Chapter 12 Gathering the Faithful #2
Several hours before dawn, Caelan slipped through the narrow alleys surrounding the abandoned bell tower.
The city still slept beneath a blanket of mist, its streets nearly deserted except for scattered patrols changing shifts.
The few citizens already awake kept their heads lowered, unwilling to invite unnecessary attention from soldiers whose loyalty now belonged more to Lord Varric than to the Crown.
Caelan preferred it that way.
Empty streets were easier to watch.
Harder to hide within.
He paused beneath an old stone archway and studied the square ahead.
Nothing moved.
No guards lingered near the fountain.
No unusual shadows waited beneath the market awnings.
Even so, he circled the block once before approaching the tower's side entrance.
Three quiet knocks.
A pause.
One final knock.
The weathered door opened only a few inches.
Gray eyes met his own.
"You're late," the man inside whispered.
Caelan smiled for the first time that morning.
"You always did exaggerate."
Captain Lucien Ashford opened the door fully.
"You look terrible."
"So do you."
"I've been busy."
"So have I."
Without another word, the two men embraced briefly before stepping inside.
Years had passed since they had first trained together as recruits.
Lucien had become vice-captain of the Royal Guard while Caelan accepted command of Rowan's personal security.
They had fought together, argued together, and trusted one another with their lives more times than either could remember.
Now they met as hunted men inside their own capital.
Lucien stepped back and looked him over carefully.
"I heard you murdered the Crown Prince."
"I heard I did an excellent job."
"They've become very creative."
"So has Varric."
Lucien's smile disappeared.
"He has."
They descended into the abandoned crypt beneath the tower where nearly a dozen Royal Guards waited in silence.
Every man and woman present still wore ordinary clothing, but each carried the unmistakable posture of a trained soldier.
The moment Caelan entered, several stood instinctively.
One bowed his head.
Another placed a fist over his heart.
No one spoke his former title aloud.
Walls sometimes developed ears.
"It's good to see you alive, Captain," one veteran guard said quietly.
Caelan shook his head.
"Today, I'm simply Caelan."
Lucien folded his arms.
"They never stopped calling you Captain."
"They never will."
Caelan looked around the chamber.
"I appreciate every one of you being here."
"You understand the risk."
A younger guard answered immediately.
"We swore an oath to the Crown."
"Not to whoever occupies the Council chamber."
Quiet murmurs of agreement filled the room.
Lucien spread several maps across an old stone table.
"We've maintained small cells throughout the city."
"No one group knows where the others meet."
"If one is captured..."
"The rest survive."
Caelan nodded approvingly.
"Exactly as we trained."
"We learned from you."
The meeting quickly turned practical.
Guard rotations.
Hidden supply caches.
Safe routes through the palace district.
Which officers remained trustworthy.
Which had openly accepted Varric's authority.
Every detail mattered.
When the discussion ended, Lucien stopped Caelan before he left.
"I've discovered something."
His tone changed.
More serious.
"What is it?"
Instead of answering, Lucien removed a folded document from inside his coat.
"It cost us two agents."
Caelan unfolded the parchment.
At first glance, it appeared to be an ordinary Council agenda prepared for the upcoming emergency session.
Then he noticed several handwritten notes hidden between official entries.
The handwriting belonged unmistakably to Lord Varric.
"These aren't procedural notes," Caelan said quietly.
"No."
Lucien pointed toward the final page.
"Read the last section."
Caelan's expression hardened.
The emergency session wasn't merely intended to approve a new royal heir.
It also included proposals granting temporary executive authority to the Chancellor until the succession could be "peacefully concluded."
Temporary authority over the treasury.
The military.
The judiciary.
The provincial governors.
Every major institution.
"It isn't temporary."
Lucien nodded.
"It's a coup."
"The Council simply doesn't realize they're voting one into existence."
Caelan looked up.
"When?"
"Three days."
Silence settled heavily between them.
They had far less time than expected.
"If this passes..."
"Varric controls the kingdom before Rowan ever reaches the Council."
Caelan carefully folded the document.
"Then we stop it."
"You'll need more than evidence."
"I know."
"You'll need witnesses."
"I know."
"You'll need Rowan alive."
Caelan met his oldest friend's gaze.
"That part is non-negotiable."
Later that evening, Caelan escorted Rowan to another discreet meeting, this time inside the cellar of a cooper's workshop near the eastern docks.
Several influential merchants and two Council members waited there, hoping to finalize plans for presenting the hidden archive before the emergency session.
Before anyone spoke, Caelan inspected every entrance.
Every window.
Every staircase.
Years of training had taught him to distrust comfort.
The room felt...
Wrong.
Not obviously.
Subtly.
One lantern burned lower than expected.
Fresh mud marked the floor near a rear entrance despite the dry weather.
Most troubling of all...
One chair had been moved.
Only a few inches.
Enough that someone unfamiliar with the room wouldn't notice.
Caelan did.
His instincts sharpened immediately.
He quietly touched Rowan's elbow.
"We're leaving."
Rowan frowned.
"The meeting hasn't—"
"Now."
Something in Caelan's voice ended every question.
The gathered allies watched in confusion as Rowan calmly stood.
"What happened?" Lady Genevieve asked.
"I don't know yet," Caelan answered.
"But I intend to keep it that way."
They had barely reached the narrow alley outside when the sound reached them.
Boots.
Dozens of them.
Moving quickly.
Far too quickly.
Lucien appeared from the opposite end of the street, breathing hard.
"They've found it."
"How many?"
"At least fifty."
Caelan didn't hesitate.
"This way."
He led Rowan through a maze of twisting alleys known only to former Royal Guards.
Behind them, soldiers flooded into the cooper's workshop.
A heavy crash echoed through the district as the front doors splintered inward.
"They're inside!" someone shouted.
"Search every room!"
Steel rang against stone.
Furniture overturned.
Voices barked orders.
Rowan looked back only once.
"They'll arrest everyone."
"Not if we're fast enough."
Caelan turned sharply into a narrow passage between two warehouses.
A hidden wooden gate waited at the end.
He pushed it open.
Lucien followed close behind before pulling it shut again.
Moments later, armored soldiers thundered past the alley entrance without noticing them.
The three men remained perfectly still.
Only after the patrol disappeared did anyone breathe normally again.
Lucien leaned against the wall.
"They knew exactly where to strike."
Caelan nodded grimly.
"They didn't search."
"They came to capture."
Rowan's face had grown unusually pale.
"They knew the location."
"They knew the time."
"They even knew which entrance we'd use."
His voice fell almost to a whisper.
"The leak isn't guessing anymore."
"No," Caelan agreed.
He looked toward the distant palace, where torchlight flickered along the battlements against the night sky.
"The traitor isn't following us."
A heavy silence settled between the three men.
Then Caelan finished the thought none of them wanted to voice.
"The traitor is sitting inside our circle."
Somewhere among the people fighting to save the kingdom, someone had already chosen to sell it.
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