"'Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him,'" Galyan said. "The prophet Andraste said that as part of the Chant of Light. Who can tell me what it means?"
A small forest of hands shot up. He ignored them in favor of a more timidly raised finger near the back.
"Yes, Janelle?" he encouraged gently. The child was a recent initiate to the Circle, and the shyest pupil he had yet encountered. Her bruises had healed in the weeks since her "recruitment," but the abuse she had suffered between the discovery of her gift and her consignment to the White Spire still shadowed her every gesture. He was accustomed to students who would not meet his gaze - his position made him the natural enemy of the student populace - but the way she flinched at the sound of her name broke his heart. Perhaps her voluntary response to his question was a sign that the horror of her ordeal was starting to fade.
What she said next was incomprehensible. Only the words "wicked" and "curse" were intelligible. He sighed.
"It's true, Janelle," he explained, sitting cross-legged on the floor and beckoning the children closer. He rarely told the children they were wrong, exactly, but he sometimes had to twist things a bit before they were right. Outright correction was sometimes necessary, but a little word manipulation often revealed a glint of truth amid the misconception. These children had been through enough without adding public humiliation to the crimes done against them. "The mages of the Tevinter Imperium were wicked indeed. They used their magic to hurt weaker people and make them do what they wanted, and that's a sin against the Maker. It was their actions that made them evil, not their magic. The Maker wants us to use our gift to help other people, and to follow the rules of his Chantry. Now class, I want each of you to tell me one way magic can be used to help others."
Blank stares.
"Shall I go first?" he suggested. "Very well. If my neighbor's house caught fire, I could cast a cold spell to put it out."
The next half hour passed in good-natured chaos as each student put forth amusing - and alarming - ways in which magic could be used to "help" their fellows. The class was a little young for the exercise. Most were new to the Circle and knew next to nothing about their particular gifts, and many had been raised to fear magic and anyone who wielded it. That, in fact, was the reason he had chosen this lesson. They needed no one to tell them that magic was destructive. Most had been brought to the Circle because they had set something - usually a structure or another human being - on fire. They needed to learn that the powers they feared could be harnessed for good. Although he had to admit, finding ways in which people could benefit from some of their suggestions required considerable creativity.
Some of his colleagues did not approve of his methods. Jealousy may have played a part, initially. Not many mages enjoyed the notice of Divine Beatrice III, and even fewer received public accolades from her. His promotion to senior enchanter not five years after the Ten Year Gathering had not improved his popularity. Rivals snickered behind their hands when he passed and whispered that he waxed the templar knight-commander's staff nightly. Friends like Alte and, later, Elanie defended him, but most of those closest to him had been killed by blood mages during Avexis's abduction. His preoccupation with a Seeker he could no longer bear to name had isolated him to a shocking degree. Fortunately, the number of people willing to actively manufacture rumors was small, and the novelty-loving populace of the White Spire soon grew bored with hearing the same tired gossip. For his part, he tried to ignore the pettiness and carry on as before, even if he had less friends than he once did.
Professional anxiety did not help. The climate of the Circle was changing, but his superiors insisted that he teach blind obedience. Duty must be upheld, but the desire to do so should spring from moral responsibility, not fear of punishment. Meanwhile, he overheard his peers accusing him of preaching Chantry propaganda when they thought he was out of earshot. They may have been right. He attended services in the tower's chantry regularly and taught adherence to the Chant of Light, but he was finding it harder and harder to maintain a facade of piety. His loyalty to Andraste remained undiminished, but he could no longer excuse the abuses of the Chantry's mortal agents. He felt like a man under siege.
The Fifth Blight had reminded Thedas of the evil that magic had brought to the world. Some clerics seized the opportunity to drive the point home with sermons and missives about the avarice of mages, all the while tightening their already-firm control over the Circles. Templars had always been vigilant, but the crisis at Kinloch Hold in Ferelden inspired their leaders to authorize even the sternest containment measures. It was a directive some templars mistook for license.
Rumors of abuse had always circulated through the White Spire, but even the staunchest supporters of the Aequitarian fraternity could not explain away the bruises that appeared with increasing frequency on mages' faces. Galyan himself had once been struck for no reason he could determine. When he asked the First Enchanter about it, Edmonde had merely sighed and told him that the man had obviously been under a lot of pressure and must be forgiven. And disappearances were rising. Mages would vanish without explanation or comment. At first, no one thought twice about it. Every apprentice had to undergo their Harrowing, and they would be taken in the middle of the night with no advance notice. The next morning, they would be greeted as mages... or they would disappear. Some would appear later as emotionless Tranquil mages, but most who failed to return from their Harrowing were dead. In time, even their names were forgotten. Other times, mages would be transferred to another Circle, seldom to be heard from again. Many of his own former apprentices were now serving at other postings. His very first apprentice, Jules, had been sent as far as Starkhaven, but that was before the fire. Now, he had no idea if the man was alive or dead.
The people going missing now were different. Most were women past their Harrowing or girls not yet ready for it. Some were found dead in the dungeons below the tower, drained dry of blood and bearing a single laceration above their hearts. Galyan had been summoned to tend to one or two, but the dead were beyond his aid. The superstitious spoke of ghosts, but he knew that to be a lie. No spirit could return from the Fade. No, their killer was mortal, and the White Spire had no shortage of those who placed little value on the life of a mage. Not all who took up the Sword of Mercy were conscienceless beasts, but there were enough to make a few murders seem unremarkable to his jaded mind.
Other missing women eventually returned - many months later - but none would speak of their absence, if they spoke at all. Those who did make it back were changed women. They avoided former friends and woke the dormitories with their screams. The tower was afire with speculation about what had happened to them, but Galyan declined to participate. He feared that he already knew.
Templars were becoming less inhibited about their appetites. Circle mages were not required to be celibate, and the freedom to indulge in sexual liaisons was one of the few liberties they enjoyed. Many did so with gusto. They made no apologies about their promiscuity, nor did they necessarily shy away from taking templar lovers, if their affection or the incentive was strong enough. Sworn members of the Order vowed against fraternization, but they were only human. Love grew in the unlikeliest ground… and the practice of trading favors for favors was as old as humankind. Only lately, the templars were becoming more insistent. He had once been forced to excuse an older apprentice from a lesson for what was almost certainly an unnecessary interrogation. Her absence was short - only a few hours - but she would not speak to him upon her return. He reported the incident to the First Enchanter, but he was advised that unless the girl was willing to testify that she had been harmed, there was nothing the Circle could do. Nor could he blame her for her silence. No one would judge her, but that would not protect her from retaliation, should her witness damage her captor's reputation.
He hated to think that he lived in a culture of fear, where only the evil-doers were protected. He had spent the greater part of his life defending the Circle. He felt betrayed.
Fortunately, the pupils under his immediate care were still innocent of that horror, although many were recovering from other forms of trauma. Most needed time to adapt to their new home, and he did all he could to help them. The time he spent with them, nurturing their dreams and coaxing their self-confidence, renewed him as much as it soothed their fears. The shy smiles of his students were a balm for his soul, even as he worried for their future.
"Senior D'Marcall, the Knight-Commander will see you now," a harsh male voice interrupted the lesson.
"We have a quarter hour to go, ser," he said calmly. "Please tell the Knight-Commander that I will report immediately after class."
"Class dismissed," the templar barked. "No excuses."
Galyan sighed. Of all people, the templar should know the importance of consistency in education, but it would do him no good to point that out.
"Very well, Ser Templar," he said in his mildest tones, stifling the irritation that threatened to make him terse. His students would mistake his anxiety for displeasure with them. "In the meantime, class, you may go to courtyard early. Enchanter Elanie has a special lesson planned, so you may want to get front-row seats. No pushing, if you please!"
He watched his students scamper for the library exit then turned to face the templar again.
"We may as well get this over with," he said. The templar gestured silently toward the door.