Asunder (31 page)

            Evangeline shook her head. "It doesn't matter. You're not running off on your own, Rhys— not again. I don't approve of this mission any more than you do, but my duty is still clear."

            "And what about your duty to Cole?" She looked at him, confused, and he had to control the rage in his voice. "I know perfectly well what he's done. I also know that he's been lost and frightened in the tower ever since the templars brought him there. They had a duty to protect him, to protect everyone from what his magic could do, and he slipped through their fingers." He stabbed at Evangeline's breastplate with an angry finger. "And now you can see him. You didn't believe me before, but here he is. Instead of trying to help him as you ought to do, you'd rather judge him. And me."

            Evangeline frowned, but did not respond. Adrian, however, stepped right up to him. She barely came to his chin, but glared up at him with a ferocity that was daunting. "You're being an idiot, Rhys," she snapped. "I know you mean well, but you need to start thinking of yourself. You're staying with us, and we're going to find Pharamond and then get out of the Fade."

            He hesitated. What hope could he have finding Cole on his own? Even if the dragon didn't reappear, who knew what other creatures could manifest themselves? "I could use your help, Adri."

            But he needn't even have asked. What hope he had died when she coldly shook her head. "No," she said. "I'm not going to do that."

            "I'll go with him."

            Rhys was startled, and had to look twice to realize that it was Evangeline who said it. The templar scowled grimly but seemed determined. He didn't even have a chance to express his shock, as Adrian beat him to it.

            "You must be joking," she scoff ed.

            "But he's right," Evangeline said grudgingly. "If this Cole was indeed a mage brought to the White Spire . . . then we are responsible for him, and his actions, at least in part." She glanced at Rhys, her expression softening to embarrassment. "What ever he is, a man who risks himself for another cannot be beyond redemption. Like Pharamond, we can worry about his guilt once we are safe."

            Rhys felt relieved. He smiled gratefully at her, but didn't know what to say.

            Wynne frowned. For a long moment she looked at him— was she disappointed? Angry? He couldn't tell. "Is this truly what you wish to do?" she asked.

            "You could come with me. We could find Cole first, and then look for Pharamond together."

            Her smile was thin. "You have your friend to seek, and I have mine." With that, she looked up at Shale— who stared disinterestedly off into the distance. "I hope
you'll
be coming with me, at least?"

            "Oh? Is it done chattering? I thought we were waiting for the dragon to return."

            Wynne smirked. "Isn't this the point where you tell me you aren't afraid of the Archdemon, because it could swallow you whole and you'd still pass through its bowels unharmed?"

            The golem almost blanched. "That would not be my first choice."

            "Well, good. Then we can be off!"

            As Wynne and the golem marched off, Adrian began to follow— and then stopped. She glanced at Rhys dubiously. "Just watch her," she warned. It took him a moment to realize she was referring to Evangeline. "You find this mage, or what ever he is— remember she's still a templar. She's not here to protect us." She left without waiting for a response.

            Rhys and Evangeline were left alone. He looked sideways at her and cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Thank you."

            She didn't smile. "Don't thank me yet."

            Chapter 12

           
Evangeline stared at the world around them, her skin crawling
with unease. Not moments before, she and Rhys had been making their way through the ruins of the city— and then it abruptly changed. Now they were standing in what appeared to be a desolate farmer's field. The land had recently been burned, as far as the eye could see, and now smoldered. The acrid smoke hung in the air, stinging the eyes.

            Off in the distance a hovel stood. Not the proud home of a freeholder, but the sort of mean shack one expected to see in the provinces. Desperate people lived there, barely subsisting off the overworked soil, and the house reflected it: greying planks, peeling paint, and a sense of loneliness that carried in the wind.

            "Are you sure this is it?" she asked Rhys.

            He nodded, his expression grim. A small orb of light floated next to his head; a spirit he'd conjured, which he said would lead them to Cole. She was leery of any spirit, even ones so small, and worried it might lead them astray. According to Rhys, such spirits barely had a will of their own, and knew the Fade far better than any mortal being could ever hope to. She hoped he was right.

            Now that they were out of the city, or the nightmare— whatever it had been— the tainted sky had been replaced with an emptiness that yawned overhead. Instead of stars and clouds there were floating islands and strange, shimmering bands of light. They fluctuated from green to gold, sometimes sharpening and at other times spreading like a sick miasma to fill the void.

            Off in the far distance, barely visible through the haze, there was an island that gave the impression of being much larger, and on it spread a city shrouded in darkness. The Black City, once the seat of the Maker and now a testament to mankind's folly. She had read about it in books, and been told it was the only constant feature in the Fade, visible from any point . . . but she'd never thought to see it personally.

            She shuddered. How oddly out of focus everything seemed. The mages claimed that men came to the Fade on a nightly basis, to dream, and merely did not remember their journey. To her, it felt as if the living did not belong in this place.

            They walked slowly through the field, clouds of ash rising with each step. There was no indication anyone was in the hovel. The front door stood open, banging rhythmically in the wind. A line of laundry was hung, the sheets stained black from the smoke and half of them having fallen to the ground. The entire place stank of neglect.

            "What is this place?" she said.

            "I don't know. Cole's home, perhaps."

            "What do you know about him?"

            "Nothing. He said he didn't remember where he came from." He looked around. "I guess there's a part of him that does. This is a memory he's fled to."

            Evangeline didn't need to ask if it was a good memory or not. There didn't seem to be anything good about this place. They stopped just outside the door, looking for any evidence of movement within. There was nothing but darkness. A mangy kitten crawled out from under the steps, one of its ears badly singed, and it mewed pitifully at them.

            She knelt down and held out a hand to the creature. It sniffed hesitantly and then, realizing there was no food to be had, redoubled its desperate cries. Even though part of her knew it was only part of the dream's landscape, she couldn't help but feel sorry for it. There was nothing to offer, however.

            "It's easy," Rhys said. He knelt beside her, and in his hands was a small slice of raw meat. The kitten leapt on it ecstatically, pulling the meat off his hand with gusto and gnawing away at it. "Remember, you only have your sword because you think you do."

            "So you can change anything here?"

            "Not anything, no."

            She shook her head, confused. "Is the Fade always like this?"

            "The spirits see the world in our minds, and they try to emulate it. They don't understand that what they're seeing isn't how it truly is. It's mixed up with memory and emotion— but they think it's real, and they find it fascinating. They’re drawn to it. But not all dreams are created by spirits."

            Evangeline nodded as if she understood, although she didn't really. All of this was the province of mages, and she would have to trust him. And she did, in a way. As foolish as Rhys was, she truly believed he had good intentions.

            He cleared his throat awkwardly. "Look, about what the demon said . . ."

            "This isn't the place to discuss it."

            "I just don't want you to think . . ."

            "Let's find your friend." She stood up, watching the kitten drag its prize back under the stairs. Rhys only nodded glumly. What else was there to tell him? The demon's words were obviously meant to drive a wedge between him and Adrian . . . and had done so, as near as she could tell. The girl was far too willing to believe the worst of everyone.

            As for whether or not there was any truth behind what it said . . . well, that didn't matter, did it? Rhys was a mage, and she a templar. Despite the man's charms, she doubted he looked at her in such a fashion, and nor should he.

            They walked up the creaking steps and through the open door. It was far darker inside than was natural. None of the light from outside seemed to penetrate more than inches past the doorway. There was also a shocking chill to the air, their breath appearing in fine plumes of mist.

            Evangeline drew her sword, exchanging a wary glance with Rhys. He held out his staff , and the crystal at its top began to glow. It showed a room almost barren of furniture. A few chairs, one of them broken. Several filthy blankets. Wine bottles lay scattered about, and some of them had been smashed against the wall. All of it was covered in a fine layer of frost.

            "What happened here?" she whispered, not daring to speak too loudly.

            Rhys clearly knew no better than she. What ever it was, the memory of it clung to the room. It felt like terror. She had seen it before in mages brought to the tower, people so terrified of their magical gift they prostrated themselves and begged to be put to the sword. The raw edge of their fear touched her then as it did now.

            A small kitchen lay off to one side, filled with small cupboards and shattered dishes. A large pool of frozen blood lay on the floor, smeared in such a way as to suggest a body had been there until only recently.

            The small spirit floating around Rhys agitated, and he made soothing noises at it.

            "What's wrong?" she asked him.

            "I'm not sure. It's . . . sensing something unusual."

            “There's not much about this I would call usual."

            But he seemed distracted. Perhaps he was communicating with the tiny spirit; she couldn't tell. It whirled about, dimming and then pulsating in distressed sequences. She gripped her sword nervously. Unless it was her imagination, the shack had become much colder.

            Then she heard something, a sound coming from one of the cupboards. A whimper. She turned around, trying to detect where it was coming from . . . but just then, a shout echoed throughout the house.

           
"COLE!"

            Rhys jumped, and the spirit quivered in terror and whisked off out of sight. Evangeline raised her sword, aware that the cold had intensified even further. Rhys was shivering, and frost was forming on her armor. "Where is that coming from?" she asked.

            "The cellar, I think."

           
"Cole, you little bastard! You think you can hide from me forever?"

            Heavy footsteps came up the stairs. Evangeline stepped out of the kitchen, watching a small door in the back of the shack rattle in its frame. "What do we do?" she demanded nervously.

            "Fight it. It's a demon, keeping Cole trapped here."

            The door flung open. Beyond it stood a barrel of a man, grizzled and bald and wearing a small shirt stained red with fresh blood. The imprint of a hand could clearly be seen upon it. The man's face was gaunt and pale, flesh sagging from his skull like that of a corpse just beginning to rot.
"Come out and die like a man!"
he screamed, spittle flinging from his lips. "You
know what the punish ment is!"

            She carefully advanced on the man. Some demons had magic, and if she could disrupt it she could keep the creature from gaining an advantage. "Leave," she warned. "We've come for Cole, and nothing else."

            The man looked her up and down. "Y
ou're worthless,"
he sneered.
"A mistake I should have drowned long ago. You've evil in you, boy, passed down by your mother. You' ll pay the price just as she did."

            Evangeline lunged at him with her sword, channeling as much of her power through the blade as she dared . . . and then froze in mid- swing. The sword stopped not inches from the demon's face. She couldn't move a single muscle.

            He leaned close, the stench of carrion rank on his breath.
"What did I tell you?"