Asunder (24 page)

            As Evangeline drew within range, the templar at the head of the group waved at her. She scowled as she realized she knew him: Arnaud, one of the lieutenants the Lord Seeker had brought with him when he assumed command of the tower. The man was far too handsome and arrogant, and clearly assumed he would be taking her position in the tower before long. Perhaps he was right. Either way, she didn't care for his superior air, and had made certain to speak to him as little as possible.

            "Ser Evangeline!" he called out. "You finally arrive!"

            She pulled her horse to a halt and appraised Arnaud's group. They were templars from the White Spire, every last one. "Indeed," she said to him, with a little more frost in her tone than she'd intended. "I'm curious, however, as to why you're here to greet us."

            "We were sent by the Lord Seeker, of course."

            "Oh?"

            He glanced to the mages waiting at the gate behind her. "As I understand it, you may need some . . . assistance. If things don't go as well as you hope."

            "I hope for nothing. I'm here to keep Enchanter Wynne safe for the duration of her mission, one agreed to by the Divine. Should she discover something that will prove harmful, I will deal with it then."

            "And that is why we're here. To help you deal with it."

            She bristled at the idea. It sounded almost as if the Lord Seeker
expected
Wynne to find something harmful. Did he know more than he let on, or was he merely being cautious? Either way, she wasn't about to push things in a direction they didn't need to go. "Then let's hope your help is not required," she told him. She pulled her horse around and began riding back to the gate. "Stay here until we return."

            "And if you don't?" he shouted after her.

            She didn't respond. If she didn't return, after all, then the matter would be out of her hands . . . and Arnaud would have to figure out a way to impress the Lord Seeker on his own. When she got back to the mages, they looked at her expectantly. "They come from the White Spire," she told them. "To help."

            Adrian looked dubious. "Are they coming in with us?"

            "No. They’re staying out here."

            She hoped.

            The gate was open just enough for their horses to ride through. Evangeline noticed the amount of sand that had accumulated just within— the gate would take an incredible effort to close again, if anyone cared to reoccupy the fortress once their task was done.

            From what they saw in the courtyard, that idea seemed unlikely. The keep itself looked intact, the doors at the top of the stairs still closed, but everything else was a ruin. A battle had been fought here. The buildings that stood inside the walls had been burned to the ground, their charred remains no longer providing any clue as to what they had once been. Scorch marks were everywhere, evidence of magical combat, and the cobblestones around the shattered cistern in the middle of the courtyard were black and covered in ash.

            Evangeline noticed a pile of corpses, all of which had been recently burned. They were the source of the smoke they'd seen from afar. Everything else was long cold.

            The only thing that seemed out of place was the statue that stood at the base of the stairs. It seemed crudely built, about seven feet tall and made of bulky stone and crystals— an odd choice for a statue, truly, and not at all like the fine sculptures she would expect to see in an Orlesian castle.

            Then the statue moved. Its head swiveled around to face them, eye sockets glowing malevolently. "Watch out!" she cried, instantly drawing her sword.

            "Hold!" Wynne warned.

            Evangeline watched, stunned, as the old mage slid off her horse and walked toward the statue. Rhys jumped down and made to grab her, but Wynne merely shrugged him off and continued on.

            "The elderly mage took its time returning," the statue complained. Its voice was booming and gravelly, sounding like rocks grating together.

            "I told you to come with me, didn't I?"

            "And allow the creature within to flee? Perish the thought." It gestured to the pile of burned corpses. "I spent my time cleaning. Like a servant. What a plea sure it is to once again perform dull errands at the behest of a mage."

            Wynne chuckled lightly, and then looked back as she noticed the others gaping at her. "This is Shale," she said, indicating the statue. "She was with me when I arrived. I was, in fact, hoping Pharamond might be able to help her . . . condition."

            "Little chance of that now," it griped.

            "I'm truly sorry, Shale."

            "Is that . . . a golem?" Adrian asked.

            "Did you say
she?"
Rhys said. "It doesn't look female."

            The statue seemed almost indignant. "I most certainly am not!"

            Wynne sighed. "She is a golem, yes. Shale was with us when we fought against the darkspawn in Ferelden. We discovered she has the soul of a dwarven warrior placed into this stone body long ago, and she's been trying to regain her living form ever since." She patted the statue on its big arm sympathetically. "We've had little success."

            It appeared unmoved. "The advantages of a flesh body seem dubious at best."

            Evangeline dismounted, keeping an eye on the golem. She'd heard of such creatures— constructs made by the ancient dwarves, an art they'd since lost. Since golems didn't age, there were still many to be found, although she understood most were quite mad. She'd certainly never heard of one
talking
before. It made her suspicious, not least because Wynne had failed to mention it earlier.

            "Is it tame?" she asked.

            The golem turned to look at her directly, its eyes flashing with annoyance. "Perhaps the insolent templar would enjoy being crushed into pulp and discovering the answer for itself?"

            "That's not necessary, Shale," Wynne said. She turned to study the doors to the keep, squinting her eyes in concentration. They looked solid to Evangeline. If they were locked, they'd have a difficult time gaining entry. "Do you sense anything, Rhys?"

            Rhys closed his eyes. “There's definitely a demon within. Maybe more than one. The Veil is even thinner here than at the White Spire."

            She nodded. "Would you prefer to wait out here, Ser Evangeline?"

            "I prefer to stay by your side."

            "As you wish." She looked expectantly at the golem. It sighed, and stormed up the stairs to the doors, each one of its heavy footfalls
thooming
loudly in the courtyard. Rather than trying the handles, it sank its thick fingers directly into the wood. The doors let out an excruciating groan as iron reinforcements twisted. Finally, with a great heave, the golem ripped the doors off their hinges, large chunks of wood and metal hurtling out into the courtyard.

            Evangeline dove out of the way, just barely avoiding getting struck by one of the larger pieces. "Are you mad?" she cried.

            The golem looked back, and shrugged. "It is agile enough."

            Nobody was hurt, at least. The others seemed less perturbed than Evangeline, and more interested in the now- vacant doorway into the keep. Wynne walked boldly inside, and everyone else quickly followed. Evangeline had no choice but to do likewise.

            The keep was dark, and cold— colder than it had any right to be, even with the building being made of stone. Even worse, what little light came through the doorway offered a nightmare: an entry chamber splattered with dried blood and gore. It covered the floors, it was smeared across the walls . . . the smell of it was musty, thick. There were no bodies, but in the distant shadows she could hear things moving. Large things, dragging themselves across the ground. Her imagination conjured too many images.

            Wynne stamped her white staff on the ground; a ringing sound echoed as it began to glow. The shadows seemed to recoil from the light, revealing a grand staircase and passages leading off, but it didn't make Evangeline feel less uneasy. She felt like an intruder. Foreboding slithered across her skin like a cold eel.

            “There's writing on the wall," Adrian said in a hushed voice.

            Words were smeared in blood right beside the doorway. Most of them were unintelligible gibberish, but one sentence was clear: "WE WANT OUT."

            Evangeline frowned. "The doors were barred from the inside, weren't they? If they wanted out, couldn't they have . . . left?" She immediately regretted the volume of her voice as it echoed throughout the hall, and tried not to imagine who "they" might be. More possessed corpses, or something worse?

            "They weren't barred," Shale grunted, "they were sealed."

            "How?"

            "Its guess is as good as mine."

            Rhys stepped away from the writing, looking distinctly queasy. Evangeline felt much the same. "Where do we go?" she asked. "Up the stairs?"

            Wynne shook her head. "Down. Adamant is built into the side of the chasm. This part of the keep is merely the living quarters. Pharamond's laboratory lies below."

            "Down," Rhys repeated. He gave himself a shake, as if throwing off something unpleasant. "Of course it would be down, wouldn't it? One day I'd like to find a demon that enjoys pleasant, well- lit surroundings."

            "Not today."

            "The old mage is still eager to find its friend?" Shale asked.

            "Yes." Wynne's answer was not confident.

            They stood there in the darkness, the winds whistling outside the doorway with a vengeance. There was nothing further to say. They had best get started.

            Rhys had told Cole to go back to the tower, and there had been a moment when Cole considered it. He'd watched from the shadows as their horses rode out of the village, and he thought about what Rhys had said. He could retrace his steps, find the proper road, and go all the way back to that huge and terrifying city on his own. It could be an adventure.

            But then he felt lonely. He never knew that being out in the world, surrounded by a multitude of strangers, would make him feel more invisible than ever. In a way, going back to the tower would be a comfort. A place he knew, and safe. But Rhys wouldn't be there. Rhys would be in danger, and he might never come back. Cole would be alone forever. That thought drove him forward.

            So he followed them. For days he kept as far behind them as he dared, worried that Rhys would notice and force him to leave. The man kept looking back from his horse, searching, and each time he did, Cole flinched. He kept off the road and in the brush as much as he dared, but then a thought began to hit him: What if Rhys
couldn't
see him?

            What if he was invisible to Rhys now, as well?

            That fear began to gnaw on him, worming its way into the pit of his stomach and sitting there like cold lead. He woke up each morning, covered in dew and shivering, gripped by the immediate fear that Rhys and the others had already left their camp. He raced to find them, his heart pounding, until finally he saw them sleeping. Only then did he breathe a sigh of relief, even if part of him desperately wanted to wake Rhys up. Just to talk to him. Just to hear another voice.

            Sometimes when he followed the group, he walked in the middle of the road, hoping that Rhys would look back and do
something
. But it didn't happen. They were often so far ahead they were little more than a speck in the distance, and each time they disappeared around a hillside he started to worry. What if they turned off the road and he didn't notice? What if he became lost out here for good?

            And then the land changed. It became dry, and then nothing more than wind and purple sand. It was a strange desolation, as if the entire world had died and just shriveled away. The wind was a lonely howl that cried of pain and neglect; the sadness of it tugged at Cole's heart. He never imagined such a place could exist, or why anyone would want to go there.

            The one benefit was that Rhys and the others became easier to follow. The horses moved more slowly, and even though he couldn't see them through all the swirling sand, they left a trail for him. It didn't last long in the wind, but it lasted long enough.

            There were creatures in that land. Dark things that lurked in the corners. Cole couldn't see them, and didn't want to. He worried that they could see him, however. That first night was a horror, spent hiding in a rocky crevasse and shivering from the cold. The darkness was so total it threatened to sweep him away.

            And worse, there was the music. He didn't know what it was, but it seemed to come from far, far off. It called to him, but not in a pleasant way— it had an urgency that sped his heart and made his blood burn. The dark creatures, the lurkers, they listened to it. He didn't know how he knew that, but he could
feel
them out there, craning their necks, raising taloned hands toward that call.