by David Gaider
"Cole," Rhys said firmly. "You have to listen to me. You're not going to disappear. Murdering innocent people isn't going to change anything."
"You don't know that. You once said you had no idea what was wrong with me."
Rhys stepped forward and grabbed Cole by the shoulders, lifting him to his feet. The young man's eyes went wide in shock, but he didn't struggle. "Cole, you have no idea what kind of trouble this has caused. Not just for me, but for all of us. They think a blood mage has been killing everyone. You have to come with me."
"No!" Cole struggled to break free, but Rhys held him.
"We have to make them see you! Tell them what ever happened to you is affecting your mind, that it's not your fault. I don't know, something! This is the only way you're ever going to get help, Cole!"
"They can't help me!" He twisted out of Rhys's grasp, quickly retreating to the far wall. "They won't!" His look was one of abject terror and betrayal.
Rhys hesitated. Of course Cole was right. Even if the templars could be made to see him and not forget, they wouldn't help. Chances are they'd consider him someone who'd fallen under the sway of a demon. The mages, meanwhile, would see someone who had murdered six of their fellows . . . and Rhys wasn't sure he should try to convince them otherwise. Cole was sick. He killed people in order to help himself. Didn't that deserve punishment?
He put up his hands to forestall Cole from running. "You can't keep doing this," he warned. "One way or another, this has to stop."
"Please," Cole sobbed. He looked so agonized it was difficult not to feel sorry for him. "I never meant to make you angry. I don't want you to stop talking to me, too."
"Then come with me."
"I can't!" Cole darted toward the door. Rhys lunged, but with one hand holding his staff he could only grab on to the edge of Cole's leather jerkin with the other. It wasn't enough, and he almost toppled over as Cole escaped into the dark hallway outside.
"Blast!" He didn't want it to be like this. He ran after Cole and stopped just outside. His staff illuminated a passage that went straight ahead, as well as winding stairs to the right. If he remembered correctly, ahead eventually led to the dungeons, but the stairs went deeper into the Pit. Down below, there was a labyrinth of old corridors that included the templar crypts. He couldn't see which way Cole had run, and the echoes of the man's footsteps came from everywhere.
Rhys raced down the stairs. There would be templars at the dungeons, and while they wouldn't see Cole, he doubted that would make a difference. He took the steps two and three at a time, careening off the stone walls each time the stairs turned. Part of him feared taking another tumble, a more serious one this time, but he didn't care.
Finally he got to the bottom. Within moments he caught a glimpse of the young man in the distance, running as fast as he could. "Stop!" He channeled mana through his staff , unleashing a bolt of white energy that lanced down the corridor. It struck the wall near Cole, causing the stone to explode with a crack of thunder. Rocks flew everywhere.
He heard Cole cry out in fear. Rhys covered his mouth, coughing at the deluge of fresh dust, but kept running. He found the young man cowering near a pile of loose stones, with smaller ones still crumbling from the ceiling. He was filthy but otherwise unhurt. Good. Rhys hadn't intended to kill him.
"Cole, don't make me do this," he shouted as he drew close, trying to catch his breath. "You have to come with me. There’s no other choice!"
Then he slowed to a halt. Cole wasn't cowering. He was crouched low to the ground, eyes glinting dangerously. In his hands was a dagger with a jagged blade, a killing weapon. And it was clear he knew how to use it.
"I don't want to hurt you," Cole warned, his voice low and threatening.
They locked eyes, neither willing to give. It made Rhys angry, to think of all the time he had spent worrying about this young man, only to discover he was a wolf in sheep's clothing. Even if Cole had never claimed to be anything else, Rhys still felt betrayed.
"Why not?" he snapped. "I can see you. Won't killing me make you more real?" He may as well have slapped Cole across the face, considering how the man flinched at his accusing tone. Rhys didn't regret it. He was done with coddling. "This is your last chance." The orb on his staff crackled with white energy.
Cole's eyes narrowed, and for just a moment Rhys thought he might attack. Then he suddenly leapt in the opposite direction. Startled, Rhys unleashed a blast from his staff , but Cole nimbly dodged to the side and it missed its mark. More rocks flew, spreading an even thicker cloud of dust, and Rhys staggered back, coughing.
When he recovered, wiping his eyes, Cole was gone. Grit trailed down from large cracks in the ceiling. He would have to be more careful— the last thing he wanted to do was cause a collapse down here. He wasn't going to stop, however. While Rhys loathed the idea of bringing anyone to the templars, this had to be done. The only way to prove that the murders weren't done by mages was to have Cole in hand and pray to the Maker the young man's strange ability wouldn't mean they'd forget he'd done so five minutes later.
Steeling his nerves, Rhys rushed through the cloud and chased after Cole. He held his staff in front of him, already channeling mana into it. He wasn't going to miss again.
Evangeline felt exhausted. Had she stayed asleep in her chambers like she'd planned, then she wouldn't have discovered Enchanter Rhys missing from his quarters. Not knowing would have absolved her of any responsibility to act, and chances were the mage would have been back in the morning with nobody the wiser. She knew very well how the mages snuck around this tower. Like rats they managed to sniffout every dark corner and secret passage where they could find some privacy. Under normal circumstances, she wouldn't consider this an issue.
But these weren't normal circumstances, and she did know. One last check on the sentry she'd posted in the mages' commons and then she'd rest— that's what she'd told herself. The man at first had stammered and insisted he hadn't left his post, which of course meant he had. He tried to sound dismissive when he mentioned the light he'd seen on the stairs, someone carrying a torch, or so he thought. She knew right away what had happened.
After so many years of watching over their charges, one would think templars would be used to the idea that mages could use their spells to do more than fling lightning bolts. Evidently imagination wasn't something the order could train. Considering Enchanter Rhys possessed a facility with spirits, it wasn't difficult to piece together who was responsible.
So now she followed First Enchanter Edmonde up the long flight of stairs that led to the phylactery chamber. He lit the way with his staff , although the shadows still pressed in from all sides. The old mage stumbled on every second step, stopping to wipe the bleary fatigue from his eyes. She sympathized, but they had little alternative.
It wasn't long before the stairs finally opened onto a foyer. A single stone room, holding only a massive vault. The door was an elaborate mechanism of dwarven construction, a series of interlocking circles made of brass and steel and other alloys Evangeline couldn't begin to name— strong enough to withstand even the most concerted magical attack. The entire tower could be brought crashing to the ground and it would remain intact. Everything inside would be destroyed, of course, which made her wonder why they hadn't put it underground instead. She imagined the order liked to keep the phylacteries high out of reach from the mages, like a shiny bauble dangled over a desperate child's head.
On each side of the vault door a glass plate shimmered with a faint reddish glow. Two keys for entry: one for a templar and one for a mage. That was the only way inside, as dictated since the Circle's inception.
A guard in templar armor stood in front of the vault, his posture so erect there was little doubt he'd been asleep only moments before. "Knight- Captain!" he saluted smartly. It deserved a reprimand, but this was the most boring post in the entire tower. It hadn't even required a guard until after the Kirkwall rebellion; Knight- Commander Eron decided prudence demanded it. One wo
uldn't normally expect the chamber to be needed in the middle of the night, even so. The guard's lucky day, she supposed.
"Hard at work, I see?" she said as she approached.
"Yes, ser!" The guard blinked hard, a sheen of sweat on his forehead. He had the soft face of one noble- born, some second or third son from a forgotten corner of the Empire who no doubt despised the fact that rising within the order wasn't as easy as he'd hoped.
"Stand aside." She waved her hand at him irritably; he almost yelped as he scrambled out of her way. She turned to the First Enchanter beside her. "Shall we?"
The mage looked almost as if he'd topple over from exhaustion. "Is this really necessary, Ser Evangeline?"
"One of your people is missing, the night after an attempt on the Divine's life. It was also not long after we questioned him regarding the murders. I think that warrants suspicion, don't you?"
"Questioned, but not accused."
"If you prefer, we can wake Lord Seeker Lambert and ask for his opinion."
The First Enchanter's shoulders sank. Letting out a laborious sigh, he shuffled over to the plate on one side of the vault and placed his hand on it. The red light reacted to his touch, shifting and swirling until it became blue. Nodding, she strode to the other, removing her gauntlet and touching her bare hand to it. She channeled power through her skin; it tingled as the plate slowly changed to blue as well.
The vault began to shudder, letting out a resounding groan that echoed throughout the chamber. Gears turned, and the metallic circles that were part of the door began to slide in different directions. She watched, fascinated, as each layer slowly lined up one by one . . . until the lock emitted one final clank and was done. A small panel in the center of the door slid open, revealing a handle.
She marched over to it, waving at the gawking templar to stand back, and pulled. The entire door opened far more easily than its weight suggested, making so little sound its great hinges might have been oiled yesterday rather than centuries ago. Those dwarves certainly knew their business.
The windowless chamber inside was enormous. It contained six great pillars that reached to the very top of the ceiling, five around the edges of the room with the largest in the center. Each pillar was lined with delicate glass vials and encircled by a metal staircase. Each of those vials held but a few drops of blood, taken from every mage as they were inducted into the Circle, and imbued with magic that made the blood glow. They made it seem as if the pillars were covered in glittering, dark jewels, and collectively the vials suffused the entire chamber in a ghastly crimson pallor. The color of forbidden things.
Evangeline had always disliked this room. The vials emitted a vibration you felt more than heard. The sensation built and built the longer you remained, until it almost drove you mad. In her mind, the phylacteries were too similar to blood magic— but since the templars found it useful, it was permitted. A bit of hypocrisy in the name of the greater good.
First Enchanter Edmonde stood next to her, staring up at the pillars with obvious distaste. He rubbed his forehead with a withered hand, and then noticed her watching. "Rhys is a good lad," he said, as if replying to a question.
"Would you have said the same of Jeannot?"
"No, although I doubt you'd believe me now."
"You're right." She walked to the large central pillar, touching the metal stairs that twisted around it to make sure they were solid. It seemed impossible they would hold the weight of a person all the way to the very top, but they had never once so much as wobbled beneath her. Still, for her own peace of mind she tested it every time.
Evangeline climbed carefully. She noticed a number of the vials had stopped glowing. Usually that meant the mage it belonged to was dead. She would have to remember to suggest the Tranquil clear out the defunct vials, an undertaking that was long overdue. Although who would she tell? The Lord Seeker? She had her doubts the man was interested in simple matters like the tower's day- to- day administration.
Enchanter Rhys's vial was about halfway up. She checked the runic marking over it against the record to make sure. It occurred to her to wonder if the Tranquil record- keepers were ever wrong. They were inhumanly methodical, and their passive nature made them reliable— but did the templars trust them too much? All of them had once been mages, and while they harbored no emotions, she wondered if it was possible for a Tranquil ever to turn against them.
The Chantry had always claimed it could never happen. But once upon a time the Chantry had considered the idea of a mage rebellion unthinkable as well.
"So are we mages now confined to our chambers?" the First Enchanter called up to her. "Traditionally we have always been given the run of the tower. You cannot squeeze people into a smaller and smaller box and hope they will disappear."
"Or there will be a rebellion? As in Kirkwall?" She allowed more annoyance into her voice than she intended. As she descended the stairs, blood vial in hand, she tried to keep her temper under control. "Conditions were harsh there, I'll grant you that. Considering all that's happened, I'd hope even you might agree it's not the same thing."
He shrugged. "An attack on the Divine was foolish, without a doubt. All I ask is that we not all pay for one man's crime."
Evangeline reached the bottom of the stairs and turned to him. "Perhaps Enchanter Rhys is not involved after all. What if he is being stabbed right now, to cover up someone else's guilt? The templars are here to protect mages, whether you like it or not."
"Even if it kills us?" The man absently waved away her immediate retort. "I apologize for that. It is late. You have what you need?"
"I do."
"Then let us be off."
They walked out of the chamber, and Evangeline allowed the First Enchanter to go on his way. He ambled down the main stair well without further comment while the guard meekly shut the vault behind her. He was clearly torn between wanting to pretend nothing had happened and sucking up to a superior officer. She planned on letting him sweat.
She held up the phylactery vial and studied it. Now let's see where you got off to, she thought. Concentrating, she channeled a bit of power into it. The crimson glow of the blood pulsated and then slowly intensified.
Still in the tower, then. That was a start.
Evangeline walked down the stairs, keeping an eye on the vial. The lower she went, the brighter the glow became. It wouldn't tell her in which direction Enchanter Rhys lie, but it would tell her if she got close— and as she descended past the levels where the mages kept their chambers, she realized he was lower still. Definitely a secret passage, then, unless the sentry had wandered farther from his post than he claimed.
She continued to move through the dark halls of the tower, the phylactery's eerie glow lighting her way. The inner courtyard was empty, devoid of the templars who spent their time training. The chapel was silent, with only the Eternal Flame in the holy brazier to indicate it was ever used at all. She was utterly alone, with only her echoing footsteps to keep her company.
Eventually the vial led her down to the Pit. Not unexpected, really. If the man was as close as the glow indicated, and wasn't on the mage levels, then this is where he'd be.
The first thing she did was head to the dungeons. Not because she expected to find Rhys there— unsurprisingly, the phylactery agreed with her assumption— but because she wasn't about to start wandering around in the dark looking for a potentially dangerous mage without telling someone. Her encounter at the ball had reminded her that even one mage could make a formidable opponent.
The dungeons were a morbid place. A relic from a time when this tower did not belong to the Chantry at all, but instead served as the ruling fortress of Emperor Kordillus Drakon. It was he who had founded the Chantry, during a time of great upheaval when cultists were everywhere and magic ravaged the lands. Once, she supposed, these dungeons had been full, and the ancient torture chambers had seen regular use. She shuddered at the thought that those devices might ever be dusted off once again.
The two templars at the dungeon's guard station were playing cards, and she shook her head as they started to rise. "Up late, Knight- Captain?" one of them asked.
"I'm looking for a missing mage." She indicated the vial.
"We haven't seen anything."
"No, I don't suppose the dungeons would be his first destination," she chuckled wryly. "But I wanted to let you know before I headed farther into the Pit. Just in case."
The men exchanged significant glances. "Expecting trouble? Want one of us to come along?"
"No. Check the cells. Make sure everyone is still in one piece." Evangeline turned to go, but then paused as she noticed the other templar looking anxious. "Something on your mind, ser?" she asked.
The man guiltily ducked the glare from his companion. "Err . . . there's been noises. From below, I mean."
"What sorts of noises?"
"Just the usual," the other insisted.
Now she was interested. She crossed her arms and arched a questioning brow at them both. "What constitutes 'the usual,' exactly? It's been some time since I pulled guard duty in the dungeons. It could, however, be the first of many for some."
"Now, listen here." The templar put his hands up defensively. “There's all sorts of noises in an old place like this. You hear them down below. Things break apart, or something gets in from the sewers. If you go chasing after every single thing you hear, you'll spend all night running around in the dark."
"Could be the Ghost of the Spire," the other suggested, a bit sheepishly.
Evangeline rolled her eyes. She'd heard that rumor, the sort of nonsense spouted by mages. She wouldn't expect that from a templar. The possibility that such a "ghost" could be a demon, particularly if there were blood mages in the tower, made it somewhat less of a joke. In fact, it might be something she had to take quite seriously.
