The Last Warden

Chapter Twenty-Three

"A sound victory. You have every tongue in Orzammar wagging." The old dwarf clasped his hands behind his back, falling into step beside Alistair as they made their way through the estate.

"Yes, well, Grey Wardens don't usually fight for sport."

"But you lived up to your legend. And you cannot tell me that you did not have at least a bit of fun." There was just a hint of a smile beneath his beard. "Your golem, in particular, looked to be enjoying itself."

"Yeah... it does that."

Lord Harrowmont chuckled.

Alistair found himself watching the dwarf from the corner of his eye. There was a sternness beneath his affable nature, tired and harried though it was. He was certainly a politician, but there was something comforting in his approach to the situation, a resigned if unrelenting sense of duty. Alistair had liked the man immediately, but had not let himself wonder any further at the reason.

"Yet most are still talking of your flight from Bhelen's palace."

He felt himself flushing. "He... bothered me."

Harrowmont laughed. "I won't deny that it was certainly in my favor for one of the illustrious Grey Wardens to come storming out of my opponent's home looking as though he'd choked on a nug. But you saw through to the truth of the matter. Bhelen cannot rule."

"And this carta...?"

"Have expanded their hold well beyond Dust Town. If you can put an end to their terror and do so in my name—"

"—Two birds, one stone."

Harrowmont gave him a strange look. "...Yes. But it would certainly solidify our position."

"Oh, right. You don't have birds here."

Shaking his head, the old dwarf smiled.

They had almost reached the entry hall where Leliana, Sten and Shale waited. Chancing to look down, Alistair spotted a stack of framed paintings leaning against the wall. He moved to them, pulling aside the wrappings before he could stop himself. "What are these?"

"Ah, a few things that I saved from the palace just before Endrin died. Before Bhelen could get his hands on them."

"You stole them?" Alistair stopped, his hand falling away. The dwarf in the painting stood proud and straight-backed, the sword held before him pointing toward the ground. Both the hilt and his armor were thick and intricate, gilded to match the reddish gold of his trailing beard. But there was something of a smile there, a knowing glint beneath his furrowed brow. "Who... who is this?"

Harrowmont stepped close, throwing the covering back over the frame. "That was Duran Aeducan, King Endrin's second son."

"The one who...?"

"When his elder brother Trian was murdered, he was the one accused, yes."

"But you think it was Bhelen."

"As do many others."

Alistair sighed, looking again to the painting. "How did he die?"

Harrowmont's eyes narrowed. "He was exiled to the Deep Roads, but this is not in itself a death sentence. Perhaps he found his way to the surface."

"I wouldn't count on it."

"What?"

His words had been mumbled, but still the old dwarf glared. The dwarf in the painting was eager, strong, a warrior, but once he had been a little boy, swinging his legs restlessly beneath a table. Remembered only in dreams. "Nothing, it's nothing."

They had reached the others now. Leliana still did not move to stand beside him, but gave him an small and encouraging smile.

Alistair turned to look down at the dwarf. "So we'll... deal with this carta."

He nodded.

Back on the street, they made their way to the market district. Dust Town would lie beyond, the city's lowest level, home to the poor and the criminals and the casteless. Not a nice place, from the way Harrowmont described it. Rounding a corner, Alistair stopped short.

"That's my da's shop! You can't do that here!"

"Eh?" The dwarf waved a distracted hand, shooing the child away. He stood facing a nearby wall, feet planted as he let a thick stream of urine trickle along the stone. "Ya know what I do to little boys that look at me funny?"

Screwing up his courage, the boy darted near, kicking the dwarf behind the knee.

He let out a howl as the child bolted, bracing a hand against the wall. "Bloody brat! Of all the soddin'..."

Leliana coughed, hiding a giggle behind her hand.

But the dwarf had righted himself, continuing about his business.

"Um. Excuse me...?

He turned. Alistair felt something splash against his boots.

"Heh. Sorry about that."

Pinching shut his eyes, he waited until he heard the dwarf tuck himself away.

"Hey! You're that Grey Warden, aren'tcha? One's been working for Lord Harrowmont."

Alistair nodded. He just wouldn't look down, wouldn't.... He looked down.

The dwarf chuckled. "I wouldn't worry about it; 's mostly ale anyway. Now. Did you want somethin'?"

"I... I'm looking for information on the carta."

"Eh? Don't know much about that. Thought your boss might be sniffing around again."

"Something tells me that sniffing around you would be a bad idea." He hadn't meant to say it aloud, stifled a groan as he bit his tongue.

But the dwarf let out a roaring laugh. "Ya got me there. But Dust Town's where you wanna be." He tottered away with a wave, stumbling back toward the tavern.

Leliana shook her head. "What an interesting little man."

"Bah. If the Sister finds the Drunken Dwarf's... excretions interesting, she is more mad than I thought."

She looked up at Shale with a smirk.

"Come on, let's go."

The carved stone beneath their feet fell away beyond the market district, turning instead to jagged rock and hard-packed dirt. There were buildings here, crumbling and cramped mirrors of their cousins above, the once proud stonework lost beneath generations of filth.

"So this is where the poor people live."

Leliana frowned at him.

"Sorry."

The slums seemed to come alive as they passed, gaunt and shadowed faces appearing beneath lean-tos and slumping walls. All bore the marks of the casteless, the brands burned unmistakable. Even the children had them. Alistair wondered at what age they did it; he wondered if it hurt. The little dwarven girl in the Fade had been so very young.

He had asked after the dwarf in the palace, asked what a casteless had been doing there at all. Her name was Rica and she was a concubine to Prince Bhelen, but none had been able to tell him more than that. But she had come from here, this place, and so had the girl.

So lost in thought was he that he didn't see the blade, the dwarf slipping from beneath the shadow of a crumbling archway. Shale lifted the man with ease, narrowing its eyes as he squirmed. After a moment's pause it flung him aside, snorting as he slumped against a wall.

Again all eyes were on them, the moment stretching long.

"That's right. I've got a golem."

The faces disappeared.

"Hah." Alistair smiled.

"Yes, yes, very amusing."

Moving deeper into the ruins they came to a square. A woman sat leaning against a set of steps, whatever building they had led to long gone.

"Um... hello."

She looked up through narrowed eyes.

"I'm Alistair of the Grey Wardens."

Still she stared blankly.

"Oh. I'm sorry... are you...? You can't... speak?" He leaned toward Leliana. "I think she's a little..."

The dwarf snorted. "I can speak, Alistair of the Grey Wardens. But maybe I'm just not inclined to."

"What?"

Sten leaned over his shoulder. "She wants your coin. A bribe."

"Oh. Right." He fished into his belt for his purse.

Leliana put a hand on his arm, but it was too late. The dwarf's eyes had gone wide at the sight of the heavy pouch. With an exasperated sigh, she shook her head. "Allow me."

"Are you sure—?"

She crouched. "We are looking for information on the carta."

"The carta, eh? Now that's gonna cost ya."

Leliana leaned closer, flicking her hair out of her face, letting the woman see the scars. As the dwarf recoiled, she smirked. "Five silvers, not a copper more."

"Twenty."

"Ten." She rocked easy on her heels, balance and coiled grace.

"Done." Glowering up at Alistair, the dwarf shook her head. "You want Jarvia. She and Beraht ran things round here. Or they did. Rumor is Jarvia killed him, blamed it on some poor duster."

Leliana pursed her lips sweetly. "And where can we find this Jarvia?"

"I... I don't know. There's a base round here somewhere, but its hidden." Her eyes flickered to Leliana. "I really don't know!"

"And I believe you." She straightened, reaching into Alistair's belt. Producing a sovereign, she tossed it to the woman.

"I thought you said ten silvers."

"And this will put food in her belly for far longer." With a shrug, she turned and walked away.

Alistair, though, wasn't following the others. He was looking across the square. The building was no different than the one beside it, crumbling and unmarked, but again he felt that... sinking sort of tingle. Hunger... perhaps anger... it was different than before, but he was beginning to understand why. It felt something like the taint now, unsettling but familiar enough to almost be relied upon. Right. Only the taint would eventually kill him... if this didn't drive him mad first.

"Another hunch."

He glanced up to see Sten standing beside him. "I don't know, maybe."

"Hm."

"Let me guess... you have a problem with that?"

"You and the mage speak of spirits. The priestess calls it the hand of your Maker. Either name is foolish."

Alistair shrugged. "What about fate?"

He remained silent for a long moment, shaking his head with a rumbling sigh. "'Meraad astaarit, meraad itwasit. Maraas shokra.'"*

"I don't suppose you're going to tell me what that means?"

"No."

"Right." With a nod for the others, Alistair pressed his hand against the door. It was unlocked.

"About soddin' time. I was starting to think I'd have to— Who're you?" The dwarf had been reclining with his feet on the table, the chair legs thudding against the floor as he leaned forward. He rose quick, a blade coming to either hand as he glared. "And surfacers."

Alistair grinned.

The dwarf scowled. "What? This is my house now." He shifted his blades, one hand scratching wonderingly at his plaited hair. "You lookin' for trouble?"

"Alistair." Leliana elbowed him.

"Oh. Right. We're looking for the carta."

"Yeah? Well, I'd say you found it." He chuckled as the others appeared, slipping from the house's inner room. All were armed, their leathers dusty, their scowls unflinching.

Behind him, Sten snorted. "Was this a part of your hunch?"

"Not exactly."

At a nod from the first, the others rushed them but the cramped space provided little room to maneuver. Leliana switched from bow to blades, Sten's sword rebounding off of the wall as it sent two of the dwarves sprawling. Alistair's own shield took the dwarf with the braids in the side of the head, one hand grabbing for Leliana's ankle as he fell. She stumbled but found her balance, bracing her boot against his chest as she pressed him back against the overturned table. The others had fallen still.

"Heh. Not bad for a human." He leered up at her, pursing his lips into a smirking kiss.

Alistair made sure to accidentally kick him in the shin as he crouched. "So. You want to tell me where the carta's base is?"

"And have Jarvia kill me? No thanks."

"Or I could just kill you now."

The dwarf stared up at him for a long moment. Wriggling his arm from beneath him, he reached into his pocket, flicking a small and carved piece of bone in Alistair's direction.

Leliana arched a brow. "You could move the whole time?"

His eyes roamed openly along the length of her leg. "Maybe I'm just enjoying the view."

"And what exactly do I do with this?" Alistair turned the thing round in his hands.

"It opens a suspicious door three houses down."

"How will I know it?"

"It's suspicious."

Alistair coughed.

The dwarf watched him as he stood, gaze flickering to Sten as he shifted his sword between his hands. He sighed. "Guess it's my turn now, isn't it?" There was something resigned, almost chuckling behind the words.

Looking down at him, Alistair shook his head. "What's your name?"

"Leske. Why?"

"Because we're going to leave now." He turned, pushing the nagging sensation away. "I suggest you do the same."

As the others slipped through the door, something caught his eye. There were pieces missing from the doorframe, the scratches in the stone neat and deliberate as one might mark the growth of a child. Someone had carved words here in a jagged and awkward hand. The tallest of the marks bore the name "Rica," the one just below it "Natia." Alistair smiled.