Liam Trevelyan, chief of security, found the Great Man sitting alone in his darkened office, half a drained bottle of liquor on the desk. The boss was silhouetted against city lights. The only other illumination was from a green-shaded lamp on the big glass-topped desk across the room, so that the Great Man was mostly in shadow, sitting with his arms crossed, dressed in the eerie glow of his red armour.
It was late at night, past the peak of the moon, and Liam, a tired and middle-aged man in a rain-dampened suit and a shaved head, badly wanted to go home, kick off his shoes, and curl up next to his husband. But the Great Man often worked late, and he'd been waiting for these two reports. One made him revolt in horror, every word dragging terror in his bones. It was a report that made him want a stiff drink, and fast. But he knew the Great Man wouldn't offer him one.
"The Great Man." was how Liam thought of his boss—one of the most deceptively powerful men in the whole of the world. The term was both sarcastic and serious, and Liam kept it to himself—the Great Man was vain and quick to sense the slightest disrespect. Yet sometimes it seemed the tycoon was casting about for a friend he could take to heart. Liam was not that man. People rarely liked him much. Something about old soldiers, people always running lest they catch up to themselves.
"Well?" the Great Man asked, barely looking up as Liam sat opposite him. "Do you have them?"
"I have them both, sir." He answered curtly, pulling the papers from his jacket.
"Let's have the report on the Conclave first, get it out of the way. The other
one…" He shook his head. "Well, on with it."
Liam swallowed a moment, nodding. The Great Man wasn't the sort you kept waiting, even when you figured what it would mean. "Divine Justinia's conclave is scheduled a week and a half from now. From our reports, Lord Seeker Lucius Corin and Grand Enchanter Fiona have both agreed to attend, but neither of them seem to currently be on their way. Word among the Templars is that the Lord Seeker has regretted agreeing to come, and the Mages believe that it's a trap of some sort, and Fiona will only send emissaries in her place." Dire news. Whatever the intent was, if those two didn't trust that it would work, it wouldn't.
The Great Man grimaced. His shoulders, angularly padded in his armour, slumped ever so slightly. "Then the conclave's already failed, hasn't it?" Liam nodded, knowing what it meant. The Conclave was the only hope of the Mage-Templar war ending without any further bloodshed. But now it had already failed without any sort of trust. He shook his head and looked up again. "And the other report?"
Liam grimaced, not wanting to think of what the report said. But he had to, much as it hurt. "After… detailed… research, we found that Knight-Commander Meredith's statue form is… growing. The Red Lyrium is… well, it's… alive."
The Great Man nodded, rubbing his tired eyes. He obviously hadn't been shocked by the news, though the rumours about Meredith growing larger even when frozen in the middle of the Gallows had persisted for months.
"According to the stories from that day the Champion defeated her," Liam went on. "Some in the immediate area were … atomized. Blown to bits. Dozens of Templars, who were resistant to the Lyrium she had been taking, were killed instantly, and many more of them have gotten incredibly sick, almost all of them dead now. A great many more dying from flash burns and trauma, people who weren't even in the Gallows." He glanced up, and met The Great Man's serious gaze. "It's spreading, it'll probably kill more than the entire battle did."
The Great Man sighed, and lay back in his chair, rubbing his eyes. Uncomfortable silence took the air for a long time before he spoke again. "I despise what civilization is becoming, Liam. First the Chantry locked and tortured men, for being born wrong. Then they turned on the people they used to jail those mages, left to rot after they burned away out minds. And now this, led to a war and all they do is sit back and watch. Once I would have said that the riding ourselves of the Chantry was the answer, but now it has seeped into the rest of the world. Little men on the backs of great ones. It will only stop when real men stand up and say 'no more'!"
Liam nodded, shivering. At times the Great Man could convey the power of his inner conviction, radiating power and strength. There was an undeniable power around him, and he remembered in a moment why he followed him.
After a moment the Great Man looked curiously at Liam, as if wondering how much he could be trusted. At last his employer said, "My mind is made up, Liam. We're going forward."
Liam nodded again, knowing, at least in part, as to what he meant. "Yes sir." He said, deciding not to ask for any further explanation. What little he knew was more than enough. "Anything more, sir?
I mean—tonight? Suledin asked me and Cantis to go hunting with her tomorrow."
"Yes, yes go and get some rest. But there'll be no rest for me tonight. I must plan…"
So saying, Raleigh Samson motioned, and Liam left. Then he lay his head on his desk, scared to death.