Asunder (51 page)

            The man walked over to the glowlamp and flipped through several pages until he found the one he wanted. "D
emons often become confused when they pass through the Veil,"
he read.
"They find themselves in a world they have no control over, and no connection to. They seek out such connections, possessing what ever they can see and touch, and seek to make it conform to the world they left behind— a world embodied by concepts and emotion rather than immutable reality. They subsume themselves in the world of the living, and this is what drives them mad."

            He snapped the book shut and looked inquisitively at Rhys, but said nothing. Rhys felt uneasy. "You're saying Cole is a confused spirit, but that doesn't—"

            "Tell me," the Lord Seeker interrupted, "when did the murders begin? Before or after you first met Cole?"

            Rhys hesitated. "After."

            "Why not before? How long did Cole claim he'd lived in the tower?"

            "I . . . don't know. Years, I think."

            "So for years he lived in the tower, out of sight and forgotten, and never felt the need to murder anyone until he met you." The Lord Seeker shrugged, replacing the book behind the chair. "That's certainly possible. Did he say
why
he killed these people?"

            "Because he felt like he was fading away, but—"

            "Fading away. As if he lacked a connection to our world, and the killings somehow strengthened it." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, and Rhys felt even more uneasy than before. He would have expected threats, condemnation . . . anything but this. "Blood magic is the manipulation of life energy," he continued, "the strongest source of mana and the only one forbidden to mages. Such life energy could provide a spirit the connection it needed, no matter how temporarily?"

            Rhys nodded slowly.

            "But only a mage can perform blood magic. So either this Cole has possessed the body of some unfortunate soul and is an abomination, and thus able to use that body's magic, or he is a disembodied spirit trying desperately to maintain a connection to our world, his only power the ability to influence the minds of others." The Lord Seeker spread his hands. "The question is: Which one are we dealing with?"

            "What if he's neither of those things?" Rhys asked. He sat up again, wincing as a jab of pain lanced through his chest. "And even if he is, what would this have to do with my confession? If Cole is a spirit and you know it, then why accuse me of murder?"

            The Lord Seeker nodded, as if this were an excellent question. "You're a compassionate man, Enchanter. Always willing to help those in need. It's made you quite popular." His eyes narrowed as he looked pointedly at Rhys. "It must have been quite distressing to encounter a young man so desperate and alone."

            "But I would never—"

            "Only you could help him. You couldn't tell anyone else, for fear of what they might assume, and no one else could see the lad. Why you could, who knows? Coincidence, perhaps. Some aspect of your own talents you were unaware of."

            It sounded eerily familiar. Rhys said nothing.

            "What would you do to help this poor young man, I wonder? Blood magic could help him, and only you can do that. Seek out some imprisoned mage, so eager to die you could even call it mercy, draw the life force from them—"

            "But I didn't do that!" Rhys shouted.

            The Lord Seeker stared at him knowingly. "The spirit chose you. You encountered many during your research. They would know who you are, and could follow you back to the tower. That's why you see him."

            "No!"

            "I've searched the records high and low. They contain the details of every apostate found, the orders given to bring them to the Circle, testimony from the templars sent . . . there is nothing for a boy named Cole, or anyone by his description. You can choose to believe this young man's abilities extend to erasing records, or you can accept that Cole never existed in the first place."

            Rhys twisted to look away. He couldn't stand it. His heart pounded, and all he wanted to do was scream
No! You're wrong!
But now Rhys was besieged by doubt. If Cole could make people forget him, what if he could make them forget other things? What if Rhys
had
agreed to help? What if he'd let Cole in, opened his mind up just enough for a single evening? And then forgotten. Could it be?

            The Lord Seeker leapt forward and grabbed Rhys by the throat. The steel gauntlets pressed painfully into his skin as the man forced Rhys to look at him. Those grey eyes burned now, his patience at an end. "Confess," he demanded. "You will tell the first enchanters you have been under the influence of a demon. You killed the elf, killed all of them, and unwittingly empowered this demon to manipulate the mages of this tower."

            "And if I don't?" Rhys said between gritted teeth.

            "Then you will die." He released his grip, stepping back once again. Rhys collapsed to the ground, coughing and choking, the agony in his chest almost too much to bear. "The first enchanters will be executed, as will Enchanter Adrian and any other mages we've imprisoned. We cannot abide rebellion, and I will either find a solution or deal with it however I must."

            Rhys laughed. It was a wheezing, weak laughter coupled with painful gasps, but he couldn't help himself. More blood filled his mouth, and he spit it out, but still he couldn't stop laughing. The Lord Seeker stared at him in disbelief, his expression slowly changing to fury. "Is something amusing?" he demanded.

            "You almost had me convinced," Rhys chuckled. He rolled over, sweating profusely from the exertion, and shakily pushed himself up. The Lord Seeker did not appear impressed by his efforts.

            Slowly Rhys's mirth subsided. He wiped his mouth and looked at the Lord Seeker seriously. "Even if Cole is what you believe," he said, "I doubt he knows it. He most certainly isn't manipulating the entire tower. If you're looking for someone to take the blame, look somewhere else."

            "But you did murder those people."

            "Or you framed me, precisely so we could have this conversation." Rhys smiled sweetly. "I guess we'll never know."

            The Lord Seeker paused. He looked at Rhys speculatively, and Rhys wondered if he shouldn't take it back. What if he
was
a murderer, and Cole a demon? He was dead either way; at least confessing would spare the lives of everyone else.

            But spare them for what? Tranquility? Feed them a lie, so they could go on swallowing everything else the templars chose to heap upon them? Deep down, Rhys didn't believe it. He couldn't. Cole was what he appeared to be, and so was the Lord Seeker: a man grasping at straws to keep the Circle of Magi from crumbling around his ears.

            "As you wish," the Lord Seeker said. He turned and left, taking the glowlamp with him. The moment the cell door slammed shut, Rhys was left once again in darkness.

           
Maker help me,
he prayed. D
on't let them try to save me. Tell them to run and save themselves.
And then he closed his eyes, suddenly shaking from pure exhaustion.
And help Cole. Wherever he is, what ever he is, I believe he means well.

           
I believe it.

            Chapter 20

           
"I preferred the tower in Ferelden," Shale muttered.

            Wynne snorted. "How can you say that?" she whispered. "The one and only time you were in Ferelden's tower, it was half- filled with abominations and corruption of every kind."

            "It was an improvement."

            "Quiet, you two!" Evangeline hissed. Trying to remain quiet with the golem accompanying them was challenging enough without the two of them chattering. How Wynne had managed to find Shale, Evangeline couldn't imagine. After reaching Montsimmard, the golem had followed them to the capital— where it had spent its time terrorizing the local pigeons, evidently. Stealthy or not, she imagined it would prove quite useful with what lay ahead.

            Things had gone smoothly so far. They’d entered the tower through an ancient section of the sewer system— that the tunnels had ever connected to the White Spire was clearly long forgotten. Evangeline had certainly never known about it, and the decrepit ruins in the deepest part of the Pit hadn't seen human traffic in centuries. It wasn't an easy way to enter, either, requiring near submersion in brackish waters and scaling half a mortar wall she was certain would crumble.

            But it didn't. It even held the weight of the golem, and before long they were inside. Cole knew the Pit like the back of his hand, and had led them unerringly through the darkness. There were so many twists and turns, so many collapsed passages and remnants of fortifications blocking the way, they would never have found their way without him.

            When they finally reached the area near the dungeons, they discovered it exactly as reported: teeming with templars. At least twenty were in the guard station, with more just outside. Half the mages must be locked up, if not all— the Lord Seeker would have needed to reopen the cells on the lower levels, which could easily hold twice the tower's population if required.

            They could have assaulted the dungeons right then. Evangeline didn't relish the idea of fighting her former comrades again, but she'd be foolish to believe what she did now wouldn't end in blood spilled. Regardless, it wasn't the templars that worried them. All it would take was one of those templars pulling the wrong lever and the defenses at the dungeon entrance would be activated. No one would be getting in or out.

            That presented a problem.

            "I'm simply worried about Rhys," Wynne whispered, chewing her lip nervously. "I wish we'd stayed with Cole and Leliana. Rhys is hurt. Who will heal him?"

            "He'll be fine," Evangeline assured her. "We're doing our part."

            They crept up the long flight of stairs toward the main floor of the tower. Wynne kept her staff dark, so they needed to move carefully. Even at this time of night, it was still possible for a templar to come or go. All it would take was one, and all their efforts would be for naught.

            They were lucky. No one appeared, and when they entered the tower proper it was deathly quiet. What guards were awake would be stationed at the great hall entrance or in the mage commons— that would be standard procedure, though to night she'd half expected it to be an armed camp with guards at every doorway and stairwell. She was glad to see she was wrong.

            "Shoddy security," the golem sniffed.

            "They’re not as worried about attacks from within, it seems."

            "Why not? That's exactly what they should be worried about."

            "The mages are kept confined. The tower is too large for templars to be everywhere at once. If we wait around long enough, however, we're bound to encounter a patrol." She waved them forward, and slowly they ascended the central staircase.

            They passed several levels without incident. T en, as they neared those occupied by the mages, they began to hear muffled voices. Evangeline peeked over the edge of the banister and saw her suspicions confirmed: an entire group of templars occupying the commons. They were not on alert— several of them sat around, playing cards by the light of a single glowlamp. The others conversed in whispers or nodded off in a corner. Not a single mage was in sight.

            The Lord Seeker would have their heads to see them so relaxed, but that wasn't what was important. They wouldn't be able to pass by on the stairs without the risk of being spotted.

            "Wynne, could you . . . ?"

            "Yes."

            The old woman held out a hand and concentrated. A faint glow coalesced over it, growing stronger and brighter until Evangeline became alarmed. Then Wynne opened her eyes. "Hush," she told the shimmering orb floating before her . . . and it dimmed in response. "Do you understand what I ask of you?"

            The orb bounced in a way that could have been acknowledgment, and then it flew up into the air. There it split into a dozen tinier orbs, and these were so faint they could barely be spotted in the darkness. All at once they scattered, floating toward the templars.

            "What are they going to do?" Evangeline whispered nervously.

            "Just watch."

            The orbs sailed over the templars' heads, with not one of them bothering to look up. Fortunate, to say the least, though why would they? Then the orbs split up, each heading toward a different door . . . and passed through the crack at the bottom.

            They waited in the staircase anxiously, each moment making it more likely that someone else would come along and complicate matters immensely. They didn't want to get into a pitched battle. Not here, not yet.