Asunder (54 page)

            And with that she ran off. Rhys watched her go, and then nodded gratefully as Cole helped him forward. It took effort, and his steps were both stumbling and uncertain, but he was able to walk. Barely.

            There were people rushing past them. Rhys recognized a couple: some were first enchanters from the great hall. Others were mages he knew from the tower. All of them were terrified, and unwilling to slow down. There was a red- haired woman with a glowlamp ahead at the entrance to the hall, waving everyone onward. She looked vaguely familiar, but Rhys couldn't place her. He had other things to worry about.

            Like walking. He tried his best to keep pace, Cole and he falling into a strange gait: step- shuffle- hop, step- shuffle- hop . . . it was agonizingly slow, but Rhys gritted his teeth and kept going. He felt so useless it was maddening, but Cole didn't appear to mind. He patiently urged Rhys on.

            Before long they fell behind the others. The red- haired woman yelled for everyone to keep up. He saw the Grand Enchanter beside her, as well as Adrian. And then they were gone. Rhys and Cole were alone in the darkness, with only the sounds of distant battle and the shouts of the mages far ahead to give them a sense of direction. Not that Cole needed it. He knew these passages well.

            Step- shuffle- hop, step- shuffle- hop.

            Time passed slowly. The sounds drew farther and farther away, and the darkness became complete. Rhys was left blind. He knew they were descending deeper and deeper into the Pit, but he had no idea where they were. He relied on Cole to guide him, the only sounds their footsteps on the cold stone and the thudding of his heart in his ears.

            Where was Evangeline? Was Wynne here, as well? Were they part of the fighting? Where were they going, and what if the templars came hunting them? He wanted to ask Cole these questions, but it was all he could do just to control the pain and keep moving.

            After what seemed like an hour of torture, Rhys heard water splashing beneath his feet. He could smell something sour and putrid, like sewage, layered thick amid all the dust. "Where are we?" he asked through gasped breaths.

            "Close now," Cole said. The man might as well be invisible, but for the voice in the darkness and the arm supporting Rhys's waist. “There's a wall ahead. You'll need to climb down."

            "Fall down, you mean," Rhys chuckled grimly.

            "We'll find a way."

            Suddenly Rhys heard something behind them: the sound of many booted feet, running. Men shouting orders. Templars. He froze, instinctively trying to summon mana to his defense, but the surge of pain was too much. He staggered back, tripping over a rock, and Cole quickly caught him before he fell.

            Rhys's heart beat wildly. He crouched down, wincing as the gash in his stomach protested, and waited. Maybe the templars wouldn't come this way? Maybe they . . . but his hopes sank as he spotted the telltale light of a glowlamp off in the distance. Several, in fact. The light grew brighter as the templars rushed in their direction.

            "Cole, we have to run!"

            "Wait," Cole urged. "It's okay."

            How could it be okay? Not that Rhys's limping gait would have gotten them far, but to sit still and hope for the best?

            He felt a rush of panic as the first templar came into sight. There were five of them, big and burly men in heavy armor splattered with streaks of blood. Their grim faces said they were ready to kill what ever lay in their path.

            The lead man held his glowlamp high as he peered off into the passage. Rhys was confused. The templar wasn't five feet away. His light should have revealed them, plain as day. How could he not see?

            "I could have sworn I heard splashing," he muttered.

            "It's us," another said. "Those are just echoes."

            "Maybe. Are we sure any came this way? What's down here?"

            A templar with a bushy black beard walked forward, swinging his sword irritably against the wall. "Maker's breath, who knows? We should go back. The last thing we should be doing is wandering down here, chasing ghosts."

            "The Lord Seeker said we're to find whoever escaped the dungeon. He'll be following as soon as he can."

            "And what if he doesn't? Are we supposed to fight a dozen first enchanters ourselves? Have sense, man!"

            The lead man gave the other a sour look. "Tell the Lord Seeker that, if you're willing. Maybe you want to join Ser Evangeline? She's fighting alongside those mages, both you and I saw it. It's insanity."

            The rest said nothing, avoiding each other's gazes so as not to betray their private thoughts. The lead templar spat in disgust, and then marched off down the passage. The others quickly followed. Each splashed by Cole and Rhys, not a one noticing them.

            Then Rhys felt it: a power so faint he barely noticed it was there. It was a hush that surrounded him like a blanket, thick and smothering. And it came from Cole. In the last vestiges of the light from the templar lamps, he could see Cole's eyes clamped shut. The man was concentrating hard, a trail of blood seeping out of his nose.

            "Cole," he whispered. "They’re gone."

            Cole's eyes snapped open. He looked at Rhys in surprise . . . and then winced in pain. He curled up on the ground, placing his head between his legs and whimpering. Rhys didn't know what was wrong. He helplessly patted the young man's shoulder, and when the templars were fully gone they sat in complete darkness once again.

            Eventually Cole's breathing slowed. "I . . . I think I'm okay now."

            "How did you do that?"

            Cole didn't answer. Instead he pulled Rhys to his feet and led him onward once again. This new ability of Cole's disturbed him. It hadn't felt like any kind of magic Rhys had encountered before. It was . . . something else completely. That wasn't a comforting thought.

            The templars had also mentioned Evangeline. Did that mean she was still alive? He hoped so. If the Maker truly looked after the faithful and the good, He would let her escape.

            They reached the wall Cole mentioned. It wasn't easy to descend in the dark. It took forever, Rhys clutching at stones he couldn't see, breathing in short gasps and praying he wouldn't fall. And then he
did
fall. Luckily, Cole was there to catch him. The pain was unimaginable. Rhys lay there in the cold and clammy sewer water until the spasms subsided, and all Cole could do was pat his head and urge him to keep moving.

            Eventually they entered the sewers. It had to be the sewers, from the foul smell. Clearly the rest of the mages had come this way. Faint voices echoed in the passages, and Cole quickly led him in the opposite direction.

            It didn't take long for more templars to come. Many templars, in fact. They shouted orders at each other and splashed through the water, the sounds seemingly coming from every direction. It was confusing, but Cole seemed to know where he was going. Rhys trusted him.

            They turned down one passage, and then another. It went on forever, time blending into a haze of pain, and Rhys might have blacked out more than once— if he did, when he came to he found himself still walking. Finally Rhys tugged at Cole's sleeve. "I . . . have to stop," he panted. His legs wobbled so badly they felt about to collapse from under him.

            Cole didn't say anything, but took Rhys by the shoulder and guided him to an embankment. There they sat, Rhys trying to bring his breathing under control. His guts burned. It felt like they were bleeding again, his life oozing out of him uncontrollably. His head spun from exhaustion.

            A faint light drifted down from a grate in the ceiling. The light of Val Royeaux at night, he assumed. It was enough to hint at the edges of the passage walls, and show the rats scurrying about in the corners. Rhys wondered if they shouldn't try to reach it, maybe escape into the city. Then he quickly discarded the idea. Even if there was a ladder, he couldn't imagine climbing right now . . . and what if the grate was sealed? Without magic, he was useless.

            Rhys froze. Someone was coming toward them. They weren't running, however . . . they were walking. Cole grabbed his hand, and Rhys shuddered as he felt that dark shroud settle over them once again. They were hidden.

            Then their pursuer came into view: it was the Lord Seeker.

            The man waded slowly through the water, a glowing red vial held before him. Rhys's heart sank— it had to be his phylactery. The Lord Seeker was tracking him with it. He moved casually, gracefully . . . a hunter on the prowl.

            Would Cole's ability hide them? Rhys held his breath, watching as the Lord Seeker paused. The man slowly moved the vial around, studying how the crimson lights within responded. Then he frowned.

            "Come out," he said. "I know you're here. All that effort to destroy your phylactery, and here I've kept it with me all along."

            Neither of them moved.

            "Ah yes," the Lord Seeker chuckled. "Invisibility is an interesting trick, I'll give you that. Of course, every trick is worthless once the truth is revealed." He put away the vial . . . and took out a small book. It was an odd thing, the size of his palm and bound in shiny gold. The man opened it and began reading aloud. The words were old, Ancient Tevinter . . . almost a chant, really. What he thought he was doing, Rhys couldn't imagine.

            Then something changed. The tingle of magic, prickling along his neck. It swept through the passage like a wind, and with it went the shroud that hid them. Cole gasped in shock.

            The Lord Seeker's head instantly spun around at the sound. Those grey eyes narrowed as he spotted them, and he smiled coldly. "And there we are," he said. "Cole, I assume?" Tossing the book aside, he raised his sword and charged.

            Cole leapt to his feet, dagger in hand. He ran to meet the seeker without a sound. Rhys tried to grab at him, alarmed. "No! Don't be a fool! You need to run!"

            Cole didn't stop, however, and Rhys only managed to tumble off the edge of the embankment. He fell into the water, blood rushing to his head and making him dizzy. He tried to summon mana, reached desperately down for power— anything at all— but his head only reeled in agony. He screamed.

            Cole dodged the first swing of the Lord Seeker's sword, ducking low and stabbing at him with the dagger. It glanced uselessly off the man's black armor. The seeker instantly spun around, faster than Rhys would have thought possible, and kicked at Cole. The metal boot connected, sending the young man flying back into the sewer water with a grunt of pain.

            Cole didn't stay down long. He jumped up in one smooth motion, crouching low in a fighting posture. The two circled each other now, the Lord Seeker appraising his opponent carefully.

            "I won't let you hurt Rhys," Cole growled. He darted toward the Lord Seeker, striking fast like a snake. As the seeker swung his blade down, Cole jumped aside at the last second and let it strike the water. Then he leapt up and slashed at the man's neck. The dagger connected, and had the Lord Seeker not twisted aside he would have received much more than just a gash.

            As it was, he seemed infuriated. He held a gauntlet up to his neck, and then studied the blood on it. "You're fast," he said. "I'll give you that." He pointed his sword at Cole, the tip tracking the young man as he moved from side to side . . . and then he charged. The Lord Seeker's swings were fast, each coming one after the other, Cole barely able to dodge in time. The young man was forced back, and when he stumbled against the bank, the Lord Seeker moved in for the kill.

            "Cole!" Rhys shouted.

            Cole tried to parry the swing, but only succeeded in having the dagger ripped from his grasp. It fell to the ground, and the Lord Seeker kicked it off into the water. When Cole jumped after it, the seeker nimbly swung the hilt of his sword against Cole's head. The young man flew back, slamming against the passage wall.

            Not letting up, the Lord Seeker stabbed his blade into Cole's shoulder. It sank deep, and Cole screamed in agony.

            When the seeker removed the sword, Cole made a growling sound like a rabid animal and leapt on him. The Lord Seeker was taken by surprise. Cole was all over him, clawing and biting at his face. It was enough to stagger the man, and he dropped his sword, but his confusion lasted only a moment. Reaching up, he grabbed Cole by the hair and threw him aside like a rag doll.

            Cole landed in the water with a great splash, and instantly jumped back up. The Lord Seeker expected that, however, and kicked him in the stomach. It was a solid blow, sending Cole flying several feet to splash in the water again. He tried to rise, but the Lord Seeker kicked him again. Blood flew from his mouth as he sailed back.

            "No!" Rhys cried. "Cole! Run!" He crawled through the murky water toward where the Lord Seeker had kicked the dagger. It must be there somewhere! He felt around in the slime, his hands shaking.