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A Templar Unbound

Chapter Two
Summoning

A closed fist hammering at the door woke Cullen from his rest faster than a bucket of cold ice.

He awoke with a start, his dream fading from him in a matter of seconds, until all that remained was the memory of a deep darkness and a pair of amber eyes. It took him a while to realise the knocking was not his imagination. Running a hand down his face, he sat up, as one of his fellow templars, a large man with broad shoulders and dark skin, crossed the room to the door.

Cullen felt his shoulders tense. The voices at the door were low, and while he couldn't make them out, a cold atmosphere descended on the room like a sudden mist. Had something happened to the mages?

With a brief nod to whomever was on the other side, Ser Darin closed the door and turned to his Knight-brothers with an unreadable expression on his angular face.

The templar quarters were split more generously than the mage quarters, a fact Cullen was often grateful for, but that did mean it took longer for news to get to them. Ser Hague and Ser Kaylin, two men he held in utmost respect, stirred from their sleep just as Cullen had done. One bed, for Ser Gorim, lay empty: he was on night duty, and was likely in one of the lower levels of the tower.

Darin regarded the men in front of him, his expression hard. "We're to meet with the Knight-Commander immediately." He spoke with the authority, crossing the room back to his bed. "There is a blood mage in the tower."

Cullen's blood ran cold as the colour drained from his face. A blood mage? The Circle in Ferelden was well known for its strong mage-templar relationship, and there hadn't been any signs of blood magic for… well, certainly not while Cullen had been at the Circle, and he could barely remember the last time it had been mentioned in the history books. While admittedly he had only read of such magic in books, he steeled himself — at least if they were being summoned, the mage was, hopefully, under control.

He dressed quickly, ignoring the pressing questions Hague and Kaylin asked of Darin; the man unlikely knew much more than they, and Cullen's seniority meant that he couldn't risk being seen like a gossipping apprentice in the face of true danger.

His hand hesitated when it came to his helm. Usually, when the Knight-Commander met with them in the council room, they were to be without their helmets — but if there was blood magic at the tower, Cullen supposed he needed to be ready for anything. He slid the metal over his head, grateful for the protection he immediately felt from it; while a helm would do little in the face of defending him from magic, it gave him a separation from the world directly in front of him. It gave him time to think.

The clank of armour through the tower was loud as the templars made their way to the council room, many of them talking in low voices about what was actually happening. While meetings themselves were not unusual, to be called up in the middle of the night was very much outside the ordinary. With most of the templars helmed, it looked and felt like an army was descending on the tower; which, even for a blood mage, Cullen wondered whether it was a little extensive.

The Knight-Commander was waiting for them in the council room, a grim expression on his stony face. By his side, and looking a little haggard himself, was First Enchanter Irving. A number of Senior Enchanters were gathered around the periphery of the room, their years of magical training unable to hide the nervousness in their eyes.

One by one the templars filed in and took their seats on the narrow, hard benches that stretched towards the back of the room. The room was adorned with banners laced with various heraldries, and at the head, there was a lectern emblazoned with the sword of the templars encased in an open circle — a symbol of the templars and mages together.

Once the room was full, Greagoir nodded to a Senior Enchanter, who closed the door behind them, sealing it with a magic so that they could not be overheard. He turned back to the room now filled with shuffling men and women, and cleared his throat for attention.

"I apologise for bringing you up here in the middle of the night," he began, standing with a back as straight as iron and his hands clasped behind him. Cullen always admired the way he held himself, and this evening was no different. "No doubt you've heard what all this is about: there is the possibility that a mage in the tower has used blood magic."

Immediately the room burst alive with conspiratorial whispers.

"It's that young apprentice on the lower floor," someone said, in a voice they barely bothered to keep hushed. "He's been looking shifty for months."

"No, it's his friend, the girl — she's always had a Fade look about her."

"What of the mage who recently passed his Harrowing?" someone else said.

"Oh yes, good point, you know I always thought there was something about him…"

Cullen could feel a headache coming on, and he removed his helm in order to better catch the Knight-Commander's attention. If all this was about was a rumour, then they may as well return to their beds.

"Ser." He spoke clearly, over the rising talk around him, but Greagoir ignored him in favour of raising a hand to signal quiet from his templars.

When they didn't oblige, he gave a curt, "Knight-Templars — you are reminded of your duty in these meetings."

Silence fell on the room as though the Knight-Commander had enlisted the help of the mages to get his Order to be quiet, and Cullen had to hide a smirk.

"I did not call you up here so you could discuss a rumour like some wet-behind-the-ears school children," he admonished, his eyes dark. Many of the templars avoided his gaze as it roved over them, but Cullen met the Knight-Commander's eyes with ease. "For clarity, there has been no evidence of blood magic in this tower. However, a mage has recently come into our care who may be under the influence. At this point, it is difficult to tell, and we cannot make any assumptions either way. She's currently in the holding cells." He began to pace the room as questioning eyes searched each other for answers they didn't have.

"If there's no evidence," somebody asked, "why is she in the holding cells?"

The Knight-Commander paused while he considered the room. "We felt it best," he said eventually, "to err on the side of the caution. This mage is not a Ferelden mage, and the manner under which she has been delivered to us is not… normal."

Cullen's eyebrows raised in surprise. Kinloch Hold was one of two Circles in Ferelden, but it was easily the larger and more powerful. If a mage had been brought here from another region, that could only be because their own Circle was no longer suitable — assuming they had been part of a Circle to begin with. Curiosity flared to life within him, burning at his mind; but he knew better than to ask questions. At least, for the moment.

Usually, mages were brought to the Circle under the watchful eye of the templars sent out to find them. Either they were apostates, and a small order was sent to collect them, or they were runaways who needed to be tracked down. Cullen had had experience of both. He had never known a mage to simply turn up unannounced in the middle of the night.

"The templars who brought her have returned to the Free Marches," Greagoir was saying, as he continued his pacing. "There was an… incident at the Markham Circle where she resided, the details of which aren't yet clear. The First Enchanter and I, after some deliberation, have decided that she does not pose an immediate threat. However." Greagoir rounded on his group of recruits the way a wolf might on a pen full of lambs. "She could be dangerous, and for this reason, we must impose stricter sanctions on the mages here. For their protection, as much as anything else. A new rotor has been issued, and those assigned to the holding cells will have extra briefing after this meeting. The plan is to watch her for any signs of corruption or foul play. If she is found to be a blood mage, we will take it from there. If it is, indeed, just a rumour — then she will be admitted to the Circle as an apprentice and kept under our watchful eye."

A hundred questions brimmed to Cullen's mind, with such fervour that he had to bite down on his lip to prevent them from spilling out. What had happened at the Markham Circle that saw her transported to Ferelden in the middle of the night? Why not to one of the other Circles in the Free Marches? He wasn't familiar with the region, but he had read of it, and he was sure they had more than one.

It was at this point that Greagoir conceded the floor, and First Enchanter Irving stood up to approach the lectern.

Though he was a mage, Cullen had always harboured a great deal of respect for the First Enchanter. While he could, as far as Cullen was concerned, be a little too soft on the mages under his care, there was no doubt that he would do what was necessary if was ever called for. So he listened with rapt attention as the old man cleared his throat.

"Thank you, Knight-Commander," he said, offering a brief smile to the man who had no doubt caused him a great amount of grief over the years. "It should go without question that none of this is to be repeated to the mages of the Circle," he continued. "If you must speak of it, do so in your own quarters, away from the curious ears of those around you. That goes for the Enchanters as much as it does for the Templars," he added, his eyes scanning the outskirts of the room, where several mages stood patiently. "If all goes well, we should not need to meet like this again, and she will be placed within one of the four schools of magic to begin her lessons. Until then, have a care."

The Knight-Commander dismissed the templars, holding back only those who had been assigned to guard the holding cells. The equivalent of a solitary confinement prison, Cullen had only had duty down there once before, when he and another templar had been issued to watch over a mage who had made a second escape attempt. He wasn't best pleased at being held behind this time. The cells were dank, dark, smelling of rotten wood and rat droppings. Having to stand for silent hours on end was not exactly what he would call fulfilling.

Ser Darin stood beside him at the head of the room, with three others that Cullen couldn't name. They had all removed their helms, and he noted with surprise that one of them was a woman. She gave him an empty, polite smile and he nodded in return, not quite sure what to make of her — most of the templars in the Circle here were men.

Once the last of the mages had exited the room, Cullen was left with his peers, the First Enchanter, and Greagoir. He briefly wondered why he had been summoned as a guard: from the insignia on the uniforms he could see beside him, he was the lowest ranked member here.

Still, it wasn't his place to question. He listened silently as his Knight-Commander issued orders and instructions on the rotor, what was expected of their behaviour, how they were to watch for signs of blood magic, and how they weren't to leave one another alone with the mage for more than a few minutes. While under normal circumstances one templar was more than enough to dispel any mage magic, when it came to blood magic, you could never be too careful.

Upon asking if anyone had any questions, Cullen found he couldn't keep his mouth shut any longer.

"Ser," he said, giving a polite salute. "What happens if she is a blood mage? What's the protocol?"

The First Enchanter and the Knight-Commander shared an uncertain look, which did little to ease the worry that had begun to gnaw away in Cullen's gut, like a vulture picking at the bones of his confidence.

"You will know soon enough," Irving offered with a slow nod. "The first priority is to keep the Circle safe. If Selena is a blood mage, you should neutralise her and fetch someone of rank immediately. Depending on the circumstances, it will be our decision on whether to invoke the Rite of Tranquility, or whether to…"

He couldn't finish his sentence, and left the words hanging in the air.

Despite himself, Cullen pressed for more questions: while he had spent a good amount of years getting his curiosity under control, if he was going to be in direct contact with a mage who was in immediate danger of becoming an abomination, the more he knew, the better. Knowledge was power, after all.

"Why was this not dealt with at the Markham Circle?" he asked with a frown. "Surely their templars are just as capable as ours?"

Greagoir's nose twitched, and he scanned the eager faces before him. "It is possible their templars have been compromised," he admitted after a long moment.

"Compromised?" This wide-eyed question came from the only female present in the room. "How can a templar be compromised? We are immune to magic."

"Not all who join your ranks do so with a noble heart, child," replied the First Enchanter wearily. "And while your magical resistance is certainly in your favour, to assume you are immune entirely is not wise. Besides which, there are other forms of compromise with which magic has no connection.

"The relation between templars and mages in the Markham Circle is not as productive as it is here. Allegations fly as easily as stones, and every one must be looked in to fully. It was thought best for the templars there, as well as for this mage, that she be delivered to an outside perspective."

Beside him, Cullen could see Darin's gloved hands clench into fists. "We should take no risks," he said, his voice acerbic. "She should be made Tranquil immediately. Ser," he added, as an afterthought.

First Enchanter Irving raised an eyebrow, moving his cool gaze to the young man who had spoken. Cullen didn't envy him. Though the enchanter was old, to be under the full scrutiny of his gaze was to be like standing amongst a ruin in an earthquake. He remembered once, shortly after he had first come to the Circle, he had been called before the First Enchanter and the Knight-Commander for a crime he had not committed — some transgression a mage, whose name he didn't even know, had accused him of — and it had been like staring into fire and ice in equal parts. The hot tempered flair of his Knight-Commander, and the cold, piercing stare of the First Enchanter.

Trouble that they were for each other, Cullen had to admit that they were well matched, in both wit and experience.

"How quickly you would instill the Rite," Irving commented lightly, though his eyes held more than he was saying. "Perhaps it is fortunate you are not the one in charge."

Given that Darin was the most senior of them all, barring the Knight-Commander of course, Cullen found it difficult to hold back a smile at the rebuttal. He had never been a huge fan of Darin, who had become a nightmare once he'd caught whiff of the rumour that he was to shortly be promoted. He would order his fellow templars to perform tasks he saw as beneath him, which were only obeyed because he had been at the Circle so long. While Cullen didn't join in with the whispers or sharp looks that were exchanged behind Darin's back, he did little to discourage them either.

Darin's cheeks grew flushed at the veiled insult the First Enchanter had thrown at him, but wisely, he bit his tongue.

Greagoir, clearly growing weary of how events were unfolding, looked between them all. "I trust there are no further questions?"

Cullen had many, but even he could see it would be foolish to raise them now, so he replaced his helm and, with his comrades, marched out of the room. Perhaps if he had known what was to befall him after that night, he wouldn't have been in such a hurry to leave.

A/N: Wow! Thank you to those who have reviewed and followed thus far, it was a pleasant surprise to watch those notification ping into my inbox :) Certainly helps with encouraging me to continue writing! I hope you like this. More build up than action in this chapter, but that will change in the following ones. Promise! Also, um, I have no beta, so all mistakes are mine.