Where the Minanter River met the Imperial Highway, there was a large and busy trading town called Bisbeck. It sat in the shadow of a massive white marble bridge built in the days of ancient Tevinter that spanned the Minanter like an alabaster giant's outstretched arm. Not far to the west along the river sat the capital city of Nevarra, but Bisbeck was the trading hub where all ships and carts stopped. The town was filled with more inns, gambling dens, and brothels than private homes. Bisbeck was not the sort of place where anyone lingered for very long. Everyone stopped there with the intention of moving on to something better.

Being the sort of town where no one considered themselves a permanent resident, the Wardens' inquiries were fruitless. No one had seen the mage they described. No one paid any attention to odd strangers in a town full of them.

They planned to gather again at nightfall in the Priest and Goat Inn. Paien and Alistair were the first to arrive. Their questioning of the locals had been utterly fruitless in terms of helpful information, but they were offered several two for one specials by various ladies of the evening.

They sat together in silence, sipping at their ales. Paien was worn down. The previous night at camp, Alistair had come to relieve him from guard duty, and Paien had tried to wave him off, insisting that he wasn't tired. This had become routine. When Alistair finally convinced the old man to return to his tent, he sat and wondered how Paien could even function on such little sleep.

He thought about it again in the tavern, lips twisted up in thought as he studied the foam of his ale. Even back at the Keep, Paien didn't seem to sleep. The last time he could think of a Warden behaving that way…

Alistair sat slowly upright, and he turned to stare at Paien with a sudden realization. "I'm onto you."

Paien looked at the young man, brows arching. "Are you?" he asked, sounding both doubtful and unimpressed.

Alistair nodded once, "Yes. I am." He drummed his hands on the bartop before straightening and looking at Paien. "I remember when Duncan started having the dreams."

Paien's cool expression fell away instantly, and he glanced over his shoulder at the door, checking to see if the other Wardens had arrived. "Not a word."

For a moment, Alistair was disappointed. He was looking forward to making his case, stating the clues to his suspicion. Paien always taking the first round of sleep before staying up all night at camp. The restlessness, the irritability. His pressing need to finish his quest as quickly as possible. But Paien just… admitted to it. Alistair frowned, "Is it wise to be out here, hunting this woman down in the state you're in?"

"I have time," Paien answered, his voice a hiss. "I will see this to the end, and then I will address the Calling."

"Do the other Wardens know? At Weisshaupt?"

Paien was silent for a few moments, glaring at Alistair. "The only thing you should be focusing on-"

Alistair shook his head and lifted his hand, "Nononono, no deflection."

"It's none of your-"

"Do you, in fact, have any intention of returning to Vigil's Keep?"

The anger melted from the older man's face, replaced with hopelessness and a hint of desperate fear. "I do not know," Paien said at last. "I am making preparations for whatever the Maker has planned for me."

Alistair watched the man, and felt guilt beginning to creep in. He probably should have asked a bit more delicately. "Setting Cruso up in your absence," he said slowly. "Preparing Elissa for leadership."

Paien nodded, frowning at his drink. "Not a word," he said again. "We don't need to turn this into a farewell tour. Lindise…" He paused, and then shook his head. "We will focus on finding Sabinia, nothing else."

Alistair nodded, and soon the others began to trickle in, Elissa with the kossith, and Nathaniel with the mage. No one had discovered anything of use. No one in Bisbeck remembered seeing the blood mage. No one could recall any murders out of the ordinary. Paien ordered a fresh round of drinks, rubbed his face wearily, and leveled a look at Elissa.

"Cousland," he said, "If you were leading, what would you do now?"

Elissa paused and leaned back in her chair. "As I see it, we have two options. We split up with one team headed to Tevinter and another team into the Deep Roads, or we wait for her to claim another victim."

"A victim would go ignored in a place like this," Vash murmured as he scanned the faces in the inn's tavern.

Paien nodded to Elissa, "And waiting for that to happen is unacceptable. We have one mage, one healer, and one Templar. How would you divide us?"

Elissa frowned, "I would… hm."

The elder Warden nodded, "We cannot split up. While splitting up would save time, it would ultimately leave both teams at a disadvantage."

"If she's gone into the Deep Roads," Alistair leaned forward, motioning with his hands, "doesn't that solve our problem? Didn't we want her to go into the Deep Roads?"

"She will not stay there," Paien shook his head, expression darkening. "She will only hide there, undisturbed. Sabinia… No, we must take her deep as we can, close her in so she cannot escape."

Nathaniel took the tray from the barmaid when she arrived, passing out mugs. "You haven't told us everything about her."

Lindise sat upright and began speaking quickly, "She's killed three people already, she's a blood mage. She may become possessed, she must be stopped."

"I know her mind best, even in this state," Paien answered in flat tones. "Where she will go, what she might do, where she might hide." His head shook, "We will not wait for her to kill again. My strongest suspicion is that she will retreat to Tevinter. She always felt safest there."

"You would be wrong."

The Wardens fell silent and turned to the voice.

There was a hooded figure at the next table. His lean, compact frame marked him as an elf, even though the hood hid both his pointed ears and his features. His voice was low and gravelly, and Alistair thought he heard the hint of a Tevinter accent.

"Beg pardon?" Paien asked.

The elf tilted his head slightly, "You would be wrong. The mage you seek has not fled into Tevinter."

"And who are you?" Alistair asked as he leaned to one side, trying to see the man's face.

The elf shook his head and wrapped his hands around his mug. Alistair caught a glimmer of white across his palms. Scars? "My name is unimportant. Know only that if you seek to kill a Tevinter mage, I wish to aid you. She went east."

Paien's eyes narrowed, "How do you know this?"

The elf lifted a shoulder and leaned back in his chair. "I pay attention. No one else does in a town such as this, which is the reason I have remained as long as I have. But I know what you seek. I kept a very close eye on her when she was here."

Elissa and Paien exchanged glances, and then looked back at the elf. "Go on," Elissa said.

"Long black hair, dirty red robes, armed with a very expensive staff of Tevinter design. She wandered the streets in the night, looking more lost than crazed. One night she found a drunk and led him away, out of my sight. I am certain he is dead."

Paien's eyes closed and his chin dropped, but he remained silent.

"Yesterday morning, she left. Following the river east. I have not seen her return." The elf leaned forward, and Alistair could see more scars on his chin. No, they were tattoos, pale, white scarified lines that ran over his chin and down his throat in carefully burned designs. "Will you kill her, Wardens?"

"Yes," Paien said as he drew in a deep breath. "Should it come to that."

"It will," the elf said. He finished his drink and rose. His hand dropped to pick up a massive blade from the seat beside him, and he slid it into the sheath across his back.

Elissa's brows lifted, "You're a swordsman."

"Obviously."

"We could always use another blade."

The elf paused, and he turned to look at her. Finally he said, "No. I am trying to stay away from mages. Not go running after them. But you," he dipped his chin to the Wardens, "happy hunting." He easily wove his way through the tavern, and disappeared out into the night.

"Was he following us?" Alistair scowled and turned his mug in his hands as he stared at the tavern entrance. "Does this feel like a trap to anyone else?"

"We're only a day behind her now," Nathaniel said. "And the entrance to the Deep Roads is to the east."

Paien sat in silence, one hand folded over the other under his chin. He glanced to Elissa, lifting a brow. "A stroke of luck."

"So it would seem, yes."

"At first light," Paien said, lifting his mug to his lips, "we will depart for the entrance to the Deep Roads."

"Am I the only one who thinks this feels like a trap?" Alistair looked from one Warden to the other.

"If it is, we'll find her that much quicker." Paien took a long draw from his mug, and dropped it back onto the table with a handful of coins. "I'll secure us some rooms here."

Alistair frowned and leaned back in his chair, watching the older man cross the tavern to wave down the innkeeper. Something smelled wrong about all of this. More than the scarred elf, more than the Old Gods whispering to Paien in his sleep. You aren't telling us everything, Nathaniel had said. He was right about that, wasn't he? Maker, he hated that the Howe was right again.

Something just felt wrong, and Alistair wasn't able to put his finger on what. But the creeping sensation that felt like clawed fingers on the base of his skull would not go away until the day he dropped into darkness.