"Light reading, Ser Evangeline?" a voice asked.
She jumped. Lord Seeker Lambert was standing in the dungeon entrance, regarding her with an arched eyebrow. He was in full armor, the lamp's blue light glinting off its polished black surface. When she didn't respond, he walked over to the small table and idly moved around the playing cards she'd laid out for herself. "I see you're keeping busy. Guard duty can be tedious, but it's an important task nevertheless."
"Is there something you wished, Lord Seeker?"
He looked at her and frowned. "I appreciate a subordinate who challenges me— to a point. Considering where you stand, I would suggest modifying your tone."
Evangeline took a deep breath. He was right, of course. There was no point in antagonizing him further. "I've been requesting an audience with you all week," she said. "I'm simply surprised to see you come to the Pit. I would have gone to your office."
"Indeed." He paced about the room, hands clasped behind his back, and for several moments did not speak. Evangeline wasn't certain what to make of it. "I wished to meet you in private, away from prying eyes. It has to do with your report."
"You read it."
"I did, yes. Very thorough. I have a question, however. You claim that Enchanter Rhys is not, in fact, responsible for the murders— there is another, a young mage by the name of Cole."
"That's correct."
"Moreover, you claim he is invisible, and forgotten by anyone who meets him. This does not, however, include yourself?"
"I . . . am starting to forget, my lord."
The Lord Seeker stopped pacing, peering at her curiously. "I see" was all he said. "And yet you claim you can provide evidence of this Cole's existence? That he will manifest at your command?"
"He said he would show himself, to help Rhys."
"Then do so. I would like to meet this man."
She squirmed uncomfortably. "I'm afraid I don't know where he is."
He nodded, as if this was the answer he was expecting. "So he's . . . somewhere in the tower? Let's assume this man does exist—"
"He exists, my lord."
"Let's assume that is so. Did it occur to you his abilities are the hallmarks of blood magic? Strange, never- before- seen powers, fueled by the letting of blood from his victims?"
"I don't believe that's true."
"You don't believe." His frown deepened, and he shook his head as if disappointed. "So you wouldn't agree if I suggested that perhaps this Cole is influencing your mind? Perhaps he is influencing Enchanter Rhys as well? Can you be absolutely certain this is not the case?"
She sighed. On one hand, it was true— she couldn't be certain. She'd met Cole in the Fade, and everything about his presence seemed convenient. For all she knew, he might be the demon she first suspected him to be. Or he might be a maleficar, a user of forbidden magic who was bending her thoughts and memories into thinking him harmless. Perhaps he was manipulating them all.
On the other hand, she didn't think of him as harmless. She remembered him as dangerous, what she could remember at all. He was also troubled, little more than a child left to fend for himself in a world he didn't fully understand. She had to believe her gut, and her gut told her he was what he appeared to be. That he needed help.
"No, I can't be absolutely certain," she admitted. "But I still believe it. Somehow Cole's talents became . . . twisted . . . after he was brought to the tower. T rough fear or I don't know what. He needs to become Tranquil before he loses his mind completely and hurts someone else."
The Lord Seeker nodded, pleased. "It's good to see you still believe in the Rite of Tranquility. I'd almost suspected you'd thrown in with those Libertarians."
"The Rite has its place. I do agree with Enchanter Rhys that we need an alternative, however. He is not wrong, and he is no murderer. We have a responsibility to rise above our differences and see the truth."
"Bold words." The man paced again, rubbing his chin and clearly pondering. He was cold, she decided. Everything to him was a problem that must be neatly solved and put away on a shelf to be forgotten. Anything that couldn't be was a threat. "Let me make you a proposition," he said. "I will agree to see this Cole, once you find him. He won't be harmed. Provided there's truth to what you say, Enchanter Rhys will be free to go."
"And in return?"
"You will stand before the first enchanters' conclave and denounce the research of this Pharamond."
So that was it, the entire reason for his coming to the dungeon to speak with her. He didn't want to be seen as lenient, and he most certainly didn't want to be seen making an arrangement regarding her testimony. "You can't ask me to do that," she said.
"I certainly can. It's your actions that have put me in this position, and thus I believe it's your responsibility to see it rectified." He raised a finger before she could speak. "I've read your report. It's obvious you're sympathetic to the mages, and that's commendable. I'll even go as far as to say we may look into this matter in the future, under closely monitored conditions. Perhaps you will be the one in charge of that. But we cannot do this now, not while the mages are casting about for reasons to rebel."
"And you would rather give them one?"
The Lord Seeker snorted derisively. "We are not playing games. There was a day when magic ruled this land and all lands, and it took the Maker to send us His chosen bride in order to tear them down. We are the bulwark preventing that from happening again. No one else."
"And can that not be done with compassion?"
"Let me tell you where compassion gets us." He wandered over to the doorway that led into the dungeon cells, staring down the length of the hall as if seeing ghosts in its shadows. "I come from the Tevinter Imperium. For ten years I served with the Imperial Chantry, did you know that?"
"No."
"I'm not surprised. I left because the Circle of Magi had been corrupted beyond hope of redemption. The magisters slowly took back power within the Circle . . . inch by inch. After all, what harm could there be in allowing the mages to govern themselves? Who better to know what mages need, and how to teach them to resist the lures of demons?"
"Those are excellent questions," she said.
"I agree. At the time, I believed the answer was yes, that the mages were best served when trained by their own." He noticed Evangeline's incredulous look, and almost smiled. "I did not begin my ser vice convinced they could not be trusted. How many of us do?"
"Considering what the Chantry teaches us . . ."
He shrugged. "I entered the order because I believed I could make things better. I found allies among the magisters, and I was convinced they could serve as examples for the others. One I even considered a friend. Together we were going to change the world."
"And he betrayed you."
The Lord Seeker shook his head. "He became the Black Divine. The perfect position to make our dreams a reality, yet once there it became more about keeping his power than using it. Those who sought to replace him turned to forbidden arts, and he did the same to compete. I had no idea."
Evangeline was hesitant to speak. "You can't be blamed."
"I can. My investigations turned up less and less. The templars became stonewalled, unable to look into even the simplest matter, and I refused to accept it was because those mages— men and women I had helped rise— did not wish their own corruption revealed."
"But you found out eventually."
His laugh was a short and bitter bark. "Yes. I confronted my friend, and he told me I was naïve. He said I knew nothing of power. But I learned a great deal that day."
Evangeline shifted uncomfortably. She didn't like this insight into the Lord Seeker's past, and she had to wonder if it was simply because she preferred to think of him as unreasonable. The sad truth, she supposed, was that every templar had their reasons, and they were all good. At the same time, they all sounded like excuses. "That need not be what happens here," she said.
He turned from the doorway to stare at her intently. "We
give them leeway now, and they will demand more and more until that is exactly what will happen."
She shook her head. "We're not always right, my lord. If we push them too far, they'll turn into exactly what you make them out to be. There has to be another way."
The Lord Seeker sighed heavily, walking back to the dungeon entrance. "There is no other way," he said, "but I see it is pointless to speak more of it. Say what you will at the conclave, then . . . but once it is done you will not be serving in this tower any longer, no matter what the Divine says."
"And what about Cole?"
"If he exists, we will hunt him down." He made to leave, but hesitated. "It seems my first impression of you was incorrect. Knight- Commander Eron evidently chose subordinates with as poor judgment as his own. How unfortunate." With that, he walked out.
I am happy to disappoint you, she thought.
Three weeks.
Rhys had never considered his quarters in the tower small before. Certainly if one had to spend three weeks confined somewhere, it was better than a dungeon cell. Far better, in fact. That didn't stop time from dragging incredibly slowly. All he had to do in his chambers was either stew in his frustration or read— and there was only so much he could read of Brother Genitivi's dry dissertations on the New Exalted Marches before he went mad.
Not that he wanted to read. What he wanted to do was march out of his quarters and tell the entire tower exactly what had happened in Adamant, what Pharamond had done, and what the templars were going to brush under a rug if they could get away with it. He wanted to shout it from the rooftops, no matter how much trouble it got him into. He was already up to his eyeballs in trouble, and had been ever since this whole thing started.
Or perhaps that was just the frustration talking.
Mostly he worried. He was certain Evangeline was in trouble for trying to help, and she knew that was a possibility even when she made her offer. That she did so anyhow made her worthy of respect. If only there were more templars like her, the Circle wouldn't be in the mess it was.
That was wishful thinking, however. There weren't many templars like her. Most were so wrapped up in their authority they couldn't see past it. They were jailors, and the mages were prisoners to be either reviled or pitied. The Divine might be sympathetic to mages, but that didn't stop centuries of Chantry doctrine teaching people to blame magic for events that happened a thousand years ago.
Rhys was also worried about Cole. He hadn't come to visit the entire week. Not that Cole had ever ventured up to his quarters before, but if there were anyone who could sneak past the guards it would be him. Did something happen to him? Was he frightened by the audience with the Divine, or did he feel betrayed? Rhys had desperately looked for Cole when they were being led out of the Grand Cathedral, but seen nothing.
And now there was only silence. There was only one person who visited Rhys on a regular basis, and that in and of itself was a mixed blessing.
As if on cue, a quiet knock sounded on his door.
"I'm here, Wynne."
The door opened, and the old woman peeked inside. She wore a new robe, this one black just as the first enchanters wore. The fact she technically hadn't earned such a robe was irrelevant, considering the unique place Wynne held in the Circle. She mentioned to Rhys that she'd had the old robes burned; after traveling in the rain and sleeping in the mud for weeks, she didn't want to see them ever again.
Wynne spotted him and smiled. "I didn't think you'd be anywhere else. I simply didn't want to wake you." She came in carrying a tray of food: biscuits and cheese, plus a bowl of steaming soup. The aroma immediately awakened his appetite. The Lord Seeker wasn't trying to starve him, exactly, but it seemed like the templars brought meals only when they remembered to— which wasn't very often. If it weren't for Wynne's frequent visits, he'd likely be eating his fingers by now.
"Thank you." He took the tray and immediately began shoving the biscuits into his mouth. Perhaps a little greedily, but Wynne didn't appear to notice. She sat on the edge of his cot and watched him, folding her hands in her lap.
"You'll be happy to know the army has finally marched," she said. "It appears the Marquis is going to support the Empress after all."
"I didn't realize that was in question," he said between mouthfuls.
She shrugged. “There's apparently been talk of deposing the Empress, especially with all the rumors coming from the east. Some say she's dead, others say she's been captured. Still others say she's holed up with her army at Jader, and that Gaspard has cut off the western highway. I think that's more likely."
"Is the Circle going to be called on to fight?" He chuckled lightly. "I mean, I can just imagine how that would go over . . ."
"The Divine wishes to wait until after the conclave, which is a prudent move on her part. Leliana seems to think it'll be unlikely even then, not unless Gaspard marches on Val Royeaux."
"Leliana?"
"You saw her in the Grand Cathedral, next to the Divine. An old friend."
Ah, another "old friend" of Wynne's. Rhys was beginning to wonder just how many of those she had. "I suppose the first enchanters have started to arrive?" he asked.
"You suppose correctly. Many are already here. Briaus arrived from Hossberg last night, and Irving from Ferelden this morning. I understand the Grand Enchanter is in Val Royeaux as well, but if so she hasn't shown up at the tower yet." The last she said with a frown.
"I guess you'd rather she'd stayed in Cumberland?"
"Fiona was once a Grey Warden. Considering one does not normally leave the Wardens, this makes her something of a . . . an anomaly." She considered, frowning. "Of course, so am I, so I suppose it makes little difference. Still, it was her election to the position that caused the conclave to be disbanded in the first place."
"You make it sound like her fault."
"Who else's? Mine?" She shrugged. "Fiona campaigned diligently for in de pen dence from the Circle. Grand Enchanter Briaus had never allowed such a vote, correctly believing it would only antagonize the Chantry. With her election, everything changed."
Rhys stopped eating, and studied Wynne carefully. She was torn, even he could see that. With the conclave less than a week away, she had to be considering what she was going to say. He wondered that himself. "So," he began carefully, "all these visits and we haven't yet talked about what we're going to do at the conclave."
"Are we going to do something?"
"I thought we might." In the face of her amused expression, he scowled. "I mean, considering how you alienated the Divine, I figured you'd abandoned her whole 'fix the Circle' plan." When she laughed out loud, his scowl deepened. "Or not."
"Oh my dear boy." Her laughter subsided, and she looked at him apologetically. "Do forgive me. Of course you don't know— who do you think asked me to send those messages? The Divine had no more idea than I did what we would find in Adamant, but her instructions were clear: if I discovered Pharamond's research had born fruit, I was to contact the first enchanters immediately."
"So it's a game, then?"
"She came into power within a Chantry accustomed to a Divine too senile to rule. There are those who resent her fiercely, and will look for the slightest opportunity to circumvent her wishes. If she pursues a policy of reform, she must do so very carefully."
"Reform? You think the templars will allow that?"
Her smile was mysterious. "I believe it's our duty to try."
Hadn't she already tried? Everyone had tried, for centuries now. If the rebellion at Kirkwall proved anything, it was that the middle path allowed everyone to pretend an amicable solution was possible. Still, there was no point in arguing with Wynne about it. Her path was clearly set.
He cut off a large wedge of cheese and offered some to her. She shook her head politely. "Last time you were here," he said as he ate, "you said you were going to speak to Pharamond."
That saddened her. She idly pulled at the hem of her robe for several moments before responding. "H
e's . . . not doing well. Lord Seeker Lambert has scheduled the Rite of Tranquility for the night before the conclave, and the wait is killing him."
"What? Why are they waiting?"
"Why do you think? Everyone in the tower already knows what happened to him. Lambert wishes to leave it until the last minute so no one has a chance to react."
"Ah."
They were quiet then. Rhys finished his meal and Wynne watched him. Other than the wind howling outside of his tiny window, there wasn't a single sound. Not more than a week ago he'd been arguing with his mother, accusing her of using him to further her ends . . . and now there was this odd familiarity with her visiting and bringing him food. He didn't know what to make of it.
Rhys put aside his tray, finishing the last biscuit, and stared at her. She stared back at him, the moment intensely awkward. "You don't need to keep coming here," he finally said. "I already told you I would keep your secret."
She nodded, looking off into the distance. She seemed pained, he thought. And tired. So very tired. "I said that when I first came to see you," she began. "I wanted to see what my son had become without any guidance from me. That is true, but . . . I thought I was dying. The war in Ferelden was over, and I believed the spirit could not keep me alive for long. I had to see you, at least once."
"Then why didn't you come back?"
She looked at him, her eyes moist. Reaching out, she cupped his cheek; it was a gentle, affectionate gesture. "Because you were fine. You were lovely. What could I do except cause you damage?"
"Damage? But . . ."
"What use would you have for an old woman, Rhys? You lived your entire life without me, and here I was an abomination and a crusader to save the Circle? You joined the Libertarians, and I was content to let you find your own path."
"So that's it?" He shook his head, moving her hand away from his face. "You thought you were dying, and when you didn't the only reason you came back was because you thought you could use me?"
Wynne shook her head, horrified. "No, you don't understand. Rhys, I . . ."
There was a knock at the door.