Asunder (35 page)

            "They’re not just invisible, they're immune . . ."

            "Not immune!" The elf became excited, in the manner of a scholar speaking on his favorite subject. "Undesirable! A demon looks to possess a man because it wishes to experience life. To them a Tranquil is no better than an inanimate object. Worse, since a Tranquil will resist. If it is going to cross that bridge to possess a Tranquil, it needs to be
lured
. . ."

            Wynne furrowed her brows in confusion. "So you sought to become possessed on purpose? Pharamond, what ever did you hope to gain?"

            He sighed. "I didn't mean to be possessed. I only needed the bridge to be crossed, to see if it could be done. I came to a place where the Veil was thin, where a spirit could be found and communicated with."

            Pharamond knelt down by one of the charred bodies, his expression full of grief. He held out a hand as if to touch it, but could not. He pulled his hand back quickly, clamping his eyes shut to fight against renewed tears. "These people were so welcoming. Like a family. They believed I was scarred, and wanted me to be healed. They were willing to accept the risk, and logically I believed . . ." He choked up.

            Evangeline shook her head angrily. "You killed them all for nothing. What ever knowledge you've gained is useless."

            He shook his head. "It's not, actually."

            Now Adrian stepped forward, her expression curious. "What do you mean it's not?"

            "I believed a demon needed to
try
to possess me, that the act of trying would itself restore my connection to the Fade." He opened his eyes and stared intently at Adrian. "But that wasn't it at all. I only needed the demon to reach across that gap and touch my mind, nothing more. The instant it happened, I was cured. The possession came . . . later."

            "But any spirit could do that," Rhys pointed out. When Evangeline looked at him incredulously, he repeated it: "Any spirit could do it, provided they were strong enough. It doesn't have to be a demon."

            Pharamond nodded. "It would take a spirit medium to coax one."

            "
I'm
a spirit medium."

            The room was quiet as that sank in. Adrian nodded in approval, but Evangeline refused to be budged. "You must be mad," she scoffed. "None of you can honestly think this should be attempted again. Look around you!"

            "And instead they should have died for nothing?" Adrian demanded. "This man is no longer Tranquil. If his work can be used without repeating what happened here, it's worth pursuing!"

            "Reversing Tranquility is not in anyone's best interest." Before Adrian could retort, Evangeline gestured to Pharamond. "Look at him! Is his condition so much better? What if he never improves?"

            "What if he does?"

            "And what if the entire reason he was made Tranquil in the first place is still valid? We do not use the Rite without cause. This man could now be a danger, to himself as well as others— such as the people of this very keep."

            Pharamond nodded glumly. "It's true."

            "Don't listen to her!" Adrian ordered him. When she saw Evangeline raising her sword, she leapt between the templar and Pharamond. "I won't let you do this! Tranquility isn't an answer— Pharamond already knows more about it than anyone's cared to find out. He should be allowed to find another solution!"

            Evangeline's expression was grim. "There is blood on this knowledge, as there would be on anything that comes of it. You would give false hope to those who deserve better." She made to move around Adrian, her blade held ready, but Adrian intercepted her.

            "No!" she cried. She looked helplessly at Rhys. "This is what the Libertarians have always talked about! The templars have no right to do this! Don't you see? This is our chance to undo what the Circle has done to us for centuries!"

            Of course that's what it would be about, to her. Rhys wasn't so certain himself. Even if he could repeat Pharamond's ritual safely, should he? Evangeline wasn't wrong. "Adrian, I . . ."

            She abandoned him and spun around to face Wynne. "This is your friend, the one you were determined to save! You can't possibly let him be condemned for this!"

            Wynne said nothing at first, merely looking at Adrian inscrutably. Rhys couldn't believe Wynne was being so calm about this. "I'll admit," she finally said, "it brings me no plea sure to see Pharamond tormented, and I dislike the notion he might be punished out of hand. But he
did
invite the demon in. This was no accident."

            "And what difference does it make?" Adrian demanded. "You
of all people
should know that!"

            Wynne stood up, the grip on her staff tight as she glared at Adrian. "Yes, I believe I
of all people
know exactly the difference."

            "Hypocrite!"

            Rhys was confused. There was a tension between the two that went beyond Adrian's usual hostility. He would have intervened had Evangeline not interrupted.

            "We are done speaking of this," she said curtly. She faced Pharamond, holding up her sword. "You have employed forbidden magic and exacted a terrible price from innocents. This crime cannot be overlooked. In the name of the Order of Templars I hereby—"

            Adrian screamed in outrage, firing a magical blast from her staff . It struck Evangeline directly in the breastplate, sending her flying back. The templar fell to the floor amid several bodies, letting out a grunt of surprise. The sword did not leave her hand.

            "Adrian!" Rhys cried. "What are you doing?"

            "What we should have done when we arrived!"

            He turned to Wynne in alarm, but she remained where she was, frowning as she watched the scene unfold. She made no indication she would intervene. Shale moved closer to protect her.

            Evangeline got back up, wiping at the scorch mark left on her armor. Her expression was fearsome to behold; she was clearly done with playing nice. "That was a mistake," she growled. As she assumed a combat stance, white power coursed through her blade— the power of a templar ready to battle a mage. Adrian summoned mana, a ball of red flame already coalescing about her hand.

            "Wait!"

            Rhys realized the shout was his. Once again, his mouth had acted with a mind of its own.
Stupid mouth,
he chided himself.
Why must you always do the talking?

            Evangeline hesitated, and even Adrian looked in his direction. The tension in the room was thick, and it seemed like all it would take was a spark and there would be no turning back. Rhys licked his lips, suddenly aware just how dry they were. His heart was beating rapidly.

            "There is another option," he said slowly. When nobody responded, he moved to stand between the two of them. Both eyed him carefully. Adrian in particular seemed filled with mute fury. Her eyes said Yo
u should be helping me,
but he knew he couldn't do that, no matter how much she might want him to.

            "What other option?" Evangeline asked, her tone skeptical.

            "The Chantry asked Pharamond to do his research. Perhaps they didn't know what he intended to do, but isn't it possible they might consider his findings important, even so?" He paused, but Evangeline didn't respond. Her eyes remained fixed on Adrian, their standoff unabated. "Why not bring him to the Chantry and let them decide? Why must you pass sentence here?"

            "I have my orders," she stated.

            Wynne stepped beside him, her interest suddenly kindled. "Your orders come from the Lord Seeker, but where do his come from? My mission was approved by the Divine herself. If anyone would have an interest in this, it would be she."

            Adrian bristled at the talk, the magical fire curling its way up her arms. She wanted to fight, Rhys could see that. Evangeline, however, appeared to consider the idea. Her sword still crackled with energy, but instead of staring at Adrian, she was looking thoughtfully at Pharamond.

            "Do you really want to be the one who decides this?" Rhys asked.

            Slowly she lowered her blade, and its power vanished. "No," she said. "I have a duty to the Templar Order . . . but I have one to the Chantry, as well. In the end their decision may be the same, but I cannot deny them the opportunity to make it."

            Adrian almost seemed disappointed. She released the magical flame and backed off. A single glance at Rhys told him just what she thought of his interference.

            "Then it's solved," Wynne said. "We return to Val Royeaux, and I'll send word ahead for the Divine to expect our arrival. Let her solve this business."

            "And what's to become of Pharamond, then?" Adrian demanded. "What if the Chantry doesn't like what it hears?"

            "We shall see."

            "That was your answer before."

            "And it remains true."

            Evangeline nodded and sheathed her blade, although the room seemed no less tense for her agreement. She and Adrian exchanged a dire look that said there would eventually be a reckoning between the two. Rhys didn't understand why Adrian kept pushing it— if Evangeline had wished to be unreasonable, she could have been. Instead she chose to relinquish her decision to a higher authority. Surely that had to count for something?

            Wynne helped Pharamond to his feet. The elf seemed confused, uncertain if the matter was now truly decided. Would he be leaving? Was he being spared? Rhys could understand his hesitance. Like himself, Pharamond's fate was likely only delayed. In the meantime, however, bloodshed was averted.

            Pharamond gazed sadly at the corpses surrounding him, his eyes hollow. Once they were gone from this place, it would be as dead as the land surrounding it. Would anyone ever come to take the place of those who had lived here, knowing what had happened to them? It seemed unlikely; the keep would become a tomb.

            A fitting monument, perhaps, to the search for forbidden knowledge.

            Cole hid within the shadows of the upper keep's entry chamber. It was nighttime outside. He could see the moon in the clear sky through the few windows. That meant the place was blessedly dark, which was just as well. He didn't want to look at it. He didn't want to be reminded of what had happened here. Far worse was the stillness that had now settled over everything, a quiet so total it was overwhelming.

            Not long ago, it hadn't been nearly as quiet. He'd awoken to the sound of angry shouting. Slowly he'd made his way through the pitch black halls until he found the source: Rhys and the others arguing in a chamber full of death and smoke, the light from their staves offering a hint of the battle which had occurred there— bodies twisted and burned, scattered among the ashes in a way not unlike the soldiers he remembered from the city square.

            They weren't arguing about the bodies, however. This had something to do with a strange elven man in the tattered robes, someone Cole had never seen before. Knight- Captain wanted to kill him. Red Hair refused to let her. Nobody seemed to care what the elven man wanted. Even from a distance, Cole could see the despair in his eyes. He wanted death. Had it come for him, he would have embraced it gladly and let it wash him away into that dark and peaceful oblivion.

            But he wasn't killed. Cole hovered on the edge of the room, keeping one hand on his dagger in case Rhys needed him, and watched the tension build . . . and then eventually come to an end. Nobody seemed happy with the result, even though Cole wasn't certain what that was. Least happy of all was the elven man.

            Cole felt sorry for him, kneeling there so hopeless and alone.

            Now he didn't know what he should do next. The memories of the dream world plagued him. Many of the details were already slipping away, like dreams sometimes did, but the essence remained. Memories had bubbled up like some rotten buried thing, and its stink lingered in his nostrils.

            There was a vague recollection of sitting on top of his father's chest. Blood gurgled out of the man's mouth. Cole held the dagger up in front of his eyes, let him look at it. He wanted the man to know that it was Cole who was ending his life, stopping him from hurting anyone else. He remembered his father trying to speak, and imagined the man would have pleaded for his life, but nothing came out but more blood.

            The satisfaction of sinking the dagger into his father's heart was imprinted on his soul. His mother's dagger. The only piece of the wilder folk she'd kept, and when his father tried to sell it she'd buried it in the field. Cole had watched, and he now remembered digging the dagger up, clawing at the earth with bare fingers as tears stung his eyes.