Free Asunder by David Gaider Page A

racing heart. "You scared the life near out of me!"
                The young man bit his lower lip, squirming uncomfortably. "I haven't seen you in a long time," he said. His voice had a raspy quality, no doubt from lack of use. "I thought you'd forgotten."
                "I haven't forgotten. I told you it was becoming more difficult to get away, didn't I?" Rhys stood up carefully. He brushed off some of the filth, frowning at the tears and bruises that would be more difficult to explain later. Then he stopped, remembering the reason he had gone through all this effort in the first place. He turned to look at Cole, wary of just how he should broach the subject. The young man was nervous enough as it was.
                "There are some things I need to ask you about," he began. "Important things."
                "Oh." The way Cole twisted in place, like a guilty child eager to find any excuse to leave but unable to tear himself away, told Rhys everything he needed to know. Cole knew exactly what he was going to ask. He knew and had come to find Rhys anyhow, because he couldn't help himself.
                "It's you, isn't it? You're the murderer."
                 
                 

            Chapter 4
                             
                It had been nearly a year since Rhys had first seen Cole.
                He remembered the time well, because the White Spire had just received news of the rebellion at Kirkwall. The mages buzzed with fear, templars present in the halls in force. Amidst all that, Rhys caught rare glimpses of a stranger lurking, a young man who wasn't running about like everyone else but instead simply . . . watched. Although this stranger was oddly dressed, Rhys didn't give it much thought. A new apprentice, or a visitor sanctioned by the templars. No one else seemed to pay this stranger much mind, after all, so why should he? Back then strangers weren't a common sight in the tower, but they weren't unheard of.
                Later, during a lecture in the great hall, Rhys saw him again. Sitting in the back of the chamber and watching the proceedings with a perplexed expression. The young man seemed entirely out of place, so Rhys turned to Adrian and asked who she thought he might be.
                Adrian looked to where he indicated, and frowned. "Who are you talking about? There’s nobody back there."
                "Are you sure?"
                "Is this a joke? What are you seeing?"
                That shut Rhys up. If he was seeing something Adrian didn't, then it was either his imagination . . . or worse. It might be a spirit, or even a demon, and that meant trouble. Still, he was a medium. If this young man was a demon, why didn't he sense him as such?
                So Rhys passed it off to Adrian as merely a misunderstanding, half convinced that was the case. Afterward he did some asking around— carefully. Had anyone seen something strange in the tower? Someone who didn't belong? That's when he heard about the Ghost of the Spire.
                It was ridiculous, of course. Everything his research had told him said ghosts didn't exist. At best they were spirits masquerading as the dead, or confused. When people died their souls went . . . somewhere. If the Chantry was to be believed, they went to reside with the Maker in some realm beyond the Fade. Even the spirits themselves claimed not to know, if the word of such beings could be relied upon.
                Yet these rumors caused him even more concern. So he watched carefully for the young man to reappear, determined to confront him and find out for certain. Like the old saying about watched pots, waiting for a sighting of the young man meant there was suddenly no sign of him anywhere.
                So Rhys went down into the Pit to look for