Asunder (22 page)

            Once, when they were just to the west of the city of Montsimmard, the templar saw a group of men standing on a sharp bluff overlooking the road. Rough- looking men in leathers, perhaps even bandits. There was no way around, and too many hiding places amidst the rocks, so Evangeline hesitated to bring them through. The men, meanwhile, seemed satisfied to wait.

            Fortune smiled on them when Imperial soldiers appeared. Adrian was the first one to spot the purple banners, and even Rhys felt cheered when well over a hundred men in armor marched toward them. They were led by a handful of mounted chevaliers, warriors in ornate silver armor with feathery plumes of gold and green fluttering from atop their helms. Even their mounts were adorned with fancy barding, some of which looked to be more for show than for actual protection. Regardless, the force appeared daunting. Whether they were present to safeguard the roads or not, the bandits atop the bluff quickly vanished.

            Which was fortunate, as the Imperial soldiers neither slowed nor even looked their way. Rhys thought they looked grim- faced, as if they were marching off to war . . . but what war, he wondered? No answers were forthcoming. Evangeline guided the group off the road lest they get trampled, and as soon as the soldiers passed she led them swiftly past the bluff before the bandits got any clever ideas about returning.

            For his part, Rhys was the odd man out now. No one wished to talk to him, and he wondered if he should regret telling them about Cole. Every now and again his eyes would wander to the road behind them, looking to see if there was any evidence of the young man. There was nothing. Why Cole would bother hiding himself when only Rhys could see him, he didn't really know.

            Eventually, Evangeline noticed where he was looking.

            "Your invisible friend is behind us, I assume?" It was the first time she'd said a word in two days, her tone laced with thinly veiled incredulity.

            "I don't know. I don't see him."

            "You don't find that odd?"

            "He might not be following us anymore."

            She stared at him a moment longer, her look speculative. Then she shook her head and turned away.

            "You're trying to decide if I'm insane?" he asked.

            "No," she said. "I'm trying to decide if I should do something. My duty compels me to act should I see a mage succumbing to corruption."

            "And?"

            She didn't respond. He wasn't certain if he should take that as a good sign or not. Considering he still had his head, he chose to take an optimistic view— but he still worried about Cole. Not knowing if the young man was still following was unnerving, as was the thought that he might come upon them when they least expected it. Such as at night. The thought made him shiver.

            The land slowly grew drier as they moved into the Western Approach. How the area got its name, Rhys really couldn't imagine. There wasn't anything farther west to approach other than steppes crawling with monsters and forests so deep and dark that explorers never returned from them. The badlands wasn't a place that someone went
to.
At best, it was someplace you came
from
. Fled, more likely.

            According to the texts Rhys had read, this area was the site of one of the great battles of the Second Blight. Hundreds and hundreds of years ago, the darkspawn had swarmed out of a great chasm and corrupted the land so severely it never quite recovered. The blood of too many men fell upon the sands here, trying to force those creatures back before they spilled across the entire world. For those men and women it must have felt like the skies had opened up and rained black death down upon them all.

            The Approach had a strange sort of beauty to it even so. It was a desert, but not a warm desert with glowing yellow sand. It was a cold desert, mottled purple like an unhealed bruise. Rocky pillars jutted out of the sand like brittle, twisted bones; there was a sense that the howling winds had long covered everything else. Even so, it didn't seem forbidding and horrible . . . just stark, and perhaps even a little sad. It was as if the world mourned a mortal injury inflicted long ago.

            “There," Wynne said. She pointed to a shape off in the distance, a tall tower of iron barely visible through the blowing sand. "That's what passes for a path in these lands. As we reach each one, we should be able to see the next."

            "And if we don't?" Evangeline asked dubiously.

            "Then we wait until the wind dies down. You don't want to wander too far out into the sands. Not all of it is stable, and precious little is safe."

            "Of that I have no doubt."

            Adrian guarded her eyes against the wind, scowling. "Why would anyone even live in this Maker- forsaken place?"

            "The fortress Adamant lies at the lip of the chasm," Wynne explained. "Once it belonged to the Grey Wardens, for they wished to ensure the darkspawn did not rise from its depths as they had during the Second Blight. Eventually the Wardens abandoned it, but some residents have lingered. Life can exist, even in lands such as this."

            "And your friend?" Rhys asked her.

            She frowned, refusing to look directly at him. "My friend's name is Pharamond. He lived . . . lives . . . at Adamant because the Veil is so very thin. It has helped with his experiments."

            Now it was Evangeline's turn to be curious. "Experiments?"

            "Pharamond is a Tranquil. He is engaged in research at the behest of the Chantry, I believe. Without their permission, I doubt a Tranquil would possess the curiosity to engage in such a thing."

            "At the behest of the Chantry?"

            "So I understand."

            "Was he researching the Rite of Tranquility?" Rhys asked.

            Wynne put up her hands. "I was never privy to the details. I only found out what happened to Pharamond when I visited the fortress a month ago. I was seeking aid for a friend, and instead I found another in even greater distress."

            "You saw him? As an abomination, I mean?"

            "I saw the fortress filled with demons, and sensed what had become of Pharamond. I did not encounter him while I was there. If I had, there would have been little choice but to kill him."

            "So instead you risk us all."

            Wynne glared at him. "I would like to think, my dear, that I might do the same for you one day . . . or you for any other mage you found in a similar condition."

            They proceeded into the badlands. According to Wynne, it wasn't a long trip to reach Adamant, though it could be lengthened if the winds became poor. To Rhys, trudging through the sand felt like it would take forever. He kept his head down, shielding his eyes, and tried not to let the slow pace of the horses get to him. If it weren't for the vague shape of the tower slowly becoming clearer before them, he'd swear they were riding around in circles.

            At one point, Evangeline drew her sword. She pointed with it to a tall ridge that cut sharply across their path not far away, its rocky surface black as pitch and polished almost to a shine by the blowing sand. Rhys peered closely, but he couldn't see more than blurry figures moving about on top. They were too far away, and moments later they vanished out of sight entirely.

            "Darkspawn," Wynne said.

            Evangeline visibly shuddered. "Will they attack?"

            "Not until it grows dark."

            That sped them up, and they reached the first tower while there was still light in the sky. It was at least a hundred feet high, a monstrosity of rusted iron that had clearly been patched numerous times and yet still looked ready to fall over. Someone could clamber up the side fairly easily to reach the tiny bird's nest, although Rhys could only imagine what the winds would be like up there. The Orlesian flag fluttered up top— or at least he assumed that's what it was, as it was too tattered and faded to be identifiable.

            Evangeline pushed them forward, claiming she wanted to reach the second tower before nightfall. No doubt she had the darkspawn in mind, and none of the others complained. The way the horses occasionally fidgeted and nickered, as if they sensed things out in the sands, made them all nervous.

            Then the wind stopped all at once. It was almost as if someone had turned it off. Rhys had been huddled on his saddle, leaning into the wind with his head down, and just about fell off his horse. He looked up in surprise. "What happened?"

            "The air grows still at night," Wynne said.

            That was an understatement. There was still a faint breeze, and occasionally a gust would blow between the rocks, whipping up a dust devil that died as quickly as it began . . . but otherwise it was silent. The sun was going down now, setting the grey skies aflame with hues of amber and bronze.

            Then he saw it. Off in the distance, beyond the rocky pillars, it looked as if the land was cracked in two. A jagged chasm, easily a mile across, extended in either direction as far as the eye could see. They had probably been near it for hours, but couldn't see it through all the blowing sand.

            "What
is
that?" Adrian breathed behind him, her eyes as wide as his own.

            "The Abyssal Rift," Wynne said. "It gets much larger as we head west."

            "How deep is it?"

            "Nobody knows. Some say it extends down into the Deep Roads, perhaps even farther than that. Fortunately Adamant is on this side of it."

            "Come," Evangeline snapped, although she too stared toward the chasm in wonder. "We don't want to wait for those creatures to come out of hiding."

            The next tower was now easily visible, a thin sliver several miles away. With the light quickly fading, it wouldn't be for long. They raced toward it, leaving a dust cloud in their wake. Rhys almost worried someone's mount would trip, but by the time all light in the sky faded to black they reached the tower.

            Evangeline pulled up her horse, and paced around trying to control the steed as she scanned behind them for signs of pursuit. Rhys watched, as well. Nothing. A curtain of shadow had descended, and along with it a chill that crept through his robes. It was going to be a cold night.

            "We camp here," the templar said, although she seemed unconvinced.

            Adrian slid off the horse, wincing and rubbing her backside as she hit the ground. There was a fire pit next to the tower's base, surrounded by a wall of piled rocks almost two feet high. Even then, it was half- buried in sand. When she started picking at the blackened pieces of wood within the pit to see if any were still serviceable, Wynne waved her staff .

            "We'll want to avoid a fire."

            "But it's freezing!"

            "Then prepare your spells for combat. We can do battle by firelight."

            Adrian seemed less than thrilled by the notion, and tossed one of the charcoal logs back into the fire pit. She rolled her eyes at Rhys, and all he could do was smile and shrug. It seemed odd anyone would create a fire pit where it was dangerous, but perhaps most of the travelers who passed through the badlands did so in armed groups. While a group of skilled mages and a templar might be able to fight off darkspawn, he didn't relish the idea of finding out just how many of them were out there.

            The night grew colder by the hour. Rhys shivered at the bite on his skin, his breath plumes of white quickly sucked away by the dry air.

           
I should be back at the camp.

            But he wasn't. He stood on the lip of the Abyssal Rift, as Wynne called it. The chasm was much closer than it had seemed, only a brisk ten- minute walk through the sand until suddenly he was standing on bare rock and staring into blackness.

            He might have fallen in, had the sky not been alight with strange, shimmering ribbons of light. He'd never seen its like before— each one flowed like liquid into the next, then separated and multiplied or disappeared into nothing. It was a slow, majestic dance across the blank grey sky that transfixed him and offered the faintest illumination to the desert. Just enough to anoint the rocky pillars and the edges of the chasm with a silvery sheen.

            He heard not a single sound. Rhys held out his hands over the chasm that yawned beneath him and drank in the stillness. What lay down there? He couldn't see a thing within but he could
feel
its depth. He imagined taking a single step off the lip and plunging down into that sea of shadow. It seemed like he could fall forever, swallowed by the peaceful silence until he was lost to eternity.

            The thought was somehow both strangely attractive and terrifying
because
it was attractive. He was reminded all too clearly of Cole's words when the man spoke of drowning. Maybe it wasn't so hard to understand Cole's fear after all.