by David Gaider
Clutching his dagger tightly, Cole crept down the hallway toward the guard station. He reached the first templar, an older man who stood near the entrance. He had tanned, weathered skin and a bushy black mustache flecked with grey. The man looked right through Cole, staring nervously in the direction of the stairs. At every faint sound of battle he twitched.
"Another rebellion," he growled.
One of the other two, a square- jawed woman who wore a helmet that covered most of her face, shook her head in disgust. "Foolish," she sighed. "The Lord Seeker will have their heads this time. You'd think they'd learn."
The old templar merely grunted. Cole stared into his eyes, so close he could smell the man's sour breath. Concentrating, Cole reached down into the well of darkness inside him. He steeled himself against the fear that came with it.
I won't let myself be washed away, he thought. Rhys is the only friend I have in the entire world, and I would do anything to help him. Anything.
Cole raised the dagger. Gently he placed the serrated edge against the templar's neck. It pressed against his skin, drawing the slightest bit of blood . . . but the man didn't react. He continued to stare, as if nothing was happening.
You won't see me. Cole cut deep, the man's neck gushing bright blood down the front of his armor. His eyes went wide and he gasped, clutching at his throat in panic. The blood flowed more quickly now, staining his tunic and dripping onto the floor. He raised his gauntlet to stare at it, confused. Then he let out a single gurgle and dropped to one knee.
You can't see what I do. Cole left the old templar behind and moved to the woman. He could feel it, feel the shroud he'd lain over her eyes. She struggled against it, not even aware she was doing so. His temples throbbed painfully.
You can't stop me. He placed the point of the dagger against the base of her throat and pushed, pressing his weight against it. The blade plunged deep. The woman grunted, the slightest bit of blood spurting from her mouth. Still she seemed transfixed, unable to surface from the sea of oblivion in which she swam.
None of you can stop me. He pulled the blade out, watching as she reeled back and fell against the wall. Her sword dropped to the floor with a clatter. She tried in vain to staunch the flow of blood with her hands. She turned to the last templar, reaching out with a shaking hand to try to warn him, but all that came out was a strangulated cry.
If he's dead, I'll hunt every last one of you. Every last one, I swear it. The last templar was a younger man. His blond hair was long and messy, and in some ways he reminded Cole of himself. The young man's brow furrowed, as if he detected something amiss but couldn't quite put his finger on it. Cole struggled to maintain his concentration, but felt it slipping through his fingers. His heart thudded so loudly in his ears it was all he could hear.
The woman finally slumped to the ground, and the sound she made suddenly alerted the young templar. He spun around, shouting in surprise, and at the same moment spotted Cole. "No!" he shouted, raising his sword to strike.
It was too late. Cole lunged, slashing the dagger across his neck. The templar staggered back, his clumsy swing easy for Cole to evade. He tried to lift his blade again, but the blood was gushing freely now. He was too weak. The sword wavered, and then dropped. He fell to his knees, staring at Cole in utter astonishment. T en, ever so slowly, he collapsed.
Cole let out an explosive breath. He reeled away from the body, leaning against the wall and struggling against the urge to vomit. That dark power was in every inch of him now, like a sickly oil that filled every fiber of his being. He shook, sweat pouring down his brow, and closed his eyes. Push it down, back down . . . it took every ounce of willpower he possessed to regain control.
When he shakily got back to his feet, the Sister was already entering the guard station, bow still in hand. She noticed the fallen templars, but her attention remained fixed on Cole. There was wariness in her eyes. Fear, even. Of him.
"That . . . is an interesting thing you do," she said carefully. "It's okay. You won't remember it."
She didn't appear to believe him. He didn't mind. He wiped the dagger on the cloak of one of the templars. The sounds of shouting up the stairs was louder now. Closer.
The Sister grabbed the glowlamp from the wall, as well as the key ring from the older templar's belt, and together they ran into the hallway with all the cells. Cole could hear muffled shouts behind some of the doors— lots of them, in fact. There were more people here than he'd ever seen before, including some on the lower levels, and they all seemed to be calling for help.
"I need to find Rhys," he said nervously.
"We will!" The Sister ran to the nearest cell and unlocked it. When the door opened, it revealed a short woman with an ugly bruise covering one of her cheeks. She glared at them angrily, crouching in the corner like a cornered cat ready to leap. Cole realized he recognized her: it was Red Hair. Adrian. The one who argued all the time.
"What do you want with me?" she demanded.
The Sister chuckled. "That's a fine way to greet your rescuers."
Red Hair's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Rescuers?"
"Unless you'd prefer to stay."
It only took a moment for Red Hair to realize the truth. She stood, holding out her manacled hands. "Get me out of these, then," she said. "We have to find the Grand Enchanter. If anyone escapes, it has to be her."
The Sister nodded and turned to Cole. She tore one of the keys off the ring and passed it to him. "Let the others out. Quickly."
"I need to find Rhys," he repeated.
"We need to let them all out." She immediately ran over to Adrian and unlocked her cuffs. Cole ran out into the hall. The noises were louder now. The cries of those in the cells were a rising swell of fear, and he let it wash over him.
Cole closed his eyes, reaching out with his thoughts. Rhys was alive. He could feel him close by, weak and slipping away, but still holding on. Cole wasn't too late. The Sister could help the others— he wasn't here for them.
Don't die, he called out. I've come for you, just as I said I would.
I won't let you die.
Chapter 21
Rhys felt himself being roughly dragged from the haze of pain in which he lingered. Someone was shaking him by the shoulders. He wanted to cry out, tell them to stop. For the love of the Maker, you're hurting me! All he could do, however, was weakly groan. "Rhys! You have to get up!" The voice was Cole's. It felt so far away . . . like he was looking down at himself lying there in the darkness, but none of this had any relation to him. It wasn't real. Just some dream he couldn't quite wake up from.
"Rhys!"
He reluctantly opened his eyes. The reality that greeted him was sharp and unrelenting, a knot of agony that burned in his stomach and spread its tendrils into the rest of his body. He wanted to retreat from it, back into the darkness, but the insistent shaking wouldn't let him. "Cole," he mumbled, "stop, I'm awake . . ."
Cole looked relieved. He began unlocking Rhys's manacles, and as Rhys slowly came to his senses he realized something was wrong. There was shouting outside his cell. Doors slamming and people running. Voices filled with urgency. Off in the distance, an explosion sounded.
That made him sit up. Was the tower under attack? "Wait, what's going on?" he asked. "What have you done? I hope you didn't . . ."
The cuffs fell from his wrists and landed on the floor with a dull thud. Rhys hadn't realized how heavy they were, but now that they were off it was a blessed relief. "We came to rescue you," Cole said, as if it were the simplest matter in the world. He looked Rhys straight in the eyes. "Can you stand? I'll carry you if you can't."
Rhys doubted Cole was strong enough, but he didn't doubt the young man would try. Still, that wasn't what made him hesitate. He watched Cole now, the way he moved, the worry in his expression, and wondered if there was something there he hadn't seen before. The words of the Lord Seeker came rushing back.
What if it was true? What if it was all true? "Cole, I . . . need to t
ell you something." He spoke the words before he had time to think them through.
Cole didn't question him, or suggest that now wasn't the best time. He merely nodded and sat back, waiting for Rhys to continue.
What could he say? He had no more evidence than the Lord Seeker did, a man who had every reason to manipulate the truth in his favor. The Lord Seeker never met Cole, never looked him in the eyes. He hadn't been in the Fade and witnessed the kind of pain that made the young man what he was today. Cole was real. Rhys knew it in his bones.
Why, then, did he feel so guilty? Slowly he lowered his gaze. "Never mind."
Cole helped him to his feet, and together they walked out into the hallway. It wasn't easy; each step was agony, a jolt that made his guts feel like they would fall out. He tried holding his stomach tightly, but it was no use. Sweat poured down his brow, and he shook uncontrollably.
"I . . . I can't," he grunted.
"It's just a little farther," Cole urged him.
Rhys tried to summon mana to heal himself. He closed his eyes and concentrated, but the pain was simply too great. It was a white blaze he just couldn't fight his way past, and trying only made it worse. He doubled over, the light- headedness threatening to make him swoon.
Someone else ran up to them, carrying a glowlamp. It was Adrian. Rhys had never been so happy to see someone in his life. He thought for certain she'd been killed in the great hall— if anyone was the sort to go down fighting, after all, it was her. From the bruise on her face, it seemed it wasn't for lack of trying.
Adrian skidded to a halt. "What's the matter with him?" she asked Cole. "Why won't he heal himself?"
"He's too hurt."
Adrian scowled. "A thousand potions in this tower, and nobody thought to bring one?" She lifted his chin up and studied his face. He gritted his teeth, feeling like he would burn up and yet freeze at the same time. "I'm sorry, Rhys," she said, her irritation dissolving into obvious worry. He must look worse than he felt. "You know I don't have healing spells, and I can't spare the time to find someone who does."
"Are . . . you okay?" he asked her weakly.
The question took her by surprise. She seemed disconcerted, almost suspicious. It was odd, though he couldn't quite place his finger on why. He'd known Adrian for so long, but now he was reminded of the last time they'd spoken in his chambers. Perhaps the friend he'd known was gone forever, now. That made him sad.
"I'm fine," she said. "Try to get out safely, Rhys."
And with that she ran off. Rhys watched her go, and then nodded gratefully as Cole helped him forward. It took effort, and his steps were both stumbling and uncertain, but he was able to walk. Barely.
There were people rushing past them. Rhys recognized a couple: some were first enchanters from the great hall. Others were mages he knew from the tower. All of them were terrified, and unwilling to slow down. There was a red- haired woman with a glowlamp ahead at the entrance to the hall, waving everyone onward. She looked vaguely familiar, but Rhys couldn't place her. He had other things to worry about.
Like walking. He tried his best to keep pace, Cole and he falling into a strange gait: step- shuffle- hop, step- shuffle- hop . . . it was agonizingly slow, but Rhys gritted his teeth and kept going. He felt so useless it was maddening, but Cole didn't appear to mind. He patiently urged Rhys on.
Before long they fell behind the others. The red- haired woman yelled for everyone to keep up. He saw the Grand Enchanter beside her, as well as Adrian. And then they were gone. Rhys and Cole were alone in the darkness, with only the sounds of distant battle and the shouts of the mages far ahead to give them a sense of direction. Not that Cole needed it. He knew these passages well.
Step- shuffle- hop, step- shuffle- hop.
Time passed slowly. The sounds drew farther and farther away, and the darkness became complete. Rhys was left blind. He knew they were descending deeper and deeper into the Pit, but he had no idea where they were. He relied on Cole to guide him, the only sounds their footsteps on the cold stone and the thudding of his heart in his ears.
Where was Evangeline? Was Wynne here, as well? Were they part of the fighting? Where were they going, and what if the templars came hunting them? He wanted to ask Cole these questions, but it was all he could do just to control the pain and keep moving.
After what seemed like an hour of torture, Rhys heard water splashing beneath his feet. He could smell something sour and putrid, like sewage, layered thick amid all the dust. "Where are we?" he asked through gasped breaths.
"Close now," Cole said. The man might as well be invisible, but for the voice in the darkness and the arm supporting Rhys's waist. “There's a wall ahead. You'll need to climb down."
"Fall down, you mean," Rhys chuckled grimly.
"We'll find a way."
Suddenly Rhys heard something behind them: the sound of many booted feet, running. Men shouting orders. Templars. He froze, instinctively trying to summon mana to his defense, but the surge of pain was too much. He staggered back, tripping over a rock, and Cole quickly caught him before he fell.
Rhys's heart beat wildly. He crouched down, wincing as the gash in his stomach protested, and waited. Maybe the templars wouldn't come this way? Maybe they . . . but his hopes sank as he spotted the telltale light of a glowlamp off in the distance. Several, in fact. The light grew brighter as the templars rushed in their direction.
"Cole, we have to run!"
"Wait," Cole urged. "It's okay."
How could it be okay? Not that Rhys's limping gait would have gotten them far, but to sit still and hope for the best?
He felt a rush of panic as the first templar came into sight. There were five of them, big and burly men in heavy armor splattered with streaks of blood. Their grim faces said they were ready to kill what ever lay in their path.
The lead man held his glowlamp high as he peered off into the passage. Rhys was confused. The templar wasn't five feet away. His light should have revealed them, plain as day. How could he not see?
"I could have sworn I heard splashing," he muttered.
"It's us," another said. "Those are just echoes."
"Maybe. Are we sure any came this way? What's down here?"
A templar with a bushy black beard walked forward, swinging his sword irritably against the wall. "Maker's breath, who knows? We should go back. The last thing we should be doing is wandering down here, chasing ghosts."
"The Lord Seeker said we're to find whoever escaped the dungeon. He'll be following as soon as he can."
"And what if he doesn't? Are we supposed to fight a dozen first enchanters ourselves? Have sense, man!"
The lead man gave the other a sour look. "Tell the Lord Seeker that, if you're willing. Maybe you want to join Ser Evangeline? She's fighting alongside those mages, both you and I saw it. It's insanity."
The rest said nothing, avoiding each other's gazes so as not to betray their private thoughts. The lead templar spat in disgust, and then marched off down the passage. The others quickly followed. Each splashed by Cole and Rhys, not a one noticing them.
Then Rhys felt it: a power so faint he barely noticed it was there. It was a hush that surrounded him like a blanket, thick and smothering. And it came from Cole. In the last vestiges of the light from the templar lamps, he could see Cole's eyes clamped shut. The man was concentrating hard, a trail of blood seeping out of his nose.
"Cole," he whispered. "They’re gone."
Cole's eyes snapped open. He looked at Rhys in surprise . . . and then winced in pain. He curled up on the ground, placing his head between his legs and whimpering. Rhys didn't know what was wrong. He helplessly patted the young man's shoulder, and when the templars were fully gone they sat in complete darkness once again.
Eventually Cole's breathing slowed. "I . . . I think I'm okay now."
"How did you do that?"
Cole didn't answer. Instead he pulled Rhys to his feet and led him onward once again. This new ability of Cole's disturbed him. It
hadn't felt like any kind of magic Rhys had encountered before. It was . . . something else completely. That wasn't a comforting thought.
The templars had also mentioned Evangeline. Did that mean she was still alive? He hoped so. If the Maker truly looked after the faithful and the good, He would let her escape.
They reached the wall Cole mentioned. It wasn't easy to descend in the dark. It took forever, Rhys clutching at stones he couldn't see, breathing in short gasps and praying he wouldn't fall. And then he did fall. Luckily, Cole was there to catch him. The pain was unimaginable. Rhys lay there in the cold and clammy sewer water until the spasms subsided, and all Cole could do was pat his head and urge him to keep moving.
Eventually they entered the sewers. It had to be the sewers, from the foul smell. Clearly the rest of the mages had come this way. Faint voices echoed in the passages, and Cole quickly led him in the opposite direction.
It didn't take long for more templars to come. Many templars, in fact. They shouted orders at each other and splashed through the water, the sounds seemingly coming from every direction. It was confusing, but Cole seemed to know where he was going. Rhys trusted him.
They turned down one passage, and then another. It went on forever, time blending into a haze of pain, and Rhys might have blacked out more than once— if he did, when he came to he found himself still walking. Finally Rhys tugged at Cole's sleeve. "I . . . have to stop," he panted. His legs wobbled so badly they felt about to collapse from under him.
Cole didn't say anything, but took Rhys by the shoulder and guided him to an embankment. There they sat, Rhys trying to bring his breathing under control. His guts burned. It felt like they were bleeding again, his life oozing out of him uncontrollably. His head spun from exhaustion.
A faint light drifted down from a grate in the ceiling. The light of Val Royeaux at night, he assumed. It was enough to hint at the edges of the passage walls, and show the rats scurrying about in the corners. Rhys wondered if they shouldn't try to reach it, maybe escape into the city. Then he quickly discarded the idea. Even if there was a ladder, he couldn't imagine climbing right now . . . and what if the grate was sealed? Without magic, he was useless.