by David Gaider
She reached out and removed Cole's hand from the little girl's mouth. "Bunny was crying," he explained in a tiny voice. "Mama told us to be quiet. I only wanted her to be quiet."
Gently Evangeline took the girl from his arms, and he only reluctantly gave her up. She weighed almost nothing, just skin and bones and the slightest wisp of a yellow dress. The sort a child would have been proud to own, something she might have thought was pretty. The dead girl dissolved into nothingness the moment she left the cabinet.
She looked helplessly at Rhys. He gently moved her aside and crouched down next to the cabinet. "Cole? Do you know who I am?"
The little boy stared at him, terror visibly fighting with alarm. His breaths became rapid and anxious. Rhys reached out to touch him, but then stopped . . . a dagger had appeared in the boy's hands. Cole's dagger. The boy held it up in an obvious threat, a desperate rage slowly overtaking his face.
"I won't let you hurt Mama anymore," he seethed. "I'll stop you."
Evangeline almost pulled Rhys back. She had no idea if they could be killed in the Fade, but she wasn't eager to find out. But Rhys simply held up his hands to the boy in surrender. "Shhh," he whispered. "I'm not here to hurt you, or anyone."
The shaking dagger slowly raised, the point of it touching Rhys's neck. The little boy held it there, alternating between sharp sobs and frightened whimpers. His eyes were incredibly intense.
And then the boy's shaking stopped. "Rhys?" he asked with sudden recognition, his voice so pitiful and hopeful it was heart- wrenching.
Rhys nodded.
The dagger clattered to the floor, and all at once the little boy spilled out of the cabinet. Only he was a little boy no longer. He was the young man Evangeline had seen earlier in the city square, older and dressed in blood- splattered leathers.
He buried his head in Rhys's chest, agonized sobs ripped from somewhere deep in his soul, and Rhys simply held him. He said soothing things, and that made the young man cry all the harder.
And then the shack was gone. Evangeline looked around, and saw they were back in the burned field. It was completely empty, as if the farm house never existed. But it had existed, once. Deep in her heart, she knew that for Cole it had gone from being a nightmare to a memory . . . an awful memory the Fade had dredged up from some dark and dreadful place where it should have remained buried.
She stood there, watching awkwardly as Rhys cradled the young man, and her heart broke.
As Adrian walked through the city with Wynne and the golem at her side, she noticed everything had become strangely empty. The city no longer burned, and the streets seemed abandoned. There were no fleeing people, no rampaging darkspawn . . . just dark windows and a lonely wind that fluttered Wynne's white cloak.
In fact, it seemed as if the buildings themselves had changed as well. The architecture was different, more like the peaked roofs and whitewashed stone she would expect to see in Orlais. It wasn't until she saw the white tower rising in the distance that she realized this was Val Royeaux.
"We're in the capital?" she asked incredulously.
Wynne nodded. "Someone's version of it. Perhaps Pharamond's."
Adrian had been out of the tower often enough that she knew Val Royeaux's main streets fairly well . . . yet she didn't recognize where they were. It was like an impression of the city, or a painting created by someone who had never been there but had had it described to them, and forgot to add in a single sign that it was inhabited by anyone.
It was oddly unsettling.
A summoned wisp led the way, although truth be told it was already obvious they were heading toward the White Spire. The trick, as it turned out, was navigating through the city. Val Royeaux's streets were winding and even sometimes confusing in real life; here in this Fade version they were a literal maze. Several times already they'd encountered dead ends and been forced to double back, Wynne scowling irritably at the delay.
"What if you had come here on your own?" Adrian abruptly asked her. "What would you have done if we hadn't been here to help you?"
"Died," Shale said.
Wynne shot the golem an annoyed glance. "The demon is hiding. It has created all of this for our benefit, forcing us to hunt it down. Had we not all been drawn through the Veil, it might have been bold enough to confront me directly."
"And then what would you have done?" Adrian persisted.
"Died," Shale snickered.
"I would not have died," Wynne archly corrected them. "I would have defeated it, as I shall when we finally reach it."
"Just as it defeated the Archdemon?"
"Technically speaking, I created the Archdemon."
"Technically speaking, I watched the elderly mage be blown across the square."
"You know very well, Shale, that demons do not create everything in the Fade. They set the stage, as it were, and we fill it with our own dreams and nightmares."
"Perhaps it should try having less potent nightmares."
"We could always have ended up in your nightmare, Shale, and encountered a giant pigeon instead of the Archdemon. Would that have pleased you more?"
"I would have enjoyed fighting it more."
"I'll keep it in mind for our next visit. Maker knows we all exist to please you."
Adrian watched as the two of them carried on. They were clearly old friends, accustomed to each other's foibles and unafraid to point them out. It was also clear that Adrian was an outsider. The way they walked just a bit faster than her, subtly excluding her from their company and conversation, was enough for her to notice even if she didn't comment on it. It made her miss Rhys all the more.
T oughts of Rhys made her heart clench a little. She should have gone with him, she knew that now. At the time she wanted to punish him, not for what the demon claimed but because it was obvious he didn't trust her. It hadn't seemed that long ago they were confidantes. But now? Now he kept secrets. How many opportunities did he have to tell her about Cole, and yet remained silent? He'd learned the truth about Ser Evangeline's mission and didn't say a thing. That told her he thought she either couldn't keep a secret or didn't possess the judgment to not make things worse.
Yes, she had her faults, but so did Rhys. His temper was almost as bad as hers, and he trusted far too easily. She was constantly watching out for his interests because he refused to. Sometimes she wondered if he intended to die. He certainly couldn't go about it any more efficiently if he did.
Adrian had few friends within the Libertarians even though she led them— actually, if she were honest about it, she had none. The other mages viewed her as useful, the kind of person who spoke her mind even when they were too timid. Rhys had always supported her, however. He stood by her side and believed in the same things she did, believed that the Circle was a place of oppression and that mages needed to be free. With him, achieving change seemed possible. Without him, she simply felt alone.
And now she'd abandoned him, possibly when he needed her the most. All Adrian really wanted to know was why he considered this Cole more important than anything else . . . and why he protected a templar. The thought that she might truly lose him, forever, filled her with dread.
Adrian sped up to walk beside Wynne. The old woman did a poor job of hiding her scowl. A fine thanks, Adrian thought, for continuing to help even after they'd all been dragged unwillingly into the Fade. Why Rhys thought anything of the woman at all, she couldn't imagine. She was one of the most prominent mages in the Circle, true, but she was nothing like him . . . and she couldn't think of someone less motherly.
"Why are you doing this?" Adrian asked, annoyed.
Wynne seemed surprised by the question. "Rescuing Pharamond?"
"You could have gone with Rhys. Instead you're choosing to rescue . . . what? A friend? Over helping your own son? What if something happens to him?"
"If you were concerned about Rhys's safety, then you should have accompanied him."
"But I'm here with you, and I think I'm owed an explanation.
Do you do this sort of thing for all your friends? Are they more important to you than your family?"
Wynne clenched her jaw, stifling outrage. "You know nothing of me."
"But I know Rhys," Adrian insisted, "and I know he deserves your help."
"I've already helped him."
"And now he's gone running after that invisible mage, or whatever he is . . . because he wants to help the man, not because it could prove his innocence. But I think it'll just make things worse for him, especially with that templar there."
Wynne smiled with amusement. "The way you say 'that templar' . . . you truly don't care for her, do you? Personally, I mean."
"Is there any reason I should? You heard what Ser Evangeline said. She'll do her duty, no matter what. I don't think Rhys understands what that means."
"And you do?" The old woman shrugged in a condescending manner that irritated Adrian. "I made a commitment to the Chantry. That is important to me. It just so happens that Pharamond is also my friend, and I refuse to see him abandoned to his fate."
"Even after what he's done?"
Wynne stopped. She turned and leveled a cool glare at Adrian. "For a Libertarian who claims to have the interests of all mages at heart, you seem remarkably willing to cast aside those who fail to meet your standards. It seems the templars are not the only ones quick to judge."
Adrian was taken aback, unsure how to respond to that without getting into another argument. Wynne seemed to take that as acceptance, however, and knowingly nodded. "As I thought," she said. "If it's me you wish to judge, you may certainly do so. I would suggest you consider the fact that I, at least, have a mission as well as a friend to help. You have neither of those things. If there is anyone you should be asking these questions to, it's yourself."
With that the woman sped up her pace and marched off. Adrian was left standing in the middle of the street, nonplussed, with the golem staring down at her. The glowing points of light where its eyes should be made it difficult to tell what it thought, but Adrian imagined it was amused by the spectacle.
"It should be more careful," the golem announced.
"Oh? Why is that?"
"The elderly mage will squish it like a bug if it angers her."
Adrian snorted. "She may have more experience, but I am a senior enchanter for a very good reason. Nobody will be squishing me."
"There are things it does not know about the elderly mage," it insisted.
"Such as?"
The golem refused to elaborate, however, and instead stomped off to catch up with Wynne. Adrian stood there, frustrated. The old woman was a powerful mage, but she certainly hadn't defeated the Archdemon single handedly, had she? How could she be so confident that she expected to walk right up to the demon that ruled this portion of the Fade and defeat it? What was Adrian missing?
They proceeded through the empty city streets for a time, the wisp unerringly guiding them. Open doorways dotted the buildings they passed, and Adrian asked why they didn't use one of them to reach the tower. A doorway in the Fade, after all, was simply a transition— it could be used to reach almost anywhere one desired. Wynne was suspicious, however, and claimed they could be a trap laid by the demon. So they remained on foot.
Not everything was unfamiliar. Adrian noticed the Imperial Palace far off on its hill, looking as resplendent as she remembered. They passed the streets of the Belle Marché, but whereas they would normally have been bustling with merchants and entertainers of every variety, here it was simply empty. The marketplace was never empty, as she recalled. Even at night it was filled with people, the taverns overflowing with revelry.
The White Spire loomed ever larger the closer they got to it, the pale tower shooting straight up into the sky like a lance, almost as if it would reach the far- off floating islands or even beyond. It was not nearly this large in real life, Adrian realized. This was the product of someone for whom the White Spire— perhaps the entire Circle of Magi— dominated their mental landscape. She could sympathize.
Finally, as if the city had given up trying to confuse them with its twists and turns, the entry to the tower appeared. The ivy- covered wrought iron gate stood open, as did the massive doors leading into the great hall. Whereas normally there would have been templars guarding the compound, or at least visible as they traveled in and out of the tower, the area seemed utterly abandoned.
"It seems we are made welcome," Wynne commented.
The golem peered at the gate and scowled. "It's going to shut behind us, isn't it? Does the elderly mage wish me to rip this off its hinges?"
"What would be the point? What we seek lies within." She waved her hand at the hovering wisp and it bobbed gratefully before winking out of existence. They were left alone, the only sound the faint whistling of the wind between the buildings behind them.
"I don't like it," Adrian complained.
Wynne sighed. “There's very little to like about any of this."
They walked inside. The great hall looked just as it should: the checkered marble floor, the vast arches, the foreboding windows of colored glass. Unlike every other part of the city, this seemed exactly right. She almost expected the interior doors to fly open, and a horde of mages to file in for their assembly. None came. The golem kept looking at every corner of the chamber, clenching its fists so tightly Adrian could hear the crunching of the stone. It made her more nervous than she already was.
They saw their first living person as they moved into the main floor of the tower. Templars should be training in the interior courtyard or at least present in the halls. These first floors were their main barracks, after all; they should be everywhere. But it was a single mage that greeted them. Then Adrian saw the grey robes and corrected herself: this was no mage, but a Tranquil.
The man walked up and bowed. His placid smile was the same as most Tranquil assumed, not because they were pleased about anything but because they knew it put others at ease. Adrian found it off- putting. In fact, she found everything about them off- putting. The idea that this could just as easily be done to her was at once both unsettling and outrageous.
"I greet you all," the Tranquil said. "Is there something you seek here?"
Wynne studied him carefully. She raised a hand to stop Shale from attacking, without looking in the golem's direction. Shale pouted, but remained still. "I'm looking for Pharamond," Wynne said. "Where would I find him?"
The man nodded, as if expecting this, and pointed up. The meaning was clear: the top of the tower. Somehow Adrian wasn't surprised.
"And who might you be?" Wynne asked him.
"I am no one of significance, merely one who is now content."
The way he said it, so evenly and with conviction, made Adrian shiver. "How do we know this isn't the demon?" she whispered to Wynne.
"He's not. I would sense it." Wynne didn't seem certain, however.
The man only smiled patiently. "I understand if you do not trust me. I have lived my entire life as a danger to others, and though that time has passed it would not surprise me to learn there are those who still harbor suspicion."
"What do you mean 'that time has passed'?" Adrian asked him.
He gestured to the tower around them. "Do you not see? This place stands as a memorial to an era best forgotten. The Circle of Magi is no longer needed. The templars are long gone, and those of us who remain do so only because we wish to."
"I don't understand."
"Come, I will show you." He beckoned to them, and headed up the stairs. Shale made as if to grab at him, but Wynne shook her head no. She tapped her staff on the ground, lighting up the tip with an aura of power. Exchanging a glance with the others that they should be wary, she followed him.
They saw more people as they ascended, men and women roaming sedately through the halls. None of them spoke, and the only sound Adrian could hear was the faint rustling of their grey robes. Some stopped and nodded pleasantly as they passed, but there was no sense of concern or danger.
It
wasn't until they reached the level occupied by the mages that she began to understand her rising apprehension. The commons was crowded, just as Adrian had often seen it before. People stood in clumps, speaking of things in calm whispers. None of them were mages, however. They were all Tranquil. All of them.
"Do you see?" the man asked them. He appeared almost pleased as he waved to the crowd. Some of them looked their way, though none of them smiled. "As I said: the templars are no longer needed. Order has been restored to the world."
A shiver of horror ran through Adrian. This was Pharamond's nightmare, then— and in many ways it mirrored her own.
Wynne walked into the commons, her eyes searching the crowd. Her lips pressed together in grim disapproval, but she seemed nowhere near as affected by the scene as Adrian was. Everyone was so calm. The aura of peace that pervaded the tower was like a shroud, and Adrian wanted nothing more than to run from it screaming.
"Where is Pharamond?" Wynne demanded.
All conversation ceased. Every eye in the room turned toward them, and Adrian felt her hackles rise. In the utter silence that followed, she became very aware these were not truly Tranquil. They were part of the dream, perhaps even demons themselves, and they could turn hostile in an instant. Considering how many there were, that would be very bad indeed.
Shale stepped beside Wynne, fists clenched. "Shall I crush them?"
"Not yet."
"What ever you're going to do," Adrian murmured, "I suggest you do it soon."
The crowd parted all at once, giving way to a new Tranquil. He was an elven man, with long white hair and an air of dignity. It took Adrian a moment to realize this was the same elf they'd seen in the laboratory, but untwisted by demonic possession. The only thing the same was his blue eyes, radiating gentleness as they took in the group.
"Ah, Wynne, you have come." He smiled.
Her grim expression did not soften. An aura of white power radiated from her staff . Adrian could feel the mana being summoned within the old woman, even though she made no move to attack. It might be prudent to begin preparing her own spells, just in case. The tension in the chamber was palpable.