Chapter 26: Kessler

Kessler had followed Tassilo and Le Professeur through the narrow Nevarran streets to the campus. They were lost in conversation with the Nevarran student, too loquacious to even notice their shadow. On any other occasion, he supposed he would have appreciated Nevarra city's ancient architecture, the spires that stretched to the sky and the stone arches tangled in ivy. Saunière stopped at the entrance to the domed University, took out his notebook from a pocket inside his jacket and scribbled his notes.

With his best Hightown affectation, Kessler waved at the three men, then called out a friendly greeting, in a way one might greet a long lost acquaintance. "Would you pardon me one moment Ser Goltz, while I speak with Uncle Saunière in private?" He put his arm around Saunière's shoulder and walked him out of earshot from the Nevarran.

Saunière's expression of subtle derision was typical, one that irked Kessler because a condescending remark often followed. He contained his frustration in his harsh whisper. "What in the Void are you doing here? I thought I told you to break in to the library and get me that Grimoire!"

In a tone that could best be described as a growl, Kessler said, "I am not going in blind! You have to let me speak with him." He looked over Saunière's shoulder to see Goltz shoot them a suspicious glance. Kessler grinned and waved.

"Don't be ridiculous! No one can know that you are about to break in to the library. Within a day every Seekers from Nessum will be breathing down our necks!"

"Trust me." Kessler smirked, playing with his chin. "You're going to have to play by my rules now, if you want that book."

Saunière let out an exasperated sigh and stepped aside.

Kessler cleared his throat and approached Goltz. "Ser. Might I have just a moment of your time? We are only in Nevarra for one night and since the library is now considered off-limits, I was wondering if you'd do me the honour of describing it for me?"

"Ser?" Goltz asked, as he tucked his arms into the sleeves of his hooded cloak and thoughtfully considered Kessler's request.

"Professeur Saunière and I are co-authoring a book on comparative architecture in Thedas and we're responsible for a chapter about the libraries in Nevarra, Val Royeaux and Minrathous. I'd hate the Nevarran section to be ... sparse. I have considerably more information on the others. That is why I accompanied the esteemed Professor," Kessler grabbed the professor's shoulder and squeezed. "All I need is ten minutes of your time and I shall be on my way. The Professor and I had a bit of a disagreement that my asking would be considered too rude and forthright. Please understand that any impropriety is mine and mine alone. We will be sure to reference you as well." He had spent enough time in Hightown to know how to put on airs. What he would give for a filthy pub, a cheap drink and a pinch of tobacco.

"The pleasure is all mine!" Goltz replied, his enthusiasm obvious. "And to think—my name cited as a reference in Professeur Saunière's publication. A scholar could not ask for a greater honour!"

Kessler almost regretted the ruse. The old man's ego was already bloated. He pretended to agree.

Goltz smiled smugly at Saunière. "Many consider the National Library to be the gem of the continent. You have to admit that the Cathaire Library does not hold a candle to the wonders of ours..."

~0oOo0~

Kessler's destination was a ray of dim light that shone through the storm drain. He had made it inside the library.

He had spent the better part of an hour listening to Goltz's detailed description of the building. Feigning rapt attention was much easier than resisting the urge to ask what he needed to know: Are there alternative entrances? How many templars are on guard?

Goltz described all four levels in superfluous and tedious detail. It was of little consequence that the marble had been hewn on the coast of Rialto or that a team of woodworkers from the Donnarks, north of the Anderfels. From time to time, Kessler slipped in requests for interesting anecdotes, hoping a secret chamber or hidden door might be raised in passing. Goltz had to stop and catch his breath, and then told him the tale of how the interior fountain once flooded in the Great Deluge following the Fourth Blight.

Kessler allowed the student to resume his frenetic recounting, feeling the need to dodge the mist of spit that issued from his lips as he continued to articulate the historical significance of the National Library. Eventually, he did learn that at the base of the courtyard fountain was a storm drain that was large enough to accommodate a man and snaked its way into the library to connect with a fountain there.

His plans to make it to the fourth floor were sketchy at best; his plans to liberate the book from the ward were non-existent.

As he stood and contemplated the iron grate, gravel crunched from behind. He turned and placed a finger over his lips and gestured for silence. Armoured boots echoed above them then disappeared into the distance.

When he was certain that the coast was clear, he turned to Tassilo.

"I thought you said you were light on your feet."

The Professor's elven assistant looked down at his feet and shrugged. Of course, it was Saunière's idea to send him. Trust was going to be hard earned from both sides, that was clear. But in all honesty, Kessler did not mind Tassilo's company especially when he was away from Le Professeur. If Saunière thought that Tassilo's presence would be construed as an annoyance, Kessler was glad to have proved him wrong. He had taken a liking to him, when he was not too busy defending the old man's frequently-wounded pride. It was nice to be in the company of an elf who bore no judgements toward magic, unlike Fenris. And unlike Merrill, he was not the sort to naively embrace danger. Tassilo was as reasoned as he was even-tempered, both good qualities to have while sneaking in a library to steal an old book from the Imperium. Kessler got the sense that Tassilo considered this task to be as scholarly as sitting at a desk with a quill and parchment.

"I apologize, Ser Kessler. I am not in the proper attire. The Seekers confiscated my leathers back in Nessum and these boots are ill-fitting and not designed for sneaking. Being that my hearing is more acute than yours, I suggest we hurry as the templar are ascending up a flight of stairs on the other side of the library."

Kessler raised his hands above him and tested the grate. It wobbled with little effort. A reassuring sign.

As he hoisted himself out of the sewer, it became apparent that Goltz's bragging fell short of the library's true grandeur. Each of the four floors faced a courtyard and were fenced with marble balustrades that depicted an endless procession of scholars and dragons. In the centre of the main floor, a cascading water echoed from a central fountain. Kessler's eyes drew upwards, past each of the grand staircases to the domed roof, where silver and gold mosaics twinkled in the moonlight. Brightly painted frescoes and intricate friezes decorated every surface not stacked with books. It was nothing like the dusty, dank libraries he had visited before. Besides the artwork, there were polished marble shelves, floor to ceiling windows and the most awe inspiring chandelier. The contrast between the slimy sewer drain and the foyer's opulence was not lost on him either, and put all of Hightown to shame.

Once Kessler helped Tassilo from the subterranean tunnel, they ducked into a darkened portico.

"I hope Goltz was right and there is only one templar on patrol." Kessler craned his neck to check his surroundings.

"I don't think the grimoire will suddenly become unbound and walk out of here on its own." Tassilo whispered.

"That's my job."

The library was built in the shape of a pentagon. Goltz had said that each side represented a territory and housed a rare book specimen from that area: Orlais, Ferelden, Tevinter, Arlathan and of course, Nevarra. Kessler guessed they had found shelter in the Ferelden portico—as he noticed an old manual on Mabari breeding. He continued to survey his surroundings and tried to work out how he was going to make his way up three flights of stairs, in an open stairwell no less, to the fourth level. This, he'd been told, was where texts on magic were kept. When he had asked why they had not been housed at the Circle, Goltz had told him that these books were not practical manuals, but were historically significant artifacts. Kessler was not sure he appreciated the difference—manual or precious artifact—he was going to steal it all the same. Besides the Tevinter Grimoire, better known in Minrathous as the Provectus Magia,, the library also kept the only copy of a text that informed the aristocratic families in Nevarra on the habits and behaviours of dragons. From the relative safety of the portico's shadow, Kessler was not quite sure why he was recalling these details instead of focusing on how he and Tassilo were going to get up the stairs without being seen.

With measured steps, he skulked to a curtained window and tucked himself behind the velvet to blend in better with the shadows. After he unintentionally rustled the drapery, Tassilo, crouched behind a trestle table, shushed him.

Barely beneath his breath, Tassilo said. "He's coming back."

Please don't fucking look at the bottom of these drapes. There is nothing more conspicuous than a couple set of feet under the curtains.

While their helmets offered solid protection, he knew that they restricted a templar's vision. He remained absolutely still, praying silently to no one in particular that they were well-blended into the velvet and shadows.

The keenness of Tassilo's hearing was impressive. Kessler waited in silence for an agonizingly long time, but finally, he caught the distinctive clank of metallic footsteps approaching. His eyes followed the templar as he descended the stairs to complete his rounds. Darkness made it difficult to identify him— there was nothing unique or distinguishable about him.

He's another run of the mill templar, another average pain in the ass. Someday, Kessler feared of running into his brother.

The hairs on the back of Kessler's neck stood up when the templar marched toward them. Before he came too close, he stopped in front of a bookshelf and took out a thick leather-bound volume. It had not been in Kessler's experience that templars had a penchant for reading. Instead of flipping through the pages, he tucked it under his arm and fiddled with something on a shelf. Kessler squinted and strained in the dim light to figure out what he was up to. The bookcase swung aside and the templar stepped in, closing it behind him.

Goltz didn't tell me about that.

Kessler slipped from behind the curtain and made for the staircase. "Quick! Now is our chance."

Tassilo followed on cat-like feet.

They flew to the top of the stair and dove under a long wooden table to catch their bearings and breath. Kessler watched Tassilo's expression and he appeared confident that the coast was clear—for the time being.

The top level was ringed with a marble bannister, carved in ivy and vine. The chandelier crystals sparkled in the moonlight despite their candles having been extinguished. A pulsing sensation, akin to a dull throb emanated from an energy field that pulled Kessler's attention to his left. He turned and spied the unassuming tome on a bookstand in a portico. The protective ward was a massive transparent bubble, only distinguishable because it bent the watery moonlight in peculiar angles. A faint ripple of electric energy caught Kessler's attention from time to time. It was unlike anything Kessler had ever seen before, and he thought he had pretty much seen it all.

A plan was starting to hatch. He pointed to a floor to ceiling window on his right and whispered to Tassilo, "Go see if you can open it."

Tassilo shot him a perplexed look but complied, and slipped into the shadows like ink and wove his way through the pillars of light to the far side of the building. When he arrived at the window, he gestured a warning, signalling that a templar approached. Kessler remained crouched and hidden beneath a reading table, hoping a group of them did not decide to show up and play Wicked Grace over top.

This time two templars arrived and headed for the grimoire.

"The First Enchanter from the Circle is set to arrive tomorrow," said the taller of the two. The quality of his armour and weaponry told Kessler that he was most likely the senior templar.

"I don't understand the delay, Commander. To tolerate blood magic is against everything the Chant of Light teaches us. Maker knows what devilry this could attract." The templar turned to the ward but approached it no further.

"There is no one qualified within a league of here. I had to send an urgent message all the way to the Cumberland Circle. These things take time. In the meantime, it is your responsibility to ensure that nothing escapes from the field."

"Aye, Commander." the Knight saluted and took his position in front of the tome. The Commander turned on his heel and opened another hidden doorway, not two feet where Tassilo remained hidden. Kessler, still on all fours under the table, considered his next move. He dared not cast a spell. Even if he managed to put this one to sleep, he was not comfortable with the odds of having a whole platoon on his tail.

Just as he had run out of fresh ideas, the templar grabbed his neck and cried out in pain. He shook his head and then rattled into a heap onto the floor. Tassilo gave Kessler a thumbs up.

Kessler wasted no time dashing over to the opened window, "What in the Void just happened?"

"Poison darts, never leave home without them. Always keep a blow dart in my boot. Never know when you're going to find yourself in a pinch."

"Impressive. But I never took you for a cold-hearted killer." He leaned on the window sill and surveyed the terracotta rooftops and white stuccoed buildings that descended to the river's edge. A cool spring breeze drifted in, enough to stir the drapes.

Tassilo followed Kessler toward the force field. "Oh, he is quite alive. A sleep agent and paralysis poison. He'll be out for a good hour."

Tassilo pulled the dart from the templar's neck. "Sister Tereza may have given you and Saunière some healing tonics, but I have an in with her cook."

"Her cook?" Kessler scratched behind his ear as he continued to study the field.

"Her brother is into black market herbs."

The more Kessler learned about Sister Tereza, the more he liked her. For a blind Chantry sister, she had proven to be extraordinarily helpful. "Indeed." Kessler took a deep breath and stood as close as he could to the magical ward. "Well, Tass my friend, I suggest you resume your post at the window. Don't hesitate a hasty exit things go awry."

"Awry, Ser?"

"I have no idea what I am getting into. If the templars have no effect and are requiring the expertise of a First Enchanter, then I'm certain that I'm already in over my head. So don't be afraid to jump if things get too ... out of control."

"Good luck, then." Tassilo gave Kessler's shoulder a firm squeeze and stepped over the unconscious templar to return to his post.

Kessler approached the field and allowed his hands to hover over the periphery. The one thing that he learned from Merrill was how to appreciate the feel of magic. Anders was too cerebral. He often went in blazing, and toward the end, Kessler wondered what was left of him and if it was merely some Fade spirit at the helm calling the shots. And in the weeks leading up to the infamous Chantry incident, Kessler didn't think there was much of Anders left at all. But Merrill, despite her shortcomings told him that Dalish mages are taught at an early age to see with their inner eye. This sense of sight had little to do with vision, than it was of gathering an impression.

He recalled one time on the Wounded Coast when she had suspended him upside down inside a protective ward, while she shouted, "Can you feel that? It's Dalish! It's a much different sensation than any Spell from the Four Schools!" Even though his senses were barely hanging on to the contents of his stomach, he conceded, after much dizziness and nausea that she had a point. The spell felt very Dalish.

The force field in the library was certainly not Dalish, nor did it resemble anything practiced in the Circle either. There was a hint of wildness, not completely unlike blood magic, but not altogether similar either. What startled him the most was there was something distinctly familiar about it. Even at a distance, the protective ward invited him inside. He expected it to repel him away. But it didn't—it called to him, cajoled him over, and teased him even.

Fuck, that's strange. But what if it's a trap, what if I am the fly buzzing around the web?

There was only one way of knowing for sure—as he could imagine no other way—and that would be to enter the field.

Before I try that, crazy as it is… why not try something else, for shits and giggles. Try dispelling the thing first. Test out the basics; get them out of the way. Perhaps I'll get lucky.

Kessler chuckled under his breath.

Not a chance, Kess. You don't have a lucky bone in your body.

He had to be extra careful as he was not carrying any lyrium and the extent of his inner reserves would have to suffice. That realization came as no comfort.

Despite this anxiety, he decided to conduct a couple of experiments that wouldn't tax his energies. Dispel was a basic spell—even mage-children knew how to perform it. He took a deep breath and settled into a familiar concentration, drawing light from the depths of his being and directed it to emanate from his solar plexus region. Inside his mind, the magical ward had manifest as a thick fog. He tuned the spell and intensified his concentration, expecting to break through the haze.

The haze clung like thick storm clouds, churning and grey, immediately swallowing any light he radiated. It was obvious that this spell was impervious to a simple Dispel. He took a step back and scratching his chin in thought, mulling over another tactic to use. He thought of one, unsure whether it was worth the effort, but he was running out of options.

His father once told him that when mages bind items with magic, a trick often employed was to enchant the container, as opposed to the object. In this case, he wondered if the book stand had been magically bound and was in fact, trapping the book. Especially in cases where the object was considered to be important or of value, such as with this volume, the breaking of the magical bond often resulted in the destruction of the object. This was considered as a fail-safe. If the casting mage could not have the object, then no one would. Had the mage bound the book to the stand, then the book would have been destroyed in the reversal of the spell. Sometimes a good jolt of telekinetic energy was all an object needed to free itself from a magical bond.

He cracked his knuckles. This was a spell that required precision and finesse, both of which Kessler prided himself on possessing. All he had to do was throw a focused ball of energy at the book—and only the book. The resulting collision might ding the book's corners, but he believed Le Professeur would be able to handle that.

And if not, I can always dent that ridiculous hat of his with the book before we part ways.

He balled his hand into a fist, his fingers digging into the fleshy parts of his palm and crossed his arm over his chest, throwing the resultant energy foreword.

I should have been an archer. Damn my aim is good. Watch out Bianca.

His spell hit the protective field and then ricocheted. It returned with dizzying speed, striking him right in the gut and sending him backward onto his behind.

As soon as his rump connected with the artfully crafted parquet flooring, he blurted, "Fuck the Maker!"

Tassilo, still waiting at the window, called over to ask if he was okay. Kessler acknowledged with a grunt, as he jumped back to his feet, brushing himself off. This was going to take more than simple counter-spells, he realized and he was going to outwit this thing, Maker, Chantry, Andraste—all be damned. Before launching into his next assault, he listened for the tell-tale sound of approaching templars. Apart from the faint tinkle of crystal and the sound of the fountain below him, the library was as silent as a tomb. For the time being, he believed he had gotten away with using magic. He would not have many more chances before someone smartened up.

A stupid fucking spell that sticks a book to a measly wooden stand will not outwit me. That's it. I'm pulling out all the stops.

He pushed his sleeves up his arm and decided that it was time to get into the belly of the beast. It was time to penetrate the field. He half-expected it repel him, to launch him flying half-way across the library, but it continued to tug at him, call his name like a half-sated women.

Hesitantly, he reached out at the energy field, catching faint glimpses of misty tendrils pulsating across the invisible surface. He braced himself, still expecting to be thrown back on his arse again as he approached it. The air warmed as he approached in calculating steps. Static, accompanied by a tingling sensation pricked up the hairs on his arms. The seductive invitations returned and swelled even stronger as he passed its boundaries.

He stretched out an arm, reaching through the glowing field. A vague tingling sensation, somewhat akin to the way his hairs reacted to wool, scurried up his arm. He paused, then stepped forward, the front half of his body entered. When his ears passed the thin glowing borders, he heard a faint buzzing in his ears and then absolute silence swallowed him. Even in the relative quiet of the darkened library, there was still ambient noise, the sound of the wind through the windows, the echo of the fountain and of the city outside. But inside the ward it was as still and quiet as death and hot as a flaming demon.

And there sits the book, just ready for the taking. Could it be that easy? I doubt the answer is yes. Kessler tentatively reached out for the tooled leather binding. A gilded sun encircled a six-pointed star. His hand froze with uncertainty.

"And why do you doubt yourself, Champion?"

Kessler spun around on his heel, his heart in his throat. And there she was.

"Well, well, what have we here?" She is just as she was on Sundermount—wild, white hair, a figure too perfect for a woman of her reported age, crossed arms, and lips pursed in a wry smile. He looked around with suspicion, worried that her presence would draw a host of templars to the area.

"Worry not child, for nothing is what it seems on this side of my magic wall."

"Your magic wall? I find it highly unlikely that the Witch of the Wilds has nothing better to do than to sneak about the libraries of Thedas and steal books. Seems so unlike you." As much as her presence was a relief, she unsettled him all the same.

"You know me too well ... perhaps it is time that I change my approach. Perhaps I'm becoming too predictable. Can't have that."

She slinked over to the grimoire and traced her armoured finger over the burnished symbol on the cover.

"It appears that Morrigan is the one with a voracious appetite for reading. I was the one who managed to slow her down. I might add that I am terribly impressed that you arrived so quickly. I was beginning to think that you were never going to get here."

"You've been waiting for me?" he asked incredulously. He wasn't sure why he found that particular statement surprising, as the entire scene was bordering on crazy.

"I quite like getting you out of sticky situations. I seem to do that for a certain hero as well. Why have you two not met yet? With such common goals, I would think that you could not help but run into each other's arms. You two have a similar history of getting into trouble and I have an uncanny way of getting you out of it." Flemeth sighed and picked up the grimoire. "Tut, tut, now is not the time for nostalgia or wishful thinking."

Kessler cocked his head as he listened and watched her tip up her chin. A wide grin stretched across her face. "But that has yet to happen. Soon, soon child. But that is neither here nor there. The last we met, I told you we stood on the precipice of change. Have you taken your moment to leap? Can you fly?"

"I'm standing here before you, despite all that has happened in Kirkwall."

Flemeth cackled in the air. "Indeed, indeed. I do so like you, child. Fate is such a fickle thing. So much loss you have suffered, yet here you stand, waiting for more. But more of what, I can hear you thinking, Champion. More of what?"

I have no fucking idea what she is talking about, but I'll pretend to humour her. I've no time for riddles. I barely have enough time to take a piss before the templars come breathing down my neck.

"I need that grimoire." He said. "What sort of deal can we broker?"

What am I about to get myself into? The old man ought to love this.

"Deal! There, there. No need to become all formal. 'Tis just me, a simple swamp witch. This is not a mere business transaction. Of course the grimoire is yours." She held out the book for him with both hands, but Kessler remained guarded.

"And in return?"

"Keep it from my daughter Morrigan's hands at all costs."

"Why does she take such an interest in it?"

"Now, now. It would be quite unlike me to reveal the truth plainly. What would be the fun in that? Let's just say that her interests run counter to your little quest."

"I don't suppose you can enlighten me on the nature of my little quest?"

"How does the Champion of Kirkwall connect to the unravelling of the fabric of this world? Did you pull the first thread? Or was it that mage friend of yours? Or perhaps it was that Warden? Does it matter, now that the undoing has already begun? Take the grimoire." Flemeth gingerly placed the ragged book into his hands. "Keep it from my Morrigan. Once you leave this shelter, I have no doubt that she too will be on your tail. But surely, with the company that you keep, you'll be able to outwit the likes of a hedge mage. Best be on your way child. Go."

Upon her last word she snapped her finger.

Just like that, both the field and the witch disappeared. In the distance came the clatter of armoured boots He jammed the grimoire down the front of his breeches, feeling more than smug at the symbolism of the act and ran. The templar, just rounding the corner, caught sight of him and hollered for him to stop.

Kessler's mana drain away as the templars neared But at that point, it didn't matter. He would not be getting out of the library with magic anyway. At the railing, he calculated the distance to the bottom and predicted the sickening fall. From the rail he leapt, grabbing hold of the chandelier, appreciating the tinkle of crystal and swung—with all the strength that he could muster.

At just the right moment, he called out "Grab hold, my friend!" to Tassilo.

He saw the terror in his eyes, but Tassilo complied and wrapped his arms around Kessler's waist.

Kessler thrust his legs forward, and used the added weight to their advantage. As soon as his boots align with the open window, he let go. Together they tumbled through, too shocked to say anything, too frightened to look back. Halfway through, Kessler's head knocked the bottom of the sash, causing the top pane to shatter. Fragments of glass rained down, stinging his scalp like little bees.

Their flight was short lived as Kessler caught the eaves of an adjacent building. They came to an abrupt halt, and Tassilo managed to maintain his firm grip on the Champion of Kirkwall. Kessler's fingers started to shake, threatening to release. Thankfully, the eaves was solid and supported the added weight. From the window, a templar screamed his threats—spews of vitriol that included the Holy Maker and being sent to the Void.

"How far of a fall is it?" Kessler grunted, fearing that if he looked that the force of his stare would drag them both down.

"Hold on tight." Tassilo tried to sound reassuring.

Kessler used all the energy he could muster to cling to the eaves. His muscles trembled and he broke into a sweat.

Suddenly, the extra weight dropped and his grip renewed. He looked down to see Tassilo standing perilously on the ledge of the building.

"Hurry it up and get down here, before the reinforcements are called in."

Kessler let go and landed on the ledge.

"Let's get the fuck out of here."

Bioware owns all. Thanks to everyone who has favored and followed. And to all my reviewers, my gratitude abounds. Cookies to each and every one of you. And finally, thanks to Betas DoorbellSpider and Kira Tamarion. You're been with me for about a year now. You guys are awesome!