Liraeth found nothing in the keep except ash and death. 

He paced through darkened half collapsed tunnels of blackened stone and ruined halls open to sky save for the skeletal ribs of their charred timber rafters. Light blazed from his staff. He could feel the power inside of him coursing through his veins, ready at his fingertips, calling to be used. That was one of things they tried to teach you above all else at the Conclave, the gift desires to be used. So too, the greater one's gift is, the greater the desire to use it. Restraint was often the most difficult task of great mages.

And as he made his way through the ruined castle, Liraeth felt powerful.

He wanted to use his magic. Propelled by righteous anger, he wanted to find whatever mage or being had wrought such destruction to this place, and done such cruelty to the Knight sat on the steps outside. It was rare that he felt such fury. But perhaps it was to be expected, such misuse of magic, it brought back uncomfortable memories for him. Memories better left in the past.

The mage slowed his march and breathed deeply, trying to calm himself, control himself. But the air he took down into his lungs was thick with the stench of smoke and ash, of burnt meat and decay. This was terrible place, he would be glad to leave it, and he would not be leaving Sir Tenth here alone either.

True to the Knight's words he came across no other survivors, only bodies. Some of them were burned and twisted beyond recognition, little more than bones and warped melted metal. Others clearly died in the aftermath of whatever had happened here, two knights impaled upon each other's blades, another with their own dagger plunged deep into their abdomen, hands stilled wrapped around the bloody hilt. 

It was in the remains who what might have been the great hall that Liraeth found a hint of what the cause of all of this might have been.

The fires in here had burned hotter seemingly than anywhere else, hot enough to melt the stone flagged floor in the centre of the cavernous hall. He could still feel the heat coming off of it despite the rain and the time elapsed as he picked his way through the smouldering rubble. As he pushed some charred beams that had collapsed down from the roof above out of his way, the wood scuffed up the thick layer of ash on the floor, revealing something carved into it.

Frowning, he knelt in the ash and wiped away at the carved tile in the floor. As his hand touched it, Liraeth felt a jolt run through him, his stomach lurched and his head span. Dark magic, and strong too. He pulled his hand away to reveal an arcane symbol carved into the flagstone. He examined it, not immediately recognising the purpose of the glyph, but knowing enough of the runic morphology to know this was a summoning sigil of some kind. He looked to his left and right, saw the line of where the stones were warped and melting curve off away from where he stood. 

This was a Summoning Circle. 

A great working of magic to bring a being from the worlds beyond to this one. Incredibly powerful and dangerous magic that few attempted and fewer still ever mastered. A chill ran through Liraeth's body. The real question though, was this a disastrous failure, or an even more calamitous success? Either way, the Conclave would want to know. 

Liraeth pulled a sheaf of parchment from his satchel and sketched a copy of the sigil there before searching for more. He found a few more, but most of the others that would have once made up the circle were either destroyed in the inferno or completely inaccessible under piles of fallen scorched masonry. Any that he found he made similar sketches of, along with notes on their position.

It wasn't much, but he doubted that he would find many more clues inside of the ruined castle, the destruction had been too great. Any papers or books belonging mage who had performed this ritual from which he might have gleamed further knowledge would have been completely incinerated in the inferno. The stench of dark magic suffused this place so deeply it was hard to draw out the individual threads of precisely what magic had occurred here.

No, it seemed like there was only one avenue to further this investigation, the memories of the Knight outside.

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When Liraeth returned to the stairs he had left Sir Tenth sat upon, afternoon was turning to evening. He saw that the Knight was laid upon his back, his eyes shut, seemingly at rest. He had stripped most of his armour off on his upper body, down a simple linen undershirt. It revealed more of his form, the Knight's thickly muscled arms, criss-crossed with faded scars, as well as a sliver of his broad and powerful chest that Liraeth could not help but steal a glance at.

In truth, the Knight almost looked peaceful laid there, the furrows in his brow slacked and smoothed, for perhaps the first time since Liraeth had laid eyes on him early that day. He wondered what it was like then, to have your will robbed of, how it felt. Was it painful to the Knight when he compelled to do something? 

The Conclave would need answers, and Sir Tenth was the one hold them. Liraeth knew he could just wake him up, speak an order to divulge all he knew what had happened and he would almost certainly comply. It would be the quickest, most efficient way to get the answers that he sought. 

And it would also be an unspeakably cruel thing to do.

He pushed the thought from his mind and sat down next to where the Knight lay, picking up the discarded waterskin to wash the taste of ash from his parched lips. The water was cool and clean, exactly what he needed in this place of cloying death and darkness. 

"Sir Tenth." He leaned across to where the Knight lay, speaking gently to wake him." How are you feeling? Do you think you can stand?"

Liraeth glanced around the ruined courtyard once more. They could stay here for the night, undoubtably the destroyed buildings could be used as some form of shelter. But the thought of spending a night here, amongst the rubble and bodies of the castle filled him with a sense of dread. Better to take the chance of finding shelter somewhere in the forest instead he reasoned. Besides, there was still some foul magic hanging over this place, it could be that was part of what was affecting the Knight, his condition could improve as left whatever influence this place exerting on those less protected than Liraeth.

"I think it would be best if we left this place, and rest somewhere else. You may feel... better... outside of the walls..." He trailed off before hastily adding lest his orders by construed as a command, "only if you feel up to it, of course."