Dragon Age - The Kill. Chap 15

The innermost section of Minrathous city's central square was cordoned off with braids of thick black silk. A steady stream of people from all walks of life stood at the edges of the secured area or paced its perimeter. Some lingered for a time, others only for a moment of cursory respect. There was prayer, heads bowed in silence, small scrolls burned and the ashes scattered on the sacred ground, stares of curiosity or religious awe.

This was where Andraste had burned.

From where Zevran and Xai stood, the Grand Cathedral of the Black Divine stood beyond the square, all breathtakingly beautiful spires and marvellous stained glass windows. They could even hear a choral chanting from within, but the words were too indistinct for Zevran to tell if it was the Chant of Light being sung or some Tevinter derivation.

Conscious that he had not had the chance to be particularly devout of late, Zevran bowed his head in the direction of the scorched stone and made a small motion with one hand—Sword of Mercy—murmuring a verse for forgiveness in Antivan. Beside him, Xai mirrored his actions so precisely it was hard to say whether he was following suit or had acted on a simultaneous impulse. Either way, they met each others' eyes afterwards, dark brown to golden, two assassins silently acknowledging the mission they were about to begin as companions.

"Into the wolf's mouth, hm?" Zevran suggested with a grin.

Xai's answering smile was devoid of mirth and he did not answer. He turned his back on the square and the Chantry, starting towards the great shadow that was the Circle Tower.

Zevran smoothed the frown from his brow and followed.

"This is what we have. There are eleven floors in all, three below ground and the rest above. The regular slaves are kept one floor down—mages typically grab two or three before heading outside. Just because the Denerim elves are now safely away on The Royal Sail, don't assume there aren't plenty of bodies left down there for the magisters to call on and swamp us with at a moment's notice. Yes Shianni?"

"Don't we want to try springing them? A commotion could be a good distraction and I can't help wanting to—"

"I know you want to free them, but we can't save them all. Our success relies on being undetected as long as possible, and a mass exodus won't achieve that."

"All right…Fine. So I'm to wait over at this spot here with the horses and Fereldan guards until you all show up."

"The ground floor and first few levels will be easy. Zevran and I will disguise ourselves to be on the safe side: clothes, tattoo coverage, hair dyes—"

"Black! I have tried black hair dye on one or two occasions. I looked stunning. You will think so too when you see it, mark my words."

"—I will be Tassos Vasilis of Vol Dorma, uncle of Airlia Vasilis, a niece who's apprenticing at the tower. Zevran will be my house servant, carrying parcels we will declare to be gifts. The baskets and wrappings contain nothing out of the ordinary, but include clothes and skin pigments we'll use to disguise any thralls on the way out.

"The two of us will enter the tower at the main entrance, state our business and be accompanied to the mage quarters and guest lounges on the fourth floor, past the library, museum and mess hall. Shayle, do you recall your part?"

"I am to enter the tower a quarter hour after the two Crows have, and pass the time until their return conversing with the mage-guards who hold the control rods of the golems that guard the front doors." The dwarf sighed. "How tiresome."

Zevran brushed an uncooperative strand of black hair back into place, mindful not to disturb his makeup, and wished again for a hand mirror. He'd already checked his reflection so many times that morning that Shianni had suggested he should just make out with himself and get it over with (and he'd been so delighted by the jest he'd given the looking glass a long, passionate kiss just to enjoy her laughter and Shayle's exasperation).

Attempting to maintain his pose of attentive elven servant as Xai gave their cover story to a lower mage, Zevran also tried to absorb as much of the vast entrance foyer as he could. He hadn't had much of a chance to look at it on his way out with Shayle, and had been lucky enough not to stumble into it on his mad flight from the cells.

It resembled a huge circular throne room. Imperial banners with devices both familiar and foreign floated from the high stone walls. Towards the back of the chamber stood a single elaborately-carved chair, dragonbone if Zevran was any judge, and lavishly bejewelled with stones that glowed blood red and lyrium blue.

There was an empty crown resting on the cushioned seat of the chair.

The entire display stood on an unoccupied dais, thickly carpeted in gold-trimmed crimson, and cordoned off just as the square had been. It was also covered by a heavy layer of dust, which Zevran assumed was some sort of symbolism rather than any laxity of the cleaners. An attempt by the magisters to show that the old ruling days of magic were over, perhaps. He wondered if anyone ever fell for it.

Guards lined the edges of the hall, actual paid guards, elves and humans with bows and swords and mail of red steel with gold sunburst devices on the breastplates. They were doing a good job of pretending not to be keeping very close watch on those approaching the throne and crown to get a better look.

Behind the display and easy to miss despite being clearly visible were two mages, neither standing near the other. No one could tell just by looking at them, but they were the ones who held the control rods for the two golems hulking immobile on either side of the huge double doors; proper full-sized golems, not the smaller version 'Shale' had been, and fashioned of gleaming steel that sparked lightning rather than a stone-and-crystal affair.

So. Anyone making trouble in this room would have to answer to arrows, blades, magic, and two pairs of giant steel fists. Not good odds.

"Knife-ears!" Xai said sharply, in Arcanum. He'd insisted Zevran learn some rudimentary commands. "Attend! Show the gifts."

"Yes Lord Vasilis!"

The elf stepped forward quickly, uncovering baskets and revealing bottles and jars for inspection, then neatly replaced the wrappings once the mage nodded his satisfaction.

"Wait there," he said, pointing, then added something that Zevran assumed meant: "Should not be long."

The quarter hour mark passed, a steady tide of humanity passing inside to view the great library or museum of relics, then streaming out again in a constant ebb and flow. Eventually a shorter figure stepped from the throng entering the tower to stand alone. Zevran saw it march up to one of the towering juggernauts, and he watched in mild horror as the huge body canted down so its head could view the squishy creature below it.

Whatever Shayle said to it went completely unheard, but the golem's booming response of, "What shall we speak about, dwarf?" practically brought the crowd to a standstill with many a gasp and cry of wonder. One of the control rod-mages immediately crossed the hall to confront Shayle while the other observed from her post with an expression of mingled amusement and irritation that suggested she'd witnessed this scene before.

"She'd better not get kicked out of here prematurely," Xai muttered under his breath.

"She knows what she's doing," Zevran replied, with more confidence than he actually felt. "Besides, if we're lucky we may not need that part of the plan after all."

The human made a non-committal sound and folded his arms, falling into a pose of noble impatience.

Another two minutes passed and then there was a happy squeal of "Uncle Tassos!" followed by a slender young mage in ivory robes and dark curls throwing herself into Xai's arms.

They'd actually rehearsed this scene. Complete with happy extended family dialogue.

Airlia was one of the mages Wynne had set to dogging Shayle's steps and, according to the dwarf, a vocal denouncer of blood slavery. The mage claimed she held views both Loyalistic and Aequitarian, believing the Chant of Light said magic should never be used to control the minds of men no matter what those in power at the Chantry dictated. To hear her explain it, there was a certain amount of politics amongst Tevinter mages about how far blood magic should be allowed to go in order to serve the nation; substituting slaves for lyrium didn't sit well with everyone, especially when said slaves were being subjected to more than mere energy-drainage.

"The sad truth is that most people don't care what happens to slaves," she'd told Zevran one day at Shayle's estate, during his efforts to glean information on both her and the tower. "So long as the magisters don't use their powers on free people, well…that's all right. Slaves are property, not men, so there is no blasphemy. I doubt Andraste, a former slave herself, would agree."

Despite Zevran's efforts to learn what he could of the young mage, Shayle's own questioning of senior mages at dinner parties, and Shianni's information gathering amongst the freed slaves, it had still been a leap of faith to use Airlia's aid and make her aware of any of the plan, contingencies in place or no. In the end, an apparently free ticket halfway up the tower with inside information included had been too good to ignore. As her intelligence of the tower had corroborated or clarified just about everything Xai, Shayle and Shianni had passed on to Zevran, he had decided they would take the risk.

"Come upstairs," Airlia urged after a brief babble in Arcanum. "We can talk in comfort there and I can send for drinks. Your elf too—he looks tired!"

Zevran bowed, Imperial style as he'd been taught, and gave the correct response: "I am humbled by the lady mage's notice and generosity."

"They will lose respect for you if you treat them like people," Xai said with patrician disapproval as they walked with her to join the flow of the crowd, heading deeper into the tower towards the stairwell.

Zevran let Airlia's response and the rest of the contrived conversation wash over him and kept his head down like a slave should, carrying his baskets and packages with care while taking note of all he passed…

"What about your weapons and armour? My people said that only mages and thralls ever go above the fourth floor, unless some case like Shayle's is presented, and you need to get to the sixth. You're not going to sneak up there disguised as a noble and servant and hope for the best, are you?"

"We'll both be carrying some smaller hidden weapons on the way in, but our usual equipment will be waiting for us. Shayle?"

"So I was assured. Wynne trusted these apprentice mages a great deal. I believe they even warned her that the spirit within her was generating…interest. I don't like mages on principle; they are power-hungry parasites with over-bloated egos, but Wynne I trust, and if she trusted them then I will too...despite their annoying behaviour and tendency not to shut up—"

"Shayle…"

"What? Oh, very well. Airlia and Kato have already smuggled the leathers, weapons, poisons and tools into their rooms. They also have spare mage robes that will fit over the armour, and some of those daft hats their kind are so fond of. It should be enough of a disguise to get the Crows up to the sixth level."

"A combination of stealth and guile, yes? So long as no one spots us and asks us to take part in any magic, we should get along just fine."

"So long as those mages don't betray us either. Are we expected to believe they don't care about the consequences of sneaking two assassins into the tower? They don't mind if we kill any of their friends or associates?"

"Besides freeing the thralls, their only request was that if death is necessary it be restricted to our marks on the sixth floor."

"And I promised them the painted elf and treacherous Warden would keep that request," Shayle said darkly.

"In so many words, I daresay?" Xai's lips stretched into a smile. "I will not break your oath, Lady Cadash. Zevran may not have told you this, but I am something of an expert on not killing people."

The two assassins shed their outer clothes and began strapping on leathers in the relative safety of Airlia's domicile. It wasn't large, boasting a grand total of two rooms: one for sleeping, one for studying and recreation. It was the abode of a student.

"Do all mages here live so?" Zevran wondered aloud, using the King's Tongue. He'd been surprised to learn many Tevinters knew the language of Ferelden until it had been explained that Denerim being Andraste's birth place had always generated plenty of interest in both the tongue and the distant barbarian land. "I had the fortune to visit the Antivan Circle of Magi once. The rooms there were much more generous. As were the beds," he added with a sly grin.

"Not many live within the tower itself," came Airlia's Tevinter-accented reply as she dragged a box of tightly-stoppered bottles and vials from the adjoining room—their poisons of choice. "Mostly only those of us studying abroad and without the means or willingness to pay for lodgings in the city. All ranking magisters have rooms reserved, but they have their own towers or estates to see to. Only the First Enchanter really lives here on a permanent basis."

"And he's currently off fighting qunari, correct?" Xai asked in an off-hand tone that nevertheless drew Zevran's attention.

"I told you this already. All magisters are obliged to protect the empire when called, even the Grand Enchanter—who is also our Divine, lest you're unaware. First Enchanter Lysander left for the warfront over a month ago, well before you arrived in Minrathous. He took some of his thralls, including Valdaran Dasu, but left Ciela and the others in the charge of his apprentice Carolos." Airlia put her hands on her hips, scowling a little. "If you're having second thoughts about this and want to wait until he returns so you can try to rescue them both, I really must advise against—"

"No," Xai said, fastening a buckle across his chest as he threw a smirk at her. "Just ensuring the situation hadn't changed. He could have returned, after all."

"I would have told you if he had," the mage told him, sounding slightly peeved. "He's due back in at least a week, so you'll have a good head start if he decides to chase you. That should be plenty of time to reach the Nevarran border and the protection of the Templars, unless you have other plans."

Zevran paused in the act of pulling on his gloves and cast about for a moment. "Our weapons…?" he asked.

"Kato has them. Do you want me to see what's taking him so long?"

"Much as I hate to be robbed of your presence for any stretch of time, my beautiful mage," Zevran said extravagantly, "we are on a time limit, alas."

Once she was gone, a light blush colouring her cheeks, Zevran picked up his gloves and eyed Xai narrowly as he pulled them on. "This First Enchanter Lysander is of interest to you, hm?"

Xai let out a long breath through his nose. "The First Enchanter I slew...his apprentice was named Lysander, but I never had anything to do with him. We never spoke or interacted. I have no designs against him, if that's what you're asking."

"But there is a risk, no? That your mark's code was passed on to his apprentice Lysander, and we are to deal with this Lysander's apprentice now."

"Keep your voice down," Xai muttered, glancing towards the door. "If they are the same person, yes, there is a risk. There was always a risk of bumping into someone familiar with my code, if not familiar with me. You knew this."

Zevran chuckled and gave him a dry little smile. "It seems more of a certainty now, my friend, does it not? So, then. Does our resident Master Crow have some way to protect his team from unfortunate accidents?"

"Are you worried someone will order me to kill you, Zevran?"

"Ahh, no, no…we both know where that will lead, yes? But I am allowed to be concerned that some random command will drop you on your hands and knees at an inconvenient moment."

"I am fairly sure that I will have…minimal trouble ignoring orders that are not given directly to me," Xai said after a moment of silent contemplation. "But it's true…I am not certain. At your command, I can make use of this." He crossed to the box Airlia had pulled out, picked up a jar and tossed it to Zevran. The elf unscrewed the lid, sniffed the thick yellow contents and made a disbelieving sound.

"Beeswax? You intend to plug your ears?"

"If it seems necessary. Or I can leave and you to attempt this mission solo," Xai said, catching the jar on the return toss. "It's your call…Master Arainai."

"And you would simply leave if I told you to, hm?"

"Why not? It would give me something to gloat about when I rescued you." The man smirked. "In fact, how about we wager a glass of Antivan brandy that you'd thank me on bended knee for your deliverance."

Zevran laughed derisively. "Because your first attempt at rescuing me from the common slave cages met with such success, yes? You didn't even manage to make it inside the tower, as I recall."

Xai's smile hitched. He bent his attention to the box to hide it, retrieving a jar of bright magenta liquid with one hand and a thick white cloth with the other. Zevran's satisfaction at seeing the man whose counter-insults usually came as smooth as silk reduced to speechlessness changed to disbelief when Xai began, in a voice that sounded hesitant and apologetic, "I tried, but—" He froze, frowned, shook himself as though coming awake and looked at the bottle in his hand. "Dwarf Dream," he said, giving it a little wave. "Knocks a man out so hard he misses the Fade on the way through. Good for ensuring a nice, long, dreamless sleep—particularly handy against blood mages and their dreamwalking abilities."

"And former slaves who don't wish to be tracked via their dreams?" Zevran put in shrewdly, which earned him a dispassionate glance.

"Highly addictive and toxic if used frequently. Must be inhaled or ingested." Xai unstoppered the jar, held the cloth to its mouth and arched a brow at the elf as he began to tip the fluid. "How much are you willing to risk that our two mages are trustworthy? If they are, then we lose nothing by neutralising them—their purpose is done past this point. If, however, they do intend to betray us…"

"Better safe than sorry, hm?"

"Words to stay alive by, Zevran."

"On the second hour every afternoon, Carolos—that's the blood mage in charge of Ciela with the First Enchanter away—makes his circuit of the thralls."

"What's that mean? What's he doing to her?"

"Continuing her training I expect, Shianni. The routine can differ between blood mages masters. Shayle has learned that Carolos is on the cruel side, much like his mentor. Magistra Phaedra, on the other hand, inherited her thralls rather than acquiring them herself. She is reputed to be a kindly mistress."

"Kindly, you say? That woman tried to crush me to death."

"The painted elf says that as though enjoying the sight of crushing an annoying bug is a bad thing."

"Bugs I do not mind crushing—especially the ones that leave you with those little itchy bites. They are most unpleasant. Elves on the other hand, elves like me in particular…not so much, no."

"As I was saying, Carolos is one of our marks. He's a blood mage who dabbles in hexes and electric spells. The others are the thrall-keeper and two aides, but the duty is rotated; what schools they specialise in we won't know unless we get hit. I suggest we try to avoid that."

"Four mages sounds rather…hazardous to one's health, my friend. Is there some secret to taking them all out without getting shot full of lightning?"

"How good are you at moving silently and striking from the shadows, Zevran?"

Zevran wrapped his arm tightly around the mage's waist, pinning one of her arms as she struggled in his grasp and clutched at the hand holding the dosed cloth to her face. He tried not to be brutal about it for he didn't like leaving bruises or scars, especially not on those he had no intentions of killing.

"Hush now, my dear, do not fear," he murmured in Airlia's ear as her thrashing weakened. "This is for our peace of mind as much as for your protection."

Not far away, Xai had Kato similarly restrained but wasn't bothering with soothing words; his captive was fighting too hard for them to matter.

It was over quickly. Zevran hoisted the young woman into his arms and carried her to the bedroom, where he arranged her to look like she'd merely nodded off. Xai dragged Kato into the same room, put a spare pillow under his head a blanket over his legs and left it at that.

"How long will they be out?" Zevran asked as he folded the cloth tightly and put it away.

"Several hours. Midnight at the earliest. And they will not awaken easily if someone disturbs them."

"That's quite the sleeping draught, my friend. You will have to share the recipe."

"Another time, if you're serious," Xai said with a shrug. He picked up one of the mage robes Airlia had provided and flung it over his armour, then put on one of the Tevinter style feathered cowls.

"The mages will have to be blind to not notice we're wearing armour under these things," Zevran muttered, donning his shorter robe. The hat, a blue velvet creation with golden embroidery and a small cluster of white feathers at its pointed peak, he studied with considerable reluctance before fitting over his hair and ears.

"Mage armour is not a rarity in Tevinter," Xai said, straightening his clothes in the reflection of the mirror in the bedroom, "not with the war. Moreover, this isn't Ferelden or Antiva where the Chantry issues standard robes to every mage. Tevinters have a lot more freedom in their fashion; except for some rank restrictions to senior Enchanters, they wear whatever they like."

Zevran checked his own reflection when Xai had moved away, and glared a little at the befeathered hat before smoothing out some creases and adjusting the magebane-anointed sword hidden at his hip.

"Time to go," Xai said quietly after a moment, picking up a staff.

Zevran returned, claiming the other staff on the way. "I am ready."

The Grey Warden listened silently at the door for a few seconds, head cocked and eyes distant, then gave Zevran a quick nod and pulled it open.

One after the other, the two former Antivan Crows stepped quietly back out into the Circle Tower of Minrathous.