Asunder (56 page)

            They had been coming in dribs and drabs since the first enchanters arrived a month ago. A dozen per day for a while, then slowing in the weeks that followed, until now the ruin was near bursting with over a hundred mages— apostates all. Rhys wasn't certain how they heard of the ruin, or why they came, but they did. Where else did they have to go?

            They came hungry, with empty hands and fear in their eyes as well as tales of what was now happening in the other Circles. The templars had cracked down. In some places they received news of the White Spire even before the mages there did, and had struck preemptively. It made no difference. In each tower, the mages reacted the same way: They fought. Many died. The rest fled.

            Rhys supposed he should worry. The destruction of so many phylacteries had protected them so far, but if the mages at other towers could hear of Andoral's Reach, then so could the templars. They wouldn't need phylacteries. If the templars were going to come, however, they would need to come with an army. The ruin was decrepit, its walls crumbling and covered in ivy, but its fortifications still offered protection. With hundreds of mages to man the battlements, they could hold off an army ten times their size— if not more.

           
Let them come,
he thought grimly.

            He scanned the horizon for the hundredth time, but saw only snowy hills and black skies. Not a templar in sight. The civil war in Orlais was rumored to be growing worse. There’d been a terrible battle in the Heartlands. Val Royeaux was said to be burning. If any of it was true, the templars might very well have their hands full and thus be unable to deal with apostates hiding at the edge of the Empire.

            Rhys heard Adrian's footsteps on the tower's stairs long before she arrived at the top. She looked none the worse for their ordeal, which wasn't surprising. Adrian was tough. She wore the black robes of a first enchanter now— the elderly Edmonde had perished in the flight from the White Spire, and Adrian had been elected his replacement by the survivors a week ago. What that made her the first enchanter of, he couldn't rightly say. She had no Circle. None of them did.

            It didn't stop her from being enthusiastic regarding her appointment, as brief a time as she intended to keep it. She nodded to him as she approached, holding the red curls from her face as a sudden gust of wind made them flutter. "They’re calling for you, Rhys," she said. "It's going to start soon."

            "I know."

            She could have left, but instead remained at his side. She stared out at the barren hills with him, the silence between them strained. "Ser Evangeline tells me you've left the Libertarian fraternity." She said it lightly, as if it were a matter of no consequence. Rhys wasn't fooled. He could always tell when Adrian was mortally offended. "She says you plan on joining the Aequitarians."

            And this was why she'd sought him out, of course. "I already have," he answered. "First Enchanter Irving asked me this morning to take my mother's place and represent them at the conclave. I accepted."

            "
You're
their representative?"

            "Apparently they trust my judgment."

            She frowned thoughtfully. "And how are you going to vote?"

            "I haven't decided yet."

            She eyed him carefully, no doubt trying to discern the reason for his ambivalence. Perhaps the Grand Enchanter had sent her assuming their friendship would make Rhys confide in Adrian before the conclave commenced? If so, it was a mistake. If Rhys had felt estranged from Adrian before, it was complete now. Their friendship had evaporated, replaced by an awkwardness he couldn't account for. It went beyond his rejection of her that night in his chambers. There was something in the way she refused to meet his eyes . . . and he'd been thinking on it carefully.

            Adrian turned to go, abandoning her efforts, but he caught her shoulder. "Wait," he said. "I have something to ask you."

            She tensed. When she turned back, however, she assumed an air of nonchalance. "Go on."

            "How did Pharamond die?"

            That startled her. "The templars killed him, and framed you."

            "The Lord Seeker denied it." He waved away her retort. "I know you'll say he was lying— but why? He told the truth about everything else, why lie about that? Why go through all that effort to frame me? It doesn't make sense."

            She shrugged. "Then whoever murdered the others must have murdered Pharamond as well."

            "His name is Cole. You met him, but you don't remember it." Rhys met Adrian's gaze, forcing her to look at him. He frowned when she broke the contact again and looked away. "The thing is, Cole told Evangeline he hadn't. He'd never lied about the other murders, why lie about that one?"

            "I don't know. Why does anyone lie about murder?"

            Rhys stepped toward Adrian, glaring at her angrily. She retreated, startled, until she hit the parapet and could back up no farther. She glanced behind her at the long drop to the ruin's courtyard, and then back at him. "I think there's another answer," he growled.

            They faced off in tense silence. She stubbornly refused to budge, or answer him. T en, slowly, she lowered her eyes. "Fine," she said. Her voice was so quiet and laced with guilt he knew the answer even before she said it: "I killed Pharamond, and I placed the knife under your bed."

            "Tell me why."

            "Why do you think?" Adrian said angrily. "It was the only way Wynne was going to change her mind. She went to that conference to talk everyone out of voting for in de pen dence
again,
and she would have succeeded." She looked up at him, her eyes challenging. "She wouldn't ever have stood up to the templars, not unless she had a reason to. Not unless someone she loved was threatened by them."

            Rhys felt his rage boiling over. He grabbed Adrian by the front of her robe, and was sorely tempted to throw her over the side. It would have been easy. There was no magic that would save her from the fall, and she wasn't even fighting him. In fact, she almost appeared to be daring him to do it. That made it worse. "You killed her," he seethed. "You killed Evangeline, and all those other people. Their blood is on your hands."

            "I accept responsibility for my actions," she said, "but not for the templars'. I never thought it would go that far. Even so, I would do it again. Pharamond wanted to die. He begged me."

            "You're proud of what you did."

            "It had to be done. For us all."

           
For us all.
Rhys roughly let her go and turned away. He couldn't stand to look at her . . . but, in a way, she was right. What was one more body amongst foundations? He couldn't claim innocence, after all. He played his own role in what happened. There was just as much blood on his hands.

            He couldn't help but be reminded of the Kirkwall rebellion, however. A mage named Anders had slain the Grand Cleric and set off a series of events that led to the slaughter of nearly every member of the city's Circle . . . and he'd done it for the good of them all, because he saw no alternative other than to force a confrontation with the templars. No matter who got caught in the middle.

            Was that all there was left for them? Was each side to spill blood, kill the other in the name of righteousness until only one was left standing? It wasn't so long ago he'd been convinced the Circle needed to end, that Wynne was wrong. She'd changed her mind, thanks to Adrian, but had he? All he felt now was disgust.

            "We're through, you and I," he said coldly. "We were friends once, but no longer. I want you to know that."

            She seemed sad, but unsurprised. "I understand."

            "You don't understand anything."

            He left her behind and marched down the tower stairs. It began to snow.

            This conclave was far different from the last. Instead of a vast hall filled with marble and stained glass, the mages gathered in a ruined chamber that might have once been the barracks but now wasn't much of anything. Half the walls were little more than piles of crumbling stone, and much of the ceiling had long since collapsed. Weeds thrust up through the floor, and moss clung to every surface it could. They might as well have stood in a field for all the shelter it offered.

            There were far more than a dozen- odd first enchanters, as well. Hundreds of mages packed into the chamber, so many they couldn't all hope to stand under what little ceiling remained. Snow fell upon them, slowly collecting in piles on the floor. They stood practically shoulder to shoulder, leaving only space for a collapsed column in the center— what would pass for a stage, he supposed.

            And there was but one templar. Evangeline smiled with relief when she saw Rhys enter. He smiled in return, putting what happened with Adrian out of his mind. As Evangeline approached him, more eyes turned his way. The conversation in the chamber ebbed and then vanished completely. Everyone knew the conclave was ready to begin.

            Grand Enchanter Fiona approached the collapsed column. The elf climbed carefully up, and when she turned to face the solemn crowd there was no doubting her position. She seemed indomitable. Defiant. It was easy to believe she'd been a Grey Warden. Whether she was now about to lead them to freedom or back into the arms of the Chantry remained to be seen.

            "We have two choices," she announced, her words carrying easily. No one so much as whispered. "I believe it is clear to everyone here what they are: we submit, or we fight."

            Her eyes scanned everyone present, daring them to object. None did. "If we submit," she continued, "then we do so as a group. Even the Libertarians. We return to the Chantry and throw ourselves at their mercy. Many of you do not know this, but the Divine aided us in our flight from the White Spire. She is a friend. Perhaps she could even spare some from Tranquility or execution . . . but surely not all."

            No one spoke. "If we fight, we fight as one. We declare the Circle dead, and with it any attempt by the templars or the Chantry to govern us. This will mean war. The Divine will not be able to restrain the templars, if indeed she would even try. Many of us will perish in the battles that follow . . . but surely not all."

            Still no one spoke. The snow fell harder through the gaps in the ceiling, but no one noticed. A shiver ran down Rhys's spine. "The time for debate is done," the Grand Enchanter said. "Now we must act, before the templars come and all choice is taken from us. As Grand Enchanter of the Circle of Magi, I hereby call for a vote on our in de pen dence."

            A susurrus of whispers fluttered through the chamber, but quickly died down. "Not all first enchanters are present. I have received word that the Right of Annulment has been invoked upon the Circle of Dairsmuid. All within have been slain, as has First Enchanter Rivella." She paused again, waiting for the gasps of shock to pass. "Others are unaccounted for. The mages here today have elected to instead be represented by their fraternities. I ask those leaders to stand now, and make your votes heard."

            The first to do so was a bent old man, a newly appointed first enchanter who claimed to represent the Loyalists. He delivered a short speech in a quavering voice, calling on the mages to submit. There was no hope in fighting the templars, he said. The people of Thedas would never accept free mages, and as in Andraste's time they would rise up as one and cast them down. The Circle was their only hope.

            It was no less than anyone expected from the Loyalists, but perhaps less expected were those who followed. The smaller fraternities stood in turn, and each elected to follow the Loyalist lead: submission over resistance. Few as their followers were, their words still cast a gloom over the chamber. The life almost seemed to drain out of the Grand Enchanter's eyes.

            Then Adrian strode through the doorway, not far from Rhys. "The Libertarians vote to fight!" she cried out. The crowd rustled as all eyes turned to her. "Are you all such cattle you would lie down and accept the inevitable? If you think anything will change if we submit, you're right! It'll be worse! Every Circle will become a prison. Every mage who came within a mile of this place will be made Tranquil. They know
no other way,
and never will unless we teach it to them!"

            Louder mumbling greeted her words, but little of it was angry. Few could deny what she said. From the heads that lowered and the tears that some shed it seemed to Rhys to only be a question of which result brought more pain than the other. There was no easy choice to be made here.

            As the din settled, the Grand Enchanter turned her eyes toward Rhys. The Aequitarians were the largest fraternity, and now as always before they held the balance of power. If they sided with the Libertarians, together they would outnumber the others. If they sided with the Loyalists, the question would be settled irrevocably. Some might have wondered at the Aequitarian choice for spokesman: a man who wasn't a first enchanter, and who hadn't even been part of their fraternity until this morning. Rhys wondered himself. He felt like a poor substitute for his mother. Even so, nobody presumed what his answer would be.