by David Gaider
Wynne kept brushing as if nothing were amiss. She took several pins from her robe and put her hair up into a bun, all the while not looking in Rhys's direction. He was stumped as to where he should begin. He'd spent the night waiting for this moment, but all the things he'd rehearsed evaporated from his mind. How did you accuse someone of being an abomination?
"She told you," Wynne said.
He stared at her, his mouth agape. It hadn't been a question, simply an observation. Wynne sat with hands folded in her lap and looked at him with a wary expression. "I . . . guess she did, yes," he muttered.
"Close your mouth, dear. It's unbecoming."
His mouth snapped shut with an audible click.
"I suppose this was inevitable," she sighed.
He almost didn't want to ask. "Is it true?"
"Is it true I've been possessed by a spirit? Yes, that is true." Before he could ask another question, however, she held up a finger and smiled patiently. "No, it is not what you believe has changed me. The spirit was with me when we first met."
"But that was . . ."
"Many years ago, yes." She frowned thoughtfully, staring into the ashes of the campfire. "I died, you see. It happened at the beginning of the Blight. The Tower of Magi in Ferelden had been taken over by abominations, and I was killed in the battle. As I lingered on the precipice between life and death, a spirit came to me. Not a demon, not anything horrid or selfish, and it offered me a second chance."
He waited, as it seemed there was more to the story, but Wynne said nothing. She continued to stare, and he wondered what she was thinking. This felt like a confession. "A second chance to do what?" he asked.
Wynne shrugged. "I wish I knew. Years ago I thought my time short, that I had been given only a temporary reprieve. I was alive for some greater purpose, and once that was done I would die as I was meant to." She shook her head sadly. "I fought to keep the Circle from collapsing, to prevent a war that would have cost untold lives . . . and nothing. I live still."
What ever Rhys had expected to come of this conversation, this wasn't it. He walked a few steps away, rubbing his forehead like that would get his brain functioning, and then turned back. Wynne still sat there, looking at him expectantly. He sat down on the grass, a little too suddenly.
"Are you sure it's not a demon?" he asked. "I mean . . . I've never heard of a benevolent spirit possessing anyone. They can be curious about our world, but they don't go out of their way to enter it like demons do."
"Demons and spirits are not so different from one another. They are two sides of the same coin. As for why this spirit chose to come to me . . ." Her voice trailed off, and she became contemplative. "I don't know. It happened so quickly. I think it had always been with me before, and simply chose that moment to act."
"But you don't know why?"
"We did not speak. I . . . felt it come, like a warm glow spreading throughout my body. It provided the spark of life that was fading from me, and I think that's where it remains. A part of me, of my soul."
"Is that why I can't sense it?"
"I believe so. The spirit and I are not separate."
"But Adrian said she saw it appear."
Wynne allowed herself a private smile. "It may have seemed that way. In the Fade I have power in the same way the spirit does. If I didn't show it earlier, it's because I didn't wish to tip my hand to the demon."
Rhys chewed his lip and considered, while Wynne busied herself packing. There were so many questions he should be asking, yet what he faced was simply too large to think of anything else. He remembered her anger when the subject of saving Pharamond arose, back when he'd told her and Adrian about Cole. Now it made sense.
I'd like you to meet my mother, the abomination.
Oh, how charming! She doesn't look at all twisted like most of them do.
No, she looks quite good for a dead woman, doesn't she?
He let out a slow breath. "So what now?"
Wynne paused, closing her pack. "That's an excellent question. In a way, this is very convenient. I'd hoped to speak with you away from Ser Evangeline, but there was never a convenient excuse."
"What do you mean?"
She looked at him intently. "I want you to learn Pharamond's ritual."
"You . . . want me to do what?"
"The Divine is trying to change the Circle, Rhys. What Pharamond has learned will be the first step toward that. His knowledge can't die with him, and if what Ser Evangeline tried to do at the keep is any evidence, that may very well come to pass."
He jumped to his feet, his anger resurfacing as several realizations combined at once. Learning she was possessed or dead . . . truth be told, those he couldn't wraphis head around, but this was something he understood. "You knew all along what he was doing!"
"I knew his goal."
"And . . . you were just going to let Evangeline kill him? After all that?"
She waved her hand dismissively. "I wouldn't have let it come to that. Shale would have intervened. As it happened, Adrian's outburst made that unnecessary. I still think it was foolish for Pharamond to go so far . . . only a Tranquil could rationalize an attempt at possession . . . but the Divine's purpose is very clear, as is my own."
"So all this, helping a friend in dire need, that was all just a ruse."
"For the templars' benefit, yes. I've been visiting Pharamond off and on for several years, in the hope his research would bear fruit. And it has."
"You could have told me."
She chuckled ruefully. "Like you were so quick to tell me of Cole? Or Evangeline's true mission? I must guard my purpose, as well as the Divine's involvement." When he stormed angrily toward the horse, she leapt to her feet and chased after him. Catching his arm, she pulled him about. "Listen to me, Rhys: Libertarians like Adrian believe that the Circle must be destroyed. I believe it can be made better. The templars must be shown the truth."
"And why doesn't the Divine simply order the templars to do as she asks?"
"Because it isn't that simple. The Divine must contend with centuries of tradition, and there are those in the Chantry who resist. Or do you truly believe a single mage managed to sneak out of the White Spire and infiltrate the ball at the Imperial Palace, all on his own?"
That gave him pause. "You don't mean . . ."
"Of course I do. The templars are unruly beasts. They must be led to the water; they cannot be forced to drink. Until they do, we must protect ourselves." Wynne hesitated. She cupped Rhys's cheek in a moment of unexpected tenderness. "And you must be protected. Learning the ritual would make you the only person other than Pharamond who knows and can use it. That will have value the Divine cannot overlook . . . and neither can the Lord Seeker."
Rhys scowled, reaching up and removing her hand. "You knew a spirit medium could learn it. That's why you brought me."
"I knew this could save you."
He turned back to the horse. Taking the reins, he pulled himself up into the saddle. Wynne remained where she was, watching him without comment. He thought he'd had her figured out, but clearly he hadn't even been close. "You're a piece of work." He shook his head. "You're no better than Adrian. Neither of you can see beyond your cause, to whom it affects."
She sighed patiently. "Rhys, I'm trying—"
"Trying to justify why a spirit chose to bring you back to life. Because it couldn't be a random act, something without meaning. You need to be a crusader. I get it."
His words were sharper than he'd intended, but they silenced her nevertheless. Perhaps she meant well. Adrian meant well, too. Somehow taking Cole and running didn't seem like such a bad idea.
"Get on the horse," he muttered bitterly. "I'll keep your secret. And I'll learn the ritual."
She nodded slowly. "May I ask why?"
"Because running won't help anyone. It's time I made a stand."
Chapter 15
They were a day away from the capital city. That's what Knight- Captain told them, and Cole greeted the new
s with a mixture of eagerness and apprehension. He felt strangely naked out under the open sky, in places he didn't belong. It would be good to be back in the tower, to walk down dark hallways he didn't need to see in order to know where they led. It was only the thought of being brought before the templars that frightened him. They would judge him, and find him wanting.
Just not a cell, he prayed silently. Anything but a lonely dungeon cell.
It was even worse being with people who could see him. He'd wished for it for so long, and yet now he felt their eyes upon him even when they weren't looking his way. It made his skin crawl, and he couldn't help it. Each time he spoke and they responded, he jumped. So he tried to speak as little as possible.
They would have been at the city sooner, except that Knight- Captain—Evangeline, he mentally corrected himself— had taken them off the main road the day before last. She said it would be better to stay out of sight, travel through rural areas, and approach the city from the west rather than the south. Everyone looked worried when she said that, but nobody objected. Not even Red Hair, who objected to almost everything.
He imagined it had something to do with the army they'd encountered. Well . . . not an army, really. There’d been maybe a dozen men on the road, but Evangeline said later there were probably more nearby. Hundreds more. An older man wearing a fancy purple cloak had ridden down to speak to them. His helmet had a plume of white feathers sprouting from it— Cole had never seen anything so silly. The man would have looked wealthy if it hadn't been for all the mud stains and rust.
He'd spoken with Evangeline and Old Woman. Boring, friendly talk to which Cole hadn't listened. Instead he'd dismounted and wandered to where the other soldiers were grouped, just down the way. Rhys made a strangled noise when he did that. He probably would have tried to stop Cole if that didn't mean calling attention to them both.
But he didn't. In a way it was strangely comforting to walk among those men and not have them even glance in his direction. Their horses noticed, however. He saw their big black eyes swivel, and they made nickering noises when he got too close. He'd never been near a horse prior to all this, that he could remember. They’d be more impressive if they didn't all smell like dusty manure.
It was the soldiers who interested him more, regardless. They were big, brutish- looking men who wore their armor like it didn't belong to them. Cole disliked the way they looked down the road, or how they nervously fingered their weapons. It wasn't fear that agitated them, however. It was anticipation. He could almost smell the bloodlust.
One of them said, "How long til the others get here?"
"Soon," another replied. "Let's hope he stalls them long enough."
That was all he needed to hear. Cole ran back to Rhys and quickly told him, and then Rhys rode forward and whispered it in Evangeline's ear. When she made her farewells to Purple Cloak, everything changed. His smile became strained. Cole couldn't hear the words, but he understood what was happening well enough when Purple Cloak signaled to the soldiers and they rode toward them at full speed, their weapons drawn.
And then they stopped, on account of the shimmering curtain of magic that blocked their way. That was Rhys's doing; Cole could see his staff raised, glowing as brightly as the sun. He also heard what Rhys said next very clearly: "We're exactly what we appear to be, Baron. I suggest you take your men and go— unless you want to be toads; I won't judge."
Purple Cloak's face went white as a sheet, and he made haste to retreat with his men, all of them shouting curses as they rode off. Evangeline brought them off the road immediately, saying the men would be back with more. Cole felt vaguely disappointed. Could Rhys really turn them into toads? He wanted to see that.
They fled swiftly across a grassy dale, hopping a farmer's fence and then passing through a small forest. Eventually they stopped, the horses sweating and needing to be fed. Evangeline seemed convinced that any chase had been eluded. When Cole asked why Purple Cloak had wanted to attack them, it was Old Woman who answered: "For ransom," she said. "He thought we were traveling in disguise, pretending to be templars and mages so nobody would meddle with us."
"He wanted coin?" Cole asked, perplexed.
"If he could get it, from what ever families we belonged to. And if he couldn't get it, I imagine a few of us would have ended up on the slave market."
"The Empire is falling apart." Rhys shook his head, amazed.
Evangeline agreed. "Bandits first, then roving mobs of starving peasants if things get worse. We might expect to see press gangs as well, if the nobility are gathering armies. Val Royeaux could be in chaos when we arrive."
The others seemed to digest that news as if it tasted unpleasant. The elven man fretted and worried, to the point where Old Woman needed to talk to him in kind words until he calmed.
Cole didn't know what to make of it. Press gangs? What would they press? He would have asked, but he'd likely exceeded his allowance for stupid questions. So instead he remained quiet as Evangeline got back on the horse, and he held on for dear life as they tried to make up for lost time.
That was two days ago. Now they were camping inside an old hay barn, half falling apart with the field overgrown with lavender. There was purple everywhere he looked, flowers gently swaying in the evening's breeze along with a scent that was both pleasant and somehow too sweet. Cole saw no livestock, and Evangeline said she suspected the run- down farm house off in the distance might be abandoned, but didn't want to risk checking.
Cole didn't mind. The farm house looked lonely. He watched from the edge of the field, wondering who might have once lived there. The dark windows over the door stared back at him like a pair of malevolent eyes. There are secrets in this house, they said, secrets in the floors and the walls that will remain until they are dust and gone.
He shivered and turned away. Camping among the flowers was preferable. Besides, the sky was clear. The day had been warm, and the evening was no less so. If there was anything to enjoy about being out in the open it was this.
He might not have a choice soon enough.
Old Woman— Wynne, as she kept reminding him— was in the stable, mending a tear in her robe. She listened patiently as Red Hair berated her about the same topic she always talked about: freedom. Cole didn't really understand what kind of freedom she meant, but he had the suspicion she didn't either. What ever she thought it was, she was determined to have it.
That argument went on for what seemed like hours, until finally Red Hair stalked off and spent her time brushing the horses. She liked the horses. She talked to them in a soothing voice and gave them names. When the tiny mage was with the horses, she became pretty, all the anger and hard lines on her face dissolving away. Cole would suggest she do more of that if he didn't think she would yell at him for it.
Evangeline had left hours ago. There was a small village nearby, she said, where she intended to buy food. That left Rhys and the elven man, Pharamond, sitting and talking off among the flowers. What they talked about, he hadn't a clue. People stopped speaking when they could see you standing there. It had never really occurred to him someone might not want to be overheard.
Even among a group of people who could see him, Cole still felt like an outsider. Maybe it was supposed to be that way. Maybe that was part of his curse.
Rhys said that there might be a way to end it, that people remembering Cole after seeing him in that dreamland could be the key. Cole hadn't mentioned to Rhys that he'd already started to notice changes. He'd seen the perplexed look on Evangeline's face when she looked at him in the morning, like she couldn't quite place who he was. Red Hair kept complaining Cole was sneaking up on her when he'd been standing beside her the entire time.
All of them were starting to forget, and they weren't even aware of it. Cole was aware. It was like the ground was slowly turning to quicksand under his feet, while everyone else kept walking on, oblivious to his sinking. He was fading away, that familiar feeling creeping like a chill over his bones.
It was Evangeline. She was strolling toward him from afar, a sack hefted over one shoulder. Her scarlet cloak streamed in the wind behind her. The moon was coming up just over the horizon, and it cast her in a silvery light that made his heart clench. The way the templar looked at him, as if she knew things about him even he didn't know, made him nervous. But it wasn't in a bad way, somehow.
"I . . . thought you were going to the village?" he stuttered.
"I was," she said. When she got to the rotted remains of the pasture fence he stood by she let the sack drop to the ground with a relieved grunt. "Thankfully I encountered a farmer coming back from the market with a full cart. No business, he said. What ever's happening, it hasn't touched this part of the Heartlands yet."
"That's a good thing."
"For us it is." She glanced over at where Rhys and Pharamond sat, and then regarded Cole curiously. "Why don't you go over and talk to them? I could see you looking forlornly at them from across the field. I'm certain they wouldn't mind."
The elven man was laughing at something Rhys said, so boisterously he was rolling around on the ground. That's how the elf laughed at anything, it seemed. The slightest amusing remark and he would roar with amusement, and keep it up until everyone else stared at each other uncomfortably. The man was awash in a sea of feeling, carried away by what ever current took him.
"I . . . can't." Cole shook his head, feeling an embarrassed blush rise up his cheeks. He imagined he must seem like some kind of shy, awkward child to Evangeline. A child who didn't know anything.
She leaned against the fence and scrutinized him while he deliberately avoided her gaze. "Let me ask you a question," she finally said. "How did you know about my mission?"
"I heard the man in black armor tell you."
"The Lord Seeker? There was a moment in my quarters when he sensed . . . something. That was you?"
"Yes."
"Were you there before then?"
"Yes," he answered hesitantly.