by David Gaider
They think I know. Or that I am one.
"There have been six murders in the White Spire to date," the Lord Seeker announced. "Four initiates and two apprentices. What ever other numbers you've heard are speculation. Those six, however . . . they were interesting." He indicated that Evangeline should explain. She seemed unconvinced this was a good idea, but acquiesced.
"All of them were stabbed in the heart and allowed to bleed out," she began, her tone clinical. "No weapon was discovered. No evidence was found on the victims. As near as we can tell, whoever did this was able to get past the guards, unlock the cells, and leave without being noticed. By anyone."
A sneaking suspicion wormed its way into Rhys's head. He tried to refuse it, banish it from his mind completely, but it wouldn't go away. Without being noticed . . . by anyone. It was all he could do to keep his thoughts from giving him away, and from the way both templars stared at him it seemed he wasn't particularly successful.
The Lord Seeker leaned forward on the desk, steepling his fingers as he stared intently. "Now, it is possible that a templar could do this, and have his fellows cover up the deed. Perhaps a group of them, dedicated to acts of maliciousness against the very people over whom they are supposed to watch. It is deplorable, but has been known to happen."
"I questioned the templars first," Evangeline explained to Rhys, perhaps a little defensively. "We began alternating guard duties, transferred—"
"It is also possible," the Lord Seeker interrupted, "that a blood mage could cause a guard to fall asleep or make him forget what ever he witnessed. Such spells of mind control are one of the reasons blood magic is forbidden. Blood spilled from a sacrifice, meanwhile, could be used to power something much, much worse. Something we can't even guess at yet."
"It could also be a demon," Evangeline offered.
"If so, then it is a demon powerful enough to influence the mages of this tower." The man shuffled through the pile of parchments until he found one in particular. He tapped it. "It says here that you are a medium, Enchanter."
Rhys kept his face calm. "Yes."
"You have a rare talent to detect and communicate with spirits and demons."
"Yes."
"Have you ever detected or communicated with any here in the White Spire?"
Another bead of sweat found its way into Rhys's eye. He wiped it away, hoping his hands weren't visibly shaking. "Yes, but . . . the Veil is thin here. That's part of my research. It should all be accounted for in the First Enchanter's—"
"I'm aware of your research," the Lord Seeker snapped, his tone carrying heavy disapproval. "I'm also aware it was discontinued almost a year ago, after the rebellion in Kirkwall. Well before the murders began. What about recently?"
"No, there's been nothing." That much was true, at least.
"It seems to me that someone with such talent wouldn't allow templars to keep him from doing as he wished. We cannot follow you across the Veil. You could be speaking to demons on a nightly basis, and no one would be the wiser."
"It's not that simple," Rhys insisted. "Consciously entering the Fade requires preparation, a group of mages working together. My research required painstaking work to protect me from the spirits I was contacting, in case—"
"In case you were corrupted," the man finished for him.
"Learning more about spirits is important if we're ever going to protect ourselves from them more effectively. Knight- Commander Eron scrutinized me after every ritual. He trusted me. If he didn't . . ."
The man neatly replaced the sheet of parchment in the pile. "Knight- Commander Eron's judgment did not assist him in safeguarding his charges, nor in finding a blood mage in his midst."
Ser Evangeline scowled at that, but Lord Seeker Lambert didn't notice. Rhys frowned, not liking where this was going. Not one bit. "Am I being accused of something?" he asked.
"Not yet."
The Knight- Captain cleared her throat, ignoring the warning look she received from the Lord Seeker. She leaned toward Rhys. "I've seen you with Jeannot," she said gently. "Both you and Enchanter Adrian. All three of you are part of the Libertarian fraternity. I think you can see why we're concerned."
And there it was. Rhys had been wondering when that was going to come up. The fact rankled enough to make him put aside any efforts to contain his anger. "So you think the Libertarians have all become blood mages? We'll do anything to attain freedom for the Circle, even become the very thing that brought about the Circle in the first place?" He sat forward, glaring at both of them in turn. "Let me tell you this: I didn't know Jeannot was a blood mage, nor why he did what he did. We weren't close. If I'd known, I would have told the First Enchanter. It's mages like that who give the fraternity, and us all, a bad name."
"Then tell us who he was close with."
Rhys folded his arms. "No."
The Lord Seeker's eyes widened. "You're refusing to answer?"
"I am. I won't be a party to persecuting my fraternity. We're the first to blame for everything."
"Then give us another answer."
"You're not looking for answers." Rhys stood up, defiant. "This isn't an investigation. Someone tried to kill the Divine, and you're not going to be happy until you can string together a conspiracy that makes sense to you. So what ever you're going to do, I suggest you do it. Lock me in the dungeon. Perhaps I can be the murderer's next victim? That should clear me of suspicion quickly enough."
There was a long and tense silence, punctuated only by Ser Evangeline's sigh of disappointment. The Lord Seeker was coldly outraged. He rose from his chair and stiffly straightened his breastplate. "That was foolish."
If the man expected a response, he didn't get one. Rhys remained where he was, and the two of them locked glares. He knew this would probably get him imprisoned. They could leave him in there to rot, or even make him Tranquil— just to be safe. But Rhys no longer cared. A vanished apprentice was one thing, but he was a senior enchanter and a member of the Libertarians. Let them explain that to the rest of the Circle, to Adrian, and see how that worked out for them. Given the mood in the tower that had been building this past year, it wouldn't be pretty.
"Get out," the Lord Seeker finally growled.
Ser Evangeline stepped forward and took Rhys by the arm. He fought against being led away, still matching the Lord Seeker's gaze. The man wanted a fight, and Rhys was tempted to give him one. But then he relented and allowed himself to be pulled out of the office, reminding himself that he was getting off easy.
He did, after all, know more than he'd let on. And they knew that now, too. Walking out of that room, he felt as if a noose had been slipped around his neck, just waiting for the right moment to tighten.
Adrian's interrogation went no better than his. Far worse, if the extent of her later rage was anything to judge it by. Hours later she was angrily stalking from one end of the commons to the other, ranting to any mage who would listen about the conspiracy they were dealing with.
The commons weren't really intended as a gathering area. It was a glorified landing outside of the mages' chambers on the middle floors of the tower, allowing access to the central stairwell. There were no furnishings to speak of, just cold stone floors and a few small windows that let the chill in every winter. Statues lined the area at each supporting pillar, grave- looking depictions of warriors from an age long past. Rhys had always hated them. He felt their proud eyes staring down at him, judging him for having the temerity to possess magic.
But there was nowhere else for the mages to go. Rumors of the Lord Seeker's presence had spread like wildfire, as had word of the attempt on the Divine's life. By the time Adrian and Rhys had walked into the commons it was already packed. Everyone spoke in hushed voices— as if anything above a whisper would invite the wrath of the templars. The smell of raw fear permeated the chamber, but along with it came an undercurrent of anger.
What if the Lord Seeker invoked the Rite of Annulment? Rhys heard that question asked more than once. Th
e thought of every last mage in the tower being put to the sword was difficult to contemplate. It was a right the templars possessed, meant to be used only as a last act of desperation when a Circle of Magi was completely lost to corruption. That was supposedly what had happened in Kirkwall. If the Rite of Annulment hadn't been invoked since then, it was no doubt because the templars feared further rebellion— but how far could they be pushed?
According to Adrian, the same question should be asked about the mages. She didn't believe what the Lord Seeker said about Jeannot. How could one man have gotten so close to the Divine? Adrian thought the entire thing suspicious, and suggested it was a templar ploy to turn popular opinion more firmly in their favor.
Rhys wasn't as certain. There were rumors among the Libertarians of those who were no longer satisfied with peacefully seeking freedom, even more so now that the closure of the College of Enchanters had removed that option entirely. They wanted action, even if it involved dragging the rest of the mages kicking and screaming along with them. Rhys wouldn't put it past such people to perform forbidden rites to give themselves an advantage, not to mention keeping their activities secret even from the rest of their fraternity. The templars had every reason to be nervous.
But they didn't have all the facts, did they? As Rhys stood there in the commons, watching the crowd roil in its discontent like a sea before the storm, he felt only guilt. He was keeping a secret, from the templars as well as his fellow mages. He couldn't tell anyone the truth, and the chances he would be able to do anything about it were looking slim.
Adrian marched over to him, already working up another head of steam. What was this, now? Her third wind? The talk in the commons had gone around in circles, and it was no closer to going somewhere productive now— though that certainly wasn't for lack of Adrian's effort. "Aren't you going to do something?" she snapped.
He grinned at her. "I am doing something. I'm watching."
"Do something else!"
"Dearest Adrian," he chuckled. "What would you have me do, exactly? You seem to have the outrage covered. It's taxing just to watch you."
He tried to take her by the shoulders, calm her before she did something rash, but she pulled away with a resentful look. "Don't give me that. You know as well as I do they'll listen to you before they'll listen to me. They always have."
"That's not true," he demurred. But it wasn't entirely false, either. Some of the younger enchanters had approached him already, probing with hopeful questions. Others were watching their exchange even now. They were waiting for him. He could see it in their eyes. It was an uncomfortable feeling.
"The First Enchanter is doing nothing," she said, just loudly enough for the man to overhear. Edmonde stood not far away, gazing listlessly out a window. He'd spoken to no one, and his only reaction to Adrian's statement was to close his eyes with a pained expression. Rhys felt badly for the man and the position this entire affair had placed him in. Couldn't she see that? Rhys raised a hand to urge her to keep her voice down, but she knocked it out of the way. "The other senior enchanters are no better. You can do something, Rhys. Take charge!"
It was always the same demand. Adrian was headstrong and thus made enemies. Rhys was more charming, she said, and thus better liked. He could get her point across to those who wouldn't listen, despite his protests that this would put him in the same position as she was in. "That's not going to help," he told her.
She sighed bitterly, her shoulders sagging. It was just one more time he'd disappointed her, after all. Adrian had been his friend for a long time— in fact, for a while they'd been more than friends, as much more as their life within the confines of the Circle would allow. But he would never be the leader she expected him to be, and so friendship was all they were left with.
"At least tell everyone about the murders," she muttered. "You know they're dying of curiosity, and I didn't even get that far with the Seeker. Pompous, arrogant bastard that he is."
Rhys hesitated. The murders were the very last thing he wanted to talk about. It turned out that he didn't need to make a decision regarding that anyhow, as a moment later several guards entered the commons and ordered everyone to retire to their chambers. He wasn't surprised. In normal circumstances Rhys and Adrian would be in the dungeons by now, along with anyone else who'd so much as greeted Jeannot in passing. Thankfully, the templars weren't interested in provoking the mages further.
Adrian, of course, felt no compulsion to return the favor. Rhys saw outrage flash in her eyes, and waited for the inevitable scene to follow. Thankfully, the First Enchanter chose that moment to intervene. Edmonde turned from his window and quietly suggested everyone do as the guards asked. Tomorrow would be another day. That took the wind out of Adrian's sails, and slowly everyone in the commons dispersed.
Rhys was relieved. This might give him the chance he was waiting for.
He spent the next several hours in his chambers, staring up at the ceiling from his cot. Occasionally he heard the footsteps of guards passing his door. It was fortunate that senior enchanters got their own rooms. As spartan as they were, they allowed privacy the dormitories didn't. One could sneak out of a dormitory easily enough— apprentices did it all the time— but not without being seen by others sharing the room. Where Rhys needed to go, he had to be absolutely certain nobody else knew about it.
By the middle of the night, an utter stillness had crept over the tower. There had been no footsteps for well over an hour. It's now or never, he told himself. Slowly, he sat up in the darkness, listening intently for the slightest shuffle outside that might indicate a sentry. Nothing.
Feeling around blindly, Rhys found his staff leaning against the wall. The wood felt warm to his touch, awakening from its slumber. The crystalline orb greeted him with a soft glow that filled the room, but Rhys darkened it again with a wave of his hand. Light was the last thing he needed.
Then he jumped. Something in the room had moved, just as the light went out. Steeling himself, he willed the staff to glow once more— and sighed when he realized it was only his reflection coming from the ornate standing mirror in the corner. A gift from Adrian, something she'd bought for him years ago when outings into the city had still been permitted. "You can admire yourself in it," she'd laughed, and she so rarely laughed that he couldn't refuse. It was the one extravagant thing he owned, however, and he still wasn't used to its presence. Peevishly, he wanted to kick it over.
Calm down, you idiot, or you'll do the templars' work for them. He allowed himself to chuckle, and the fear drained out of him a little. The emptiness that remained left him shaky and feeling more than a little foolish.
Rhys darkened the staff again and crept toward the door. He worked the latch, trying to press it slowly, and was rewarded when the door cracked open with only the softest click. He peered out into the hall. A glowlamp was hung by the central staircase, but that was quite far away. Everything nearer was swallowed up in shadow. There was no one in sight, but that was difficult to trust.
Gathering his magic, he reached his mind across the Veil and summoned a spirit through. It was tiny, a wisp of a creature with barely any consciousness to call its own. The shimmering orb hovered over the palm of his hand, its magical hum tickling the hairs on the back of his neck.
"I need you to be quiet," he whispered. "You can do that, can't you?"
The wisp bobbed excitedly and dimmed. He barely even saw it now. Tossing it up into the air, he sensed its excitement as it floated out into the commons. Even such a small spirit took great joy in coming into the real world. They found the oddest things of endless fascination: a wooden chair, a piece of steak, a feather. Left to its own devices, a wisp would bob around random objects for hours, making strange trilling noises as it explored its environment.
The templars frowned on the use of even such benign spirits, although it was not strictly forbidden. The best healers, after all, summoned spirits of compassion to assist them. Such spirits did not linger and immediately returned
whence they came, but the Chantry looked upon any who had the talent to contact them with suspicion— such as himself. Still, it had its uses.
Rhys waited. Just as he was beginning to fear the wisp had become distracted, he sensed its return. It came to rest on his open palm, emitting an odd set of excited sounds. He closed his eyes and tried to gather what impressions he could from its memory. The first images he saw were confused, and made it seem like the commons was filled with a dozen or more templars. Then he realized it had been looking at the statues, and couldn't tell the difference. Typical.
But one of the figures had moved. He focused on that one sighting and received enough impressions from the wisp to figure it out. A sentry on the far side of the staircase. The hall was being watched after all.
"I need you to do one more favor for me," he quietly asked it. The wisp floated off his hand, already quivering with anticipation. "I need you to lead the man away. It doesn't matter where. Just a few minutes and you're free to return to the Fade."
It was a fairly complex command. The wisp twirled in place, shimmering slightly as it considered, and then floated off once again. Within minutes, Rhys heard a muted swear from the unseen guard. Footsteps followed, heading down the stairs at a rapid pace. Good. That would give Rhys the time he needed.
Slipping out into the hall, he turned not toward the staircase but toward the darker part of the commons. A tiny storage room lay hidden next to the dormitories. He crept there as quietly as he could, letting himself inside.
It was pitch black within, the air thick with the stench of stale smoke. He stifled a cough and willed his staff to glow. The light revealed a room barely deeper than his arm could reach, lined on both sides by rickety shelves filled near to bursting with the things the Tranquil used to ser vice the mages' chambers. There was also evidence that the apprentices frequented this storage room: the floor was a mess of breadcrumbs, ashes left by illicit kohl pipes, and depleted glowstones.
Funny, then, that the apprentices hadn't discovered the loose stone on the back wall. If they had, they would have realized they didn't need to hole up in a closet. Pressing the stone opened a hatch, and that led to a crawlspace beyond. From there, one could climb unseen past the kitchens and into the tower's underground levels. There were many such passages in the White Spire; the few mages who knew about them guarded their secret jealously, lest the templars seal them up.
