Cole's face twisted with grief. He backed away from them, stumbling once as he hit the tunnel wall. There he crouched down, placing his head between his knees and his hands over his head. Like he was shutting down.

            Evangeline knelt beside him. She put a hand on his shoulder, whispering soothing things. Her father had done that. Just the once, the day her mother died. Even wrapped up in his own grief, he couldn't stand to watch his daughter in pain. She imagined he'd felt as helpless as she did right now.

            "I . . . attacked you as well, Ser Evangeline," the old woman said. "I can't even—"

            "Templars guard the mages, remember?" Evangeline interrupted. "Even if it's from themselves. I may not believe in the order, but that doesn't mean I stopped believing in what we stood for."

            Wynne looked at her strangely, as if seeing her for the first time. "I think I know what Rhys sees in you, Ser Evangeline."

            "Just save him." Evangeline stood up, and Cole stood with her. He suddenly seemed calm, as if he'd never broken down at all. That wall Cole put up around himself was there again. It made her sad, but there was nothing she could do. "If we're going to do this, we need a sensible plan," she said. "Running around half- cocked and full of rage isn't going to help anyone. We have to find a way into the dungeon that won't have the entire White Spire blocking our way out."

            "I know a way in," Cole said.

            Both women stared at him.

            "There are old places in the Pit," he continued, "places nobody even knows about. Some of the walls are crumbled, and you can get into the sewers. That's how I got here."

            Evangeline smiled, her thoughts already racing ahead of her. There would still be the matter of dealing with what ever guards the Lord Seeker had placed at the dungeons, not to mention the deadly traps protecting it, but if they could get ins
ide
without assaulting the front entrance . . .

            "I know what we're going to do," she said.

            Rhys coughed, and his whole body shook with agony. More blood gurgled into his mouth, the revolting coppery taste making him gag. He spit, and the blood dribbled out onto the cell's stone floor. He spit again, the effort making his stomach clench painfully— so he closed his eyes and waited for the spasm to pass.

            Someone had stabbed him. He remembered that much, a hazy moment shortly before he'd finally succumbed to unconsciousness. One of the templars had loomed over him, a fellow with a large nose— the same one that had been waiting at Adamant.
"Now you' ll get what you deserve, all of you," he'd
said . . . and then stabbed Rhys. He could still feel the cold blade sliding into his stomach as if it were yesterday.

            Seemed petty, really.

            Why didn't they kill him? They had every justification. He could easily be branded a rebel . . . and it wasn't like his death would make the mages
more
angry. After that pitched battle in the great hall, the White Spire would either be in open rebellion or in complete lockdown. He could only guess what would happen once the other Circles heard the news. The templars would have their hands full.

            One chop to the neck and everything he knew about Pharamond's work would be gone forever . . . unless that was the point. Perhaps the templars wanted information they thought only he had? If so, they were bound to be disappointed. The elf had explained his theories on making the Tranquility cure work— but little else. There’d been no time.

            The thought of Pharamond made him sad. The elf had experienced a brief moment of release from the awful oblivion that was Tranquility, only to be murdered in his chambers while waiting for his sentence to be carried out.

            It couldn't have been Cole. The dagger that the Lord Seeker had thrown down hadn't been Cole's, and why would Cole use another? That meant the templars had executed Pharamond and purposefully framed Rhys for it. Whenever they came to speak to him, he'd find out why.

           
Cole. . . . Sometime
recently he'd awoken in the cell and seen Cole crouching over him. At the time he'd thought it another fever dream, brought on by his injuries. Indeed, he'd imagined Evangeline there, and Wynne. Even Adrian. An entire array of people parading through his cell to either pity or accuse him in turn. Of them all, however, Cole had seemed the most plausible.

           
"I'll get you out of here, I promise."

            Had that been what Cole said to him? Rhys could hardly be confident. He hoped it wasn't true. He didn't want Cole risking himself any more than he wanted Wynne or Evangeline doing so. They should leave, get as far away from Val Royeaux as they could before what ever came next swallowed them whole.

            Because something
was
coming. The rebellion in Kirkwall would be nothing compared to this. He'd seen several first enchanters slain, and the rest of them . . . ? It didn't even matter now, did it?

            There was a noise at the cell door. A key turning in the lock. Rhys tried to push himself up, and managed to do so only with an accompanying jab of agony. He waited in the darkness, staring at where the light would momentarily be blinding him.

            It didn't disappoint. With a great clang, the metal door swung open and a great flood of light filled the room. Rhys closed his eyes, waiting to let the glare stop being so painful, and instead listened as several pairs of heavy, booted feet tromped in.

            So this was it. An execution, then? Or something else?

            "Leave us," a voice said.

            The boots left without comment, slamming the door shut behind them. Rhys opened his eyes again, blinking away the swirl of afterimages and focusing on the figure standing before him. It was a man in armor, holding a glowlamp . . . and its gentle blue light revealed him to be the Lord Seeker.

            The man looked down at Rhys with contempt.

            "You're awake. Good." The Lord Seeker hung the glowlamp on the wall and sat down in a chair— brought in, Rhys assumed, as he didn't remember noticing it before. Of course, in the utter darkness of his cell the chair could have been right by his head and he wouldn't have noticed it then, either.

            "What? No cookies? I'm disappointed."

            The Lord Seeker ignored him. "We're going to talk, you and I. It seems past time that we did."

            Rhys burst into laughter, but it was interrupted by a bloody coughing fit. "Talk?" he finally managed. "I'd rather the execution. It'd be less painful, and frankly, why should I be more special than everyone else?"

            The Lord Seeker's smile was patient, but it didn't touch his eyes. "There have been no executions. All who didn't perish in the great hall have joined you in imprisonment . . . as have many others. I daresay the White Spire's dungeons haven't been this full in ages."

            "You're going to keep us all here?"

            He leaned back in the chair, folding his arms and staring at Rhys sternly. "What happens to the others depends entirely on you."

            "What do you want?"

            "A confession."

            "Very well. I confess: I'm a mage."

            "Don't be a fool."

            Rhys snorted. "I didn't kill Pharamond. You must know that."

            "Must I?" The Lord Seeker raised a disapproving brow. "I imagine you'll tell me it was the 'invisible man,' yes? Cole, is it? He murdered this Pharamond as he murdered the other mages?"

            Rhys felt a chill run down his spine. At some level he'd hoped the templars would forget about Cole, just like everyone else. Learning about him from Evangeline might mean that wasn't going to happen now. "Cole didn't kill Pharamond," he said. "At least, he didn't do it with that dagger."

            "Are you certain?" The Lord Seeker leaned close, making Rhys recoil. Those grey eyes seemed to bore into him with their intensity, and was it . . . concern? There was concern there as well, though whether it was for Rhys or something else he really couldn't imagine. The idea that this man might feel sympathy for anything seemed laughable. "What do you believe Cole is, exactly?"

            "A mage who was brought to the tower, and then lost."

            "With abilities never before recorded, outside of blood magic?"

            "He's not a blood mage."

            "Perhaps he's not. Where did you see him first?" When Rhys didn't answer, the Lord Seeker stood up from the chair. Pacing around the small cell, he continued. "Here in the tower, I suspect. Perhaps glimpses of a stranger that nobody else could see? It took you seeking him out to actually speak with him, however."

            "I'm not the only one who's seen him. Evangeline, for instance."

            "She saw him in the Fade first, however."

            "Yes, but he followed us . . ."

            "Did he? Followed you halfway across the Empire? Somehow keeping pace with you the entire way without you once spotting him? And let me guess: the first time you did see him, you were seeking him out." He stopped pacing, giving Rhys an incredulous look. "Come now, Enchanter. You're a clever man. I figured you to have better reasoning than this."

            "Cole isn't a demon," Rhys objected, but suddenly he wasn't so certain. He'd rejected the idea plenty of times. When he spoke with Cole, his gut said the young man was real, a lost soul who needed help. As human as he. But still a doubt lingered . . .

           
No! He's trying to trick you!
This was just one more attempt to twist him about. He only wanted a confession— whatever good that did him.

            "Allow me to refresh your memory." The Lord Seeker reached behind the chair and picked up a tome from the floor. Rhys recognized it: one of the volumes he'd written during his years researching spirits, no doubt rescued from some corner of the archives where it languished. Rhys had barely thought of his research since he discontinued it a year ago, and thus it was surprising to see now . . . and even more surprising that the Lord Seeker had bothered to dig it up.