Asunder (11 page)

            The windowless chamber inside was enormous. It contained six great pillars that reached to the very top of the ceiling, five around the edges of the room with the largest in the center. Each pillar was lined with delicate glass vials and encircled by a metal staircase. Each of those vials held but a few drops of blood, taken from every mage as they were inducted into the Circle, and imbued with magic that made the blood glow. They made it seem as if the pillars were covered in glittering, dark jewels, and collectively the vials suffused the entire chamber in a ghastly crimson pallor. The color of forbidden things.

            Evangeline had always disliked this room. The vials emitted a vibration you felt more than heard. The sensation built and built the longer you remained, until it almost drove you mad. In her mind, the phylacteries were too similar to blood magic— but since the templars found it useful, it was permitted. A bit of hypocrisy in the name of the greater good.

            First Enchanter Edmonde stood next to her, staring up at the pillars with obvious distaste. He rubbed his forehead with a withered hand, and then noticed her watching. "Rhys is a good lad," he said, as if replying to a question.

            "Would you have said the same of Jeannot?"

            "No, although I doubt you'd believe me now."

            "You're right." She walked to the large central pillar, touching the metal stairs that twisted around it to make sure they were solid. It seemed impossible they would hold the weight of a person all the way to the very top, but they had never once so much as wobbled beneath her. Still, for her own peace of mind she tested it every time.

            Evangeline climbed carefully. She noticed a number of the vials had stopped glowing. Usually that meant the mage it belonged to was dead. She would have to remember to suggest the Tranquil clear out the defunct vials, an undertaking that was long overdue. Although who would she tell? The Lord Seeker? She had her doubts the man was interested in simple matters like the tower's day- to- day administration.

            Enchanter Rhys's vial was about halfway up. She checked the runic marking over it against the record to make sure. It occurred to her to wonder if the Tranquil record- keepers were ever wrong. They were inhumanly methodical, and their passive nature made them reliable— but did the templars trust them too much? All of them had once been mages, and while they harbored no emotions, she wondered if it was possible for a Tranquil ever to turn against them.

            The Chantry had always claimed it could never happen. But once upon a time the Chantry had considered the idea of a mage rebellion unthinkable as well.

            "So are we mages now confined to our chambers?" the First Enchanter called up to her. "Traditionally we have always been given the run of the tower. You cannot squeeze people into a smaller and smaller box and hope they will disappear."

            "Or there will be a rebellion? As in Kirkwall?" She allowed more annoyance into her voice than she intended. As she descended the stairs, blood vial in hand, she tried to keep her temper under control. "Conditions were harsh there, I'll grant you that. Considering all that's happened, I'd hope even you might agree it's not the same thing."

            He shrugged. "An attack on the Divine was foolish, without a doubt. All I ask is that we not all pay for one man's crime."

            Evangeline reached the bottom of the stairs and turned to him. "Perhaps Enchanter Rhys is not involved after all. What if he is being stabbed right now, to cover up someone else's guilt? The templars are here to protect mages, whether you like it or not."

            "Even if it kills us?" The man absently waved away her immediate retort. "I apologize for that. It is late. You have what you need?"

            "I do."

            "Then let us be off."

            They walked out of the chamber, and Evangeline allowed the First Enchanter to go on his way. He ambled down the main stair well without further comment while the guard meekly shut the vault behind her. He was clearly torn between wanting to pretend nothing had happened and sucking up to a superior officer. She planned on letting him sweat.

            She held up the phylactery vial and studied it. No
w let's see where you got off to,
she thought. Concentrating, she channeled a bit of power into it. The crimson glow of the blood pulsated and then slowly intensified.

            Still in the tower, then. That was a start.

            Evangeline walked down the stairs, keeping an eye on the vial. The lower she went, the brighter the glow became. It wouldn't tell her in which direction Enchanter Rhys lie, but it would tell her if she got close— and as she descended past the levels where the mages kept their chambers, she realized he was lower still. Definitely a secret passage, then, unless the sentry had wandered farther from his post than he claimed.

            She continued to move through the dark halls of the tower, the phylactery's eerie glow lighting her way. The inner courtyard was empty, devoid of the templars who spent their time training. The chapel was silent, with only the Eternal Flame in the holy brazier to indicate it was ever used at all. She was utterly alone, with only her echoing footsteps to keep her company.

            Eventually the vial led her down to the Pit. Not unexpected, really. If the man was as close as the glow indicated, and wasn't on the mage levels, then this is where he'd be.

            The first thing she did was head to the dungeons. Not because she expected to find Rhys there— unsurprisingly, the phylactery agreed with her assumption— but because she wasn't about to start wandering around in the dark looking for a potentially dangerous mage without telling someone. Her encounter at the ball had reminded her that even one mage could make a formidable opponent.

            The dungeons were a morbid place. A relic from a time when this tower did not belong to the Chantry at all, but instead served as the ruling fortress of Emperor Kordillus Drakon. It was he who had founded the Chantry, during a time of great upheaval when cultists were everywhere and magic ravaged the lands. Once, she supposed, these dungeons had been full, and the ancient torture chambers had seen regular use. She shuddered at the thought that those devices might ever be dusted off once again.

            It could come to that, if the mages pushed it. Evangeline wasn't foolish enough to imagine otherwise, and hopefully neither were they.

            The two templars at the dungeon's guard station were playing cards, and she shook her head as they started to rise. "Up late, Knight- Captain?" one of them asked.

            "I'm looking for a missing mage." She indicated the vial.

            "We haven't seen anything."

            "No, I don't suppose the dungeons would be his first destination," she chuckled wryly. "But I wanted to let you know before I headed farther into the Pit. Just in case."

            The men exchanged significant glances. "Expecting trouble? Want one of us to come along?"

            "No. Check the cells. Make sure everyone is still in one piece." Evangeline turned to go, but then paused as she noticed the other templar looking anxious. "Something on your mind, ser?" she asked.

            The man guiltily ducked the glare from his companion. "Err . . . there's been noises. From below, I mean."

            "What sorts of noises?"

            "Just the usual," the other insisted.

            Now she was interested. She crossed her arms and arched a questioning brow at them both. "What constitutes 'the usual,' exactly? It's been some time since I pulled guard duty in the dungeons. It could, however, be the first of many for some."

            "Now, listen here." The templar put his hands up defensively. “There's all sorts of noises in an old place like this. You hear them down below. Things break apart, or something gets in from the sewers. If you go chasing after every single thing you hear, you'll spend all night running around in the dark."

            "Could be the Ghost of the Spire," the other suggested, a bit sheepishly.

            Evangeline rolled her eyes. She'd heard that rumor, the sort of nonsense spouted by mages. She wouldn't expect that from a templar. The possibility that such a "ghost" could be a demon, particularly if there were blood mages in the tower, made it somewhat less of a joke. In fact, it might be something she had to take quite seriously.

            She left the dungeons, moving urgently now.

            She was still finding her way to the lower passages, unfamiliar with the area, when she heard the first strange sound. A distant blast, like thunder . . . or an explosion. She ran faster, racing down a flight of stairs, drawing her blade at the same time. Then she heard something different: a sharp, electric crack. Spells were being cast.

            What in the Maker's name was going on down there? A battle?

            Evangeline raced through the corridors, holding the phylactery in front of her to judge its brightness. Twice she had to double back when she encountered a dead end, and then a third time when she realized the passage wasn't going in the direction she needed it to. She swore under her breath, half directed at herself for not waking the entire tower when this business began and the other half at whichever idiots thought the bowels of a tower were an excellent place to build a labyrinth. The order should have sealed off these parts of the Pit centuries ago.

            Then she entered the templar crypts and saw him. Enchanter Rhys stood next to one of the larger sarcophagi, the statue over it having tumbled to the ground and shattered in a hundred pieces. Dust hung in the air, along with the acrid stench of smoke. The mage himself was filthy, smeared with dirt and grime, and was that blood on his face? His staff crackled with brilliant energy, ready for the attack.

            "Stand down, mage!" she cried, brandishing her sword. "This is your one and only warning!"

            Rhys jumped at her voice and spun around. She half expected a fight, but as soon as he recognized her the brilliant light around his staff faded. He offered a wry grin. "Why, hello, Ser Evangeline. What brings you to this part of the Pit?"

            "The noise. And a missing mage."

            He nodded, more seriously this time. "I suppose that was inevitable."

            Somehow he managed to be handsome even under the grime. It was the eyes, she thought. They were a warm brown, kind like her father's. With any other eyes, a man with such chiseled features and dark beard might look cold, or even sinister. It made him difficult to judge. Certainly, the way he had stood up to the Lord Seeker said something of his courage . . . or his foolhardiness.

            She advanced on him. "Mind telling me what you're doing?"

            For a moment she thought he might actually tell her. It was clear he was considering it, frowning thoughtfully. But then he shook his head. "You wouldn't believe me."

            "Wouldn't I?" She got as close as she dared, her extended sword just short of touching him. He glanced down at it, but his posture remained relaxed. It wouldn't be a battle, then. That was good. "What am I expected to think? The Lord Seeker questioned you and then you sneak down here to . . . what? Demolish the crypt? Work out some anger?"

            "Not exactly, no."

            "You were fighting someone. Who?"

            Evangeline was watching him carefully, and caught him glancing toward a dark corner on the far side of the crypt. She followed his gaze but saw nothing there except stone slabs, scorch marks, and smoke. He'd definitely been casting spells at . . . something.

            "Do you see anyone for me to fight?" he asked, his tone evasive.

            She paused. It was possible that whoever he'd been fighting had run off. She'd come through the only entrance, but for all she knew there were a dozen secret passages leading out of here. Still . . . something didn't seem right. "No. I don't." She lowered her blade slightly. "But that's hardly an answer."

            The mage said nothing, and absently wiped his cheek. There was definitely a gash there amid the dirt, and when he pulled his hand away he seemed startled to see the blood. "Well," he said lightly, as if this were a casual conversation they might be having in the tower halls. "What are you going to do now?"

            "You leave me no choice. It's a cell for you, until I figure this out."

            "A cell? I don't know that—"

            Evangeline didn't give him time to finish. She lunged forward, twisting her sword around so she could strike him in the back of the head with the pommel. He was taken completely by surprise, and went down like a sack of potatoes. His staff winked out, leaving only the crimson light of her vial.

            She stood over him, keeping her sword ready as she scanned the rest of the crypt. There had to be something here, but she saw only the smoke rising from the fallen statue and a cloud of dust wafting through the air. Everything else was still, literally as silent as the grave.

           
Maker's breath, man! What were you doing?