In Search of Tranquility

Chapter Seven: Infernal Tower

"Magic exists to serve Man, and never to rule over him."

The Prophetess Andraste (attributed)

Sirius was taking a break. The bottled lager which seemed to be the only kind of beer here was not as good as butterbeer, but it would do for now. He was sitting in a seat on the porch when Regina unexpectedly joined him.

"I was wondering, Mr Black, just how different this world is from the one you come from." She said. "Would I and my little town have survived there, unmolested?"

"Survived, certainly." Sirius replied. "But unmolested? Perhaps not. You must understand, Ms Mills, there is a thriving magical community in my world, which keeps itself rigidly secret from muggles – non-magical people. Had Storybrooke arrived there, it would definitely have drawn the attention of the FBS, the White Council and Dr Strange."

"These people being?" Regina asked.

"The United States Federal Bureau of Sorcery – the FBS – is the governing body of the wizard community in America, as the Ministry of Magic is in Britain." Sirius told her. "The White Council is a body that approximates to the muggle United Nations. Dr Stephen Strange is the Sorceror Supreme – he stands above and apart from wizard government, his role being to protect the world from magical threats of an extraterrestrial or extra-dimensional nature.

"You would most certainly have been investigated and, even if they'd decided you were harmless, there would have been changes. No law prevents wizards from living discreetly among muggles, but magical law prevents wizards from holding positions of authority in muggle communities. You would not have been allowed to become or remain Mayor, nor would Ms Swan have been allowed to head your police force.

"You could have continued to live here, but only as a private citizen, subject to magical law."

"On top of that, there are muggle agencies – I don't know much about them except the names – such as SHIELD and UNIT, who might also be aware of and curious about your arrival."

"I see." Regina nodded. "Fortunate for me, then, that we arrived where we did!"

"For you, perhaps." Sirius said bitterly. "For me, however, it's anything but!"

"Perhaps." Regina said. "But don't be so eager to write us off yet, Mr Black. We will talk more later, you and I."

"Wynne?" Cormac said. "What are you doing here?"

"I am a Mage of the Circle." She pointed out. "Where else would I be? I might with more justice ask what you are doing here, Cormac of the Grey Wardens. You too, Alistair. Oh, yes, I remember you, the poor boy the Revered Mother made run messages to the mages because we all knew you used to be a Templar novice."

"I remember you, too, Enchanter Wynne." Alistair said. "The only mage at Ostagar who didn't yell at me."

Wynne smiled. "The Revered Mother was not the only crafty old lady at Ostagar, son. I used to make the Tranquil take messages to the Chantry priests. Mages upset the priests, but for some reason the Tranquil make them feel guilty.

"But to return to my question. What are you doing here? Has Greagoir sent you to finish us off? Does he believe the Circle truly lost?"

"He has sent for the Right of Annulment." Cormac admitted. "But he is reluctant to exercise it. He has too few men of his own, so he has given us permission to sweep the Tower, dispose of any demons and Abominations we can find, and rescue any surviving mages."

"He must be short of men indeed, if he is prepared to allow Grey Wardens to perform this task." Wynne noted.

"Well, if there's something strange in the neighbourhood," Alistair pointed out, "who are you going to call?"

Leliana deftly swatted Killian between the shoulders and solicitously offered her water-skin. Cormac gave him a look that said clearly that some explanation would be required at a more convenient time.

"Well, if you are indeed here to destroy demons, then I am with you." Wynne told them. "I have erected a barrier over the entrance to the rest of the Tower, to keep the demons out. I will dispel it on one condition – that I come with you."

"Are you sure, Wynne?" This was one of the other mages, a young woman. "You were so badly hurt earlier. Perhaps Kinnon or I should go with the Wardens?"

"No, Petra, you and Kinnon should stay with the children." Wynne said firmly. "You are two of my best students. If we slay every monster we come across, you should be safe here, and if one does slip by us, you are more than capable of handling it. But there may be things in the upper reaches of the Tower that are beyond you.

"So, Grey Wardens, do we have an agreement? If we can clear the Tower, Greagoir will tell his men to stand down, I am sure. He is not unreasonable."

"He says he will only do that if the First Enchanter tells him it's safe." Cormac informed her.

"Then our path is clear." Wynne stated. "We must find Irving. If the Tower still stands, then so does he -he would destroy the Circle himself rather than see it corrupted. No doubt he is in the thick of things as we speak. Are we ready?"

"Good to have you along, Wynne." Cormac said. "Release the barrier and let's get started!"

It took only a moment for Wynne to release her enchantment, but what happened next took them all by surprise. The second the barrier fell, a young mage darted into the room and, ignoring everyone else, made for the entrance to the basement. Once there, he gabbled out a short ritual, which was promptly answered by the appearance of a demon much like the one Wynne had just disposed of, only larger.

The demon struck the boy down, but was promptly attacked from all sides. Under a shower of spells from the three mages, a volley of arrows from Leliana and the swords of the three Grey Wardens, the beast was dispatched in short order.

Wynne knelt beside the young mage. The lad was clearly dying, but he was awake and aware.

"Alun, what were you doing?" Wynne asked.

"The Watchguard." Alun murmured. "The Watchguard of the Reaching. We found the ritual to summon him. Thought he could defend the Tower. Denri, Calum and I. The demons got the others, and I couldn't get through..." His eyes glazed over.

"Shah Wyrd," Wynne sighed, "the Watchguard of the Reaching. A legend as old as this Tower. It's said that the Avvars placed a powerful guard on this door, the door behind which their chief treasures were hidden. A guard who could be summoned if the Tower was in danger.

"Nobody remembers who Shah Wyrd was. How could these poor young mages have known that Shah Wyrd was just another Rage Demon?"

"A Rage Demon who was carrying a very big sword!" Killian noted, picking the weapon up with some difficulty.

"Let me see..." Cormac took the sword from Killian without apparent effort and examined it carefully. "It's ancient." He noted. "Pure silverite, and these runes...Maker's breath! This is Yusaris, the Dragonslayer! There was a book about this in the library at Highever. Dane of the Alamarri is supposed to have found it in a dragons' hoard, before Andraste was born. His son Hafter used it to fight the Darkspawn, but nobody knows what became of Hafter. Perhaps the Avvars found the sword and brought it here. Or perhaps Shah Wyrd killed Hafter and took it."

He swung the sword experimentally, the blade shimmered and sang through the air.

"Looks like it was made for you." Alistair commented.

"Perhaps it was." Wynne said. "I have lived too long, seen too much, to believe in coincidence. That this ancient and mighty blade should emerge now, and come into the hands of so worthy a warrior at a time of such peril. This bears the print of the Makers' hand.

"Take up the sword, Cormac, and wield it well!

"Now, let us be gone!"

Cormac did not have to wait long to try out his new sword. The other side of the ground floor was awash with demons, Abominations and more of the walking dead. This was the first time Killian had seen a true Abomination, and he was surprised at how uniform they were. Bulky, top-heavy creatures with wide shoulders and humped backs, they wore the ragged remnants of mage robes, showing that they had indeed been human, once. Clearly intelligent, their attacks were coordinated, and they made use of magic.

These were some of the toughest fights the party had encountered, but they were well prepared. Wynne might lack the vigour of youth, but her skills were great, and her spells the more effective for that. Alistair had undergone Templar training, which allowed him to resist and occasionally nullify magic -a skill Killian had not seen him use before. Cormac was a force of nature, especially when wielding Yusaris. Leliana was crafty and quick, and an Abomination was as vulnerable as any other being to a knife in the back. As for Killian himself, he discovered that his sword, Oathkeeper, was an object of fear to Abominations and demons alike, and seemed to damage them far more deeply than it had the other foes he had encountered so far.

"A Templar blade, that." Wynne commented after one fight. "The Chantry commissions them from the Dwarfs and then blesses them. How did you come by it?"

"I was given it by a Chanter in Lothering." Killian told her. "As part-payment for a couple of jobs we did for the village."

"Well-earned and well wielded!" Wynne remarked. "Especially for one from so far away!" To his look, she responded. "We will talk later, Ser Killian."

It was clear that, whatever was going on in the rest of the Tower, this lower floor was relatively clear. The demons and Abominations had done some damage, and there were a few mage and wizard corpses, but nothing that could not be repaired.

The first floor, however, was different. Not only were the enemies thicker on the ground, but they were joined by some of the walking dead like the ones at Redcliffe, and by floating beings Wynne called Arcane Horrors. The last were a real menace, hurling devastating bolts of magical energy from a distance. Fortunately they were physically fragile, vulnerable to Lelianas' marksmanship and easily killed at close quarters.

There were clear signs that a good deal of fighting had gone on, with both mage and Templar bodies in evidence. It was also clear that many had died fighting side-by-side against a common foe; a fact that brought a sad smile to Wynnes' face and caused Alistair to mutter "Too little, too late."

But the demonic corruption was not limited to the people. They began to notice areas of the walls and floor where bulging, root-like growths had come through cracks and begun to envelop and eat into the stone. They looked like fungus, were the colour of raw meat, and stank of putrefaction. They set their teeth and carried on.

In a corner of the mage quarters, they found their first survivor, a quietly-spoken mage called Godwin, who had been hiding in a large armoire. This he called a strategy – hiding and being very, very quiet. Not one without risk, however, he complained of a crick in his neck and a numb bum. Godwin wished them well and retreated into his closet, with the hope that they might meet again in "less life-threatening times."

"Godwin always was eccentric." Wynne remarked.

"I thought eccentric was the definition of a mage." Alistair commented.

"I begin to see another reason why the Revered Mother used you as her messenger boy." Wynne replied. "Clearly, she'd rather you exercised that glib mouth on somebody else!"

If the mage quarters were a mess, the Library was a wreck. Obviously a serious battle had gone on here. If more proof of that was needed, it was in the number of corpses that rose from the floor and attacked the party as soon as they entered.

Oddly, the First Enchanters' study was untouched, and a quick search revealed nothing except a few papers.

"Of course," Wynne remarked, "it was silly of me, but I almost expected to find him here!"

The central area was empty except for a lone figure who seemed to be trying to restore order to the place. When he saw them, he came up in an unhurried fashion and spoke in a quiet, even voice.

"Please do not enter the stockroom." He said. "It is a mess and I have not been able to get it into a state fit to be seen."

"Why didn't you try to escape?" Cormac asked him.

The man didn't even shrug. He simply replied in the same calm tone. "I tried, when things got quieter. But I encountered a barrier I could not pass, so I returned here. "

"How can he be so calm?" Leliana wondered.

"He is one of the Tranquil." Wynne told her quietly. "The Tranquil do not have emotions." She turned to the Tranquil. "Owain, you should have said something! I would have let you through!"

Owain simply replied, "The stockroom is familiar. I prefer to be here. I would prefer not to die. I would prefer it if things went back to the way they were. Perhaps Niall will save us."

"Niall?" Wynne asked. "Niall still lives?"

"I do not know." Owain replied. "He came here with several others and took the Litany of Adralla. I do not know where he went."

"The Litany of Adralla?" Wynne frowned. "That protects against mind domination. Can blood magic be at work here? That would explain much. Niall was at the meeting, he would know."

"Oh, great!" Killian said. "Just when I thought the day couldn't get any worse!"

"Having second thoughts?" Alistair asked.

Killian snorted. "We're all bound for Davey Jones' Locker, laddie. I'd rather give the squid-faced old bastard as long a wait as I can, but I'm not scared of meeting him! But I've had my mind fooled with by wizards before, and I don't fancy any more of it!"

"I'm not sure I understood all of that," Cormac said, "but I think we should do our best to find this Niall. If Blood Mages are behind this, the Litany should give us a fighting chance. Let's get moving!"

The chapel had been systematically desecrated, the statue of Andraste thrown down, but it was empty. It was on the next floor that they ran into their first Blood Mages. At first, they looked like a group of survivors, huddled together. But the three Grey Wardens sensed the taint in them at once. As a result, they were able to spring their own surprise attack.

The fight was short and brutal – the spells the Blood Mages cast were altogether nastier than anything Killian had seen here before. If Wynne had not been adept at healing and protection spells, things might have gone badly, but as it was the Blood Mages fell, until only one remained.

"Hold!" She cried suddenly. "I cannot withstand you! Can we not speak?"

"Talk." Cormac said. "Fast."

The Blood Mage was a tall, graceful woman who would have been lovely if not for the harsh set of her mouth and the fires of fanaticism in her eyes.

"I ask only for my life," She said. "and for a moments' hearing. You are Grey Wardens, some of you, not bound to Chantry or King, perhaps you can understand. We sought only our freedom, freedom from the Chantry, the Circle, this Tower. The poorest Elf in the Denerim Alienage, the meanest casteless Dwarf in the slums of Orzammar, have more freedom than the mightiest mage. We sought only what they have, and we are denied!"

"We Grey Wardens are bound to a sterner duty than any you might face, maleficar." Cormac growled. "Have done with your whining!"

"But why this path? Why blood magic?" Wynne asked. "There are other paths to change."

"Hah!" The Blood Mage snarled. "Ever the voice of reason and patience, Wynne. But reason and patience do not bring change. Change springs only from action! Andraste made war upon the Imperium, she did not write the Magisters a strongly-worded letter!

"Uldred taught us that. Encouraged us to study blood magic, because it is the only magic the Chantry truly fears." Her voice turned bitter. "But then he betrayed us, left us to the demons he summoned, and the Abominations they made of our brothers and sisters.

"So now I ask only the chance to flee. To leave the Tower and go into the Wilds or the mountains. Anywhere the Chantry does not hold sway. To live out my life in peace."

"It's too late for that." Alistair told her. "We can see the taint in you. It runs deep and grows stronger. If the Darkspawn don't find you, a demon surely will."

The Blood Mages' gaze turned inward for a moment, then when she looked at them again her eyes were empty.

"You are right, Grey Warden. Make an end, and be swift!"

Cormac raised Yusaris, but Killian stepped in front of him and delivered a single quick thrust to the womans' heart.

"Slick." Cormac remarked. "I was going to behead her."

"Bad idea." Killian told him. "Shipmate of mine did that once. The head fell on his foot and bit three of his toes off before it died!"

"You know some really lovely stories!" Alistair remarked, looking rather green.

The next floor was even more overgrown with demonic fungi. Here they met their worst foes yet. Templars enslaved by a new type of demon. The demons themselves took the form of voluptuous, scantily-clad women with blue skins and curling horns like those of an antelope. These were Desire demons, Wynne told them, more powerful than the Rage and Hunger demons they had met so far. Certainly the charmed Templars showed no side-effects of their state. They fought with all the skill and courage they would have shown had they been themselves. It was hard to kill them, but Wynne said that, even if they were to be released, they would never again be the men they once were.

The Desire demons themselves, despite the apparent frailness of their forms, were tough and dangerous in combat, hard to bring down. Nevertheless, true to their promise to Greagoir, the Warden party swept the rooms, dealing with every monster, maddened knight and ferocious demon they met.

In the last room, they paused to clean their blades, catch their breath and bandage up some of the cuts that Wynnes' healing powers hadn't been able to completely close. Everyone was tired, and hungry. There was no time to rest, but Killian did have some energy bars he had brought with him from Storybrooke and never used.

"Mmm!" Alistair was munching on a peanut flavoured bar. "These are one up on double-baked bread and dried meat!"

"This is delicious!" Leliana gushed. "What do you call this flavour?"

"Chocolate." From the look on her face, Killian suspected he might have created a monster. He hoped that something like chocolate existed elsewhere in Thedas.

Refreshed, they moved on to the central hub of this floor. Almost all of the walls were covered with the fungi in here. Bodies lay around, many dead but others still breathing -deeply asleep. In the midst of it all stood an Abomination, the largest they had yet seen. The room was over-warm, and stuffy, acting on their tired minds and bodies like a soporific. The Abomination turned to them and spoke in a soft, dull voice -the voice of a poor lecturer teaching a tedious subject.

"Ah," it said, "visitors. I'd entertain you...But...Too much effort involved."

"Killing you will be entertainment enough." Cormac mumbled.

"But why?" Asked the Abomination. "Aren't you tired of all of all the violence in this world? I know I am. You deserve more. You deserve...a rest."

They struggled, but it was too much. Something seemed to flow out of the creature. Something that filled them with drowsiness. Not a pleasant drowsiness, but a heavy, aching sleepiness that pulled at them, sucking them down into blackness.

The moment Killian came to himself, he knew where he was. Back in the Fade. The same skeletal trees, vague rounded hills, sourceless light above and yellow-brown moss underfoot. He stood at the top of a small rise that led down into a shallow depression. In the centre of the depression, a figure waited.

Guessing that avoidance was not an option, Killian went down the path. The figure seemed to be that of a man. A tall, broad-shouldered man dressed in heavy plate armour, with the visor down. The armour was jet black, trimmed with gold. The mans' hands were resting on the pommel of a massive broadsword, and his head was bowed as if in thought.

Killian approached openly, stopping as soon as the man raised his head.

"Greetings, Captain Killian Jones, also called Hook." The voice was deep, rendered hollow by the helm. "You are not the One Expected, but you have spoken with him, and shall again. Be welcome."

"How do you know my name?" Killian asked.

The man raised his visor. The face inside had Caucasian features, but the skin was ebony black, as were the steady, sad eyes that met Killians'.

"It is my fate to know many things." He said. "Too many. I am Sepiriz, called the Warrior in Jet and Gold. For now, I am the Sentry, and you are the Messenger."

"Sentry over what?" Killian was cautious, loosening his sword.

Sepiriz smiled, though the sadness never left his eyes. "The Sentry who stands before the Gatekeeper. But do not fear, I am not here to prevent your passing, at least this way."

He moved to one side and pointed with a gauntleted hand to one of the now-familiar Fade portals.

"There is your path, Killian Jones. Beyond it, you will meet the Gatekeeper. If you prove worthy, he will instruct you in the remainder of your task.

"But understand this, Killian Jones; should the Gatekeeper reject you, or should you return through that portal with any part of your task incomplete, then we measure swords, you and I."

"What about my friends?" Killian demanded. "I need to find them!"

"That is not your part." Sepiriz told him gently. "Your loyalty is commendable, but the Grey Warden Cormac already searches for them. If they can be found, he will find them.

"Now, go, and may the Runestaff guide your path."

Killian gave a mental shrug. There was clearly no way out of this except to do as he was asked. The others would have to rely on Cormac, and Killian had no doubts about the lads' capabilities. He went to the portal, gathered himself, and stepped through.

He found himself in some kind of rotunda. He knew at once that this was not the Fade -the marble walls and tiled floor were too solid. Above him, a glass dome showed the night sky, but the stars were in no configuration he, or any other seaman, had ever navigated by. Just below the dome, statues of angelic figures were carved, holding in their outstretched arms crystal lamps that shed a clear, mellow light.

Below these figures, a sculpted frieze ran around the walls, representations of many figures. Men, women, warriors, priests, scientists, even children. All separate and distinct, yet all somehow linked. Below this the wall was decorated with murals in glowing colours. Murals depicting different worlds, both beautiful and terrifying. Between these, flanked by unadorned pillars, were a series of doors. Some black and opaque, others white and glowing with an inner light.

The floor, by contrast, was made up of black tiles, with patterns etched on them in white, arranged in concentric circles around the centre. Some of the patterns Killian recognised as symbols of religions; the Cross, the Crescent, the Star of David, the seated Buddha. Others were unknown, and some totally alien. But every second ring was composed of only two symbols, laid alternately: a single arrow, pointing to the centre, and a circle of eight arrows, pointing outwards. The central tile was perhaps two feet in diameter, and contained a different symbol – a perfectly-balanced set of scales.

Then a man was standing on the centre tile. Grey-bearded, with a lined face, but tall and straight. He wore a blue cloak and a wide-brimmed hat, and carried a staff which, on closer inspection, proved to be a spear. He studied Killian with one bright blue eye, the other was covered with a patch. He spoke in a voice as deep and rich as that of Sepiriz, without the black warriors' eternal sadness.

"So, the doors appear – the first test is passed. I am here -the second test is passed.

"Hail and well-met, Killian Jones the Messenger. Are you ready to undergo the third and final test?"

"Do I have a choice?" Killian asked. "If you didn't know, there's a very big bloke in armour with a dirty great sword waiting back there, just in case I'm not!"

The old man gave a bellow of laughter. "Well done, my friend! A jest in the face of danger or uncertainty is the mark of a man who accepts the world for what it is, and values his own life at its' true worth.

"Let us begin. I have worn many forms in many worlds, and have been known by as many names. Tell me then, Killian Jones, by what name was I called when last I wore this form?"

Killian blinked. "Am I supposed to guess, or do I get a clue?" He asked.

The old man laughed again. "Of course! This is a test of reason and knowledge, not intuition.

"Listen well, Killian Jones. I am called All-Father and Bale-Worker. My house is Fensalir, my feasting-hall is Valhalla and my high seat is Hlidskialf. My spear is Gungnir and my ring is Draupnir. My horse is Sleipnir, my ravens are Hugin and Munin, and my wolves are Freki and Geri.

"Now, speak my name!"

As the old man spoke, memories of childhood tales rose in Killians' mind. Not tales he had been told himself, but ones he had heard mothers tell their children through his long years of wandering. Tales of a time long ago when the men of the North saw the glaciers, blizzards and icy winds of winter as giants greedy to slay them and the sea as a serpent that encircled the world. So the men of the North imagined a race of immortal guardians who stood guard against these creatures. And the greatest of these was...

"Odin." Killian said. "Your name is Odin."

Odin bowed. "You are correct." He said. "In this form, I am Odin."

Killian frowned. "Why this form, for me?" He asked. "There are other forms I might have had more difficulty naming."

"And others you could never have named at all." Odin replied. "A test must be fair, Killian. In Egypt, they called me Thoth, the Ibis-Headed. In Greece, they revered me as Thrice-Mighty Hermes. Yet both of those forms would have been too easy a test for you. Had I appeared as I did to the men of Lemuria, as Pnoth, God of Starry Wisdom, or as I seemed to the Elves of Middle-Earth who named me Mithrandir, or as Sarek of Vulcan, or Kahless the Klingon, there would have been no succeeding for you.

"But now there is much for you to do. The One Expected did not come – there are forces that interfere at every turn, but the Power we serve will ever find a new way. You are here as Messenger, to gather the tools the One will need to carry out his task, and to bring them to him."

"Who is this One Expected?" Killian asked.

Odin shook his head. "It is not for me to say, even if I knew. All I know is that you have met him once, and will do so again, and you will know him when you do.

"For now, your task is, in its way, a simple one." He pointed with his spear. "The black doors are sealed, you may not pass them. They lead to places you should not go, cannot go, or do not need to go. The white doors lead you to other places. Beyond them you will encounter people or beings. Each of them will have something – a tool, a weapon, knowledge – that the One Expected will require. It is your task to retrieve these items. Some will be given freely, others may require a test or a favour to gain.

"You must guard these items with your life, Killian Jones, and you must remember all that is told you. The success of our mutual endeavour depends upon it, as does your life. Sepiriz will take no joy in slaying you, but he will do as Fate commands, should you fail."

"No pressure, then." Killian noted. "Where do I start?"

"Wherever you wish." Odin said.

Killian shrugged, then chose a glowing door at random, opened it, and stepped through.