Asunder (37 page)

            Rhys had a moment of amusement imagining the golem showing up at the gates of the Montsimmard Circle. He supposed it might, in fact, make Wynne's letter all the more convincing. How many golem messengers could there be, after all, especially ones with such an endearing attitude?

            After Shale was gone, things were quiet again. Evangeline led them along the same back roads they took getting there, hurrying them as much as she dared. They didn't meet a single soul until late on the third day of travel, when a dwarven merchant on a small wagon met them going in the opposite direction.

            The man almost didn't stop, and eyed even the Chantry insignia on Evangeline's armor with suspicion. When questioned, he said he was planning on taking the long route to Montsimmard on account of all the unrest since the battles began. Their raised eyebrows made him chuckle with amusement. Hadn't they heard? There was war in the east. Who was fighting whom was the subject of rampant rumor, but the flood of citizens fleeing into the Heartlands had turned the countryside upside down. They would be lucky to reach the capital, he said.

            They stood there, stunned, as the dwarf urged his horses onward. A civil war, then? But there had been no mustering of the chevaliers, no call to arms under the Imperial banner? What had happened while they were in the badlands?

            It was ill news of the worst sort. A civil war, then? Had the chevaliers been musters, or a call of arms made to the Imperial banner? What had happened while they were in the badlands? Rhys watched Evangeline staring pensively off into the distance, as if she could somehow discern what awaited them at the capital. The wind howled through the hills as the group waited for her to lead them, but she did nothing.

            "Ser Evangeline?" Wynne asked hesitantly.

            The templar remained quiet.

            "Ser Evangeline, we've still an hour of light left."

            "If we travel into the night we could reach Velun," Rhys suggested. "Maybe we could ask for news there?"

            That seemed to get her attention. "No," she said firmly. "We stay away from any settlements. If there is anarchy, we're at risk now more than ever." She turned in her saddle and scanned the rest of them, frowning as her eyes fell on Pharamond.

            Rhys could almost read the thoughts running through her head. Bring the elf into a populated area and the chance he might run away became even greater. Would he do so? Rhys couldn't say for certain— but short of Evangeline spending every waking moment watching Pharamond, not to mention Cole, there was no way to ensure he didn't have the chance.

            "Let's make camp now," she said. It was raining. Rhys didn't think he would miss the rain, but after that trek through the badlands it felt almost glorious to stand out in the open and let the sand wash off. He turned his face up to the night sky, closing his eyes and enjoying the icy raindrops pelting his skin. The sound of thunder off in the distance seemed welcoming rather than ominous.

            Everyone had finally succumbed to nervous exhaustion at the camp, leaving only Evangeline to stand guard. He couldn't join the others in sleep, and so sat in silence by the smoldering remains of the campfire. He'd offered to let Evangeline get some sleep, but she'd barely responded except to shake her head. Perhaps she thought he would try to run, as well. He certainly had every reason to.

            Cole was curled up next to him, as close as he could get to the fire without burning. He didn't even stir as the rain fell on him, although Rhys saw fluttering behind his eyelids. Bad dreams. Considering all the young man had been through, he couldn't blame him for wanting to forget. He might not understand why Cole felt the impulse to kill, and couldn't let himself forget what Cole was, but he wasn't without sympathy.

            He wiped a wet lock of blond hair out of Cole's eyes, and prayed silently that the Maker might deliver him a few days of peaceful rest before they got to the tower. The Maker owed him that much, at least.

            "They may not listen to us," Evangeline suddenly said.

            Rhys looked up, startled. The templar stood next to the campfire, watching him with a pensive expression. Her silvery armor glistened from the rain, her scarlet cloak dark and soaked through. Even with her black hair wet and plastered against her face, she was beautiful. He didn't want to admit it to himself, but there it was. "The templars?" he prompted.

            She nodded. "I do not know Lord Seeker Lambert well. I believe he's a fair man, if harsh, but if there's war in the land . . ."

            "You think he might not be inclined to listen."

            "I think he might see our duty to keep order as being more important than finding the truth. Convincing him that Cole is not a demon will be . . . difficult enough." She paused, considering. "And the templars I spoke to . . . they will return to the Lord Seeker with their own tale. I have no control over that, and indeed any defense I offer might be considered biased. I wish I could say otherwise."

            He thought about it, and then let out a slow sigh. "What other option do we have?"

            "You could run." He was startled, and stared at Evangeline as she knelt down by the fire. She picked up a stick and stirred the coals, sending up sparks and thick smoke into the rain. "I have to bring Pharamond to the tower. You, on the other hand, were not the object of this mission. You could take Cole and flee. To Ferelden, if you dared to cross the Dales with these rumors of war, or north to Tevinter."

            He gulped. Was this a test? "I would just be hunted," he said.

            She reached into her cloak and pulled out a small glass vial. It glowed a deep and sinister red, something within it making the hairs on the back of his neck prickle. Magic, but something more as well. "This is your phylactery," she explained. "I would use it to track you if you escaped. If you overpowered me and broke it, however . . ."

            "Why would you do this?"

            The question made her pause. She stared at the coals, a grim frown etched onto her face. "I don't like being forced to choose between my duty and what's right. Knight- Commander Eron used to say that a templar's duty should always be questioned, and that the moment we stopped doing so was when we stopped being templars."

            "He . . . sounds like a good man."

            "He is. Wherever they've sent him, I hope he's treated fairly."

            She looked back at Rhys, her eyes intense. "You saved my life, Rhys. You could have left me to die when Adrian cast that spell in the keep, but you didn't."

            "Oh, I doubt you would have
died
."

            "I don't."

            He grinned, embarrassed. "I didn't think about it. I just knew I had to warn you . . . though by rights we probably both should have burned."

            Evangeline watched him carefully. Perhaps she was trying to determine if he was just being modest; he couldn't tell. After a moment she nodded, as if coming to a decision. "I was wrong about you. You're a good man, and if there were anyone able to resist a demon it would be you. Letting you go would be endangering no one."

            "And what about Cole?"

            "Teach him. Keep him safe. He deserves a second chance."

            "Even after what he's done?"

            "I won't judge Cole, not after what I've seen. I'll leave that to the Maker."

            They were both quiet for a long time, only the slow hissing of the coals and the occasional peal of thunder overhead to keep them company. "You could come with us," he said quietly.

            "I have to bring Pharamond to the tower."

            "Pharamond be damned! Let Wynne take him back. It was her mission all along, not yours. If you go back with him still alive and me vanished . . ."

            Evangeline smiled at him, faintly. She replaced the vial in her cloak, and then took out a small bundle of purple silk. Without speaking, she placed it on the ground and unwrapped it. There were five tiny vials within. Four seemed empty, but one of them had a small amount of shimmering blue liquid inside. He didn't need to hear the music in his mind to know what it was.

            "Lyrium," he breathed.

            She nodded. "We're not mages, Rhys. Our training would not be enough to deal with magic unless we used lyrium, I'm sure you know this."

            "But what does . . ."

            “There's only one vial left." Carefully she wrapped the vials back up in the silk and put the bundle away. "Once that is gone, I'll have perhaps a week before I start to feel the effects. Within a month, perhaps two, I'll go insane."

            "You're addicted."

            "And there's nothing to be done about it. The Chantry controls the supply of lyrium, and thus they control the templars. There is no turning back from the order once you're within." She shrugged. "My course is set. Yours need not be."

            He thought about it. After a while, he stood up. There was just no way he could sit there with her staring at him and think this through rationally. He turned to leave the camp, hoping she would let him be alone. She'd just suggested he run, after all, so arguing he shouldn't leave camp didn't seem likely.

            She didn't. Rhys walked off into the distance, far enough away that the faint light from what remained of the campfire was gone. The moon was obscured by the rain clouds, and thus the darkness seemed almost complete. He walked up the nearest hill, marveling at the slush of the wet grass and the fresh, crisp smell of the air.

            When he got to the top, he stared out over the horizon. He couldn't see far— more hills were in the distance, with only a lingering mist glowing faintly silver under the moonlight. The patter of the rain was almost hypnotic. Soothing. He took a deep breath and let the chill air steady him.

            Fleeing. That would make him an apostate, of course. Even without a phylactery, the templars would still look for him. He would be on the run, with Cole to look after . . . assuming Cole would even be willing to join him. And where would they go? Anywhere might be safer than the tower, but it still seemed hopeless.

            Then again, he'd promised to help Cole. Now that he'd seen it was possible for people to remember the man, he might actually be able to do something. He could continue his research into spirits, something he hadn't been able to do for the last year. Perhaps he could find some remote location, some place where the locals weren't so inquisitive, set up a workshop . . .  and end up exactly like Pharamond.

            That wasn't a cheerful thought. As much as he disliked the constant supervision of the templars, their vigilance meant he couldn't harm anyone. Without them, all it would take was one mistake, one encounter with the wrong demon, and he would doom far more people than just himself.

            "Don't go," someone said behind him.

            He spun around. Adrian stood there, wet and bedraggled and hugging herself as the rain poured down. As miserable as she looked, however, her expression was determined. Her jaw was set, and he knew what
that
meant.

            "You were eavesdropping," he sighed.

            "You were talking right next to me."

            Rhys turned away, staring out over the valley and trying to recapture the serenity he'd felt only a moment before. It had vanished with the wind, evidently. "I don't want to argue, Adrian. And why would you not want me to go, anyhow? You've made it perfectly clear how much you hate me."

            She threw her hands up. "I don't
hate
you," she sighed irritably. "I hate that you're not doing anything to stop the templars before they kill you. I hate that you're letting one pretty templar turn you into a fool."

            "So this is about Evangeline."

            Adrian scowled. She walked to the top of the hill and stood beside Rhys, looking out over the dark valley below as he was. "Fine, I'm jealous," she admitted. "Is that what you want to hear?"

            "Evangeline is a good person. You heard her offer."

            "I heard her telling you to spend the rest of your life on the run, to give the templar order one more reason to believe mages are exactly who they think we are." She shook her head in dismay. "You need to face them, Rhys. For you, and for all of us."

            "And what would you have me do, exactly?"

            Adrian grabbed his arm, turning him to face her. Her gaze was intense. "Return to the tower. Let them refuse to see the truth. Let them try to make an example of you. Show them for what they are."

            "Maker's breath, Adrian! You want me to become a martyr?"

            "The mages know you, Rhys. They’ll rise to defend you."

            He pulled away, trying not to look as angry as he felt. It was easy to send others to fight her battles, wasn't it? Let them die for the cause, while she stands on the sidelines rabble- rousing? But perhaps that wasn't fair. He knew how much Adrian cared— too much, perhaps. As long as he'd known her, she'd always kept her eyes on the goal. It was what he had always admired about her.