Danal didn't trust it when things came easy. Like the wine cellar door being unlocked and the lamps burning brightly in their wall sconces between the large oak barrels and racks of dusty bottles. The light being an advantage only in that no one would inadvertently trip over something in the dark, alerting whatever guards were waiting above. A liability since there would be no shadows to hide in if Danarius fancied a drink. It was clear from what Fenris' had said the magister expected his guards to be returning with his 'property.' So it seemed safe to assume -if he was here - that he hadn't turned in for the night like a good little mage.

Standing near the steps that led to the pantry, Danal paused and cocked his head. This place felt so bloody empty. Even disciplined guards made noise. But he heard no footsteps, no muffled words of stray conversation, no scrape of a chair across the floor. With men awake, someone should be on duty in the kitchen, putting out food and drink for those coming off watch. He knew that much from stories Mother had told about growing up in a noble house. But only the faint smell of mold and dust tickled his nose.

The elf glided closer. For a man trained in a more open style of fighting, he moved as silent as a cat. Then again, running for his life and his freedom had probably instilled lessons in stealth.

"It's too quiet," Fenris murmured, fingering the hilt of his sword.

"Funny, I was just thinking the same thing," Danal said, pulling out a dagger with his left hand, then gliding up to the wooden steps. They looked sturdy. No warps or cracks. His gut loosened a little as he gained the top step with no tell-tale squeaks.

Right hand on the latch, he eased the door open. Slightly ajar, light spilled in between the edge of the pantry door and the frame, illuminating a pile of onions on an open shelf. Their pungent aroma mixed with that of ripe peaches and melons and fresh bread.

Easing forward, Danal peered through the slightly open door. No one in the kitchen and he still couldn't hear anything. The hairs on the back of his neck stirred. Underneath the smell of fruit and bread, he caught another, too familiar, scent. Blood. He eased back, his heart beating hard and fast, muscles tensing for battle.

"I don't think we're going to find anyone alive," he whispered, turning to Fenris.

The elf's face hardened, but he didn't look very surprised.

Danal eased the door open, then slipped into the kitchen. A human woman of middle years sprawled, face down, a faint pinkish stain on the white tile floor surrounding her. The air had a metallic tang to it – not blood – but the hot-iron taste he associated with blood magic. It filled his mouth, making Danal want to spit. He swallowed it, then drew his other dagger.

"Oh, this is not good," Varric whispered, stepping up beside Hawke.

"I hate blood-mages," Anders muttered behind him.

"Oh, Maker," Bethany said, sliding closer to the apostate. "Normal tactics for demons?"

Danal nodded.

"You've fought demons before?" Fenris asked.

"Oh, we've had lots of practice lately, haven't we, Beth? Kirkwall's been knee-deep in blood mages the past few weeks." Danal grimaced. "Just ignore me. It's been a bad month."

He moved into the short hallway that led to the dining room. He'd just taken in the three dead guards when two shades erupted from the floor and a rage demon boiled out of a far corner. The blood smell thickened, shrieks shredding the air and slicing down his nerves.

Fenris darted out, phasing into blue-white translucence, and his sword sang through the air. Damn, he moved fast.

"You tell him, sweetheart," Varric shouted, as bolts peppered the shade Fenris danced with, then decapitated in one smooth stroke.

A lightning bolt from Anders arched out, singeing the second shade.

Danal swung to the left, out of the way of the ice bolts he felt Bethany gathering. They skimmed past him, slowing but not stopping the rage demon coming his way.

Pivoting behind it, his left dagger sliced across its back, spilling ichor and fire. It howled in pain, swinging around, its clawed hands raking through the empty space Danal had occupied only a moment before.

"Missed me," Danal said, grinning. He caught Fenris' eye, and skipped back again, waving his dagger, keeping the demon's attention focused on him. The elf phased out again, lunging through the demon then pivoting, his arms and sword going solid as he cleaved it in two through the waist - or what passed for a demon's waist. By this time, the others had taken out the second shade.

The demon's bodies were already fading, dissolving back into the Fade, leaving the faint smell of the blood that had summoned them behind.

"I escaped a land of dark magic, only to find myself plagued by it once again," Fenris said, still holding his sword out, those green eyes narrow and hard, focused on Bethany and Anders. "I should have realized sooner what you were." His eyes flicked to Danal. "You harbor vipers in your midst."

Bethany flushed and she stepped forward. "You can talk to me directly, you know."

Danal stepped between them.

Fenris didn't lower his sword. "They'll turn on you the moment you let your guard down. It's their nature."

Anders scowled.

Danal's hands tightened on his daggers. "Maybe for some, but my sister is a lot stronger than you think."

"You tell him, brother."

Fenris eyes flicked between them, then settled on Anders. "I don't doubt that some mages have good intentions. But I've seen too many fall to temptation. Their magic becomes a curse they inflict upon others."

Like Danarius inflicted those markings on you? Shit, we don't have time for this. "Do you really want to argue tactics in the middle of a demon-infested house with the people who are trying to save your ass?" Oh, that was brilliant, Hawke. Good thing no one's tried to hire you as a diplomat.

Fenris lowered his sword till the tip touched the floor. "I'm not blind. I know magic has its uses. If I appear ungrateful, I apologize." His face softened then. "For nothing could be further from the truth."

He means it. There was something disarmingly direct about the man. How someone could be so closed and so open at the same time was a mystery better saved for later, though, Danal thought. If they survived this night.

"All right, I'll accept that. Now, let's just hope Danarius decided to only conjure shades and rage demons."

Varric laughed. "Only? Hawke, have I told you your optimism is one of the qualities I most admire in you?"

Danal shook his head, then waved his dagger at the door leading into the receiving room. "Come on; let's find out what other surprises this magister has left."

Plenty, it seemed, judging by the number of shades infesting every room. After taking out the last one in a side room on the first floor that seemed to function as a secondary wine cellar, Danal sank to his knees, his sides heaving, his shoulders and arms bruised and aching. Isabella lay stretched out near one of the barrels, cursing in Rivaini while Anders focused on repairing the deep gashes running almost the length of her thigh. At least, luck seemed to be favoring them to the extant that no guards or templars had showed up…yet.

"Shit," Varric muttered through clenched teeth as Beth popped his right shoulder back into place. His grimace eased into a sigh of relief as healing energy flowed out of her hands, easing the soreness.

"You're hurt," Fenris said, moving away from the wall he was holding up to kneel beside Danal.

"It's nothing, just a few scratches."

Fenris arched an elegant brow. "A few scratches?"

Balanced on the balls of his feet, he pivoted, scooping up a large pewter cup that had been knocked off a shelf during the fight, then filled it from one of the wine barrels. A stance that also showed off his lithe muscularity to good advantage, Danal swallowed and tried to find something else to stare at.

Cradling the human's left forearm in his palm he poured the wine over the cuts. The touch of that gauntleted hand sent a shiver through Danal's loins, then he hissed at the stinging pain as the wine washed away the blood. Damn, those 'scratches' had been deeper than he'd thought.

Finished with Varric, Beth hurried over and the elf glided out of her way, retreating to the doorway, his sword point down on the floor in front of him.

"Dani, you need to be more careful," she said, examining his wounds.

"I was being careful." He studied her face. "How are you doing?"

She waved a hand, still studying the gashes on his left forearm. "Fine."

"Beth-"

Looking up, she gently squeezed his hand. "Really. I can handle a few more demons. Now, be quiet so I can close this up without you scarring too badly."

He wanted to joke about how would anyone believe his story of this fight if he didn't have the scars to prove it, but one glance at the grim look on the elf's face dissuaded him. What Fenris wanted went far beyond simple revenge, if there was such a thing. Whatever Danarius had done to him had gone soul-deep. Instinct told Danal it wasn't just about the intricate lyrium lines 'carved into' his flesh or being led around on a leash, humiliating as that must have been. He shivered. Beth glanced up, the glow in her hands wavering a moment.

"It's all right," he assured his sister. "Just…been a long night."

She nodded, and bent back to her healing. He kept his gaze on his arm, watching the jagged cuts sealing up one by one, leaving only thin white lines. Deft and sure, he felt the energy seeping into his arm. Anders might have his own set of problems, but he was a skilled teacher.

Danal glanced up and saw that Isabella was now sitting and examining her leg through the rents in her trousers. Anders slumped against the wall, massaging the side of his head.

"You all right?" Danal asked.

The apostate nodded. "Just give me a few minutes. Those lacerations were deep."

"You're good, sweet thing. Can barely see the scars."

Anders' smiled. "Yes, your charms are intact, my dear."

Isabella laughed, and rose, then wavered a bit before leaning against the wall. "Bollocks, I hate demons."

"Varric?" Danal asked.

The dwarf patted his crossbow. "Bianca and I are a team again."

Bethany pulled her hands away and the warm tingle of healing magic faded from Danal's flesh. He flexed his wrist and fingers and noted only a slight soreness. Nothing he couldn't work around. He'd pushed through battles with far worse injuries.

"Well, look at this," Varric said, rising from his crouch near one of the bodies. He held up a plain iron key. "Three guesses as to which room this opens."

Danal glanced at the body. He tallied up the mental count he'd made of each room. Over a dozen people had been slaughtered to supply Danarius with power. His gut tightened. Casual murder wasn't something he'd ever understood. Taking a life in the midst of anger…he could see how that might happen. But this…

He turned, his gaze falling on the elf. "Did you recognize any of the people Danarius killed?"

Fenris shook his head. "They're most likely mercenaries he hired. None of them wear his house badge. He's invested a great deal of gold in the training of his personal guard."

"So he isn't going to use them as battle fodder," Danal muttered. "Damn, that probably means-" he's not even here. I'll wager this is another ruse, like the one Fenris set up for us.

The elf cocked his head. "Probably means what?"

"That there's probably going to be more demons to take out before this is done with." And judging by that look you're giving me, you don't believe that's what I was going to say.

Fenris shrugged and hefted his weapon. "Shall we press on?"

Nothing jumped out at them from the floor or corners of the receiving room, though that hot-iron smell warned Danal of more blood-magic traps. Bethany shifted closer to him, her eyes searching the open spaces around them.

"Sense any demons, Beth?" He pitched his voice low, so it wouldn't carry beyond their small group…just in case Danarius was still here. After working together for over a year, the others knew to do the same.

"Yes and no. It's like walking through one of those caves…where it feels like pieces of webbing are brushing your face, but you can't see anything. And when you go to wipe it away, there's nothing there." She frowned. "Does that make sense?"

"Perfect sense," Anders said, inching closer to her.

Danal glanced up the stairs at the heavy oak door that dominated the center of the wall stretching the length of the wide landing. So far, this house had followed the same layout as Mother's, so behind that door lay the master's bedroom. Eying the intricately carved door panels, he held his hand out to Varric.

"Give me that key you found."

"Surely you're not going in without me, Hawke?" Varric said as he dropped it on Danal's palm.

"That's exactly what I'm going to do." He motioned to both ends of the landing. "Anders and Isabella, you take left flank. Beth and Varric, the right. Cover the stair opposite. And Fenris?"

"Yes?"

Challenge, irritation –probably at the implication of being left behind - and what sounded like genuine curiosity all rolled into one word. Damn, the man had a gift.

"Stay on my right. I tend to lead with my left."

"So I've noticed."

Danal nodded. Was that a joke? Sort it out later, Hawke. Right now, there's a trap to spring. He glided up the steps, the others spreading out to their assigned positions as he approached the door. The elf shifted beside him, his hands tightening on his weapon, a small dark smile curving up the corners of his mouth.

He really expects to find Danarius beyond this door…or maybe he's just hoping because the alternative doesn't bear thinking about.

Danal slipped the key into the lock. It turned easily and the door swung open on silent hinges.

No one waited in the room.

The only things that greeted them were overturned drawers, scattered clothes, and papers strewn across the floor and unmade bed. A chest similar to the empty one in the alienage stood open in a corner; a heavy gold ring set with a sapphire, a ruby pendant, and a few small jeweled daggers spilled around it. Hawke loosed a breath. At least there aren't any bodies.

"No," Fenris whispered, stepping into the room.

A tremor passed through him, than a loud stream of curses in Arcanum followed, the elf's sword rising. Reading his intention, Danal pivoted and skipped back out of the way as Fenris swung around burying the edge of his blade in the doorframe. The moment the human's foot hit the edge of the thick rug under the bed he felt a vibration pass through the floor. He realized then that the spilled trinkets had been bait to lure someone deeper into the room and trigger a mage trap.

Just outside the door, the air snapped and crackled, like in a thunderstorm.

Fenris wrenched his sword out of the oaken frame, sending splinters flying in all directions as an arcane horror stepped out of the Fade and onto the landing.

"Of course, you always save the best for last, don't you?" Danal muttered as it focused on him and the elf. Beyond it, the howl of a rage demon and the shriek of shades meant they couldn't expect any help from the others.

"He must have sacrificed one of his apprentices," Fenris said, his gaze locked on the horror as he eased back beside Danal.

"Any suggestions?"

"Don't die."

"That's not-" Danal dove to his right, narrowly avoiding an ice bolt that shattered on the wall behind him. "-very helpful," he finished, gaining his feet.

Lightning arced through the air beyond the door and Danal heard the howl of a rage demon coming from below the stairs.

Fenris darted forward, his form going translucent. Danal moved in tandem. Both men had taken only a single step when a wall of force slammed them both back against the far wall. For a moment, all Danal saw were stars, bright blue and red, shimmering before his eyes, then he saw nothing at all.