By Varric Tethras Magistrate Dunwald’s butler had the air of a man who had never risen before dawn in his life. He stared down his nose at Donnen Brennokovic and his partner, Jevlan, as if he were on some lofty balcony above them instead of standing in the parlor in his dressing gown. “The magistrate is indisposed. This can wait until a reasonable hour.” He gestured for the guards to see themselves out. “The magistrate is dead,” Donnen corrected him. “Wake the household.” As the butler left, Jevlan shifted uneasily in his new armor. “Shouldn’t the captain be here?” “Who sent it?” Donnen asked.