Chapter Forty-Nine: Undercurrent

Troy, an ancient, mythologised city of heroes, home to many famous men and women of the East. A city at the centre of a war instigated by the gods themselves, a world war. A city defeated and destroyed not by heroism, but by guile and subterfuge.

It was just like Julie to name our new home after a city that was destroyed so famously on my own world, though perhaps she might be a little more humble now. But not by much. She believed God was on our side, at the end of the day. A myth from another world could not harm us. Certainly, it couldn't bring us bad luck, as the vast majority of people were unaware of the name's true origin. Lana, due to her age, had only ever been told part of the story.

Not that there were many other choices without such history either. Rome, another even more famous city I have already made mention of, was sacked repeatedly. Without the embellishments of divine wrath too. Yet it went on, right up until my lifetime. Troy did not enjoy that distinction, but was settled and lived on for millennia after the mythological war that made it famous.

Almost all of the famous centres of civilisation have fallen at one time or another. Hell, even Washington DC, capital of the United States, was seized by a foreign enemy. The White House, looted and burned to the ground. By Canadians, of all people. Wars end, and good places to settle are often in short supply.

But this is not to say that the choice of name was not ominous.

On the contrary, it has foreshadowed our recent history very well, even if the city isn't yet ruined. Julie would get her way on this, but it was to be one of the last things she did get her way about for some time.

Troy, or Troie in Orlesian, was to be the name of our city. But, in the same way as Antiva is sometimes called Calabria, even though that name is neither official nor well used even in its cities, Troy would also have another, equally ominous moniker.

However, choosing a name for a city that didn't exist yet and might not ever come to exist struck me as a luxury. Something best left to the political heads, to Julie, Armen, Leha and others. I already had a city to deal with: Amaranthine.

While I could make peace with some of the powerful people that ruled it, the civil authorities for the most part, there were others I could not. If I wanted to prevent another Baghdad, another Kabul, I needed to eliminate the potential stragglers. Those whose authority was far less legal.

I called a war council meeting for early morning the next day.

Julie, likewise, called together everyone of political significance outside of the military, as well as all the major artisans among the refugees.

There was no small amount of work to be done outside of keeping order; to lay out the foundations of our new country, deciding the election was going to be run, and organising whatever manufacturing and building efforts were needed, both to prepare for our settlement in less than two months and for whatever wars we might end up fighting to defend it.

Which deprived me of Amund, Brandon, Barris, Leha, Ciara and Armen, as well as Julie herself.

Leha was the biggest loss, if only due to her Carta contacts. She had been cranky when I asked for a list of known Carta operatives in Amaranthine, but she provided that plus a name that we might find useful.

The council assembled in the lounge, which now provided a great view of the sun rising in the East over the harbour. A table large enough for the job had been dragged in through the doors, which after all had been designed to allow the passage of a ballista or two. The commanders of the various parts of the army walked in one-by-one, all looking well rested. I myself was feeling greatly refreshed, a decent meal having done wonders. Ready for what needed to be done. The only hiccup was when Mariette de Villars entered, her mask decidedly covering her face. Thankfully, she joined her larger cousin.

Tam and Andras were the last to enter, both wearing the silverite griffon badges of the Grey Wardens from thin chains around their necks. The Warden-Commander had several large scrolls under her arm, another in her left hand, and two ledgers held against her with the right. The information I requested contained within them, no doubt. But that wasn't what interested me at the exact moment.

"What's this?" I asked Tam, getting the attention of the entire room, "Griffons?"

Tam was not shy about explaining exactly the origin of the jewellery. "The Warden-Commander gave it to me as a present," Tam replied, "For my formal acceptance into the Order."

Andras tutted, waving a finger at Tam past the eyes peering out from under the hood. "My endorsement of her as Warden-Commander," she corrected, "She has all the knowledge she needs to do the job, and the right attitude. I doubt you will find a better candidate."

It wasn't qualifications that Tam was lacking, but the will to take the chance. I looked to her. "Are you going to accept the job?" I asked.

"I will ask the others," Tam said, "I need to know they have confidence in me."

I smiled, knowing full well that they would. Some out of genuine feeling, others out of a perceived need to not insult Julie or I. Warden-Commander wasn't a pathway for the ambitious either, I had already made it known that the Wardens would be subordinate to the Free Army in all matters except for fighting darkspawn. Somewhat similar to how the Templars operated within our ranks, despite their own rank structure being separate from the Army's one.

As for whether or not it would be good for Tam, I had mixed sorrow and joy for her. It wasn't what she had planned, but it gave her a place of respect that even non-Orlesians had to acknowledge. Which was something I was increasingly worried about. Fereldans looked at her with either intense curiosity or moralising disdain. Orlesian sexual mores being different to almost every other culture's, excepting maybe Antiva.

"It's your choice," I said carefully, "Just remember that."

"I will," Tam replied, taking her place beside me.

Andras kept to the other end of the table and placed all the documents she had brought down on its surface, keeping the scrolls wound up. "Shall we begin, Marquis?" she asked.

"Yes," I replied, standing up straight, "We have four items of business. Keeping order in the city, drilling our troops, what to do about the ships we've captured, and the triumphal march. We'll get the easy things out of the way first."

There were no objections, just attentive silence from all comers.

"I intend to keep the ships," I said, "And arm them with cannon. How exactly that's going to happen is something I'll need to discuss with the Marquise, whether we're going to put some of our existing arsenal on the ships or if we can make more cannons. But right now, we need someone to command our ships."

I turned to our Jaderite representative. "Fisher, you're the only one of us with naval experience," I continued, "Would you accept a commission as Admiral of the Free Navy?"

Monsieur Pecheur clenched his jaw, scratching the side of his head where the salt and pepper hair met his cheek. He was hesitating. It was a big ask, of a man whose people occupied a nebulous position within our Army.

"The Free Navy..." he thought aloud, "Do I understand you right in saying that I would be your equal?"

I felt my eyes narrow unconsciously at him, unable to help myself. He wanted to know if he would be at the top table. Which should not have occurred to him at all; he himself had told me that all navies save for the Qunari and the Armada were subordinate to the military command of armies. The idea of a separate branch, equal to that of armies, was an alien idea for the most part. Which got me thinking that someone perhaps had passed on the concept from Earth books to him.

To be honest, I hadn't really thought about the ranks either. Other than seating some other Jaderite in his place, which would have divided the sailors, I had no choice but to agree if he insisted. Still, I was confident that Julie would favour me either way, even if our ranks were equal.

"Yes, you would be equal," I said, "Though I'll still be in charge of discipline and training." As Fisher knew how to sail and a good deal about the old way of fighting a battle at sea, but nothing about military professionalism.

To my utter bafflement, he looked to Velarana for a moment. That should have been a warning in itself, that something was up. It was upsetting some plan or another, and Fisher was too honest a man to not let it show. The Aequitarian just stared back, not reacting. Velarana always was far more able to conceal her feelings and thoughts. I was intrigued by what they could possibly be cooking up, but it's not like they were going to spill the beans right then and there.

Finally, Fisher nodded to himself. "I accept," he said, "But I don't have enough men. I can sail the ships we have, no problem, but that's nowhere near the same thing as fighting a battle."

"I thought you might say that," I said, "I'll transfer the three newest infantry regiments to your command for use as sailors and marines."

"No women," Fisher said quickly, like the thought had just occurred to him, "Can't have women on ships." Of course, our army being famously integrated in that respect at the time. He meant single, unattended women whom couldn't be separated from the crew, of course.

The temperature in the room dropped sharply, and that is not a figure of speech. The warmth provided by the fireplace beyond seemed to be getting sucked away by Velarana's person. Perhaps Fisher wasn't in cahoots with her after all? The newly minted Admiral was very quick to clarify his position.

"Don't look at me like that, Generals," he said, addressing the female officers in the room, "I know you are all used to letting your soldiers act freely in … certain respects, but I can't have it on my boats. In an army, if people need space they can get it, easily. On board a ship, there's nowhere you can go, sometimes for weeks on end. All the discipline in the world won't stop the conflicts it'll create to throw women into that scenario. Besides, it's bad luck."

That did not seem to mollify the officers who were insulted. Though I was beginning to see his argument. The Navy guys I knew on Earth did say that boredom is worse in a metal box, and the women on board our ships did have it rough. And that was in a more civilised era, with far greater disciplinary pressure. There was also an Earth precedent for a solution, though.

"Bad luck aside..." I said, "That means I can only give you half of what I planned. Maybe fifteen hundred. And I'm reluctant to break up regiments like that. Can you crew the ships with men and women separately? Some ships mostly by women, some mostly by men?"

Fisher chewed on that for a minute, murmuring to himself.

"It's never been done, Marquis," he said, "Sailing is hard work. Men's work. The women that can do it are the exception rather than the rule."

"Our soldiers are not weaklings, Admiral," Soprano said, all daggers, "While I cannot claim that the women are equal to the men in strength, I will not hear that their determination fails to make up for that." A very Sopranoesque argument to make. Fisher didn't respond to it, probably because he couldn't without insulting the General.

Another problem occurred to me. "Fisher, does this mean you will not allow female Tranquil on board?" I asked, "To act as gunners?"

"They would be even more of a problem, Marquis," he replied, "They follow all orders, almost without question. I think that would be abused."

"We could threaten harsh penalties," McNulty pointed out, "Rape is already punished with death, Tranquil or no."

"Except how do you prove it?" Fisher asked, "If most of the lower deck crew are involved, they'll protect each other. I've seen it happen to captives before. I've rescued people who got the same treatment at the hands of pirates too." I levelled a glare at the man, transmitting that I hoped very much that he hadn't been involved in that first incident.

"Tranquil never lie," McNulty replied, "We ask them regularly about the activities they're ordered to perform or the behaviour of the crew, they'll tell us. Secret pacts won't help anyone then, will they?"

I felt like we were getting deep into issues that we ought to avoid in any case. "Better to avoid the scenario entirely," I said, "There's always someone stupid enough to abuse the rules, and they might be willing to murder to avoid getting shot for that themselves. And if there is any chance that the Tranquil can be cured of their curse, I intend to take it. Wouldn't do much good for us to cure them, only for them to have mental breakdowns due to abuse."

"Many may already have that problem, Marquis," said Marable, the Isolationist looking sad, "They lived in the Circle before you rescued them, remember?"

"Then I want them to think of us well," I said, "The opposites to their abusers."

"Simply order them to protect themselves," Soprano said, "Let them keep daggers and cut the throats of anyone who attempts to bugger them. The Tranquil do understand rank. If a captain orders it, they will obey even if a lower crewman tells them to disobey."

I shook my head. That would undoubtedly destroy morale on a ship. And one person with a dagger was easy prey for multiple men with swords. I was a little depressed that Fisher thought his people would be capable of such brutality, but they were no country peasants, unlike the vast majority of the Free Army's recruits.

"Okay, Fisher, you win," I said, "No women, for now. We'll have to train some of the men as gunners, or just use less guns than we might otherwise."

The female officers did not look pleased, but accepted the decision. Largely because I had added 'for now' to the acceptance of the Admiral's request, knowing their later requests.

"Thank you, Marquis," Fisher said.

"Nothing to thank me for, Admiral," I said quickly, "I'll get Julie to write up your commission tonight. Next piece of business is the triumphal march. Warden-Commander, the map if you would be so kind."

Andras took the largest scroll in hand, undid the twine that served to keep it together, and unrolled the map across the table until it covered nearly three quarters of the space. I leaned over and pulled the paper towards me, until it was close enough for me to point at. The well ordered grid of the city's avenues were revealed, along with the tangled mess of the outer residencies and the smaller streets.

I thanked her, and set my firelance down on the map so the paper wouldn't roll up again.

"The march will take place in two days time," I said, "It will start in front of this castle. The escort of honour, led by General Velarana, Colonel Isewen and Soprano, will take the King and his entourage from the keep to the south gate."

I traced the route with my finger. "It will follow the wall road to the docks, where our civilians can get a good look, then directly to the central crossroads via the north-south avenue, southwards to the gate. The participating regiments will be the mages, the Guard and the Lancers in order of precedence. So Guard first, then mages, then Lancers. In parade formation. Then, once the King and the bann have left the city, the regiments will return for a flag ceremony, with our flag formally raised over the battlements, alongside the Grey Warden banner."

I paused, knowing that this was mostly the ceremonial, aka boring, part of the problem.

"Now, no matter what else happens, we must control the two main avenues," I continued, "That means every regiment along the avenues is going to have to be ready to barricade the side streets leading to the avenue."

"That could be unpopular," Andras frowned.

"I know," I said, "But at the same time, I want people to see the march. So, ranged units on rooftops, barricades bulging out of the streets to both contain people and allow spectators to see if any, bills nearby to react if necessary."

"And town guards at the barricades," Andras added insistently, "If it's just your people doing the guarding, no one will show up."

"How will they guard anything without weapons?" Mike asked, "We disarmed your Silverguards and gendarmes."

"They still have clubs," the Warden-Commander smiled, "Leather covered cudgels. For when they need to take people alive."

I pondered whether or not it would be wise to take even those from the guards, but dismissed the instinct. The guards needed to maintain some dignity and role, or they'd defect to whatever resistance might form.

"You're probably right, Warden-Commander," I said, "We'll get into more detail on this later. Next thing on the agenda; drill."

I tapped my forefinger on the top of my firelance as it rested on the table.

"With the resources of the arling at our disposal, we plan to make another couple of thousand firelances while we are here," I said, "Along with regular training and drill, it means we need some space to teach more soldiers how to use them. The docks are the only secure space in the city. Two more regiments are going to be converted to firelancers during our stay here."

"Mike, I'm going to need you to work up a rotation for training on them once we've decided which two. Regular drill three times a week will take place on the docks, on days where the sky isn't dumping half the ocean on us."

The diminutive she-elf gave a thumbs up. The three Highlanders, Aoife, Cormac and Asala, immediately began whispering to each other. I waited for their own little conference to end, already guessing what they'd ask. They chose their spokesperson and went quiet for a second.

"Marquis," Asala called out deeply, "I would like to formally request that the Highlanders be one of the two regiments."

"I will take that into consideration," I replied, "Sooner or later, all regiments will get firelances, though their roles are going to vary. Including the cavalry, the Templars and the mages."

Velarana cleared her throat, pushing a blonde lock out of her face. I turned to her. "Marquis, mages?" she asked, "Is that necessary?"

"Yes," I replied, "As it stands, our enemies can pick out our mages from a distance too easily, telling the enemy exactly where to send antimagic countermeasures. Eventually, when we have more weapons, I intend to muster out all but the most capable elementalists from the Army."

"Why?" Louise de Villars asked from under her skull mask, "They are extremely powerful."

"They're far more valuable behind the lines," I replied, "Mages make manufacturing, healing, construction, pretty much everything more easy. Putting their lives on the line is a criminally poor use of their talents."

I also had a concern about the psychological effects of continuous combat on the mages in particular. As our way of war spread, things would get more messy. When things get messy, some people just lose it. Mages losing it meant demons, which might mean serious trouble for our policy of mages living openly among us. Not something I intended to make noise about just yet.

"This brings us onto a subject I would like discuss," said Velarana, stepping forward to stand over the edge of the table, "If you would allow it, my lord?"

Uh oh, I thought.

"There will be time at the end," I said.

"On second thought," she started, "I think perhaps it is best said in private." Signalling her agreement by taking a half step back again, she waited as the others examined her, as equally curious about what she might have said had I allowed it as I was.

"Last and most important item," I continued, still eyeing the Aequitarian, "Keeping order in this city. Our most difficult task in the months ahead. As the Warden-Commander will soon make clear, even the locals could not properly achieve the task. But we are going to, ladies and gents. Have no doubt about that."

I nodded to Andras, and let her have the floor. She took a large ledger, one of the three she had, and opened it at the first page.

"Amaranthine is a large city, as big as your Hearth was at its height," she said, "And unlike Orlais, there are no courts in Ferelden. Most crimes are settled by the victims, violently. The guards exist to protect merchant property and deter bandits, they do not act as gendarmes unless the nobles order them to."

She put her hand on the ledger. "The organised criminals know how to play politics," she continued, "In this are the names all of men and women well used to being able to avoid my wrath, because of who I am."

That is to say, an Orlesian elf mage. The collection of officers looked suitably unamused by the news, save for the two wearing masks.

"But as you do not have to answer to the other nobles of Ferelden if you kill these criminals," she said, with a growing smile, "You can eliminate them without consequences."

"They are also the people most likely to resist us," I said, "And in truth, they're the only ones that can. The honourable soldiers are either dead, loyal to the bann's word of surrender or are making their way back to Denerim as we speak. That leaves the criminals and thugs to deal with."

It was Mariette de Villars who objected to the plan, on pretty good grounds.

"Marquis," she said without her usual playful insolence, "Our soldiers have come with full purses, and all the reason in the world to spend. Our army stands to make these men a lot of coin, if they cooperate. Why would they resist?"

I eyed Andras, for whom the moment of truth had come. For the briefest second, she seemed nervous, but as soon as I looked at her, she knew I was going to do her dirty work for her. Because she had been right about one thing. Not doing it would have been gross hypocrisy.

"Very simple," I replied, "What is the mandate of this Army? Why does it exist?"

"To protect the people," Tam said instantly, "Their lives and their freedom."

"Exactly," I said, "So how could I allow my soldiers to participate in the spread of suffering, all for the benefit of criminals?"

I picked up another one of the ledgers. "The Warden-Commander has no shortage of information on what goes on behind the doors of those brothels," I said, "Most of it would be just fine and dandy, if the women themselves were the only ones profiting. But instead, it's a web of enforced debt, sickness, poverty and evil. We have no choice but to stop it."

I let the ledger fall to the table with a whack.

"In other words," Andras said, "Tyrants do not only wear crowns or masks."

"Correct. So, tonight, we're going to seize control of the red light district," I said, "Every single one of the people with names in that book will be arrested. Those that resist arrest will be met with absolute force. Those that don't will be tried by a military tribunal later. The Warden-Commander will have to convince me, as Military Governor, of their guilt. They'll be free to prove their innocence."

Hardly an entirely free and fair trial, but given that the civil authority was Julie, this was as good as it was going to get. Local juries could be intimidated or bribed to boot, so that wasn't an option either.

"We've divided the names up by quarter," I said, "Soprano, you get the Merchant Quarter. Mike, the Chantry and Artisan quarters. Asala, the Highlanders get the docks. McNulty, you get the honour of seizing Doxy Row and the rest of the red light district. The Warden-Commander will provide guides she trusts to each of you. Additional forces, including artillery and mages, will be distributed to all of your commands for use in emergencies."

"Cannon, sir?" Soprano asked, "Won't that be too destructive?"

"I don't expect you'll be using the cannons," I replied, "They're only going to be deployed in case the town decided to take the opportunity to riot. The mages I do expect to end up being useful though. If I were a criminal looking to escape, I'd set the town on fire. The mages are mostly to protect against that rather than fight."

Louise puffed up her chest, which had rather interesting effects on her person underneath the light noble's garb she was wearing. "What of the cavalry?" Blondie asked, "Deployed to keep the street clear?"

"The Lancers will do that," I said, "Andras has another map of the tunnels and sewers underneath the city. Including those that lead to the outside. The Guard take the Libertarian mages and set ambushes at the exit points, those that don't exit into the Deep Roads anyway. I have no doubt that the criminals will attempt to use the tunnels to escape."

Andras opened another scroll, smaller by far compared to the general map of the city, pulled the twine off of it and handed it to Louise. The chevalier perused it with interest, clearly satisfied that her part in the affair was to be important.

"Mariette," I started, before correcting myself, "Major de Villars. You will split off a squad of Rangers from Soprano's command, and will join me on a special assignment before we join the Grenadiers for the attack on the red light district."

The harlequin looked at me through her mask, and by its angle, I could tell she was confused at the order.

"You have bardic training," I clarified, "And I need someone I can trust to do the work."

"I can do that," Mariette replied simply, "Shall Ciara be joining us?"

"No," Tam interrupted, "I will."

"As shall I," Andras said, throwing in her two cents.

Neither were people I had planned to take along, but whatever, the more the merrier. Tam wanted to see Mariette in action. Andras wanted to see any of us in action, and she had some idea of what my assignment before the general arrests began was.

"Well, that is the general outline," I continued, getting back on track, "Let's discuss the details quarter by quarter..."

The hours between the end of the morning meeting and the darkness of the evening were spent getting everything ready.

Julie and my other companions were informed of the plan over lunch. Claire, with little Victoire and Patrice, though they were less little with each passing day. I warned Julie of something being up with Velarana, but she didn't seem aware of any moves the Aequitarian was making. Armen too only had a little more information, that she was recruiting non-mages into the fraternity like had happened for the Grand Convention in the summer. Merchants not associated with war production, mostly. So, nothing truly groundbreaking as far as we were concerned.

As for the plan, I suspect that if Tam hadn't been coming along, Julie would have been afraid for me, but as we were both going, she simply hugged us and let us go without fuss.

Leha didn't want to come along on my assignment, despite her key importance to it. I thought maybe there was bad blood she wanted to avoid, or maybe she just wanted to avoid her past. Why was she so important you ask? Because there was one faction in Amaranthine we really did not want to piss off.

The Carta.

They could have harmed us in any number of ways without ever presenting a front for us to retaliate against. We were going to be reliant on trade, and the dwarven mafia were present in every major trading hub in Thedas outside of the Qun's control since the end of the Fifth Blight. And it wasn't like we could trade with the Qun either.

To our knowledge, the Carta were not involved in any overt criminal activity in Amaranthine, they merely acted as tax collectors and facilitators, using their muscle and smuggling routes to choke off anyone who failed to pay them. They knew the King of Orzammar had a close alliance with the Grey Wardens, and didn't want to step on any toes. But their involvement still meant they would have evidence on absolutely everyone who was overtly involved, and if we shut down those people, those that were receiving payments would end up hurting.

We needed a sit down.

That was to be my dubious first assignment for the evening, before most of our troops even began mustering.

We crept out of Anora's Watch as the Guard were riding out into the countryside via the western gate, all but one disguised as well as we could be. Hoods instead of helmets, kevlar covered up by civilian cloaks and tunics, even wearing woollen pants that were itchy as hell. I kept my boots though, for obvious reasons. We couldn't hide the weapons, save for the short bullpup firelance of Julie's that I brought along, or the radio mouthpieces I had provided. The route we were going to use didn't require us to hide them for long.

Apart from Tam and I, there were the seven or so Rangers led by Sergeant Shovels, Warden-Commander Andras and Warden-Constable Hawke, Andras seemingly having broken Hawke out of her cell for the job, and Mariette de Villars, the only one of us dressed as she might have normally. A dark blue silk tunic dress in a revealing feminine cut, over soft linen underclothes, with hunting breeches under the skirt in case things went south. Like a noble save for the lack of mask and the addition of rougher, more sturdy boots, which suited the terrain we'd be travelling through. She rolled up the skirt for the journey too.

Andras led the way, immediately cutting into a side alley off the outer rocade and into the north west block of the Merchant District.

It was pitch black, windowless walls to both sides with only the fewest of exceptions, and we had no intention of announcing our presence with flashlights or torches. The Wardens knew some kind of night vision spell, but it only worked on themselves. Tam and I had night vision goggles, which left the squad we came with having to congo line behind me. I didn't nickname their sergeant Shovels for no good reason, I reflected as we moved along with his left hand on my shoulder.

The alleys weren't quite the same as a sewer, but I was glad I couldn't see what I was stepping in. Food refuse, most likely, judging by the scurrying of the rats around the place. The city cared more for the main streets than the alleys. I made a mental note to have them purged with magefire, of rats and refuse both. Last thing we needed was disease eating at our ranks, especially after we had been so careful to manage the problem.

The Warden-Commander moved like a cat ahead of us, head on a swivel at each junction with a regular street, dampening spells hazing out the sound that might make it through the closed windows. The locals still weren't frequenting the streets at night, Familiar environment for her, evidently.

"Been here before?" I asked by radio.

"Only once," Andras replied, "But one alley is the same as any other. I'm from Ostwick, originally. There are even more alleys there than here, and that's where I grew up." Ostwick's Alienage, that is.

We crossed underneath a bridge carrying one of the larger streets over our heads, doubling as a drainage ditch, before the alley climbed upwards to level again. I hadn't even noticed the steady incline until then. We were still north of the main market square, and about half way to the north gate that allowed the main avenue to pass into the docks. We made a left turn towards the walls along another alley, and kept going for another block.

Suddenly, Andras stopped midway in a block, before the next main street, and waved me forwards.

"That's the house," she said, indicating a detached four floor house on the left side of the alley opposite, "The doorway leads to the staircase, that's how we get in. Bottom floor is a shop, no way up. Apothecary, in fact. Useful, considering his profession." The sex trade not being without its dangers, requiring any number of medical interventions for any number of ailments.

The building's ground floor face was indeed occupied almost entirely by a large set of doors that ran almost the entire length, which undoubtedly were opened in the day to allow business to proceed. Above the doors was a name daubed on in the dwarven script, 'Wrenfri's Aids'. Along side this were signs of hanging metal iconography, though I couldn't see what the shape was from the angle we were looking at. A far thinner, single door stood at the corner by the alley, almost like it had been added as an afterthought.

I grimaced.

"No other ways up?" I asked, "No way we can take this from two sides?"

Andras shook her head. "Not unless you want to climb," she said, "And that would leave you vulnerable."

"If the stairwell is as thin as that door, I'll be vulnerable anyway," I noted, "No doubt the bastard will jump through a window to get away, too."

Bethany Hawke snickered to herself behind me. "Actually, he won't," she said, "He boarded up the rear windows facing the wall, after the Warden-Commander had people sitting there constantly to watch and listen. I even opened his windows once with a little magic. He didn't appreciate losing his privacy, and flung a chamberpot at me."

"He must be quite a person," Tam said, "For you to go to such lengths, Warden-Commander."

He was the only person who appeared on both Leha's list and Andras' list, in fact. That alone smelled, and so he was getting the honour of being the first we brought in.

"He's the key to the whole rotten lot," Andras replied, "If I could get him talking, I could... Wait, someone's coming."

I hadn't heard a thing, but Andras quickly waved her staff about, and a curtain of haze fell across the alley in front of us briefly, like heat rising off the ground. It clarified, allowing us to see, but the edges of my vision still were blurred in my goggles, telling me that the effect was still in place for anyone looking our way. I gave the hand signal for the Rangers behind me to crouch down at the edges of the walls, an unpleasant place to be for sure but I thought if the Warden-Commander was taking precautions, I ought to.

A group of dwarva came into view as soon as we had settled once more. I cracked a grin when I counted their number as seven. They were all hooded, armed with small axes or long daggers, and wore a mix of chainmail and leather armour that I was very familiar with. Leha had worn a very similar arrangement at the Wolf's Lair, the first time we were there that is.

"Carta," I whispered to Andras, and she nodded. It was good and bad news.

One dwarf, the leader I presumed, knocked on the thin door. The others spread out in pairs, covering the angles of approach and sight. One of which was our alley. Two looked straight at us through Andras' magical concealment, a red bearded male with an axe and a female that spun one dagger on her palm as she gripped the other tightly. How the hell they could have gotten past the patrols and checkpoints, I don't know. Perhaps their hideout was close by.

It was obvious the pair quickly began to think something was amiss. For one, they didn't look down the other way in the alley, even though they could have easily divided the responsibility between them. For another, Twirly stopped spinning her dagger and seemed to tense up. The other didn't betray any feelings one way or the other.

I sighted them with my firelance, being very careful to not do so quickly, ready for them to see through the camouflage and darkness any moment.

The pair looked at each other and murmured, as if asking each other if they both saw what they thought they were seeing. They came to some wordless agreement, and backed off. All the while keeping their eyes on our position. I suppressed the instinct to open fire right then and there; they were moving to warn the others, I thought. And perhaps they were.

But the thin door opened, swinging around and hitting the wall with a loud slam.

That seemed to snap Twirly and her partner out of the trance, and they turned around, sparing glances at us as they did so. The person at the door was yet another dwarf, who bowed slightly and made himself clear as to the authority the Carta leader had over him. They filed inside, Twirly going last, before closing the door.

I let out the breath I had been holding in, both out of the tension of the moment and in preparation for the first shot I had ready to let loose. The excitement drained out of me, and I stood up again.

"Was it just me?" Mariette asked quietly, "Or did those two see us?"

"They saw something," I confirmed, "Wouldn't have acted like that if they hadn't."

"They saw dark shapes," Andras said, "Just enough like a person to be suspicious of, but not enough to raise the alarm about. That's the point of using a Haze spell in darkness."

"Or, they could be telling their superior all about it right now," I growled, "We're going to have to go in faster than planned."

Andras looked at me like I was an idiot.

"Yes, we do," I pressed, "Tam and I will breach the door, and go in first. Then you two mages, protecting Mariette. Doubt we'll have space up there for many more than that."

"I do not require protection," Mariette insisted, in a tone that made it clear she had expected me to think the same, "They require protection from me."

"I know," I replied, "It's the image, remember? You're the important one. We're merely soldiers."

Mariette accepted this with grace, having only wanted to make sure that this wasn't a prelude to me cutting her out of dangerous missions in future. Not damned likely, I thought, she was too handy in a tight spot for that.

I turned to Bethany. "Do you speak Orlesian?" I asked her, "I'm not going to ask if you can passably imitate an Orlesian accent, but even that might be helpful."

"No," she replied.

"Then you'll have to keep quiet," I said, "There aren't any Fereldans in the Free Army outside of the Templars, and you're too obviously a mage to play the part of a Templar. Can't have your accent giving away the game."

Bethany nodded, seeing the sense in that.

"Sergeant," I said to Shovels in Orlesian, "If you hear fighting up there, and anyone other than us comes out of that door or those windows first, shoot them."

"With pleasure, my lord," Shovel replied.

"Okay," I said to no one in particular, "Let the games begin."

Tam and I moved to the front, coming up on the two corners of the alley where it met the street.

I peered up at the windows of the house, seeing that all the shutters were closed. Lanternlight spilled out of cracks here and there on the top floor. There were no shadows among them that told me that no one was looking out, from the lit rooms at least. As Mariette fixed her skirt and Tam unslung the shotgun she had brought, I quickly took off my IR goggles and switched to a thermal sight. There was someone in the darkened second floor near the window, though I couldn't tell if they were looking at us or not.

"Someone at the window," I said, "We're compromised."

Tam nodded, and pointed to the door. I gave the signal, and she got ready to sprint across the street.

"COVERING FIRE!" I roared.

I let loose three bursts into the window where the person had been standing, strobing flashes at the edge of my vision, the bullets thumping through the wood and shattering the glass behind. If it had been the plan of whoever was on the second floor to shoot us with a crossbow as we came into the less pervasive darkness of the street, it had literally just been shot to splinters.

Meanwhile, Tam had sprinted across the street, and seemingly the other Wardens had followed suit out of an assumption that was what they were supposed to do. Meanwhile, Mariette was ringed by firelancers aiming up at the windows of the house, protecting the VIP as they had been trained to do. When I was sure I could move without anyone popping their head up to shoot me, I walked casually over to the others.

"Could have given me some warning," Andras said, having not expected to need to run that quickly, "I'm not actually as young as I look." She was joking of course, and breathed even easier than I did.

"You're a Warden," I shrugged, coming up alongside the door and switching back to my NV goggles, "Tam, if you wouldn't mind doing the honours?"

My Qunari lover's face soon shone with her sharp, vicious smile. She levelled her shotgun at the lock, a huge cast metal thing, and pumped a door breacher into it with a loud bang, not bothered in the least by the recoil due to her strength and size. She rapidly blew the hinges off too, also unnecessarily bulky and crude in manufacture. Confirming that there was no way we could have gotten past the door quietly.

Tam turned back against the wall to allow me at the door, and with a great kick of my heel, the shattered remains of it fell backwards. I rushed in, firelance aiming upwards where I assumed a crossbowman or two would be waiting... Instead, nothing but an empty and rickety looking stairwell, stuffed into a room so narrow that I wasn't entirely sure that Tam could fit inside.

Creaky too, as I discovered on putting my weight on the steps, climbing rapidly, keeping my barrel fixed on the door above even as I moved.

I entered the second floor room. It was a lounge of sorts, with long couches, a fireplace, cabinets, devices for smoking herbs, drink decanters... but none of which were very fine. Or at least, they were the sort of things a poor person might think of when they thought of a rich man's lounge. It was just... gaudy. Nothing a decently successful merchant would be unable to obtain. Perhaps that was the point, so that the owner could claim he was no criminal at all.

More to the question of why we were there, there was a person laying on the ground, bleeding all over the rugs. Twirly, her hood down, revealing tattoos and short brown hair. The tattoos done in a boxy dwarven art style, but it came to me then that they must have inspired Soprano's gang in their own bodyart. Visible warnings of danger.

For that reason, I kept well clear of the woman, crossing at her back and coming along the far wall. She was trying to rip off her clothes, to see the wounds I had given her. It was only after Tam entered and I had walked into her vision, weapon pointed right at her, that I silhouetted myself against what little light was coming from the broken window.

"By the Stone!" she cried, before hurting herself in trying to crawl back away from me. Her eyes went as wide as saucers, in fear and possibly in recognition of what I was. It was far too dark for her to see who I was exactly, and half my face was covered with the goggles anyway.

"How many upstairs and where?" I asked quietly, "Quick now."

"S-seven," she said, "Rogin and Bart up top, the others on the next floor."

Mariette entered, with Andras and Hawke right behind her, lifting her skirt to do it. "Having fun?" she joked.

"Gathering information," I said, before turning to her subordinate, "Constable, heal this woman. She tries to hurt you, turn her into Kentucky Fried Chicken with your mage fire. And remember, no names, and no talking."

Bethany Hawke nodded, though she did not get the then-Earth reference, and moved up to comply with my orders. Soon, the room was filled with a soft blue glow as she worked the healing spells, while Mariette looked on, supervising. I waved Tam and Andras to me with a finger as I made my way to the next stairwell. Carefully, I looked around the dividing wall.

Woosh! Thunk!

A crossbow bolt blew by my head, embedding itself in the outer wall, spraying the back of my hood with mortar dust. I recoiled, cursing like a sailor, pressing myself against the dividing wall on the other side. Assorted dwarven cursing erupted from above, as if in answer to my own. Most ill-advisedly.

Tam came around my flinching self, and sent buckshot up the stairway at the idiot, whom had remained standing there to reload instead of getting back into cover. His corpse tumbled down the stairs, sprawling out at my Qunari lover's feet on his broken stomach, bleeding on both our boots. Twirly made a groan, and I knew at once it must have been her buddy that had seen us, or thought they had.

"And then there was six," Mariette joked, eyeing the surviving dwarf, who shot another, metaphorical crossbolt at the harlequin with a rude hand gesture.

It was a bit hard to feel sorry for that though. It could have been me bleeding to death at the bottom of the stairs. I gave Tam a kiss on the cheek quickly for her work, which she returned.

I stepped over the corpse, and climbed upwards. Warm orange light spilled out of the doorway, so I took off my goggles and gave myself a few seconds for my eyes to adjust. It didn't take more than a few seconds, and I sidestepped onto the next floor.

There was a large low desk, obviously more suitable for dwarva stature than human, and certainly useless to a Qunari. Most of the rest of the space was filled with varying kinds of chair. In one corner, there was a pile of straw filled mattresses, barely able to hold their shape from use. The fireplace was in the same central position as the one below, except it was blazing with smokeless coal, which filled the air with a pleasant carbon scent. The planks had holes in them near where I stood; where my bullets had come up from the floor below.

There were four very thuggish looking occupants, all dwarves, all sat around the desk with a set of cards in hand. Hoods down, tattoos exposed, weapons leaning against the side of the table, ale freshly poured. In other words, they didn't look cowed by the sounds of fighting and killing one bit, and barely registered my presence, save for the one facing directly towards me on a shaky looking stool.

I said nothing, just kept them in my sights. Tam and Andras soon joined me, the former taking off her own goggles, and at last, the rest of the thugs took note. Due to the mage, I suspect.

"Upstairs," said the first onlooker, "They're waiting."

"Throw your weapons into that fire," Tam ordered, pointing with her shotgun, "Now."

The thugs looked to their first for confirmation of the order, but Tam wasn't in the mood. She thundered another 00 buckshot discharge into the masonry of the fireplace behind, and returned her aim to the dwarves. That really got their attention, one of them even breaking his chair in the attempt to scramble away from her aim. Thank you, Mister Benelli.

Axes and swords were tossed into the fire without further delay, leaving Andras curling with laughter.

"Good," Tam said, "I see you are not complete idiots, even if you are criminals." The thugs grit their teeth and grabbed up their cards again, wishing they could do something else.

I went to the front windows, and opened them along with the shutters. I put my forefinger and my thumb between my lips and blew out a long shrill whistle, until Shovels looked up at me. I held up three fingers, and the sergeant understood my order. I saw that a squad of Lancers was making its way to join us down the street too, probably investigating the noise.

Mariette arrived, scanned the room for threats. Finding some that were not yet perforated with five-five-six, she looked at me with surprise. "Sparing them?" she asked.

"They didn't resist," Tam answered, before I could.

The harlequin sighed. "Shall we get this done?"

I didn't reply, but moved into the final stairwell and up. The top floor room had a door, but it was ajar. I gave it as good a kick as I had with the one on the street, cracking it along the hinges but otherwise leaving it on.

Inside was a bedroom, in the same 'lavish' style as the lounge had been. A large bed, with a feather stuffed mattress and fine sheets, stood in the middle of the room against the dividing wall of the stairwell, just opposite the inevitable fireplace which was also in use. There were numerous chests around, mostly towards the front of the room. More tables with drink decanters, and barrels of ale. Fine padded chairs. Handcuffs and whips too.

Inside were three people, one more than I had been informed of.

The one I had expected to be meeting in the house, Bartholomew, easily recognised by his pug face and quivering lip. He was a top-ranking brothel owner, once illegal now supposedly gone legitimate. Andras' file contained much evidence that this was a facade, that he was both a debt-slaver and a human trafficker. It also included a highly accurate sketch, damn near photographic as far as I could tell. It told of the man's cowardice and instinct for survival, equally. Which manifested itself here by the aforementioned sheets being tied together to make a rope, so that he might escape. How cliché.

The second was someone I had been expecting to meet, but later in the evening and at a different place. I hadn't known his name before meeting Twirly downstairs, but this was Rogin. Carta leader in Amaranthine. By contrast to his fellow dwarf, he was leaning against the wall by the fire, with his back to me, an image of confidence. He tossed a small piece of wood into the fire, one he had whittled at with a knife that remained in his hands, before looking at me.

The third was someone entirely superfluous, or at least I thought so at the time. A young elf girl, maybe sixteen or seventeen years old, in a white nightdress. She looked tired, or perhaps depressed, her eyes seeming jaded more than should they have been on any girl that young. A personal concubine, no doubt, of the bastard owner of the house. She also had tied sheets in her hand, no doubt helping her master create his escape method.

I very much doubted he planned to bring her along, but I was happy knowing that whatever she had been through was now over. She wouldn't be staying with her master now that I was there.

As before, Tam and Andras stepped into the room. This time, it was the Warden-Commander that acted swiftly.

She sent a bolt of lightning straight at 'Bart' without so much as a word of warning. For a brief moment, the entire room was filled with white light, and the sound of the electricity ripping through the air was deafening. The target, bastard though he was, fell to his knees and then to his stomach, his blood vessels visible in red through his now-smoking skin. The room's scent changed to that of grilled bacon. Could've been worse, especially if he had voided his bowels. Still wasn't very good, though.

The girl that had been standing right beside Bart broke down crying, in fear at first.

I lowered my weapon and looked at Andras darkly. She had done that entirely because she could, protected by the anonymity of her garb and the assumption by all that she was just another mage of the Free Army. Taking the opportunity to kill one of her problems away. It wasn't the fucking time for revenge, I thought and wished I could say, but that would have blown my cover. And hers, more likely than not. We needed her alive and in good standing, if we were going to benefit from the deal we had made with her.

"Get the Major," I said in Orlesian to Andras, leaving a clue as to my mood on the subject of the killing in my tone, "I'll deal with the body."

The Warden-Commander accepted the command, and escaped downstairs again.

Knowing what I was about to do, the other occupants got out of the way, moving beside the bed. The girl quickly, the other dwarf more casually. Sure they couldn't get at me before I could react, I took Bart's body, still smoking, under the arms and dragged it to the rear windows. Tam opened them, and together, we pitched it out, down into the gutter below. It landed with a wet sound, as bodies do when dropped from the fourth floor onto hard stone. One more thing to cleanse from the alleys with magefire.

"Bodies," Tam complained in Orlesian, "I hate them." I tilted my head in agreement, glad I had gloves on.

Tam waved the elf girl over. Hesitating for a moment, Tam repeated the action, which made it take on the aura of a command. The girl obeyed, eyeing the door. Afraid the Warden-Commander might return. Not named Tamassran for nothing, my lover soon had the girl sitting down in a chair and eating an apple produced from under her cloak, with reassuring words about her safety on top. Soothing the shock of having seen what she had just seen.

Meanwhile, I kept the other dwarf in my sights. He didn't seem to realise I was the commander, which was exactly what I had wanted. He did not even bother to address me, and barely looked at me, preferring to sit in another one of the fine chairs by the fire, drinking wine of all things. Considering his appearance, not much different from the thugs below, this was a little strange. He was also older than the others by at least ten years.

Mariette entered, locking her eyes onto the dwarf immediately. She carefully avoided any sort of deferential treatment of either Tam or myself. Andras did not come with her, probably for the best.

I doubt the elf girl would have reacted well to it. Tam knew it too, and quickly escorted the girl out of the room.

Mariette went to the fireside, and I stood by her side, firelance lowered.

"You've gone to a lot of trouble to find me," said the dwarf, "Guessing you're with the new masters of our fair city."

"I am," Mariette said in Common, "Malika Cadash sends her regards." Her accent was very noticeably less than her cousin's own in Common, all of a sudden. It was almost Fereldan, in fact. Interesting.

"Fuck," said the dwarf, pausing half way through bringing his glass up for another gulp of wine, "That bitch always was vindictive. Fucking Stone take all of House Cadash, Malika first."

I smirked, looking forward to relaying his words to Leha later. She always enjoyed such tidbits.

"Where are my manners. Lady Mariette de Villars of the Grands-Collines," Mariette continued, ignoring his last remark and curtsying with her skirt, "Major of Intelligence, Army of Free Orlais."

A position she had occupied for less than a day by that point, but a necessary appointment to my mind. She was taking over from Leha in the role, who had more than enough work on her plate besides.

"Rogin of Dust Town," the dwarf grunted mockingly, "Head headsmasher of the Amaranthine Carta."

The imitation of her own introduction did not seem to irritate her, and Mariette settled down into a chair opposite. The dwarf offered an empty glass and the bottle he had poured from. She accepted both, poured herself a glass, but did not drink.

"Well, Monsieur Rogin," she continued, "You are mistaken about one thing. We have gone to very little trouble to meet you. We came here tonight seeking the one called Bartholomew, in order that we might find you and your... organisation. Yet here you are."

Rogin shook his head in disbelief. "Bart lost his shit," he said, "Didn't see the business opportunity in your arrival. Was afraid you'd shut his business down, panicked. Insisted I come over here and help him escape. Came over instead to knock his head in, put some sense back into it. But he was right, wasn't he?"

"I'm afraid so," Mariette replied, "We do not object to prostitution or gambling. We object to the abuses of these things by individuals with no right to interfere in or profit from them. And we respond to such abuses with absolute force."

"Yet you don't want to make an enemy of the Carta, which is what 'absolute force' would get you," Rogin said, "Wouldn't be here otherwise. Or at least, I still wouldn't be breathing."

"The night is young," Mariette joked back.

Rogin shook his head. "Word on the street is you have enough enemies, young lady."

"We do," Mariette confirmed, "Two of the three factions of the war in Orlais, the Qunari, powerful elements in the Chantry and Templars..."

"The Ferelden Crown," Rogin interrupted, "We all saw the King ride in as your prisoner."

"We've made an accord to remedy that," Mariette replied, "Even if we had not, Amaranthine has strong walls and our forces are stronger than the Crown's own. But we have enough enemies, as you say."

"You say you won't allow the business that makes us coin," Rogin said, "Yet you also say you want peace with my associates and me. Only way you'll get peace is to allow the business. How you figure around that problem?"

"The Free Army does not just want peace," Mariette began, "We want your cooperation, we want the names and locations of every person who pays you dues, we want to know exactly how they make their money, and we want records of these payments."

Rogin stared at her for a second, before breaking down laughing in deep tones, almost spilling his wine onto the floor. "You want us to help you put us out of business?" he chuckled, "You must be fuckin' mad!"

Mariette smiled along with the dwarf, pushing a strand of her blonde hair out of her face as she did so. He quickly got a hold of himself once more.

"If we did help you, the bosses would cut my balls off," Rogin continued, more seriously, "And then my head."

"This is not negotiable," Mariette replied, "You will provide the information we require."

"Or what?!" Rogin spat back, "I help you, my bosses kill me. I don't, you kill me. What do I get out of helping you? I'd rather stand with my own kind, if I'm going to die one way or the other."

"The difference is that you won't die tonight if you help us," said Mariette, not phased by his anger, "And you may elude your bosses' wrath if you do help. Death is only certain if you refuse."

"Even if that was true," Rogin replied, "The only place I could live without fear of Carta daggers would be fucking Seheron! And you can't pay me enough gold and silver to live on that cursed battlefield."

The dwarf polished off the contents of his wine glass, and pointed to the bottle beside Mariette. She handed back to him, and finally drank some herself, gathering her thoughts. For the next barrage.

"Tell me," she said, "Do all the criminals in this city pay you dues?"

Rogin froze, as if he had not been expecting the question. She had wounded his professional pride, if the answer was any clue. "No," he said, "No shortage of stubborn bastards in Ferelden. And they're all armed."

"Do you have the information we need on those individuals as well?" Mariette said, "How much they make, how they make it, where they are?"

"We do," Rogin admitted, "Not for sure about how much coin they make exactly, but we know what they do and where they are. Planning to kill them and take their business, see."

"Naturally," said Mariette, rolling her eyes, "What happens if we do clear out this city's criminal underworld with your help?"

"We'll be out of fucking business," Rogin growled, "Then I'll get fucking killed, probably by one of my own men, the whoresons. That's what'll happen."

Mariette was getting frustrated, I could tell by the pull on the edge of her lips. I clenched my fist. I wanted to jump in and point out the thing she was trying to in a more direct way, but stopped. This was Mariette's test, and I didn't want to blow my cover.

"We are only going to be here until just after First Day," Mariette said flatly, "Did you miss Bann Howe's proclamations all over the city?"

"What does that matter?" Rogin replied, "I'll be dead by First Day anyway."

"Consider this," Mariette said, pointing at him, "We clear out those who pay you dues, leaving no one left when we finally are gone. Criminals are like weeds in a garden, they come back. Is that not so?"

Rogin scratched his hairy chin. "Can't deny that," he said tentatively, "Though there'll be a lot of fighting to be had over who gets what brothel, what territory... And a lot of the whores will run back to the Alienage."

"Yet the Carta will be best placed to exploit the removal of so many criminals," Mariette said, "Assuming you are alive to do so."

Suddenly, I was glad Andras wasn't around to hear the conversation, as it took a sudden Faustian route with regard to the city's functioning after we left.

"We would be," Rogin conceded, "But the Grey Wardens rule here. They're big friends with Orzammar, and the Warden-Commander has made it clear she wants to crush our business. The Wardens just didn't have the stick to do it with. We can't afford to piss off Bhelen. "

"I think you're underestimating how much money this could be worth to you," Mariette said, "We are not just eliminating your competition, but also the middlemen. All without you having to swing a single axe into a single head. No trail of blood for the Grey Wardens to follow back to you. Only a river of gold, which you can use to bribe the guard and pay tribute to Bhelen with."

A carefully crafted lie, one that Rogin would want to believe. One I was surprised that Mariette was able to craft so easily.

Bhelen was no fool, even if he was greedy and treacherous. If the Grey Wardens of Ferelden were displeased with him, his relationship with the Fereldan Crown would collapse quickly. As would the gains made largely on the backs of Warden offensives in the Deep Roads. The little empire he had built of the reclaimed thaigs would disappear.

But to an unrefined Duster who lived and breathed the mafia culture of tribute and respect, for whom Bhelen was a hero, this was a good plan that benefited everyone. Except the whores and dice hounds, obviously. The King of Orzammar would have greater power to act independently with more gold, which was what he wanted. The Carta would get a far greater slice of the pie. Rogin would rise in stature too. Amaranthine would see an end to gang warfare. That was the fantasy Mariette had just offered to sell, and the dwarf bought it wholesale.

"So we help you," Rogin concluded, "You eliminate all the pimps and rackets. You leave, we step in, before anyone can get any ideas..."

"That is how it could happen, yes," Mariette said, "If you were smart."

"I thought you said you could not tolerate abuses," Rogin asked, sceptically, "Why would you do anything to help us?"

"We are not helping you," Mariette said, "We are helping ourselves. With the defeat and surrender of the Royal Army, the nobles cannot harm us. The common people fear us. We are Orlesians, we have mages, we have blackpowder weapons. They will not dare harm us. That leaves the criminals, whom we must fight or sacrifice our principles."

"You didn't answer my question," Rogin complained, "You're just perfectly fine with me and mine coming in and taking over once you're gone? Breaking in new whores, getting our hands on all the dice money?"

"We are not tolerant of such behaviour, no," Mariette said, "But we will no longer be responsible for Amaranthine once we leave. And we are confident that the forces of law and order that replace us will be able to stop you."

Rogin snorted again, breaking into a chuckle. "Guards might wear and carry silverite like the Wardens do," he said, "But they don't know their arses from their elbows."

"We thought you might think that," Mariette said, "So, are you willing to gamble that you are right and we are wrong? And accept our offer?"

Rogin breathed out heavily, looking into the fire. "Fuck it," he said, "I'm not willing to die tonight if living is an option. You'll get the information you need."

"We require it now," said Mariette, pulling out a folded piece of paper from her bosom. The dwarf took the opportunity to ogle her thoroughly. She gave a small smile, laying on her natural charms with a spade for extra motivation. She quickly unfolded the paper, and held it out for the dwarf to take. He did so with undue haste, and I blanched realising that he had done so to feel her body warmth on the page.

What a scum fuck.

"What's this?" he asked, looking over what was written down.

"The names and locations of the people the Arlessa believes most important," Mariette replied, "Those operating in Amaranthine that we shall arrest or eliminate tonight. Is the information accurate?"

Rogin scoffed. "No," he said, "Some of it might have been a week or a month ago, but everyone exploited the war to set up new safehouses. Not enough guards around to watch everyone, or even anyone really. Only people you'll find in these places now are small fry. Might be able to get them talking, but by that point, their bosses will have moved again. Out of the city."

"That might be difficult," Mariette pointed out, "With thirty thousand troops in the city, quartered in almost every house."

"I can see that being a problem," Rogin said, "But you'll be wanting to catch the big fish first."

The dwarf got up and rummaged around in one of the open chests, producing more paper, a quill and an inkwell. He wet the quill quickly scratched away at the paper, focus entirely on the work. He wrote slowly and deliberately. Mariette used the opportunity to look up at me from her chair, her eyes dropping its veneer of noblesse for a moment. Asking how I thought she was doing.

I pat her on the shoulder. She was good at this. Better than I was. Quite possibly better than Julie or anyone else, for that matter. The Great Game trains them well, those that survive.

The movement caught the dwarf's attention. Mariette quickly resumed her place, though not before the dwarf had seen her. He continued writing, even more slowly than before as he kept looking up after every word at me. I didn't flinch or make a move away. I just stared back. What was going through his head, I don't know, but I didn't think he had made me as the real leader in the room. More lechery.

"There," he said, completing his task, "That's everyone. Including a few people you didn't have."

"Settling old scores?" Mariette asked, taking back both her own list and the new one.

"Absolutely," Rogin replied with a shit eating grin, "Turning crisis into opportunity is the Carta way."

Quoting someone more intelligent than he was there, no doubt. Though he wasn't wrong to do so. The Carta had risen from controlling district of Orzammar to controlling the smuggling trade across Thedas in only a few years, with the Fifth Blight, the events at Kirkwall and other instabilities helping them every step of the way.

"As you say," Mariette said, "We shall take you into our custody, so there is no question of you being mistaken for a collaborator."

"Probably a good idea," Rogin sighed, "I doubt you'll lift everyone tonight, so they'd be out for my blood if they knew I was helping you."

"Not to mention we still need the documents you promised," Mariette said, "Which you will fetch for us tomorrow."

"To the dungeons then?" Rogin asked.

"We must keep up appearances," Mariette replied.

"Ah well," the dwarf shrugged, rising from his seat, "Not the first time I've been in them. Is this big boy going to take me or what?" Referring to me.

"After you, Monsieur," Mariette said, "The soldiers downstairs will see to you."

Rogin looked between the two of us, and eyed the bed. I had to suppress a splutter of outrage, successfully keeping it inaudible but undoubtedly going red. The dwarf left the room in good cheer, far better than I might have expected. Once he was gone, I collapsed into the chair left empty by the fire.

"That went about as well as could be expected," I said, leaning back into the leather, "Well done. You were great."

"We still made an enemy tonight," said Mariette, drinking more wine, "The Carta do not like being told what to do, especially under threat of force, no criminal does."

"I know," I sighed, "But this way, the word won't go back that we're seeking to annihilate the Carta. That should buy us breathing space, at least."

"Mission accomplished then," Mariette smiled, borrowing an Earth phrase, "And in less time than we'd hoped." She handed me the papers.

"Mission accomplished," I agreed. She was right too, we had finished an hour earlier than I had planned for.

I poured myself a glass of wine, and sat reading the names, locations, activities of the people we were to intercept. It was quite a list. It included foreigners, locals, individuals of all races including a Qunari, and a Chantry brother of all people. The crimes and amounts thought to be made off of them were no less impressive for their audacity. The Chantry brother staged secret pornographic stage shows for rich nobles, for instance.

The lengths people will go to get their rocks off never again surprised me, I'll say that much. Speaking of getting rocks off...

"My lord... Can I speak on another matter?" she asked, "While I have you to myself?"

When a woman tells you need to talk, it's always a moment of fear and trepidation. This was no different. It could only be about one subject. Putting it off always makes things worse though. So, I looked straight at her piercing blue eyes, kicking down the unease in my throat and chest.

"Okay?" I ventured.

"I did not come to your bed after the battle because I thought I needed to," Mariette said firmly, "I came because I wanted to."

My eyes widened, my image of her shaken. So she hadn't come for political gain?

Very flattering. And started me thinking of what she would look like without her clothes, which was aided greatly by the low and form fitting cut of her dress. That she didn't think of me as a piece of meat to climb onto for advancement was an obstacle removed from making it a reality.

It took a few seconds until my self awareness reasserted itself. Couldn't help it. Very few men could have in my position. But I try to do most of my thinking with the organ in my head, rather than the one in my pants. She could have been lying, telling me what I wanted to hear, though my instincts told me that she wasn't.

"That... is very nice to hear," I said, "Pleasing even. But my romantic life is complicated enough already."

"Is that the only reason you reject me?" Mariette asked, "That it would complicate matters?"

"I have a wife and a shared lover," I said, "And I have to get married again to a woman I've never met, a magister no less, to save everyone else from being stuck in this Maker-forsaken country. Using some trick to avoid it being polygamy, which is what it actually is. Does it sound like there's room for more?"

"Is that the only reason?" Mariette repeated, "I must know."

Suddenly, she seemed so young, asking reassurance like that. In truth, she was young. A good four or five years younger than Julie, as far as I knew. Eight years younger than I was. It was easy to forget, given how she acted normally. But she had been trained since the age of fifteen in the art of exploiting the weaknesses of we poor dumbass men, and it came as naturally as breathing to her.

The reality of her youth wasn't so much offputting, more guilt inducing. If I exploited her youthful … inexperience, I would have felt like I was as big a bastard as the dwarf I had felt like punching mere minutes earlier.

"Yes, it is the only reason," I said, "Like I said in my tent, you've proven yourself willing to sacrifice for me, you're intelligent, and you're damn attractive. If I was free to, I would have no problem taking you up on your... offers."

Mariette gave herself a small nod, smiling slightly. Pleased by my words.

"Then it is not hopeless," she said, falling back into her usual persona, "I can still win you."

"That's not what I said..." I started.

"Yes, it is," she insisted, "The only reason you don't take me right here and now on that bed is that..."

"We have work to do tonight," I interrupted, "The people downstairs might notice too."

That was entirely the wrong line to take, as it implied we would have been loud and energetic enough to be noticed quickly. And I had ignored the complications argument entirely, which Mariette took as conditional dismissal of it. The condition being secrecy. She opened her mouth in mock shock.

"So it's okay if no one finds out?" Mariette shot back playfully, "Don't you realise who you are yet? Your stature prevents such complications from ever sinking you, as it would a common man or even a lesser noble."

"Mariette..." I said.

"I'll win you yet," she declared, "Once you realise that the rules of ordinary people do not apply to you. Just as you are immune to magic, you are immune to their petty social conventions. You were sent by the Maker. You saved me from mage fire using his gifts. And you can have me as a gift too. Or anyone you like." What a dangerous attitude.

She was on a roll. Orlesian social conventions already allowed what she proposed, to be honest, but she knew I didn't hold to them. If I had met Julie and Tam separately, whomever I had met first would have been my lover alone, for instance. That wasn't how things worked out.

I drank deeply, knowing that I wasn't capable of snapping her out of this. And knowing she was right. I probably could have taken almost any one as a lover simply by demanding it, that was the extent of my power.

But there was someone who could snap her out of it, and that someone stalked into the room as quiet as a mouse. Before we knew it, she approached from the door and leaned over to speak near Mariette's ear. I caught sight of the person only at the last moment, and felt a falling sensation.

Tam had heard everything.

"What do you have that is so interesting?" Tam said, "That you think yourself a gift?"

The young de Villars nearly jumped out of her skin, spilling her wine on the floor to the side of her chair, staining it a deep red. She opened her mouth to speak, but found herself unable to articulate her thoughts. She just looked bewildered, caught on the wrong foot.

Tam was quietly amused, standing up again and looking at me.

"Sam, you shouldn't be so flustered by her," she said, "I doubt she has ever had a man at all."

"I have!" Mariette replied, snapping out of her trance.

"Just one then," Tam continued knowingly, "And not one with whom you shared a connection." Again, she was Tamassran, she had a radar for this sort of thing.

Mariette fumed silently upwards. A nail had been hit squarely on the head.

I thought I knew where Tam was going with this. "Are you saying she just has a crush?" I asked. Here I had the impression that Mariette had been a woman of the world, running through lovers like an alcoholic through bottles. Projecting Julie onto her a little, perhaps.

"That is exactly what I am saying," Tam replied, "If we were in the Qun, I would immediately order her to copulate with an appropriate male, so as to cure her of this. It is frustration that creates this behaviour."

"We aren't in the Qun, you cannot order me to do anything," Mariette responded, standing up, "And I do not have a crush."

Tam sighed, her evaluation of Mariette as being annoying confirmed, so much so that it was visible on her face.

"You are right, I cannot order you," she said, "But you should examine your own feelings, before you make the mistake of chasing Sam. Some chase their loves for years to the detriment of their prospects, without any progress, wasting their life. I do not wish that of any one, especially as I agree with Sam in that you have many qualities that would make another very happy."

Mariette's objections to Tam drained out of her. "I thank you for the compliment," she said, "But I am resolved."

Tam sighed with exasperation. "I cannot dissuade you, I see," she said, "I just don't understand why. Sam is not the only one in the world."

"Why is something I will share only with him," Mariette said, "And if Sam is not the only one in the world, why don't you let me have him? You can go find another."

I had my fill of this talk, reaching my limit. It struck me as entirely childish, overly dramatic. I could hear someone else coming up the stairs too. That we were having a heated conversation become too much to ignore downstairs. I stood up.

"Enough," I said, "I don't want you to fight over me. I'm not worth it."

Mariette opened her mouth to object, but Andras cleared her throat from the doorway.

"I hope I'm not interrupting something," she said, leaning her weight on her staff.

"You are," I replied, "But it's welcome. We have all the information we need. Let's get out of here."

There had been enough bombshells for one day, I thought.

The intelligence we got from the Carta was distributed accordingly. In the end, I decided to hit both the locations provided by Rogin and those Andras had in her files. As they were often close by each other, we didn't require any modifications to the plans. The troops gathered. The city's streets were cut, blocked by checkpoints and our troops.

Mariette and Andras took our prisoners back to Anora's Watch with the Ranger squad. I needed some space from both of them for their earlier actions, I decided. Tam and I brought Bethany Hawke with us, and met up with McNulty and Velarana at the main crossroads. The whole space was lit up by balls of magical light hovering in the air.

When we arrived it was near midnight. The other operations had already got under way. How well those were going, I couldn't tell. We didn't have enough radios to go around. The noise much closer covered up any sounds from the distance.

As for our own little party, the Grenadiers were arranged nearby in skirmish order, supported by crossbows from the buildings. Exchanging bullets for arrows. The flashes of the flinklocks, thudding of the firelances, the smell of sulphur in the air... bad news already. Some of our mages were sending beams of light into the darkness beyond, into the overhung street of brothels.

"My lord," McNulty said on our arrival, "Someone got tipped off. The Row has been barricaded off. But we're ready on this end, and the Highlanders are ready at the other." Bart haunting us from beyond the grave, I suspected. If anyone could have set the pimps scrambling, it was him, being connected both with the Carta and the locals. Not that we ever found out.

"Guess they decided to fight," I replied, "We won't be taking many prisoners tonight if they keep it up."

"Might be for the best," said Warden-Constable Hawke, "We don't actually have all that much space in the keep for prisoners." By which she meant more prisoners, as the ones we had taken from the Hafter were still in our custody.

"They have resisted," Tam said, pointing at the continuing exchange, "And have attempted to kill our soldiers. They cannot expect mercy now.

"Agreed," I said, "Are there civilians in the street?"

"Not that we can see," Velarana said.

"Then use the artillery," I ordered, "Two cannon, one volley of grapeshot, overlapping fire. Don't want to hit the Highlanders down at the other end. That should shatter their barricades without killing too many inside the buildings." Or any. Everything was made of stone or masonry.

"Yes, my lord," Velarana intoned, before making her way over to the Tranquil gunners to relay the orders. Hawke went with her, to observe.

The gunners were soon moving the field pieces into position directly ahead of 'Doxy Row', opposite the barricades of tables, chairs and ripped out doors. The archers beyond began to concentrate on the new threat, but both Velarana and Hawke ran magical barriers in tandem with one another to prevent it. All perfectly executed.

Yet my mind must have still partially been elsewhere.

"Don't worry," McNulty said, "We'll get through that lot and take the whole lot of them."

I found him looking at me with concern. "Do I look that worried?" I said, "Sorry."

"Something else on your mind, sir?" McNulty asked.

Tam shot me a meaningful look. Encouraging me to speak. And I couldn't help myself.

"It's not really the time... but what the hell," I said, "I have a problem with women."

McNulty's eyebrows raised up as high as they could go. "What sort of problem?"

"I don't understand what goes through their heads sometimes," I said, "No offence, Tam."

"None taken," Tam replied, "You speak the truth. Men are also often difficult to understand."

A dastardly smile broke out on McNulty's wide mouth. "Have you thought about trying men instead?" he joked, "Far more simple." His own preferences long made clear to me.

"After what happened tonight," I said back, deadpan, "I'm seriously considering it."

The General of Grenadiers laughed heartily back, and Tam allowed herself to join him. Until interrupted by the developing combat.

The two cannons in front of the barricades roared, filling the air with the whistling of canister fire. Pinging and cracking noises sounded just afterwards, as the lead balls impacted and ricocheted off the flagstones and walls. The barricades capitulated as if a hurricane had blown them over, as did the few thugs standing behind them, turning to a bloody pulp.

The Grenadier lieutenants wasted no time, leading their platoons forward. The echoes of shouts from the streets told the story of a mass panic in the ranks of the pimps and their hirelings, as the first brothel on the corner got its door battered down with the butts of firelances, and more volleys were sent into windows containing the few remaining brave archers. No grenade discharges either, which would have been too costly to the people were trying to save.

"Looks like we win," I said, "And your troops are following the rules of engagement perfectly." Which when in a fight like that, you could never be sure of beforehand.

"No grenades inside the brothels," McNulty confirmed.

"Good," I said, "Hopefully the rats will run down into the tunnels and straight into Colonel de Villars' chevaliers."

"No doubt she relishes the opportunity," Tam said.

Indeed she did, Louise ended up capturing no less than fifty people fleeing via the tunnels in the countryside that night.

The raids on safehouses ended with the death of almost every other person on the lists we had, as well as a number of suspect individuals who weren't. Those without quick access to the tunnels were equally quick to stand and fight, not trusting that they might live if captured anyway. Quite perceptive of them, given that the Carta would be handing over all the documents we need to string them up on any number of charges. Still, there were enough caught alive to require me prepare the planned tribunal anyway.

There were a number that escaped, and we scoured the city streets looking for them, to no avail. They might have escaped on the first night, sensing what was coming and not willing to try their hand at profiting from our soldiers' fat purses. Others definitely stuck around, and were just far better at hiding than the others.

It was the early morning by the time I got back to my bed in Anora's Watch, mentally and physically fatigued. I fell asleep in the clothes and armour I had worn all night, as soon as my head hit the pillow.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: It seems like the naming of the city has caused quite a controversy. Just as planned. Although the three people who stopped following and favouriting the story hours after I released the last chapter probably didn't think much of it.

But I think I addressed it well at the start of this chapter. Hopefully.

Political shenanigans next chapter. Julie's chickens come home to roost.

Lord Mortem: Thanks!

5 Coloured Walker: Ah, but Troy had to steal the most beautiful woman. And the Trojans were the traditional ancestors of the Romans. And she believes that prophecy, i.e. divine providence, is on her side.

As for the nitpicks... yeah, dots.

Transcendant: Libertalia is very Latin, which in Thedas means Tevinter-esque. Given that Tevinter is a slaver superpower, I doubt Julie would have went for anything that overtly Latin. Added point against it is that when I think of Libertalia, I think of a raider settlement in Fallout 4.

New Providence is very … Anglo. Julie is Orlesian. I needed a name that worked in both French and English. 'Nouvelle Providence' doesn't have quite the same ring to it. The English already has too many syllables.

Still, there's another name for the country they plan to make that perhaps you'll appreciate more. But you'll have to wait for that. Thanks always for the feedback, either way.

Noblescar: Can a name be unlucky? I'm not so sure.

Sigma-del-Prisium: Well, considering that Julie fully expects it to be her city versus the world, you can see why she might find it appropriate. The Marches are also in the east of the continent, and Troy was the greatest city of the East.

Thepkrmgc: The thematic element was what attracted me to it, to be honest.

As for the Witcher story, it's unlikely. I might put out a prologue to gauge interest, but I have limited time as is.

Wololodewd: The original concept for this story was a Skyrim one, actually. The information required to master the ASOIAF canon is a little too much for me to digest, though. Too many things I'd have to change that would annoy fans.

Dekuton: Never let it be said that Julie is not ambitious.

Halo is bad ass: Merci.

Katkiller-V: My answer to that comment is contained in the chapter itself, I think haha

Plenty of activity is planned, we'll see how much of it I actually feel like writing. There's an element of 'get on with it' going to come in at some point.

Zx: Thanks!

Makurayami: You might have a hard time of it without eyes.

Lazy Demon: Truly, you are lazy.