by David Gaider
"The Grand Duke?" Evangeline blurted out, surprised.
"Of course."
"The only news in Val Royeaux was of a rebellion in Halamshiral. If the Grand Duke was moving against the Empress, everyone in the palace would have been buzzing about it."
The old woman chuckled lightly. "Oh, don't be silly, dear. Gaspard isn't going to send word into the capital, where Celene has all of her allies. No, the whole point was to lure her out east with that story of an elven rebellion."
Rhys nodded slowly. "So he could ambush her."
"I imagine Celene did not take as many soldiers with her to fight elves as she might have to confront Gaspard." Wynne shrugged. "Possibly he even has friends among the chevaliers. Either way, the more quickly and decisively he acts, the stronger he looks. The more chaos is sown in the Empire, the weaker Celene looks and the more desperate the Imperial Court becomes."
It made troubling sense. Evangeline had to wonder just how much worse this would be if the assassin had managed to slay the Divine that night in the palace. Half the Empire would be up in arms. Which . . . did make her wonder if the mages might be innocent after all.
She glanced at Rhys and Adrian on their horse. The red- headed mage was scowling and difficult to read, but Rhys seemed genuinely bewildered. Evangeline had to admit that were she going to assassinate someone, it would be clever to make it look as if the perpetrator were someone others would not question. Why would templars doubt that rebellious factions within the Circle were trying to lash out at the Chantry?
That did not explain the murders, however. Perhaps the two events were not connected? Lord Seeker Lambert insisted on a larger picture, and saw schemes within schemes. She had to look with clearer eyes. It was worthy of some thought.
"How do you even know this?" she asked Wynne.
"Because Gaspard tried to recruit me."
"Recruit you?"
"I came here from Ferelden, which meant I passed through the Dales and the eastern lands. Evidently Gaspard got wind of my presence, for he sent men to collect me at Jader." The mage grimaced at the memory. "They were rather insistent. I don't know why Gaspard thought such treatment would make me inclined to assist him. The man has enough arrogance to believe night is day just because he pronounces it so."
"But you refused him?"
"Naturally. He tried to force the issue, but I'm not without my own resources." She said it with the barest shrug of her shoulders, as if it were nothing of consequence, although Evangeline imagined there was far more involved. Grand Duke Gaspard de Chalons was renowned for his temper; what would he think of an old woman who refused his offer? She could only imagine.
"Then why didn't you tell anyone?" Adrian asked, shocked.
Wynne chuckled bitterly at that. "Who would I tell? Celene was already gone from the capital. Even were that not the case, I doubt I would tell anyone."
"What? Why not?"
The old mage smiled coldly at her. "Because I am Fereldan, for one. I have no love for the Orlesian Empire, so the thought of it falling to pieces causes me no distress. Plus, there are other benefits if there is war here."
"Benefits?" Adrian scoff ed.
"She means the Circle," Rhys said, frowning sourly as he considered. "If there's civil war in the Empire, they'll come to the mages to ask for our help."
Wynne seemed pleased at his insight. "That is so. I know you believe I desire no improvement to the conditions we live under, but that's not the case. A position of strength will only increase our bargaining power as we move forward."
"With many innocent lives lost," Evangeline muttered.
Wynne gave her a level stare. "Innocent lives are already being lost."
She couldn't offer much argument. It was true, after all, that the Circle probably would be called if the Empire fell into chaos. The mages had been invaluable in the Blights, fighting against the darkspawn, and in the great Exalted Marches of ages past . . . and the amount of prestige the Circle gained after each of those wars was lost on no one. Could she honestly tell these mages they should be patriots? That they should care for people who feared and even reviled them? She couldn't, although that didn't mean she had to like such a mercenary attitude.
It was clear Rhys didn't like it, either. He said nothing, but gave Wynne a dark look that spoke volumes.
They rode on. The skies continued to darken, distant peals of thunder threatening a cold downpour. Adrian dug a blanket out of their pack and miserably huddled inside it. Rhys tried to sympathize with her, but got little more than grunts. As pleased as Evangeline was to have the woman finally quiet, she had to admit she wasn't looking forward to the weather taking a turn for the worse. It was only going to get colder as they headed south into the badlands.
Wynne pulled up beside her, the first time she'd moved from the rear of their party the entire trip. "Perhaps," the woman suggested, "we might consider a night out of the rain?"
"I thought you enjoyed camping."
"Enjoy is a strong word. I can tolerate it, even if I am not as young as I once was." She glanced back at the pair behind them. Rhys was regaling Adrian with a tale about an elven apprentice who'd become incredibly ill after staying out in the rain, and when the Knight- Commander decided she was feigning her sickness she'd proceeded to vomit all over the front of his armor. Adrian appeared unamused, and Rhys chuckled at her expense. "I think," Wynne continued, "it might behoove us to take shelter for the sake of the others. It will not be long before we're in the part of the country where that won't be possible, after all."
Evangeline considered it. "I know of a town up ahead, not far from where I grew up. Perhaps, if there's no trouble there . . ."
"That would be wise." The tone she used was just forceful enough to remind Evangeline that she was accompanying them on this journey, not commanding them. Then Wynne allowed her horse to lag behind once again, giving Evangeline no chance to argue.
They continued down the road for several more hours. It was all prime farmland, orchards here and vineyards up in the hills farther to the west. The men and women who worked the land had done so for generations, most under the auspices of a seigneur, but there were freeholders as well. They were the "poor man's landowner," and her father had been one of them. He'd held just enough of a title to acquire his land from a baroness desperate for coin, and it had always been a source of pride that he worked it well.
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 th
ose 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.