Asunder (18 page)

            Back when she was younger she used to roam her father's orchards. She loved the rich smell of the soil, and she'd climb the apple trees until her mother came running out of the estate, skirts in hand, to yell at her. Not an hour's travel to the east was Lake Celestine, its glittering surface enough to take one's breath away at the height of summer. Of course, now it was late fall and the lake would be choppy and grey, only fishermen braving its waters.

            Part of her wondered if she shouldn't go to her family's old estate. Evangeline could probably come up with a pretext the others would believe. Perhaps the new owners might even invite her in, provided they didn't notice she was accompanied by mages. She burned with a morbid curiosity to see what changes they'd made— even if everything she saw would likely make her sad. No, perhaps it was best she stayed away.

            The town of Velun came into view in the early evening, just as it started to rain. The skies practically opened up, pouring down on them with such ferocity that even Evangeline started to feel uncomfortable. The village looked normal enough, really no different from those days she'd sat on her father's wagon when he went to market. The only thing that seemed out of place was the gibbet just off the road. Three iron cages, each with a man inside . . . or, rather, one had a man and the other two had rotting corpses. The man was well on his way to joining his fellows, and was too weak and dispirited to do more than look up as they passed.

            "Grim," Rhys commented.

            "That man is a rapist. The other two were thieves."

            "How can you tell?"

            She pointed. "The runes on the post above their cages."

            "Are those dwarven?" He squinted, trying to make out the symbols through the rain. "Why don't they just put up a sign?"

            "Because not everyone reads."

            The mage nodded, although it was clear he didn't really understand. To someone who grew up in the Circle of Magi, surrounded by books, it was perhaps understandable to think everyone in the world must be the same way. The truth of the matter was that mages were afforded an education few others outside the wealthy received.

            Velun was little more than a haphazard collection of buildings surrounding the central square— on market day it would be a bustling place, as the town swelled to several times its normal population, but to night it was all but abandoned. Many of the windows were warmly glowing, however, indicating everyone was inside. Regardless of the quiet, Evangeline found herself heartened by the familiar sights. This almost felt like home.

            A lone guardsman huddled under the eaves of a storefront, shivering from the chill. He nodded when Evangeline and the others rode toward him, their horses making loud clopping sounds on the cobblestones. "Good evening, ser," she greeted him.

            "Late for travelers," he remarked without much interest, blowing on his hands.

            "Indeed. Is the Spriggan still about? I didn't see it on the way in."

            The guard squinted at her. "You're a local?"

            "My family once owned Brassard- manot."

            That seemed to brighten him a little. People from the provinces could be wary of outsiders. It would be even worse when they left the Heartlands. "The Spriggan burned down some years back," the guard said. "Old Man Lusseau built a new inn just past the Chantry. Just look for the blue lantern out front, you can't miss it."

            That wasn't far. Evangeline smiled her thanks at the man and led the others through the square in the direction he indicated. She found herself looking at some of the buildings and trying to remember if they had changed in the years since she'd last been here. It was surprising how many had not. Such was the way of small towns.

            "Did you really come from here?" Rhys asked her as they rode.

            "Not Velun itself, but my family's estate was nearby."

            He cracked a mischievous grin. "So . . . a member of the nobility, after all?"

            "If you're picturing me in a fancy gown, it never happened. I preferred a sword to a dress from the time I could hold one in my hand."

            "You must have been quite the sight at the country ball, then."

            She chuckled at that, despite herself.

            The storm was picking up strength, the wind howling to the point where it was becoming difficult to talk. So they rode in silence until the inn came into view. As advertised, a large lantern hung beside the door, the patina having turned its metal bright blue. The sound of laughter came from within, as did the aroma of smoke and cooked meat. Evangeline found her stomach responding with a hungry growl. After four days of dried bread and fruit, it would be good to eat something hearty.

            The inn was the sort that one often found in country towns throughout Orlais, little more than a glorified tavern that rented rooms to weary travelers. The fire pit in the center of the main room filled it with a warm glow and the sharp scent of burnt tree sap. Small tables were scattered about, many of them filled either with local laborers or traveling merchants. They gathered in clumps, clinking their wooden mugs and laughing merrily. The place had a cramped, cozy feel to it. Friendly and inviting.

            Or it did until they noticed who had stepped through the door.

            All conversation stopped, and a dozen eyes looked their way in startled silence. Evangeline grimaced. She knew what they were staring at: her armor, for one, and the staves carried by the mages. The four of them crowded together in the doorway, water dripping onto the wooden floor as the tense scrutiny continued.

            "Maker have mercy!" a jovial voice declared.

            It was loud enough to make Evangeline's hand edge toward her sword, but then she hesitated as an enormously fat man strode out from the kitchen. He wore an apron stained yellow with old grease, and busily wiped his hands with a cloth almost as dirty.

            "I had to come out and see if everyone had died!" The man chortled and then paused as he noticed his patrons continuing to stare. "What? Have none of you arses ever seen Chantry folk before? Back to your beers lest I tell Amelda to water down the next round more than usual!"

            There was a murmur of discontent. Several of the men exchanged dark glances, but returned to drinking— albeit unenthusiastically. Evangeline caught a pair of the laborers glaring at her still. These were rough- looking men, the kind with small lives and smaller minds. It was exactly their sort that had led her to avoid populated areas until to night.

            The fat man rushed toward them, arms wide and an obsequious smile plastered upon his face. "Come in, my good friends! I trust the Chantry supplies its people with an abundance of royals, as usual?"

            Evangeline jiggled the purse at her belt, letting the coins inside provide her answer. "Give us room and board for the evening and you'll be fairly compensated."

            "What more can one ask?" He swept across the small room to a table beside the fire pit, unceremoniously yanking the chair out from underneath the weasely- looking fellow who occupied it. The man shot the innkeeper a hurt look as he rushed to a smaller table elsewhere. "Come! Have a seat!"

            Normally Evangeline wouldn't have chosen something in the middle of the room, but it
did
look invitingly warm. She smiled at the innkeeper as she took her seat, and he bounded back to the kitchen with purpose. The mages filed in behind her, staring around dubiously at the tavern.

            "Are we truly going to sleep here?" Adrian asked.

            "If you prefer," Wynne smiled sweetly, "we can go back outside and find someplace more to your liking."

            "Err . . . no."

            "Then this will have to do, won't it?"

            Evangeline noticed Rhys hiding a smile as he turned and warmed his hands over the fire pit. She took off her gauntlets and laid them on the table, and then unfastened her cloak. It was so heavy with water it felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. She would have to wring it out later, and peel herself out of her armor. The mages were no better off. They would all be lucky if they didn't catch their deaths.

            A girl came out from the kitchen, wearing an apron in no better shape than the innkeeper's. Her father, Evangeline assumed. They shared a bulbous nose, if not a taste for food; this girl was mousy and reed- thin. She dropped off a pair of mugs at one of the tables and then reluctantly walked over to theirs.

            "Something I can get you?" she asked.

            "Wine," Rhys said immediately.

            Evangeline frowned at him. "Don't you get enough of that back at the Circle? Our stores are practically filled with wine caskets and little else."

            "Filled because nobody wants to drink that piss."

            She chuckled. "We drink the same piss, I'll have you know."

            He flashed a charming grin at the serving girl. "Why don't you bring us a bottle of something that's been collecting dust in your cellar? A fine local vintage, something the templars wouldn't dream of serving to us lowly mages?"

            "Charming," Wynne said dryly. She held up a hand to catch the attention of the serving girl, who seemed at a complete loss how to respond. "Bring the wine for them if you must. I'll have something a bit stronger. Do you have dwarven ale?"

            "You must be joking!" Adrian guffawed.

            "Why must I?"

            "An old woman like you drinking dwarven ale? We'd be lucky to find you alive in your bed come morning."

            Wynne seemed nettled by that. "I acquired a taste for it in Orzammar."

            Adrian looked skeptically at Rhys. "She's trying to impress us."

            "Not at all," Wynne said. She arched a brow at the serving girl. "Do you have it or not? I'll take Fereldan whiskey if I must, preferably something from the coastlands."

            The girl nodded dumbly. "Father keeps a keg for the guild merchants."

            "Excellent."

            "Bring some for me, as well," Adrian said. She gave the old mage a wicked smile. "I'm willing to bet I can finish my cup and most of yours, and you'll still be under the table."

            "I doubt that."

            "The . . . ale is very expensive, madame," the serving girl said cautiously.

            Wynne reached into her robes and pulled out a small purse and tossed it on the table. Sodden though it was, it was easy to see it was filled with coin. More than Evangeline had, by far. "I think that should suffice. If that's stew I smell in the kitchen, bring that out as well." She glanced archly at Adrian. "
Some
people here are going to need something in their stomachs."

            "Yes, madame." The girl ran off, relieved to get away.

            "Well!" Rhys declared, smiling at Evangeline as he rubbed his hands together. "More wine for you and me, then!"

            She kept her drinking to a minimum, sipping on her cup and letting Rhys have the rest of the bottle to himself. She only picked at the stew, as well, despite it being as delicious as it smelled. The rest of the tavern was too quiet for her liking. Some of the men had already slunk off, and those who remained stared at the mages more often than they talked. When they did talk, it was in whispers. The merriment they'd heard prior to their entry was gone.

            Evangeline didn't trust it. The mages, of course, were oblivious. They drank quietly at first, Rhys cradling his dusty wine bottle like it was some lost treasure while the two women engaged in a battle of wills. Each of them drank as much of the murky black liquid as they could stand in order to show the other how little it affected them. Wynne was clearly far better at it, her cool façade undiminished, and that only seemed to aggravate Adrian all the more.

            Evangeline didn't know how they could stand the stuff. Dwarven ale wasn't really ale— it was some concoction made from fungus, or so she heard. Normally only dwarves could drink it without making themselves sick. It remained to be seen whether that would be the case here.

            "It
was
a dragon," Wynne insisted. Her composure was beginning to slip ever so slightly, words blurring at the edges. "We met it on the roof of Fort Drakon, where it had been forced down. The last battle to end the Blight, and a single swipe from that creature could have sent any of us hurtling to our death." She tossed back the last sip of ale in her cup for good measure, waving absently to the serving girl for more.

            "A dragon!" Adrian exclaimed excitedly. She cradled her chin in her hands, staring at the older mage with bleary, awestruck eyes. Her red curls had dried into a frizzy mess of comical proportions. Unlike Wynne, she was a complete wreck. "A real, honest- to- goodness dragon?"

            "Adrian is fond of dragons," Rhys explained with a smirk.