Asunder (21 page)

            She snickered, rolling her eyes. "Such high praise from a man filled with wine." With that, she walked back inside the stables.

            Rhys remained outside, watching her go. There was definitely a woman underneath all that armor, and a fine- looking one. But then he chided himself for the thought.
You must be drunk,
he thought.
She would eat you alive.

            He sighed, and his thoughts darkened as he looked around one last time in search of Cole. Still nothing.

           
Go back,
he wanted to tell the man.
Go back to the tower and wait for me.

            It was no use. If Cole intended to keep following them, there was nothing he could do. This would play out however it was going to.

            Maker help them all.

            Chapter 8

           
The next morning was the finest since they'd left Val Royeaux.
The group walked out of the stables to discover a clear sky bursting with pink and gold as the sun peeked over the horizon. The ground was still wet, covered in a faint layer of frost that lent a bite to the air. Rhys would have called it beautiful had the memory of the previous night's ugliness not lingered, leaving a bad taste in his mouth. The townsfolk were already stirring, and the way they stared so suspiciously told him word had clearly gotten around.

            It reminded him of the time he spent at the Imperial consulate in Teraevyn. As a young man, he'd been apprenticed to an elderly elven mage by the name of Arvin. He remembered the man as resembling an old leather glove, all disapproving scowls and squinting eyes. Arvin had been a taskmaster, only grudgingly moved to praise when Rhys shed sweat and blood to please him. It had been a miserable time, one that Rhys had been sure would never end. He'd been overjoyed when Arvin informed him of a transfer to the consulate— and astounded when the man invited him along.

            It was unprecedented. The opportunity to not only leave the tower for more than the shortest jaunt, but to voyage into another land completely? Into the Tevinter Imperium, an exotic and forbidden land where mages were said to rule? Even though he'd been certain Enchanter Arvin only wished a lackey to fetch his meals and polish his boots, Rhys had still been overjoyed. He stayed up long nights in the dormitory, staring at the ceiling and almost quivering in anticipation of the voyage.

            The mere fact that the enchanter had gone out of his way to take Rhys seemed unthinkable at the time. The man wouldn't even say why, he would just harrumph at the question and demand more chewing salts be fetched from a shop in the capital's alienage. They made his breath stink of raw fish, enough to make Rhys's eyes water whenever the man leaned over his shoulder to explain something, but by then Rhys would have endured far worse to avoid his displeasure.

            He still remembered arriving at Teraevyn. Even the grandeur of Val Royeaux, with all its palaces and gleaming buildings, didn't compare to this Tevinter city. Signs of age were everywhere: crumbling statues of dragons, the remnants of ancient temples, decrepit buildings covered in moss. It was as if the entire city was built on the bones of older places, and those older places built on top of ones older still, with the past poking through like weeds and refusing to stay buried. Enchanter Arvin was unimpressed, but Rhys was transfixed.

            Even the consulate itself had seemed special. Marble pillars and the acrid smell of incense that the Tevinters burned to mask the smell of sewage in the streets. Tiled murals so decayed he could never figure out what those faceless warriors were actually battling. There was even a fountain in the Summer Garden, crafted long ago by magic and not dwarven pumps. The marble dragon was missing its wings and both its front legs, but its head looked so malevolent Rhys was certain it depicted an Old God.

            There were slaves, as well. Rhys had been too young to understand what that meant, or why Arvin got so angry whenever he saw one. An elven slave once offered the man a tray of figs, and he knocked it out of her hands and shouted until the Consul came running. Rhys had read about how the Tevinter Imperium conquered the elven lands long ago, but those were only words on a page. The slaves were just another exotic feature to be admired and gawked at.

            It wasn't until weeks later that Rhys had realized he wasn't welcome. Orlesians were constantly at odds with the Tevinter Imperium, and had been in all the years since the Imperial Chantry had split off from the Grand Cathedral in Val Royeaux. That was the history, but the truth of it felt much different. The locals were suspicious, and they became hostile whenever Rhys revealed his accent. He found himself avoided, cheated by merchants . . . not a single local would so much as talk to him.

            It was difficult living in such an air of hostility. The novelty of the exotic city quickly wore off, and he started to find it drab and ugly instead. He felt lonely.

            Eventually there was an incident: on his way to comb the Teraevyn bazaar for salt chews, Rhys found himself surrounded by three older boys. They were apprentices to a magister, as well as nobility, and clearly feeling superior enough to pick on an Orlesian. They pushed him down and kicked him, until finally Rhys's temper surfaced and he used his magic. He scorched one of the boy's faces, and they responded in kind. He'd been badly hurt, and would have died had the fracas not drawn the attention of nearby city guardsmen.

            If only that had been the end of it. The incident reached the ears of the magister, who made an official protest to the consulate. Arvin sat him down and said he'd been left with no choice. Rhys would have to be sent back to the White Spire. He told Rhys that a talented young man like himself shouldn't take what happened to heart; there would be other opportunities, other chances to find a life worth living, even under the restrictions of the Circle.

            It was the only compliment the man had ever paid him. He'd been dumbstruck; hours later when he found himself on a carriage with a templar chaperone and heading back to Orlais, he regretted not trying to respond in kind.

            He wrote Arvin a few times, and even saw the old man once when he returned to the White Spire for a brief visit. Eventually, it was Arvin who sponsored him to gain the rank of senior enchanter. Not long afterward, he was told Arvin had died. The templars wouldn't say exactly how, but Rhys heard rumors of poison. It seemed Arvin's position in the consulate had been that of a spy and not really an "advisor" at all. Strange how it had all seemed so innocent to him back then.

            T us he didn't object when Evangeline insisted they avoid any more towns and camp near the road instead. Neither did Wynne or Adrian. They didn't need a repeat of the previous night's performance; short of disguising themselves and somehow hiding their staves, it would surely only get worse the farther they traveled from the Heartlands.

            Their time on the road moved quickly. Adrian remained quiet, sore from the previous night's drinking, just as he suspected she would be. At least she hadn't complained when he'd woken her; she was as eager to be away as everyone else. Wynne remained contemplative, commenting only that there seemed little traffic. It was true; for all intents and purposes they had the road to themselves. With the sun shining and the rain finally passed, it should have been a pleasant day of travel.

            Except that it wasn't. Evangeline tersely refused to speak to him. Even Adrian, wrapped up in misery as she was, noticed and gave Rhys a questioning look. He sighed and said he would explain later.

            And he did. After they set up camp the first night, Rhys told Wynne and Adrian he needed to talk. Evangeline raised an eyebrow but made no comment, and elected to busy herself elsewhere. He explained everything to them: how he met Cole, the man's strange curse, and how he'd followed them from the tower. The only thing he didn't mention was that Cole had killed the mages.

            Evidently, he didn't have to. Adrian's expression grew more and more annoyed as he spoke. Eventually she interrupted. "If he's invisible," she said, "how do you know he's not the killer? You said yourself the templars didn't see anyone."

            Rhys hesitated to answer, and that was enough.

            "It's him!" she spat. "And you know it's him! Why didn't you say something?"

            "I didn't find out until it was too late."

            "You could still have denied it! They think you're the killer!"

            "And what would I say? The templars wouldn't be able to find him, and Cole wasn't willing to approach the templars. He's terrified of them. I couldn't even force him to go." He threw his hands up, frustrated. "Look, I don't condone what he's done. Far from it. But telling the templars about him would just make them think I was under the influence of a demon."

            "How do you know you aren't?" Wynne asked.

            He glared at her. "I would know."

            "In my travels, I've encountered a great number of things that defied explanation. There are more spirits than we understand, Rhys, and some of them are capable of things we can't imagine. Considering your research, you should understand that better than anyone."

            "I do, but I've spent time with Cole. He hasn't tried to tempt me. There’s nothing about him that says he's a spirit of any kind."

            "Other than the fact that he cannot be seen." She held up her hands to forestall his retort. "If it were easy to know that one was being influenced, far fewer mages would succumb to it."

            "Well, if he's a demon, he could hardly be the one killing the mages, could he?"

            "Are you certain he is?"

            "He told me—" Rhys cut himself off, sighing. "I didn't see him killing anyone, no. But Cole is no immaterial spirit. I've touched him, unless I imagined that, too." The last he added with a note of bitterness.

            "You said his memory was confused. He may be a spirit who's forgotten he is a spirit. Or this may indeed be a young man, someone a spirit has possessed."

            "He would turn into an abomination."

            "Not all possessed mages become abominations." This she said with a bit of heat, enough to surprise even Adrian, who looked at the old woman curiously.

            "What do you know about it?" he asked.

            "I know enough." With that, Wynne tossed the remains of her provisions into the fire and stood up. Her crisp demeanor had returned. "I suggest you avoid dealing with this young man and save yourself a great deal more trouble in the future." She walked off before Rhys could respond.

            "What I want to know," Adrian demanded, "is why you didn't tell
me
."

            "Because you would have tried to do something about it."

            Fury flashed in her eyes. "Damned right I would! You see him again, you point him out. I'll gladly kill him."

            "Considering what happened to him, I'm surprised you don't have more sympathy."

            "I have every sympathy." She stood up, fists clenched at her sides. "If I saw a mage turn into an abomination, I would still kill them, no matter how much I sympathized."

            "Yet we're traveling to save an abomination."

            "That's not my choice," she said. "Some things you can't come back from. Remember that your friend is a murderer." With that, she, too, stormed off. Rhys was left staring at the fire. Adrian had a point, of course. They all did. If he had connected Cole to the murders sooner, or reported him immediately . . . but he hadn't. It was done, and there was nothing he could change about it now.

            Not far away, Evangeline looked up from cleaning her sword and gave him a dubious look. He wondered how much she had overheard. It probably didn't matter anymore.

            They spent the next several days making good time on the southern roads, moving out of the Heartlands and into the Provinces. Gone were the verdant hills and farmlands. Instead, the vegetation clung to the rocks with a sort of desperation. Everything was muddy and brown, some parts of the road so flooded they needed to navigate carefully lest their mounts trip and fall. There were fewer travelers by far, and what few villages they passed were filled with mean- looking folk who appeared glad to see them go.

            The tone of the group had changed considerably, as well. Adrian ignored Rhys, her cold indifference to him magnified by her amiable chatter with Wynne. She pressed the old woman for details about her past, details she wasn't about to receive now that Wynne was sober. That only made Adrian more determined, of course; by the second day, she was riding behind Wynne instead, the two of them arguing over the Circle. Rather, Adrian was arguing— Wynne was content mostly to listen, and responded only when the red- headed mage became too aggravated.

            Evangeline, meanwhile, kept her eyes on the road. Every time she spotted more than a lone traveler she would hold up her hand to warn the others. They would then give whomever they spotted wide berth, or stop and wait until they passed. Considering everyone they saw seemed equally wary, Evangeline's caution wasn't without reason.