Chapter 26
"No victory lasts
If it is not remembered."
—Paragon Lynchar, 7:45 Storm
Malcolm
Someone had been in his room. Someone had been in his pack. Someone had stolen things from his pack. Someone had stolen four things from his pack, two of which couldn't be replaced, one of which wasn't exciting at all, and the last of which was a very real danger to any non-Warden who messed with it. While he didn't care that his cloak was gone, and he really didn't care if the would-be thief got him or herself tainted, he did care very much about getting the other two things back. They didn't even belong to him in the first place, much less the thief who'd taken them.
Ava's stuffed spider was gone, as was Cáel's book, and their theft hurt far more than it should have. He should've been more worried about the stolen Joining kit, but that could be replaced. The cloak was easily replaced, too. The other two things couldn't be, not right now, not while he was separated from his children, the very children to whom those things belonged.
He threw the half-filled pack across the room. It smacked into the wall beside the door right as Adrian stepped inside, closely followed by Finn and Rhys.
Adrian drew back at hearing the impact, and then watched curiously as the bag slowly slid down to the floor. "Was there a spider in there?" she asked when it became apparent that Malcolm wasn't going to offer a ready explanation.
A short, strained laugh burst out of him before he could control it, at the ridiculousness of the question, at how very right and very wrong it was. "No. Not even the one that should be."
"You've lost me." Casting another puzzled look at the bag, Adrian stepped fully into the room.
Finn was right behind her, but he stopped long enough to pick up the pack and grimace at the mud encrusted on the bottom. "I think he was talking about his daughter's toy."
"Oh!" Adrian frowned. "It's missing?"
"It seems you've a problem with thieves here in the Spire," said Malcolm. "Stupid thieves, but thieves nonetheless."
Rhys settled into one of the chairs. "Stupid, how? Other than stealing from a Grey Warden, of course."
"Aside from the fact that they stole items whose value is measured only in sentimentality, they also stole my Joining kit. If said person tries to tinker with it and they're not a Grey Warden, well. Bad things will happen to the tinkerer." And possibly other people could end up tainted, but most of the danger would be to the person who fooled with the kit and its contents if they managed to get it open. Most thieves wouldn't have the ability, but mages were the exception. They could disable the spell on the kit that kept it locked to all but Wardens.
"They really stole the toy?" Finn asked as he peeked into the pack. He held it with his index fingers and thumbs only, as if he'd be tainted if he touched anything else on it or in it.
"And the book. My son's book. The borrowed book is still in there."
"You're lucky you didn't break the spine or tear the cover off when you threw your pack."
"I really don't care. No, really," Malcolm said as Adrian and Rhys looked at him, "I am entirely out of shits to give about pretty much everything, which means of course you show up right now. Why are you here? You interrupted my temper tantrum, so it better be good." He didn't entirely believe it was a temper tantrum, not with what had been taken, but he had to throw some humor into the situation before it became too tense.
"Only sixteen of the First Enchanters made it," said Adrian. "Two couldn't travel because of illness. The third is Kirkwall's First Enchanter. He's the only one we haven't heard from at all."
"I heard that he was offered safe passage here, but turned it down," said Malcolm. "My source is in a position to know those things."
"But can you trust the source?" asked Rhys.
"No idea. I suppose it doesn't really matter what reason he has for not being here, because either way, he's not here. I never thought I'd say this about someone stuck in the Gallows, but he might be the lucky one." He sighed and started for his cuirass. He'd worn only his brigandine to breakfast, but he'd be damned if he wasn't going to be in full armor in the Spire today. "You all should be wearing your best robes," he said as he tossed his cuirass onto the bed, followed by every other piece he hadn't yet donned, including his helm. The whole lack of a sword and shield—especially the sword—concerned him, but he couldn't do much about it now. While he waited outside the meeting chamber, he'd just scout out a templar who might be an easy enough target and take his weapon, either by intimidation or force. Since he'd sparred with nearly all the Spire templars, he had a decent estimation of which ones he could overwhelm while unarmed.
"Of course we will," said Adrian. "You always do to a conclave."
"Not those best robes." Malcolm sat in the chair beside his bed and started strapping on his sabatons and greaves. "I meant the robes you own that have the best enchantments and runes made for fighting." He glanced up at the mages when he grabbed one of the poleyns for his knees. "Don't tell me you don't have any." His gorget now in hand, he motioned toward Finn. "Even Finn has one. It's also enchanted to stay nicely starched, but that's neither here nor there. The important thing is that it also protects him. What about the rest of you?" As he waited for the answer, he snapped the gorget to its place around his neck and just below.
"A starch enchantment?" Rhys asked Finn. "Really?"
"Tidiness is important," said Finn. "It also serves the function of keeping runes where they should, which is also important."
Adrian sighed. "Our best robes have our best enchantments in them, unbeknownst to the templars."
"Good." Finished with the gorget, Malcolm stood and drew his cuirass over his head. Then he buckled the straps he left free and adjusted them. "What about your staves?" he asked as he tightened the straps he always left buckled for efficiency in getting on his armor.
"We're allowed them," said Rhys. "Something about marking the office of enchanter. I can't remember exactly what the rule is, but suffice to say that it grants us the right to keep our staves with us."
"Even better." Cuirass properly in place, Malcolm took up sliding the pauldrons and rerebraces into place on his shoulders and upper arms before adjusting them for a proper fit. "I know you don't believe me, but you'll need them."
"I hope you're wrong," said Finn.
"I hope I'm wrong," said Malcolm. He frowned at one of his rerebrace straps for giving him trouble, and then frowned because the door opened without a knock and Wynne entered. "I don't always enjoy being right, unlike some people." His pointed look thrown Wynne's way drew a frown and a sigh from her in return.
"I do not enjoy being right all the time," she said. "Nor do I insist on it. Now, if the rest of you have any other preparations to make, go make them, and then get to the meeting hall. We'll be starting soon."
The other mages slowly left Malcolm's room, but Wynne remained behind. Malcolm ignored her and continued messing with the uncooperative buckle. It was always this one and it had only gotten worse after their trip to Adamant. He should have gotten it fixed while he'd still been in Denerim. The straps on the rerebraces and pauldrons were always the most difficult to get right, especially in the places where it connected to the cuirass.
"Let me, I have the better angle." Wynne pushed aside his hands and deftly put the recalcitrant straps to rights. She'd observed him and other Wardens put on and take off armor enough that she knew the process as well as they did. It was also a necessary skill for a healer who routinely mended Wardens. The easier time a healer had removing armor, the quicker they could get to wounds that needed line-of-sight to heal.
Malcolm grudgingly allowed the help. If he didn't, it would take him too long to straighten out his difficult armor, and he needed to be outside that room when the meeting started, because he had no idea when everything would start, but he knew it would. "Someone stole Ava's toy and Cáel's book from me," he said when she stepped back.
"What? Who would steal something so specific?" she asked.
"And they took my cloak, which isn't that big of a deal, at least until I get cold. But they also took my Joining kit, and that could be a real problem for other people." He picked up and put on his gloves, followed by sliding on his vambraces with the attached couters.
"And not the biggest problem for you."
When he looked up from adjusting his armor, there was no hint of scolding in her eyes. "Not really, no. If they manage to even open it, the most they'll do is taint themselves. Which, honestly, would get them what they deserve."
"That's a bit harsh, coming from you."
He forced himself to concentrate on his gauntlets. "Whoever it was also stole my children's belongings. I can't fathom why, but I can fathom various punishments for doing so."
"What they stole was what you believe to be the last things connecting you to Ava and Cáel."
At first he didn't acknowledge her comment. Instead, he kept his attention on buckling his sword belt, which also held his tassets. Then he was entirely done with his armor, save his helm, and had nothing else to keep him from addressing Wynne. "Maybe."
"They will always be connected to you, even if there isn't something tangible of theirs with you. They are your children. You know as well as I do—perhaps, even better than I—that they are pieces of your heart who dwell outside your body. You can't protect them, not now, but they are always with you, because they are your children."
"I miss them." And now, without his daughter's toy and his son's book, he missed them impossibly more and couldn't rightly describe how. Not when someone giving something of Líadan's to him had made him miss her more. They were opposite actions that caused the same reaction and none of it made sense.
She handed him his helm. "I know."
He accepted it and turned it over in his hands. "I see you've no disagreement with my wearing full armor."
"You know as well as I to plan for the worst and hope for the best."
"I'm more plan for the worst and leave the best to be a surprise." Malcolm decided he could wait a little longer before he put the helm on. His sword was what he really missed. "Now all you have to do is not die in whatever trap they spring."
"I will be fine."
He wasn't entirely convinced, but he'd never won an argument with Wynne and doubted today would be the day. So he offered her the crook of his elbow as a measure of reconciliation, because it could truly be the last time he saw her alive. "Come on, I'll walk you to your meeting, elder mage."
She accepted his offer and took hold of his elbow as they exited the room. "I would be happy to, insipid boy."
"Boy?" He raised an eyebrow at her in mock outrage. "Boy? I was holding back, but now you're on, Wynne-bag."
Her reaction wasn't the one he expected, not at all, because she laughed. Not just any laugh, but a spontaneous, honest laugh of a kind that only came from deep down. "I'm sorry," she said once she managed to stop.
"No, you're not," he said.
"No. It's just been years since anyone called me that to my face. It's… rather refreshing."
"I'll keep that in mind." He wondered if he should tell her how many times he silently called her that on their trip from Denerim, but decided it was in his best interest that he not. They halted in front of the doors to the meeting hall. "All right, your stop. I'll just wait out here and be really bored." He inclined his head at the templars flanking the doors. "They don't talk. It's unsettling. I'm sure you've no idea what that's like."
"None at all."
Then Wynne went through the doors into the hall, and he hoped he was wrong about it being a trap.
Malcolm resisted the urge to pace, mostly because the templars by the doors cast baleful looks in his direction whenever he took more than two steps. He tapped his helm against his leg, where it clicked every time it hit the tasset. It drew more dirty looks from the templars, but if they weren't going to let him pace, they were going to pay for it. It also gave him a chance to assess whether he'd be able to deal with them without a weapon. One he was certain he could, and it would be a matter of getting to him first, stealing his weapon and arming himself before the other templar realized what was going on and attacked. The planning was merely precautionary, but it had to be done.
He really wanted his damn sword.
It bothered him that he couldn't hear a sodding thing coming through the doors. He figured there'd be random audible shouts, because one didn't quietly put forth a vote to separate from the Chantry, but no sounds came from the hall. Maybe they were all dead. Or, he realized when he took another look at the doors, the doors were really thick. Probably the second, or there wouldn't be a point to the templar guards. Templar guards who were getting increasingly annoyed at his fidgeting, but he didn't care. The more annoyed they got and the more they lost their patience, then the more likely they'd be to make a mistake that he could capitalize on.
A knock sounded from the inside of the door, and the two templars opened it and went in, and there went Malcolm's sport. But he hardly had time to lament his loss before he heard quick footsteps from down the corridor. As he turned to look, Knight-Captain Evangeline and Finn swung around the corner. Evangeline looked, well, pissed, and Finn seemed paler than usual. In one tightly clenched hand, Evangeline held Malcolm's sword still in its scabbard. Finn had Malcolm's shield slung on his left arm, and he kept glaring at it whenever it drooped.
"Hey! You brought my stuff!" Malcolm said, probably a little too loudly, but he was more than slightly happy to see it returned. Then his excitement waned when he realized there was really only one reason Evangeline would bring him his sword. "Something bad's going to happen, isn't it?"
"Something bad already has," said Evangeline. "Pharamond was found dead a quarter of an hour ago. Rhys is being blamed."
Malcolm frowned, unsure if he should've felt happy or sad about Pharamond being dead, and then decided it didn't matter how he felt. What mattered was that Pharamond was at peace. "I'm not sure if that blame's misplaced. Rhys was really against Pharamond being made Tranquil."
"He would not have killed him."
The sureness of Evangeline's answer caught Malcolm by surprise. Maybe Evangeline and Rhys had gotten closer than he'd assumed, that Adrian had gotten grumpy at them for a reason, and now Evangeline had lost her objectivity. "There really isn't anyone else here who'd have the motivation to do so."
She sighed. "That… might not be true."
"You don't mean you, do you?"
"Of course not."
"And you're not talking about that rumor of a ghost, right?"
"It isn't a ghost. It's a spirit, we believe. I've seen him. You've seen him."
"What? I think I'd remember that."
"Yes, you would. But you don't. No one does, most of the time, and I don't have time to explain. If we live through this, Rhys can explain it to you again."
"Again?"
"Just give up," said Finn. "I couldn't figure it out, either."
Evangeline sighed. "At the moment, it does not matter. The Lord Seeker knows about the vote for separation from the Chantry, and he will not stand for it."
So it was a trap. Damn. The one time he had to be totally right, and it was this one. Malcolm set his helm down on the ground. "Right, then. Sword, please."
Evangeline handed it to him, hilt first. "Finely balanced."
He offered her a tight smile, and then set to getting the scabbard into the right place on his belt. "Dwarven-forged."
"Not the time to talk shop," said Finn.
As if to validate his point, they heard marching from farther down the corridor. The meeting hall doors flung open and a couple templars scurried out. Without consulting each other, Malcolm, Evangeline, and Finn all bolted for the open doorway and darted inside before they closed.
The tension hit them before anything else. The tension strung between every person in the hall was exquisite, a bow drawn so far that the only choice left to the string was to snap. The only question left unanswered was when, and the uncertainty of it pulled the string tighter for every moment that passed.
Perhaps captives of that very tension, the templars inside the doors took no outward note of Malcolm and the rest of his party's appearance. Malcolm could see why—there were easily twice as many templars as there were mages in the immense room. Templars crowded the steps leading to the central area of the room, the tallest of them blocking a good view of the mages gathered there. More templars stood at regular intervals along the railing of the upper gallery, not nearly as many as below, but certainly more than necessary given the numbers on the main floor. Maker, just the amount of them on the stairs was excessive, entire room aside.
Malcolm's left hand tightened its grip on his helm.
The templars on the steps formed a wall, which meant he, Finn, and Evangeline stood no chance at getting through them without causing a scene. It left them to walk the edges of the upper gallery just so they could see the goings-on, though the childish part of Malcolm wanted to close his eyes so he didn't have to see whatever awful thing was going to happen.
"This feels worse than the vigil during a Harrowing," Evangeline said quietly.
"Honestly, I'd like to hide in a closet," said Finn. "Seems the safer option."
Malcolm leaned against the railing, as far away from the templar sentries as he could get. "Someone did that at Kinloch Hold during the Blight. Hid from the demons and abominations and blood mages in an airing cupboard. He didn't die, so I gather it was effective. However," he said and paused to glance around, "I'm not seeing any cupboards, so you're out of luck."
"Pity," said Finn. "I rather liked the idea of living."
"If only the esteemed enchanters down there shared your views." Malcolm resisted a sigh has he watched. So far it'd been procedural things, but even those procedural things were fraught, like they were merely stepping stones to whatever terrible thing was going to happen. Grand Enchanter Karl stood in front, with the rest of the mages gathered before him. There were benches set up, like they were supposed to sit. Had it been a normal conclave, the mages certainly would have been sitting, but none of them looked like they'd even noticed the benches.
Well, there was the one fellow who was hunched on the far end of a bench towards the middle, but from his angle, Malcolm thought he rivaled Avernus in age, so he couldn't be blamed. He took a second look at him and realized the man looked familiar. "Is that Irving?" he asked Finn. Irving had aged and then some in the weeks since he'd last seen him, if it was. He was fairly sure it was him.
"What?" asked Finn. "Who?"
Malcolm indicated with his head. "Down there. First Enchanter Irving. Technically your First Enchanter. You should know him by now."
Finn took another look. "I think it is, actually. When did he get here?"
"This morning?" Malcolm shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine."
When he looked at the main floor again, the templars seemed closer to the mages than before. Malcolm frowned and blinked, wondering if his eyes had messed with him, but they still seemed closer. Then the mages seemed to notice, unconsciously clumping closer together in an attempt to recoup their distance from the templars. In turn, the templars inched forward to take what had been retaken.
Karl shot them a dirty look, his normally open, friendly face dark enough to be threatening. Then he turned back toward the mages, nodded, and motioned sharply with his hand to quiet them. "Enough. This is pointless. We all know why we're here and we should get to it instead of waffling about. I move to vote on the separation of the Circle of Magi from—"
The doors opened hard enough to slam into the room's walls, sending flinches and starts through the crowd, drawing out the tension just a little more.
In marched the Lord Seeker, his steps measured and purposeful, with several Seekers at his back. The templars on the stairs made way for him, and resembled an honor guard as their Lord Seeker paraded down the steps between them. He stopped at the last step before the marble floor, folded his arms, and leveled a hard gaze at the Grand Enchanter.
The Grand Enchanter directly met the Lord Seeker's eyes and did not turn away. Then he spoke, louder than before, projecting his statement into every corner of the room. "I move to vote on the separation of the Circle of Magi from the Chantry." As he finished, he stared down the Lord Seeker.
The Lord Seeker's own look shifted to disappointment as he slowly shook his head. "I enter to apprehend a murderer," he said, and carefully stepped from the last stair to the main floor, "only to hear treason spoken under the roof of the Maker and Andraste."
"Murderer?" asked the Grand Enchanter.
The Lord Seeker nodded as he walked toward the Grand Enchanter, his arms relaxed at his sides. The only sign of the Lord Seeker's seething anger was the slight uplift of his brow. "Yes. Enchanter Pharamond, scheduled to be made Tranquil on this day, was found dead in his room. Nearby was a bloodied dagger belonging to Senior Enchanter Rhys."
"That's it?" Rhys asked from the middle of the crowd of mages. "Have you any idea how flimsy that evidence is?"
"The evidence points to you, and so it is you who must be apprehended to answer for your crime," said the Lord Seeker. "Your magic does not exempt you from justice."
The things you people know about justice wouldn't fill a thimble.
Anders had said that, years ago, regarding templars. Malcolm hadn't disagreed then and he didn't disagree now. Someone's dagger left at a murder scene didn't immediately implicate them, especially if the alleged murderer wasn't stupid. Rhys was far from stupid.
Murmurs of discontent went through the mages.
"Perhaps you should consider practicing it," said one.
"I shall," said the Lord Seeker, and then pointed at Rhys. "Bring him to the dungeons."
The murmurs grew louder, and when the pair of templars tried go past the other mages to get Rhys, they refused to move.
The Grand Enchanter turned from the Lord Seeker to address the mages. "As the Grand Enchanter of the Circle of Magi, I call for a vote—"
As he continued to conduct business in the face of the assembled Seekers, the pair of templars going after Rhys started roughly pushing aside the mages who refused to allow them access. Two more templars went to aid them from the opposite side, and met with the same opposition.
"—from the appointed representative of each fraternity, beginning—"
The Lord Seeker stood silently, his façade of patience rapidly coming apart as he glared at the Grand Enchanter.
The Grand Enchanter did not so much as look at him. His attention was on his mages, and the business of his Circle. "—with the Lucrosians."
The pushes from the templars got rougher, some becoming half-throws. The templars stationed along the gallery began to move toward the stairs.
The Lucrosian representative voted for separation. The Loyalists voted against. Then each fraternity afterward sided with the Grand Enchanter, and the Lord Seeker's mask of control slowly fell away.
Then the Lord Seeker got shouty. But it wasn't the controlled shouting Malcolm had heard from him before, when they'd negotiated the trip to Adamant—this was something unhinged. "Treason!" the Lord Seeker shouted. "This is treason!" When his shouts drew silence from the rest of the room's occupants, the volume of his voice dropped precipitously low. "I will not allow it. Grand Enchanter, you will halt this at once."
Wynne, even as she kept worriedly glancing at the templars heading for Rhys, answered for the Grand Enchanter. "The Divine herself ordered this meeting, despite—"
The Lord Seeker snapped his head around to glare at her. "Shut up! I'm done listening to you. If the Divine will not see the Maker's will carried out, then it falls to me, and I will not fail Him." He jabbed a finger at the Grand Enchanter. "Take him into custody. Confine the rest to cells while I decide what will become of them."
As the Lord Seeker spoke, the templars and Seekers continued to edge inward, the snare's loop closing on its prey. One of the templars who'd muscled their way through the mages lunged for Rhys, but fell short by a fingertip.
"Helm time." Malcolm jammed said helm onto his head, and the sharp smell of silverite pushed his body into preparing for battle.
Provoked beyond their limits, the enchanters took out their staves and drew magic from the Fade. It crackled and popped along staffs and hands alike, the colors of each type of magic splashing flickering colors on the wall. The readiness of the magic charged the air: the warning of coming lightning drawing hair on exposed skin to standing, the uncomfortable tingle of warmth telling of coming fire, the slight nudge of a force spell that would send you flying, all of them plying at the terrible tension that had yet break.
"He's lost his mind," Evangeline said as she voiced the opinion of every mage-sided spectator in the room. Then she drew her sword.
"I think we're all royally fucked," said Malcolm. As a prince, he felt he could declare that, and also because they were entirely screwed. Since he didn't want to lose his head, nor did he want any of his friends to, he slung on his shield and drew his own sword.
Below them, one templar managed to grab Rhys by the arm. Rhys yanked his arm away and the templar went after him again, but was blocked by several mages. His arms went out to summon a smite and the mages scattered, giving him space.
It also gave Adrian space. With a snarl, she threw a gout of flame at the templar. Within seconds, the flames enveloped him. The templar screamed as the fire consumed him and the taut energy of the tension snapped.
The other templars and Seekers attacked, drowning the room in a sea of invectives and magic, screaming and blood. The mages gathered around Karl to protect him as Nicanor charged for him. He took his shield off his back and began to batter mages out of his way, reciting a verse from the Chant with each hit. His bludgeoning split the bunched mages into smaller groups, and the other Seekers took advantage and surrounded every group they could.
Wynne stopped all offensive spells in favor of healing—Malcolm could tell from the color change of the magic flowing from her fingers. Rhys gave up on his own attacks and tried to pull Wynne out of the pressing fray before she wouldn't have room to move at all. Without checking to see if Finn or Evangeline would follow, Malcolm dodged two templars and dashed down the stairs to provide some sort of armored protection for his friends and allies. Once standing on the main floor, he found Evangeline beside him, and when they engaged with the templars and Seekers, she stood at his back and fought to hold their position, just as Alistair would have.
Each time a knife or an arrow scratched either one of them, Finn flung a healing spell from his spot on the gallery. It was the safest place in the room, Malcolm realized, because all the templars and Seekers had stupidly joined the melee on the floor.
Adrian practically giggled with glee as she continued to throw fireballs at various bunches of templars, raining down furious magic she'd likely held onto for years.
Malcolm and Evangeline slowly fought their way to where Wynne and Rhys battled both each other and templars. A Seeker had his hands on Rhys' stave, trying to wrest it away from him. Malcolm stepped in and smacked the templar in the face with his shield, and then finished the job with a stab through the gap between the templar's cuirass and helm. "Should've worn that uncomfortable gorget," Malcolm told the templar writhing on the marble.
Rhys mouthed a 'thank you' at Malcolm before he resumed pulling Wynne by the arm toward the secondary exit at the end of the hall. The templars left to guard it flanked each side, unfortunately unwilling to abandon their posts, and a thick wooden plank kept the doors closed.
"I am not an invalid," said Wynne. "I can and I will fight."
"Since I'm in favor of keeping you not an invalid, Mother, you need to come with us," said Rhys.
"What he said," Malcolm called over his shoulder as he parried a blow from a templar. "Except without the mother part." He ducked under the templar's next rushed swing and caught him in the midsection, his sword cutting through the leather armor and biting into flesh. As the man gasped in pain, Evangeline kicked him down and finished the job with her sword.
"Nice work," said Malcolm.
"I have to prove to the Wardens that some of us are well trained," said Evangeline.
A great rending noise tore through the air and twisted their guts, signaling that the Veil has been sundered. Green tinges from the Fade glowed through the misty tear already, and the gurgles and hitched breathing of demons soon followed. Having no cares for sides in a mortal battle, they began attacking the first people they encountered, mages and Seekers both. Abominations began change the bodies of mages as they fell to the demons' promises. The mages weren't the only ones to fall—a number of templars and Seekers suffered the same fate.
"Run!" Evangeline yelled as she engaged with a rage demon.
Rhys shouted for Adrian a few times, but she never turned around, too occupied with unleashing her magic. Part of Malcolm couldn't blame her at all, and another part wished she'd at least try to save her own life. Then they called for Finn, who'd had the wherewithal to bolt down from the gallery, dodging abominations, demons, templars, and Seekers, and then catch up to the rest of their party.
In front of the doors, a glut of templars and Seekers had amassed to prevent any escapes, however necessary. Malcolm believed he and the friendly mages following him could take on the group. Hopefully. As long as a couple couldn't fight like Sten or Thierry or Alistair.
The floor shook and rattled as a pride demon lumbered through the rip in the Veil. The color drained from the faces of templars blocking their way, and then their way was clear because the templars abandoned their posts in favor of attacking the demon, entirely ignoring Malcolm's group.
Malcolm lifted the plank barricading the door and tossed it aside. When he went to open the doors, they opened for him, barely giving him time to jump away to avoid getting bowled over. A squad of Seekers charged through right as Rhys let loose a timely burst of downward force, and they were hurled to the ground.
The pride demon's roars from behind them got closer and angrier and Malcolm could feel the press of dangerous magic against their backs.
"Not just the demon that's the danger," said Finn.
Malcolm chanced a look over his shoulder in time to see a more than a few abominations lumbering their way. But the Seekers between Malcolm's group and the door, even downed as they were, left them without a clear path to their escape.
Finn threw a paralysis spell onto the dazed Seekers struggling to stand. "Won't last long," he said as he leapt forward to dodge an abomination's attack. "Maybe half a minute. Go!"
They sprinted for the open doors.
Halfway through, the Seekers began to move again, but they were quickly attacked by abominations. Just as Malcolm's group started crossing into safety, one Seeker managed to get a hand out and grab Wynne's leg, tripping her. The Seeker held on as Wynne fell, twisting the ankle horribly.
"No!" Rhys yelled. He rushed back, Malcolm and Evangeline alongside him. Instead of letting the two people in armor hold off their attackers while he pulled Wynne to her feet and helped her to safety, Rhys jumped in between them and the pack of abominations and demons. "Evangeline, get her away!" he shouted without looking back. "Run! I'll keep them occupied!"
Evangeline hauled Wynne to her feet. As she did, Malcolm glanced back and forth between the pair of them and Rhys as the abominations began to surround him. Seekers sliced through the abominations and demons to get to Rhys.
Malcolm couldn't just let Wynne's son sacrifice himself to save her because she didn't want Rhys to do it, but he couldn't see how he could keep it from happening.
Finn swore, and then swore again. "I won't be able to heal it for a few minutes more. Someone has to help her out."
"Let me stay," said Wynne. "Let me hold them off. The rest of you go."
"Too late," Rhys said as Seekers surrounded him.
In Wynne's eyes, Malcolm could now clearly see exactly why his parents—Bryce and Eleanor Cousland—had remained behind to ensure Duncan got him away safely. And now he understood why they hadn't wanted him to stay to defend them from Howe's soldiers. If their child could not be saved, then to them, it didn't matter if they lived or died. What mattered to them, what mattered to Wynne right now in front of him, was keeping their child alive.
A parent himself, Malcolm understood with absolute clarity. He also saw with the same absolute clarity that even if they all threw themselves into the fight to free Rhys, they wouldn't win. Already, the templars were bringing the pride demon down, there would be more Seekers running in to help at any moment, and there just wasn't time. Malcolm saw with absolute clarity, from the point of view of a child who'd gone through much the same as Rhys was now, that he'd want his parent to live, or his death would be wasteful.
Either way, there wouldn't be happy ending.
Evangeline came to the same conclusion and began the task of bringing Wynne out of the room, despite her wishes. Malcolm covered them at the rear, wishing he could run farther up to help Rhys, because he didn't want to watch his friend's child die any more than he'd want to watch his own child die.
The Seekers finished closing in on Rhys as Evangeline brought Wynne out of the hall, turning her at the same time so she didn't have to see.
To Malcolm's surprise, they didn't kill Rhys. They hit him over the head with the hilt of a sword, knocked him unconscious, and while still surrounding him, fought off the attacking demons. Malcolm wasn't sure if he should be grateful that they hadn't killed him—were even defending him—or angry about capturing him.
He went with a tiny bit grateful and mostly angry, angry because the Seekers shouldn't have knocked out a mage of Rhys' skill while being attacked, and because they might not succeed in fending off the abominations, which meant Rhys would still die.
"You must hurry!" came a familiar voice from just beyond the doorway.
Malcolm turned and sprinted through to find Leliana herding the others down the deserted corridor.
"Fancy meeting you here," he said.
"I tried to get here sooner, but I encountered difficulty. The Lord Seeker's men are not my own."
Then there wasn't enough breath for conversation, because they had to put it all toward breathing as they ran and dodged more attacks the closer they got to the exit. Wordlessly and without stopping, Finn half-healed Wynne's leg with what magic he could muster, and Wynne finished the job herself, her expression darker than Malcolm had ever seen.
He swallowed several times to try to moisten his dry throat enough to speak. "What about the Deep—"
"Not now," Leliana said before he could finish his question. "It is not the right time. We must run and then we must hide."
They pummeled out the doors of the Spire and into the streets, a squad of templars in pursuit. Leliana led them, one alley to another, one side street, another shortcut, a sprint through a garden, another alley, battling burning chests and wheezing breaths as they darted into another garden, over another bridge, into a marketplace, through a murmuring crowd and surrounded by the echoes of footsteps, another cobbled side street, sweat wicked away by the dry cold, as they lost the templars one by one until there were none.
Leliana didn't let up their pace, leading them down another side street, down a slope and stairs, under a bridge, and into a tunnel, their steps splashing in the shallow water that ran along the bottom. When it became too dark to see directly in front of them, the mages called light to their staves, revealing murky water so cold that thin bits of ice clung to the sides of the tunnel. Sewers, Malcolm realized. Leliana had brought them into the sewers. He hadn't thought he'd see this part of Val Royeaux. Part of him was satisfied to see for himself that Orlesians shit just like any other person. The other part of him didn't like that he had to slosh through it. That was a little too much.
After another round of twists and turns, Leliana finally stopped. For a moment, no one said anything, too busy catching their breath in heaving gasps, lungs and throats still burning from the sprint from the Spire.
Wynne's expression had gotten darker since the Spire. It startled Malcolm to see, because while he'd seen Wynne angry, he'd never seen this depth of anger from her. She looked pissed enough that he didn't say 'I told you so,' to either of the mages. After exchanging a wary glance with Finn, even Finn kept quiet about how gross the water was and how horribly stained his robes were—even though the water was gross and the bottom of Finn's robes were so filthy they'd probably have to be burned.
A tremble traveled through the water into their feet, and then Shale stepped out of a side tunnel, her head almost scraping the top. "Is the sister aware that it has forgotten two of the fleshy creatures?" Shale asked.
"I am aware," said Leliana.
"I can see why it would leave behind the shouty mage, but the dashing mage was acceptable."
The dull red glow of Shale's crystals added a little more light to what the staves were producing, but Wynne's expression did not lighten at all. What scared Malcolm the most was that she hadn't said anything since before they'd fled the Spire.
"It was not on purpose," Leliana said to Shale after it became clear that Wynne would not be answering. "We should get going. We will need supplies."
She led them deeper into the network of tunnels, to the older sewers no longer in use and where the water blessedly no longer ran. They leaned against stone walls after she took them through a gap that funneled into a mid-sized room with a low ceiling. Shale remained outside, too tall to fit inside, but large enough to block the gap from sight. Rows of trunks dominated the walls of the room. Leliana quickly unlocked one of them, and then she began passing out packs.
"You thought ahead," said Evangeline.
"One must be prepared for any outcome." Leliana handed pouches of coin to each person. "The templars and Seekers will be scouring the streets for some time, and the city gates will be closed during the hunt. Food, water, clothing, bedding, and coin will be useful in the days to come, given we fled with nothing but what we wore. "
"Water," said Finn. "I would love some water."
"There is a dwarven-runed waterskin in each pack," said Leliana. "They are a necessity in the Deep Roads."
So that was still part of the plan, Malcolm realized. Good. He opened his pack and rooted around for the waterskin, pushing aside clothing as he felt for it, and then his fingers encountered smooth wood. With a frown, he drew out the item to find his Joining kit in his hand. Perplexed, he rummaged through the pack again and took out one of two bundles of clothing. The first was simply that—clothing. The second was his cloak. He unfolded it to that find his daughter's stuffed toy and his son's book had been neatly wrapped inside. His fingers traced across the title embossed in the hard leather of the book's cover, and then brushed over the soft halla fur of the toy. He blinked rapidly to clear his vision. Then looked over at Leliana, the question in his eyes.
She gave him a small nod and a smaller smile.
Leliana had been the thief, and he had no idea what to make of it. If she knew him that well, if she'd cared enough to act on it, maybe she could be trusted. Or it could have been a ploy to earn his trust after losing it before, because she needed it before she'd break it again. Or—then he realized that right then, he didn't care. Not when he held in his hands the tangible reminders of his children.
Malcolm returned her nod, and then wrapped the items back up in his cloak before he returned them to his pack. He could carry his sentimentality with him, but it couldn't be allowed to distract him. Not if he wanted to see his wife and children again.
And in the cold Val Royeaux sewer, there was a little bit of hope.