CHAPTER 18

..x..

It was difficult to follow the passing of time in Orzammar. And it wasn't only because the sky was not visible, but also because dwarves were active regardless of what time it was. The resounding bell of the morning echoed throughout the inside of the mountain, announcing the beginning of a new day to those within. A sound Everil didn't quite welcome at the moment.

"Damn it…" she uttered, a hand on her aching head.

"Someone had a bit too much fun last night," Zevran teased while walking beside her, grinning at the annoyed look she gave him.

"I wish you would've warned us about the ale before we entered the tavern," Everil grumbled tiredly, walking ahead of their group. She took the same companions from the day before since they were the ones Lord Harrowmont had seen with them previously. There was no way she would risk shaking the dwarven lord's delicate trust after all they'd done to earn it.

"I didn't know you were a drinker." Zevran casually laced his fingers behind his head.

"I'm not... I was just attempting to appeal to Dulin," she muttered and then let out an annoyed sigh. "Instead, I managed to embarrass myself before the top lieutenant of perhaps the future King of Orzammar."

"Oh, don't be so hard on yourself. If anything, I believe you earned his respect. You handled dwarven ale far better than most." The elf let out a laugh. "Most people would have puked their guts out and passed out. You just did the passing out part."

"That's because Grey Wardens don't get drunk easily," Alistair interjected, then gave Everil a lopsided smile. "It would take a great deal of regular ale to get you as drunk as you were last night, and even then you'd be sober within a few hours."

"Is that the reason why you Grey Wardens make your own liquor?" Zevran asked curiously. "I heard your order makes some of the best, but you must be a Warden to drink it."

"Yes. We have to make our own because the normal stuff doesn't work as well on us," Alistair replied, then shifted his eyes back to her. "Though it seems nothing we make is as strong as what you had."

"Can we please change the subject?" Everil mumbled with a grimace, trying to stop the throbbing.

Alistair gently patted her shoulder. "Don't worry, you'll feel better soon."

The sound of heavy footsteps had them turn towards a group of well-armed dwarves approaching them. They blocked their path, all glaring at them through their helmets. "How dare you go against our prince!" one of them shouted as they broke into a run, weapons above their heads.

Morrigan scowled, bringing forth a wall of fire that halted their charge. The dwarves stalled, surprised by the sudden use of magic."They have a mage!" another one called.

Everil, Alistair, and Zevran drew their blades, advancing towards them as Morrigan's flames dimmed down. The Warden brought her sword upon them, grunting when one deflected it with his axe. She twisted her body in time to dodge his counter attack, then used his slower movement to her advantage. Her arm shot forth, stopping just as her blade touched his neck while her other hand grabbed on to his weapon.

"Stop this now or we'll be forced to kill you," she warned, glaring at him as the dwarf met her gaze with a matching expression.

"I would die proudly for my prince, surfacer!" he cried out.

Everil slashed his throat, crimson spraying over the stone floor. One by one, the group of Bhelen supporters was cut down, their blood pooling over the ground while the people around them stopped to watch. As soon as it was over, guards ran down to where they stood. They looked at the carnage and then looked at them. One of them approached them and folded his arms. "Who started it?"

"They did. And you can ask the people standing around us. They will say the same," Everil responded, unthreatened by them. "Now, if you'll excuse us, we have much to do." With that, the Warden turned around to continue their walk while her companions followed. The guard didn't stop them, shifting his attention back to the bodies as his comrades began to clean up the area. He then gazed towards the spectators, waving an arm at them. "All right. Keep on walking, all of you."

.x.x.x.x.

Dulin had been waiting for them when they arrived at the lord's estate, a large home built into the mountain walls. It was decorated lavishly, with metals and jewels accentuating every piece of furniture. The owner already lived as if he were a king, now it remained to be seen if he had the qualities required to be one.

The lord's lieutenant led them to a study, which was illuminated by a chimney at the far side. An old dwarf stood before it, hands clasped behind his back. Sensing their presence, he faced them, casting kind eyes upon them. "Welcome to my homestead, Grey Wardens," Lord Harrowmont greeted them before Dulin could announce them, then nodded his head to him. Dulin respectfully put a fist to his chest and left the room, leaving the four travelers with his lord.

"It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Lord Harrowmont." Everil dipped her head to him in a greeting of her own.

"Likewise, Warden. I appreciate your patience thus far. I hope you can understand why we had to be cautious before our meeting." He sat down on an ornate chair and motioned for her to take a seat on the smaller one across from him.

"We understand. We ran into some of Prince Bhelen's supporters on the way here and were forced to defend ourselves against them… So to speak." Everil accepted the offer, sitting down while Alistair walked up to stand beside her. Meanwhile, Morrigan and Zevran watched the conversation from where they stood.

Harrowmont leaned back with a grave expression. "It's unfortunate you had to soil your hands in this matter, my lady. But I wish I could tell you it won't happen again."

"Are you still referring to them or is there something more?" she replied with a small smile, casually crossing her legs and resting her hands over her lap.

He ran his fingers down his snow-white mustache with a sigh. "Have you ever heard of the Carta?"

"I cannot say I have, no."

"They are a network of criminals ran by dwarves, who involve themselves in the smuggling of goods such as lyrium, stolen items, and even slaves. They have business relations across many countries, Ferelden included." He shifted his gaze to the fire, narrowing his eyes. "Truly despicable people."

Everil frowned, now recalling who they were. They were criminals even common bandits wouldn't dare cross. "Are they becoming involved in Orzammar's politics?"

"In a way." He returned his gaze to her. "There is a Carta group creating trouble across many of our businesses. Threatening our shop owners and asking for coin in exchange for protection. It has become a serious problem for everyone." His wise stare then hardened into a scowl. "Jarvia is their leader. Taking her out, along with her Carta, will show the people that I can offer immediate solutions to our problems."

"And you want for us to do the work for you," Alistair said uncomfortably.

Harrowmont pressed his lips together and nodded.

"What are we? Errand boys?" Morrigan muttered with distaste.

"I see no problem with it," Zevran shrugged with a bored expression.

"Says the man who was originally hired to kill the Grey Wardens.

Everil shot the two a glare at their rudeness, effectively silencing them. She then returned her attention to Harrowmont and gave him a firm look. "Very well… If it will help you win the crown, then we'll do this for you. However, there is something I want before we go." She rose from her seat and took a step forward, gazing down at him with an unwavering stare. "You must give me your word, that once this is over, you will give us your armies to fight the Blight."

Harrowmont's widened eyes stared up at her, suddenly finding her youthful appearance deceiving. Whoever she was, the Warden was certainly someone not to be trifled with. He slowly stood, offering her his wrinkled hand. "You have my word, Warden."

Her stern expression melted into a small smile as she shook on it. "Good. Do you have any suggestions on where to start searching for this Jarvia?"

"Ask around the shops in the market. You're bound to run into information there."

"Understood. We'll return with news when it is done," Everil said as she turned on her heel and began walking back the way they came, the others following behind her.

.x.x.x.x.

The market area of Orzammar was bustling with activity. Jewel stands glimmered with handcrafted necklaces, bracelets and other trinkets made out of stones farmed right out of the mountain. Armor shops and weapon stands showcased their inventory, also created from iron, steel, and silverite mined from within the kingdom.

Despite asking around half of the shops, they still had no clues, but she wasn't fooled by the feigned ignorance of the shopkeepers. They had shifted uncomfortably at their questions, their eyes looking around the area in fear. But she was persistent; they were bound to find what they were looking for sooner or later.

"My lady, I think I just found something," Zevran said to her, a hand on her shoulder to get her attention.

She frowned. "What is it?"

He tilted his head towards a building in the distance. "A group of well-equipped men just went into that shop there. They all wore similar armor. It gave me a bad feeling, and usually, that means trouble."

"All right, then let's investigate."

The four made their way to the modest-looking shop. Already gruff voices could be heard from within, along with the clattering of objects falling to the floor. Everil promptly opened the door, stepping in. Those inside paused when they entered, turning their heads to them. One of the dwarves held the shopkeeper by the front of his shirt, weapon pointed at his throat while the others had been observing from their positions by the entrance.

Everil eyed the scene with rising anger and disgust. This poor man was trying to make an honest living by selling his goods, and there he was, with brutes threatening him. And by what Harrowmont said, this had gone on for too long.

"Sorry to interrupt, but we have some trading to do with the man there," Everil told them, casting a stony look at the one currently terrorizing the shop owner.

"Don't you see we're busy?" the ruffian bit back, glaring at her. "Figor here hasn't paid his protection fees. Everyone around here knows what happens when you don't pay. Now, unless you want to be next on my list, get out."

But instead of fleeing, the Warden took a step, unaffected by his threat while the other dwarves in his group reached for their weapons. Alistair and Zevran swiftly drew theirs, pointing their blades at them. And she continued approaching him without looking back, knowing her companions had her back.

"I'm a Grey Warden, you fool. Your threats don't face me." She tilted her chin up, staring down at him as if he were nothing but dirt under her boot. "Now, put down your weapon and step away from that man. Otherwise, I promise that you will not leave here alive."

"Roggar… What do we do?" one of the dwarves by the door muttered, glowering at Alistair.

"Heh…" Roggar smirked and shoved Figor to the floor, turning to face her while resting his axe upon his shoulder. "You talk big, but you're still an outsider. You obviously don't know the power of the Carta."

She narrowed her eyes. "You work for Jarvia."

"That's right. I know you Wardens are supporting Harrowmont. The old bastard has been making things more difficult for us lately. I even heard he's been looking for her." He raised his axe, aiming it at her. "Is that why you're sniffing around here? The Carta won't appreciate you messing with our business."

"I'm surprised you were able to put two and two together. I assumed you were but a little monkey, swinging your weapon about in an attempt to appear tough before those you deem weaker than yourself," she taunted him, a cynical smile spreading over her lips. "Only a pathetic coward would use such tactics to earn a few coins."

His brows went up, taken aback by her mocking words before they met at the bridge of his nose. And he snarled, "You want to see tough?"

He swung at her, she leaned to dodge, letting the heavy weapon hit the floor and lodge itself into the stone. Then she put her boot on it, preventing him from pulling it out as she brought back her fist. Everil struck him as hard as she could, forcing him to let go of his weapon, knocking him onto his rear.

"Roggar!" one of his men called and made to help. But the cold steel of a dagger made him freeze on the spot.

Zevran clicked his tongue in a chastising manner, shaking his head. "Now, now… You want to keep your head, no?"

Everil stepped up to Roggar and dropped on a knee, grabbing him by the front of his armor. Her piercing blue eyes met his, her tone dangerously low. "Where do we find Jarvia?"

"I won't tell you, bitch!" he snapped through a bloodied mouth.

"Wrong answer." She drew her dagger and pressed the edge to his neck. "I'll have you know, that if I don't get what I want out of you, I can always take it from one of your friends over there. Now, choose your next words wisely or I slash open your miserable throat."

"All right, fine!" he snapped, gritting his teeth. "Our base is in Dust Town, the slums of Orzammar."

"What else can you tell me?" she pressed further.

"What more do you want!" He tried to shove at her, only for her blade to penetrate skin, making him yelp.

"Your base won't be out in the open. Harrowmont's men would have found it by now," she said evenly, her nose almost touching his plump one. "Give me details."

"Y-You'll have to look for a peculiar door without a knob. In one of the slum houses. In the square! You'll need a special token to get in."

"Who has that token? Where can we find it?"

He swallowed, conflict crossing his eyes. Everil pressed the knife further. "I don't have all day, Roggar, and neither do you."

He gulped. "Y-You can have mine!" he stammered, reaching into his armor and pulling out a chain. She swiftly took hold of it, snapping it away from him.

Having what they needed, Everil stood. "Get out and don't ever come back. If I ever see you or your men around here again, my friends and I will run you through."

"Y-Yes, Warden," Roggar scrambled to his feet, rushing to the exit and leaving his weapon behind.

Morrigan stepped aside to let the cowering dwarves through, smirking as they went.

"Geez… Remind me not to ever make you angry," Alistair sheathed his blade as he approached his fellow Warden.

"Those who prey on the weak sicken me. I would have killed them, but that would have made me just like them." Everil lifted the chain to look at the token. It was made of a finger's bones, which meant it had once belonged to one of their victims. "Bastards…" she muttered with disgust before turning her attention to the still shaken shopkeeper.

"Are you all right?" she inquired as she put away the chain in one of her pockets, then offered him a hand.

"Yes. Th-Thank you. I thought I was a goner." He dusted himself and gazed up at her. "If you want to trade for anything in the store, I'll give you the best discount I can afford. You just let me know what you need."

She smiled, giving him a pat on the shoulder. "Thank you, we'll keep that in mind."

After nodding to the dwarf, she craned her head to her companions. "Come on. It's time to pay the Carta a little visit."

.x.x.x.x.

Dust Town was just as the name implied—a place filled with ruined huts that were worn and crumbling, covered in brown dirt and rocks that had rolled down from above. Dwarves slept on the streets or sat beside them, asking for coin as they passed them by. It was a miserable sight, and she found herself wondering why they were living in such conditions when the dwarves in the Commons were faring so well.

"This must be where all the casteless go," Zevran commented quietly.

Everil shook her head. "How terrible…"

"What classifies them as casteless?" Alistair asked them curiously, having heard very little of the dwarves aside from minor lessons in their politics.

"Dwarves who were cast away by their families, and their caste, for whatever reason," Everil replied with a sad sigh. "Castes break down into… different skills or traits, if you will. For example, there's a Merchant's caste, a Warrior's caste… each one regarded higher than the other depending on how great their contribution to their society."

"Each dwarf is born into a caste, inheriting whichever caste their parent of the same sex belongs to. If a dwarf is shunned by their caste or is born casteless, then they contribute nothing in the eyes of the dwarven people. They're not part of their society, therefore, they are nothing."

"Woah…" Alistair scratched the back of his head. "That sounds… rough."

"Dwarves appear to be quite extreme when it comes to their collective beliefs," Morrigan added to their conversation. "However, they seem to have a fair enough system where anyone can reach their full potential if they were to play their cards right. These poor idiots were but the unlucky few who lost at their own game."

"But casting these people away like this… It's wrong." Alistair glanced down at a woman holding a crying baby as they walked by, seeing the desperation in her eyes.

"Every government has those they oppress or ignore. Ferelden is no different," Morrigan told him as they continued crossing the broken, dusty path through the ruins. "Or have you forgotten the elves in the Denerim Alienage? They too are ignored or abused by humans, especially by those of noble birth like yourselves."

Alistair's eyes turned to the ground. "Of course I haven't forgotten them…"

Everil gave Morrigan a troubled look. "I'm glad my family treated elves with a bit more dignity… Though they were still just servants at the castle."

"The privileged do not see the struggle of the poor until they have lived it for themselves. You two are good examples of this," Morrigan continued vehemently. "Though 'tis only survival of the fittest. Nature's way of things. They would likely do the same if the roles were reversed."

Moments later, they arrived at the center of Dust Town, where they noticed several small houses circling the square. More homeless dwarves sat on the dirt, casting fearful eyes on them. "Split up and find a door without a knob," Everil commanded quietly.

After walking door to door, it was Zevran who found it. "Over here!"

"Perfect." Everil went up to him, producing the token from her pocket. Looking over the door, she spotted a rounded slot, then reached up to insert the token in it. A click was heard.

"All right… By what we've heard, the Carta is a large organization. We don't know how many of them we'll face inside, but our goal is to kill Jarvia." Everil turned to face her party, a no-nonsense expression on her face. "We'll focus on finding her and kill anyone who gets in our way as quickly as possible. Once we are done, we'll hurry out and report to Harrowmont. No unnecessary risks. Is that understood?"

They nodded their agreement and the group proceeded to step inside.

There was no turning back.