Vashti kept pace with the dwarven arbalist as their group charged up the stairs, into an alley off of the same courtyard where they'd met Ser Cullen earlier in the day. Ariane came to a halt ahead of her, with the guardswoman and the elf they'd saved; Finn was several steps behind. Weapons at the ready, they were all scanning the area.

Blood-stained stone was all that there was to see. Not even bodies lay upon the ground.

They advanced carefully, to the steps leading up to the mage tower here, the courtyard expanding off to their left. "There," Ariane pointed up, at a place where magical energy flashed blue and red through the tower's small windows.

The guardswoman looked at the window, then at the several doors that were visible. "We want to go that -"

"No. You don't."

Vashti turned, scowling, at Finn's pronouncement. It was all well and good for him to correct their speech or to lecture them on one point of history or another, but when it came to storming a mage's tower... But her anger changed to alarm at his expression. He wasn't looking at the tower; he was staring out into the center of the courtyard, unblinking, and his knuckles were white around his staff.

The guardswoman hadn't even looked back. "Yes, I do. Begging your pardon, but I've been to the Gallows before. That way leads to a staircase that will take us -"

"To our deaths! You can't feel that?" Finn pointed at nothing with a shaky hand.

"Coward," the marked elf snorted.

"Shut up," Vashti snapped without turning from Finn. "Feel what?"

"Vvv... Veil tear. Biggest Veil tear I've ever... you remember the ones in the Tower?"

Vashti nodded. Artifacts of Uldred's work, they'd prevented Finn from conversing with a bound spirit. She and Ariane had held off the corrupted armored sentinels guarding the place while Finn had done some magical work to mend them.

"They were... ten feet tall? Twelve? The aftereffects of a major pride demon crossing over. That's... that's..." Out of the corner of her eye, Vashti could see that Ariane was staring now, too. Finn was at a loss for words?

With a helpless shake of his head, the mage lifted and dropped his staff. Pale violet light ran in a line from where it struck the stone, across the courtyard - and then up, into the sky. Twisting, fading into dim sheets of light, it described a Veil tear nearly as tall as the Gallows standing opposite.

"We are not equipped to handle... whatever that was and sweet Andraste, yes," he nodded his head for emphasis, cutting her off before she could do more than purse her lips, "I know what else you've fought and killed, Vashti. This is a bad idea. A very, very bad idea."

Now the guardswoman did round on him. "Do you have a better one?" she demanded.

"I... I'd need to know something about it. The templar said it was an abomination, and there are ways of, of binding demons that are too powerful to kill outright, but you need information. And, and time to prepare things. I can't... it's not something I can do right here, right now, with no knowledge of your Champion or the demon, and nearly out of mana besides."

"We have killed demons before," the elf said, his disdain obvious. "They fall to the blade like anything else."

Between the moonlight and the light coming from the Veil tear, Vashti could see Finn's pale skin flush. He jabbed a finger at her. "That is the Hero of Ferelden. She killed a corrupted Old God. And I am telling her that this is a bad idea. Do you understand?"

"It's like those scrolls we found, last month. With the bloody handprints," the dwarf interrupted, realization coloring his voice. "That was a pride demon, too."

"And you killed it," the elf said flatly.

"Huh. Barely." The dwarf shook his head. "If a pride demon makes a ten-foot purple light-show, and we're dealing with that," he gestured at the enormous tear, "I think the mage is onto something."

The guard pressed her lips together. "You think we should retreat, Varric?"

"I think we shouldn't blindly charge ahead. A related concept," he acknowledged with a shrug, "but not exactly the same." He cocked an eyebrow at Finn. "What information do you need, exactly, to -"

The explosive crack! of shattering stone interrupted him.

Agatha crouched behind a toppled Tevinter statue, barely daring to breathe. The two abominations had overlooked her thus far, and if they didn't bring the entire roof down on her head, she might make it out of the Great Hall alive.

Dust and pebbles rained down on her helmet as vast sorcerous energies flashed in the room beyond. Shouts, screams, curses and grunts did little to tell her what the two combatants were doing. She eyed an open door, ten yards past the edge of her cover. If she ran for it, would they notice her and -

But the battle had paused. "You know I hate it when we fight." The echoing, distorted voice was Kirkwall's Champion, but also something else.

"Stop this charade, demon! You are not Marian!"

The laughter, cruel and knowing, that came in reply made Agatha wish she could cover her ears. "And you're not Anders. We are who we were, and more. I know you understand me."

"I understand your kind. You will take and take, until there is nothing left of her. And I will destroy you for it!"

Blue light flared again, but was snuffed out almost instantly. "Little spirit, far from home and too long denied your nature: you will do nothing to me. Not until you grow much, much stronger." Footfalls, purposeful and even, echoed in the quiet room. "I will give you this place, these Gallows. It's a prison, after all. What better place to put those who unjustly imprisoned the magi?"

"What? No, I do not want any gift from -"

"What did they do, in those dark rooms at night? What screams have these walls heard, what tears and blood have slicked the floors? Doesn't it call to you, the need for vengeance?"

"I... no, the Chantry... change will come now, it doesn't matter. There's no need -"

"Isn't there? Isn't there a need to punish? The templars, their hands red with blood? The rulers, who permitted it? The mothers and the fathers, not only standing by while their children were dragged off to a lifetime of servitude and abuse for no crime, but then piously thanked the Maker for the vigilance of his templars? And there they go to the Chantry, to sing to the Maker and put their coppers into the sisters' hands, all of them sheep only too glad to see someone else, anyone else, pay the price so that they can maintain their delusions of safety in this world?"

"Stop it!"

Agatha had served the Order many years, had hunted and captured a score of maleficar. Most she had slain on the spot, but duty had sometimes required that one be interrogated. She thought herself hardened to cries of pain, to piteous calls for compassion. But the sheer terror and anguish in that voice-within-a-voice set her to running, running like a coward away from whatever could cause such suffering. It was a reflex, an instinct, and she was only a third of the way to the door before she was certain it would get her killed.

The man-abomination was on his knees on the floor, hands shielding his face as he rocked in place. What had been the Champion looked up sharply at her. "There's a templar now," she said, and Agatha was four long strides closer to the door. "Looks like she'll escape punishment for all her crimes... unless you can sort yourself out, love."

Agatha slammed the door shut behind her, not entirely blocking out the screaming, and kept on running.

She pounded down the hallway, nearly fell down the flight of stairs at the end, and stumbled into one of the residential wings. About halfway down the hall, a knot of mages - about half children, from the look of it - were clustered around a cell door. Staves lit up at her entrance; exhausted, sword and shield lost in the Great Hall, she commended her soul to the Maker and his Bride.

But the mages held their spells. "Do you have a key?" one shouted.

Did she...? Agatha fumbled with her uniform sash. The key ring, secured to her belt with a fine chain, slipped free and dangled by her knee. She nodded at the mages.

"Bring it here," the mage instructed, her voice impossibly level. Elsa, Agatha realized: the Knight-Commander's Tranquil assistant. "We do not wish to leave any behind as we evacuate."

The mages eyed her suspiciously as she jogged forward, jamming the Level Three key into the lock. She turned and pulled, and young Alain stumbled out. Guilty of blood magic and sedition... but she had liked Thrask, and if he had trusted the youth, she would follow suit. Elsa gestured to the adjoining cell, so she opened it as well.

Idunna, blood mage, guilty of facilitating the murder of a dozen templar recruits, shivered on the other side. Agatha's hand dropped to where the hilt of her sword should have been.

"I forswore her," the maleficar whispered, eyes very wide. "I forswore her and she's coming for me. Don't leave me here, please. At least show me the mercy Hessarion showed blessed Andraste."

"Gladly," Agatha gritted, but Elsa stopped her with a firm hand on her shoulder.

"My supposition is regrettably correct," the Tranquil said. "Idunna must come with us. There is no time to argue, Ser Agatha."

The templar hesitated, but stepped back. Elsa knew the Gallows records better than anyone; if she thought Idunna was necessary, Agatha believed her. "You came from upstairs," Elsa continued. "Is the way not clear?"

"Very not clear," Agatha confirmed.

"Below are undead, maleficar and abominations."

Agatha cursed. "Then we're trapped?"

Elsa tipped her head, then regarded the assembled mages. "Do many of you know the stonefist spell?"

Cracks suddenly radiated from one of the tiny windows like a parody of the Chantry sun. Varric spun around, leveling his monster crossbow at the ear-splitting sound. "What in the blazes?"

Another deafening crack!rang across the courtyard, and a half-dozen flying stone projectiles burst through the wall. They all ducked on instinct as the missiles flew overhead, crashing into various walls and grates before tumbling to the pavement. By the time Vashti had rolled to her feet, an armored figure dangled by fingertips out of the gaping hole in the wall before dropping with a clatter to the courtyard.

"Survivors!" the guard cried. "Move!" More loudly, she called to the templar: "City Guard! We're here to help!"

The templar turned, startled, and held up a hand held palm-out. "She wants us to keep our distance, I think," Ariane said, slowing.

"We don't exactly look like guards," Varric shrugged.

They watched as children were lowered out of the side of the building and dropped into the templar's waiting arms. "Let us help!" the guard called again. The templar looked at their group, glanced up at the windows above lit by blue fire, and beckoned them forward.

There were perhaps two dozen mages in all. The adults came down faster than the children, lowering themselves by their arms and dropping, then tending to any bruises or sprains with healing magic. The children clung to each other, staring at the swirling, shifting light of the Veil tear. Some were quietly crying; a few clutched at their heads in evident pain.

The adults, muttering and pointing, were only doing slightly better.

The last woman out barely glanced at the column of light as she picked herself up off the stones. "Is that a Veil tear?" she asked, and a dozen voices murmured assent. She look to the guard, and Vashti saw she was marked on her forehead. That meant something in the Circle Tower, but she couldn't remember exactly whatat the moment. "UnHarrowed apprentices in emotional turmoil near such a large Veil tear is an extremely dangerous situation," she reported calmly. "Guard Captain, you must get us away from here immediately."

"That clinches it, then." The guard waved a gauntleted hand over her head, and her companions fell into line from long habit. "Carry the smallest ones, and let's move. To the Viscount's Keep."