Asunder by David Gaider Page A

dusted off once again.
                It could come to that, if the mages pushed it. Evangeline wasn't foolish enough to imagine otherwise, and hopefully neither were they.
                The two templars at the dungeon's guard station were playing cards, and she shook her head as they started to rise. "Up late, Knight- Captain?" one of them asked.
                "I'm looking for a missing mage." She indicated the vial.
                "We haven't seen anything."
                "No, I don't suppose the dungeons would be his first destination," she chuckled wryly. "But I wanted to let you know before I headed farther into the Pit. Just in case."
                The men exchanged significant glances. "Expecting trouble? Want one of us to come along?"
                "No. Check the cells. Make sure everyone is still in one piece." Evangeline turned to go, but then paused as she noticed the other templar looking anxious. "Something on your mind, ser?" she asked.
                The man guiltily ducked the glare from his companion. "Err . . . there's been noises. From below, I mean."
                "What sorts of noises?"
                "Just the usual," the other insisted.
                Now she was interested. She crossed her arms and arched a questioning brow at them both. "What constitutes 'the usual,' exactly? It's been some time since I pulled guard duty in the dungeons. It could, however, be the first of many for some."
                "Now, listen here." The templar put his hands up defensively. “There's all sorts of noises in an old place like this. You hear them down below. Things break apart, or something gets in from the sewers. If you go chasing after every single thing you hear, you'll spend all night running around in the dark."
                "Could be the Ghost of the Spire," the other suggested, a bit sheepishly.
                Evangeline rolled her eyes. She'd heard that rumor, the sort of nonsense spouted by mages. She wouldn't expect that from a templar. The possibility that such a "ghost" could be a demon, particularly if there were blood mages in the tower, made it somewhat less of a joke. In fact, it might be something she had to take quite seriously.
                She left the dungeons, moving urgently now.
                She was still finding her way to the lower passages, unfamiliar with the area, when she heard the first strange sound. A distant blast, like thunder . . . or an explosion. She ran faster, racing down a flight of stairs, drawing her blade at the same time. Then she heard something different: a sharp, electric crack. Spells were being cast.
                What in the Maker's name was going on down there? A battle?
                Evangeline raced through the corridors, holding the phylactery in front of her to judge its brightness. Twice she had to double back when she encountered a dead end, and then a third time when she realized the passage wasn't going in the direction she needed it to. She swore under her breath, half directed at herself for not waking the entire tower when this business began and the other half at whichever idiots thought the bowels of a tower were an excellent place to build a labyrinth. The order should have sealed off these parts of the Pit centuries ago.
                Then she entered the templar crypts and saw him. Enchanter Rhys stood next to one of the larger sarcophagi, the statue over it having tumbled to the ground and shattered in a hundred pieces. Dust hung in the air, along with the acrid stench of smoke. The mage himself was filthy, smeared with dirt and grime, and was that blood on his face? His staff crackled with brilliant energy, ready for the attack.
                "Stand down, mage!" she cried, brandishing her sword. "This is your one and only