by David Gaider
"And what does that have to do with me? I don't believe I've expressed an opinion one way or the other."
"Haven't you?" Leliana sipped from her glass, studying Evangeline over it with amusement twinkling in her eyes. "You say the nobility do nothing useful with their influence. Am I not to read from this that you feel the templars are different?"
Again with the hidden meaning. "Of course I do. We protect the world from the mages and the mages from themselves— not because they ask us to, or because the task is an easy one, but because it is the right thing to do."
"That sounds like an opinion to me."
"It is one I happen to share with the rest of my order."
"If only that were so." Leliana appeared somber for a moment, but then shrugged. "There are many who believe a war is inevitable, and that the Chantry has not done enough to support efforts the templars have made to prevent it. They say we must begin picking sides."
"And you're saying I was chosen to guard the Divine to night because you believe I've picked a side?"
"I cannot say. That might be worth a discussion."
Evangeline paused, taken aback. The red- haired woman continued to drink her wine, her innocent air making it appear as if they discussed nothing of importance.
Across the ballroom another templar entered into view. This was a young man, one of the junior members of the order, and the sheen of sweat on his face said he'd come here quickly. He spotted Evangeline with a look of immense relief and raced through the crowd toward her. "Ser Evangeline! Thank the Maker I found you!" He stopped short as he drew near, belatedly realizing he'd interrupted their conversation.
Leliana laughed lightly, not seeming the least bit offended. "There is no need to worry, young ser, though I hope you have a good reason for bringing your sword. There is only supposed to be the one, after all." She tilted her head toward the blade that hung at Evangeline's belt.
The young templar glanced down at his weapon, still in its sheath, and blushed with embarrassment. "I'm sorry, I didn't think . . ."
"You have a purpose here?" Evangeline reminded him.
"I, uh . . . I do!" Relieved, he took a folded parchment from his tunic and handed it to her. "I was sent by the Knight- Commander. There’s been another murder at the White Spire."
"There has?" A chill ran down Evangeline's spine as she opened the parchment. It was a note summoning her back to the tower as soon as the Divine retired for the evening. It also mentioned the Lord Seeker had taken a personal interest in this latest murder. Reading between the lines, it was clear the Knight- Commander considered this an unwelcome development. "Tell him I will return as soon as I'm able."
The templar nodded, but instead of leaving, he hesitated. He stared at Leliana, chewing his lip uncertainly, and she arched a curious eyebrow in response. "I'm sorry, madame, but I think I might have a message for you as well."
"Oh? From the templars?"
"No, there was a servant outside looking for you. A red- haired priest with the Divine, he said. I was told there is an old friend asking to see you."
"An old friend?" She appeared intrigued. "Did this servant say which one?"
"No, madame. He said this person came from Ferelden, if that helps."
"It does." She turned to Evangeline and curtsied. "It seems our conversation will have to continue another time, good ser. Maker watch over you until then."
"And you." Evangeline watched the woman leave with the young templar, and found her curiosity piqued even more than before. It was said that the Divine kept agents at her side, and that some of them were bards— master manipulators of the Game, sometimes spies and even assassins. If this woman was one, then their conversation had been a very dangerous one.
Evangeline casually glanced around the ballroom, wondering how many people had witnessed their discussion and remarked on it. Would word get back to the Knight- Commander? This was a difficult time for the templars. The rebellion in Kirkwall had sparked unrest in every Circle across Thedas, and the resulting crackdown had made things very tense. Everyone was jumping at shadows, with conspiracies seen in every corner. The White Spire was no exception.
Thankfully, no one appeared to be paying her any attention. The Divine was an ornament to these proceedings, as far as the Orlesian nobility was concerned, and Evangeline was a bodyguard to be paid no heed. She let out a slow breath and returned to her post in front of the dais. What she should be concerned about were the murders. Her investigation had gotten nowhere, and in the current climate that was an unforgivable failure. With any luck, there would be more evidence this time.
The ball was slowly winding down, the musicians already making their final bows and putting away their instruments. Some of the men were retiring to the palace's "evening room," which was a polite way of saying they were going to drink heavily and smoke kohl pipes and otherwise engage in activities their wives wouldn't approve of. Conveniently, this left the women free to complain about their absent husbands and indulge in some matchmaking. Others were already making apologies— those would be the ones cutting their losses, getting out before they did further damage to their reputations— even if leaving before the guest of honor would be seen as an admission of weakness.
As if sensing the opportunity, the Divine stood from her chair. The priests beside her stepped forward on the dais and began clapping loudly to get the crowd's attention. It was effective, and there was a general din of excited conversation as everyone assembled in anticipation of a speech. Evangeline moved aside so as not to block anyone's view.
Nodding thanks to her attendants, the Divine raised her hands. She was an impressive figure in her ceremonial robes and headdress, and by rights the nobility should have been bowing low and thanking the Maker Himself for having been granted the opportunity to meet His chosen, rather than treating her like just another guest with a fancy title. Naturally those present were far too jaded, or too proud, to show such obeisance— but they were willing to feign respect, and after a long moment the room was completely silent.
"Honored citizens, brothers and sisters," she began, her voice ringing out. "We gather here to night to give our thanks to the Maker, for it is by His will that we enjoy so many privileges: prosperity, freedom, an empire that stretches across half of Thedas. It is in this city that the Chant of Light first began its journey to the four corners of the world, and so it is fitting we stop to consider our role as the Maker's favored children."
The Divine paused, and with an enigmatic smile she descended from the dais. Evangeline almost choked in surprise, and the barely concealed alarm on the faces of the priests still on the dais told her this was very much unexpected. In fact, it was unheard of.
Marveling whispers spread through the ballroom as Her Eminence approached those closest. Some backed away uncertainly, while others had the good grace to curtsy or kneel. The leaders of the Chantry had always been aloof figures, rarely coming out of the Grand Cathedral except for state occasions. That this one agreed to come to a ball, even at the Empress's request, had been something of a surprise. There was thus no real precedent for the nobles to draw from for anything but a formal audience.
She took the hand of a curtsying elderly woman in an elegant bronze dress, and the woman practically shook as she lifted her mask and kissed the Divine's rings. Smiling gently, the Divine walked forward into the crowd; they parted readily before her. They practically recoiled, in fact, and Evangeline pictured them as a sea of hissing serpents despite all the wigs and fancy dresses.
Belatedly, she remembered her purpose and edged closer to fall in behind the Divine. Her eyes scanned over the crowd, which kept its distance even as it pressed in. Despite the horror behind those masks, it was easy to tell their curiosity had been piqued. An advantage, perhaps, of having a younger woman wearing the holy mantle?
"We should not allow fear to cloud our reason," the Divine continued. "We must remember all of those who have defended us in the evil times of ages past, who allowed us our p
rosperity through their sacrifice. We owe them a debt, and yet we have been shamefully forgetful of that fact."
The Divine paused dramatically, her eyes scanning over the hushed audience. "I speak of mages. The Chant of Light says, 'Magic exists to serve mankind, and not to rule over him.' And so it has been. The mages have served us well, in many wars over many centuries, yet in times of peace how well have we served them? We mean them no harm, yet have we not harmed them even so?"
"You lie!" The cry rang out from the crowd. For a moment, it seemed as if nobody was sure who had spoken. There was a murmur of shock, and quickly the nobles parted once again as a new man stepped forward. He looked no different than many of the other noble guests, a balding yet distinguished- looking gentleman in a black velvet surcoat. When he tore off his mask, however, it revealed a face twisted by grief and rage.
"You mean us every harm! It's the Chantry that teaches them to fear us!" he continued. "You keep us under your thumb, reminding us again and again how you let us live only because we're useful!"
The people on the floor continued to back away, giving the man a wide berth until he stood practically alone with the Divine, Evangeline only a few steps behind. She placed a hand on the hilt of her sword. If this man was a mage as he claimed, that meant he was dangerous. If she drew her blade, or if the guards outside clued in to the disturbance, then the Divine's life could be placed in jeopardy.
To her credit, the Divine remained calm, raising her hands in supplication to the crowd. "Please, everyone," she called out. "There is no need to be frightened. There are better ways to get an audience, I'll grant you, but I'll happily hear this man speak."
The audience twittered nervously, not entirely convinced. Neither was the mage. "You'll hear me speak? You've disbanded the College of Enchanters, silenced our leaders! You've done anything but listen to us!"
"I am listening," she replied, "but order must be kept; surely you realize that. If there is to be peace, it cannot be accomplished through threats and demands. The lives of many more than just the mages are at stake."
Evangeline watched the mage carefully. The man shouldn't be here. From his words, he belonged to a Circle— perhaps even the White Spire, though she didn't recognize him— but he had clearly escaped his templar watchers to come. She doubted it was merely for a chat.
He was trembling, seemingly only moments away from breaking down into tears— yet his fists remained tightly clenched at his sides. "We see no peace being accomplished," he spat. "If Kirk wall was any example, it showed us that nothing will be accomplished unless we fight for it."
With that he raised his hands, and bright red power began to coalesce around them. The chamber filled with an electric charge that tickled the skin, a thrumming that reverberated deep in one's skull. Magic. The dam that had kept the crowd's panic at bay suddenly broke. People screamed in alarm, and some began to rush to the ballroom doors. They pushed down whoever was in their way, trampling them if need be, and the panic gave way to cries of terror.
Evangeline leapt in front of the Divine. In a flash she drew her sword and brandished it at the man. Their eyes locked: templar and mage, the oldest of enemies. "Stand down," she warned him. "You know what I can do. There is no need for this to end in blood."
He let out a sound that was half laugh, half desperate sob. "And where else should it end? I'm dead already."
The mage extended his hands, a wide arc of flame bursting forth, but Evangeline was already moving. "Get back, Your Eminence!" she cried, hoping the Divine would hear. She charged into the path of the fire, feeling the heat of it lick against her cheeks, and brought her sword down onto his chest.
She had power of her own, the same power that all templars shared. It was a power the mages feared. As the blade struck him she channeled it forth, feeling it surge through her and into her weapon. There was a bright flash as the mage's flow of mana was disrupted, his flames guttering to a halt.
"Bitch!" he cried, staggering back. There was blood where his surcoat was rent. He ran his fingers in it, staring at the blood as if shocked to see it there. Then he looked at Evangeline, his face twisting into blind hate.
She rushed at the mage, realizing what he was about to do, but it was too late. The blood on his hands sizzled and evaporated as he drew mana directly from it. The blood on his chest smoked, and his eyes burned with a dark and evil power.
Evangeline felt the wave of force hitting her before she reached him. She attempted to raise her aura of protection, but the magic shattered it as if it were thin glass. It knocked the breath out of her, and she felt herself flying back through the air. She crashed to the marble floor, tumbling end over end as she slid. Her head hit something hard.
She lie there, the world spinning dizzily around her as she tried to push herself up. Her arms didn't seem to want to cooperate. The screams in the ballroom were deafening, seeming to come from everywhere at once. She could also hear the shouts of the guards trying to get inside, but there were too many nobles trying to push past them. Somewhere behind her the priests were shouting, begging the Divine to run.
Evangeline felt the blast of heat before the flames struck her. She only barely managed to summon her aura once again, and this time it held. Even so, it buckled under the assault, and the pain as the flames seared her skin was agonizing. She screamed. Her vision dimmed, and she felt the last vestiges of power inside her ebbing away.
It might have been a moment or an hour later when Evangeline reopened her eyes, she wasn't sure. She was crouched low on the floor, her blistered hands covering her head. Her sword was gone. She must have dropped it in the fall. The air was filled with the acrid smell of smoke— something in the ballroom had caught fire, and it was quickly spreading. The panic had redoubled, reaching a fever pitch as the guests tried to get out in what ever manner they could. Someone threw a chair through one of the vaulted windows, and it shattered with a resounding crash.
Then she looked up. She saw a pair of black boots. They belonged to the mage, and he was walking toward the Divine. Her headdress had fallen off, but her red robes were unmistakable even through the haze. She had retreated to the far side of the ballroom, backed against the wall like a cornered animal. She watched the mage approach her warily, refusing to give in to terror as everyone else had.
Evangeline saw the mage hold up his fist, power forming around it. "They already fear us," he snarled. "Now let them have a reason."
With a great cry, Evangeline pushed herself up. Gritting her teeth against the pain, she lunged toward the mage and just barely caught his surcoat. As she yanked him back, he attempted to twist around. Flailing hands sent a gout of flame hurtling upward. For a single moment it seemed as if the entire ceiling was awash in ribbons of red and black, a sea of fire that roiled and bubbled as it spread.
She threw the mage down to the floor, hard. He snarled at her, attempting to push her away. One of his hands caught her face and she felt his fingers digging into an eye, but she refused to be dislodged.
Her gauntleted fist came down on his face— once, twice, three times . . . and then something made a cracking sound. She stopped. The ballroom was still aflame, but none of it was the mage's any longer. He was still, his features twisted in a mess of blood, vacant eyes staring up at her in silent accusation.
And then everything went black.
When Evangeline came to, she found herself seated on the floor of the terrace just outside the ballroom. Normally it was where the palace's guests might have come to take in the evening air, a place of tranquility, but at the moment it was pure chaos. Swarms of people milled about, some weeping on the ground, some shouting. A noblewoman in a tattered dress wandered nearby, close to hysterics as she called out a man's name. A fat nobleman sat on the ground nearby, his expensive surcoat blackened with blood as a guardsman tried to tend his wounds. In the distance she could spot the city guard running into and out of the palace, desperate to restore order.
How long had she been out here? Was
the Divine safe? It was all too much to take in, the confusion flowing around her in a sea of random voices. She tried to get to her feet, but the pain slammed into her like a fist. Gritting her teeth, she eased back down and tried to maintain consciousness.
Smoke billowed out from the palace windows, and only now the fire brigade arrived with buckets in hand. With any luck they would get the flames under control before half the palace burned down. If that happened, the Empress might be less than impressed when she returned from Halamshiral.
That was, Evangeline reminded herself, if the Empress wasn't somehow involved in the attack. Her absence the very night a mage slips into the palace to attack the Divine seemed more than coincidental. If that were the case, there was little the templars could do about it. If it wasn't, someone would pay.
She was wracked by a spasm of coughing, and her vision blurred. "Are you all right, Knight- Captain?" someone asked her.
It took several blinks before she recognized Leliana, the red- haired woman she'd spoken to earlier. She knelt down next to Evangeline, a look of sincere concern on her face. "What?" Evangeline responded dumbly, feeling as if a fog seeped through her mind. She rubbed her forehead, and only belatedly noticed the blisters on her hands were gone. Her skin was whole.
Leliana smiled, reassured. "There are mages here now. I had one of them heal you, but there will still be pain. You inhaled a great deal of smoke, I think. I was worried . . ."
"I'm fine. Thank you." Evangeline shook her head. The shouts around her were much clearer now, like the world was coming into focus. "The Divine . . . she wasn't hurt, was she? Did she get out?"