The Keening Blade
Note: Sections of this chapter are lifted from the Legacy DLC. Thank you, Bioware.
Chapter 46: Spies Like Us
The houses in Kirkwall were a disgrace. Loghain shook his head at the overconfident stupidity of the city. Maude's bosom friend Varric had put them up in the mansion that had belonged to his late brother. It was very large—even palatial—and easily accommodated their party, but Loghain was astonished to find that it was utterly indefensible. It had no gate, no wall, no arrow slits, no proper defenses of any kind. other than an elaborate front door. There was a back door that was not quite as sturdy, and then there was a maze of cellars underneath the mansion that Varric informed him had a secret exit to Darktown. Loghain scoffed at that: "secret" exits rarely were. The house had big windows, too: windows large enough for an enemy to squeeze through easily after smashing them. Moreover, the place was full of decadent upholstered furniture and soft beds and finicking vases and knickknacks. And it smelled funny. Like the rest of Kirkwall.
Not wanting to seem impressed, like some country bumpkin, Loghain kept his face impassive whenever he was shown something new and unusual. Perhaps it was childish, but he could not bear to give more fuel to these degenerate Marchers who called Fereldans "Dog Lords."
Alas, his own people were no help at all. They gaped and pointed at the paved streets and tall buildings: at the public monuments and galleries of elegant shops. They chattered in excitement at the fine clothes of the rich. They thought the rats-on-sticks—or what the Kirkwallers claimed were chicken-parts-on-sticks—were delicious. Especially with spicy sauce. Darrow and Kain, the traitors, were enjoying themselves, and had somehow found time to visit a place called the Blooming Rose, which Maude informed him was the finest brothel in Kirkwall. They had not been alone, either. Osbeck was taking this great city in stride, evidently feeling himself a man of the world, now that he had crossed the sea.
Of course, not everyone was necessarily relishing this introduction to civilization. Some of their people, notably the Dalish girl Thanyra and young Hereward, had never been in any place larger than Breaker's Cove. The sheer size of Kirkwall intimidated them. Thanyra drooped, and Hereward's jaw appeared to be permanently unhinged with wonder.
No one who did not know Maude would imagine her to be in anything other than the highest spirits: pleased to see her Marcher friends; eager for the adventure before her. In private, though, she was unhappy to leave Gareth, and angry at the circumstances that had forced them to come to Kirkwall. She was very demanding in the velvet solitude of the mansion's bedchamber, and afterwards expressed her concerns and suspicions to Loghain.
"Anders said that if I can get back within a month, there's a potion that will make me able to nurse Gareth again. I hope so. I'd hate to stand by and witness some complete stranger feeding my darling boy. This whole mess is obviously a Grey Warden cock-up of some sort. 'A Warden prison?' Who's guarding it? Why don't our Marcher-born Wardens know about it? You remember when we talked about capturing a darkspawn to learn more about it? I wonder if this isn't something of the sort, only fucked up, as usual. Ultimately, Weisshaupt is to blame for lack of oversight. I can't even accuse them of deliberate spite, just stupidity. And because of other peoples' incompetence here we are in tiresome Kirkwall. What do you think of it, really?"
"It's big. And rich," he grunted, "but I wouldn't have been sorry never to have seen it. I suppose it's interesting."
It really was, actually, if only as an example of how not to run a city. Beyond the size and wealth, there were definite signs of decline. Loghain considered them all with contemptuous pleasure: the unrepaired stonework; the complete disregard for law and order; the hungry, resentful faces of the poor; the feeble, emasculated nobles; the occasional Qunari, aloof and disdainful, shouldering aside the other races.
Loghain reckoned that he could take Kirkwall with fifty picked troops. The city had no army at all: only an undermanned and underfunded city guard, constantly engaged in crisis management. The only real opposition would come from the Qunari compound (though he had already thought through how to deal with them in a prompt and proactive fashion) and from the Templars. The Templars, however, might not offer any opposition at all, as long as the Chantry was offered no offense.
That was the nasty, unspoken secret of Kirkwall. It was run by the Chantry for the Chantry, because it certainly wasn't bloody run for the benefit of anyone else. Crime was brazen, organized, and rampant. Half of the population appeared to live like rats in the underground maze of Darktown. The better-off common folk lived in Lowtown, which was crumbling before everyone's eyes. The rich and self-proclaimed "nobles" led pampered lives in their ridiculous, vulnerable, overly luxurious mansions in Hightown. Something was rotten in the city of Kirkwall. No. Wait. Pretty much everything was rotten in the city of Kirkwall.
To his annoyance, he and Maude were obliged to attend a dinner with the Viscount and his parasites. Twittering buffoons. Loghain made clear that he was in Kirkwall on Grey Warden business, and was not here to socialize. Still, he had to eat, and didn't mind if the Kirkwallers paid for it. It turned out to be a huge affair. With entertainment and speeches. Long ones.
"People want to see you, Loghain," Maude told him, smoothing his black and silver doublet. "You are world-famous. People wanted to see me because of you, and so naturally they want to see you even more. Varric told me that the Viscount's seneschal has made a fortune selling dinner invitations."
Everyone at dinner stared at him as if he were some dangerous but exciting wild beast. Loghain wondered if they expected him to kill a dragon or ravish their women. Some of the women looked fairly willing. One blonde was licking her fingers and making eyes at him.
"That's Fifi de Launcet," Maude whispered, "Nathaniel's sister-in-law. She's a complete tart. Her mother Dulci is looking you over, too. Go on, glare at them! Give them a thrill!"
The food was not bad, though Loghain was unfamiliar with some of it. There was some giggling and whispering, and he supposed the useless fops were unsettled by his table manners and by his not knowing which of the peculiar implements by his plate he was supposed to use. He refused to be bothered by them, and ate heartily, careful to wipe his hands on the tablecloth, rather than on his velvet doublet. There were more whispers, and he noticed some of the men eating with their hands as he was, looking about as if they were doing something dashing and forbidden and romantic. Tools.
He could practically see the puppet strings attached to the Viscount. The man was owned, body and soul, by the Chantry, and pretended he was not. Loghain despised him. It was no longer surprising to him that the man's son did, as well. Even if the Chantry had put him in office, Loghain could think of all sorts of ways he himself could have thrown off their control by now, and Loghain knew that he was a hopelessly incompetent politician.
The Viscount asked Loghain to see him when he was back from his mission to the Vimmarks. Loghain had no idea what the man wanted with him. Perhaps he wished to borrow a bit of backbone? He could certainly use it.
"You haven't met Knight-Commander Meredith yet," Maude said sagely, eyes bright over her wine cup. "That's her over there. Nothing in this town makes any sense without Meredith."
"Nothing in this town makes any sense at all."
And Kirkwall ale was piss. The day after the ghastly dinner, Maude took him to that disreputable tavern she liked, The Hanged Man, probably because people were constantly trying to kill each other there. Loghain wondered why they couldn't plan the mission in the dwarf's house, or Hawke's house, or the Lowtown Market, for that matter, since everyone in the tavern was leaning in, listening breathlessly.
"I like it here, Loghain," Maude told him earnestly. "and I was certain that you would like it better than the taverns in Hightown. They're full of Orlesian accents and foreign spies."
"This place is full of foreign spies too," he snorted, jerking his chin at a shifty pair in the corner.
"I suppose it is. Spies like us, for that matter!"
Loghain scowled in thought, trying to come to terms with the concept of himself as a "foreign spy." It was disturbingly accurate. He really was a foreigner here. And he certainly intended to spy out everything he possibly could. He had met the infamous Meredith Stannard now, and while he guessed that she was fairly handy with a sword, he felt he had her measure: she was was a closed-minded fanatic, ruled utterly by her fear of magic. She was not particularly intelligent, either. She could see the world in only one way, and was not interested in information that might upset her worldview. She was the true ruler of Kirkwall, but did not care about its serious unemployment issues, its trade agreements, or its foreign policy, or even that it was in mortal peril from a large force of Qunari: she cared only that mages remained under her thumb. No wonder the city was falling apart.
Bethany was happy to see her brother. That was the one good thing about the visit so far. They had briefly visited the family home, and Hawke had given Bethany some family heirlooms, mostly jewelry. The Hawke mansion was smaller than Varric's, but Loghain rather approved of it for that reason. There was plenty of room to live in, and it had a library that overlooked the entry hall that would a good place to position archers.
They were gathered to plan; to share their intelligence and settle on numbers and supplies. Adam Hawke would accompany the Wardens to the Vimmark Mountains, to this mysterious 'Wardens' Prison,' along with some of his associates. Maude had gently pointed out to them the dangers of venturing into any place so obviously Tainted, and reminded them of Bethany's forced Joining. Naturally, none of the idiots believed it could happen to them. Perhaps it would not. After all, in his youth Loghain himself had traveled the Deep Roads from West Hill to Gwaren without taking harm from it.
Those associates were gathered rowdily at the end of the long table. Loghain considered them. Outcasts and drifters, but none the less useful for all that. The most respectable of them that Maude had met would not be coming with them. Guard Captain Aveline had commitments and duties in Kirkwall; and as Loghain considered her a deserter from the Fereldan army, and as Aveline apparently considered Loghain a regicide, perhaps it was best that they not meet. The people Hawke could bring with him, however, were interesting.
The Dalish girl, Merrill, was a mage, and a powerful one, he was assured, but no sort of Healer at all. She looked to Loghain as if a stiff breeze would blow her away. Their own Dalish elf, Thanyra, had latched on to her gratefully, and they were chatting about bloodlines connecting their clans. Thanyra's clan was extinct, of course, save for her and the other elf who had joined with her, but history mattered to the Dalish.
Maude thought well of the tall elf's swordsmanship. Fenris. That was the name. An escaped slave from Tevinter, and magically tattooed with lyrium. It was certainly distinctive. The elf had the virtue of being able to hold his tongue, and merely eyed everyone else, quietly brooding. Loghain didn't mind brooding: he brooded quite a bit himself.
The other woman among them was the Rivainni named Isabela. She was "between ships," as she put it. She had captained a trader, but Maude had previously explained to Loghain that "trader" meant "pirate" in Rivain. Maude had met the woman in Denerim during the Blight when Isabela was doing a spot of smuggling, and Maude said she was gifted with a blade. Loghain considered that high praise. She was a good-looking woman, too, who had the impudence to give him a wink while squeezing Adam Hawke's bulging bicep in a very possessive way. It seemed that the two of them were lovers. Maude whispered that the Rivainni woman was too independent-minded to move into Hawke's Hightown mansion with him, and preferred life here in the Hanged Man.
Loghain considered Adam Hawke. Did he like Bethany's brother? He was not sure. Hawke moved like a man who could handle himself, and he seemed genuinely fond of his sister and genuinely glad to see her again. Still, he was an adventurer who had abandoned Ferelden; a man on the make; a little too handsome and a little too slick. He was carefully respectful toward Loghain, however. Maude seemed to like him well enough, but there was nothing there to cause Loghain any jealousy. She was far better friends with the voluble Varric.
Did he like Varric, for that matter? It was rather odd, watching Maude and the dwarf gossiping over their springbows and exchanging glorious lies of battle. Maude had had a large circle of friends during the Blight, but most of them had drifted away afterwards—probably because of her marriage to Loghain. Of all that lot, only Morrigan and Oghren had remained faithful, and Oghren was drunk most of the time. Seeing Maude's delight in chattering with Varric, Loghain was reminded of how she had enjoyed Leliana's company. He ought not to begrudge Maude this innocent pleasure.
"Sebastian isn't coming?" asked Merrill in a sweet, lilting voice.
"Can't tear himself away from Kirkwall," Adam Hawke shrugged.
"You mean he can't tear himself away from the Grand Cleric," Isabela said tartly. "She might sneeze and need her white knight to wipe her nose."
There was some sniggering, though Fenris did not join in. Loghain remembered that Hawke was acquainted with the Prince of Starkhaven, who had taken orders here. So a Chantry brother sometimes joined them on their adventures? Well, why not? Leliana had been a lay sister when she had first joined forces with Maude.
Loghain asked Varric, "What do you know about the men who attacked us?"
"Well, first of all," Varric said, gravelly voice low. "they were Carta dwarves. So were the ones who went after Hawke. Usually they're more into smuggling, and not this stupid. I mean, I can see why they might be pissed with Hawke, but why attack Bethany, unless they think she's carrying gold? It's...strange."
Bethany told her brother, "They attacked me when I was visiting friends in the village near Soldier's Peak. If it hadn't been for Maude..."
Hawke barked a short laugh. "They've been trying to kill me for over a week now. I wrote to you, but obviously they reached you before my letter did."
Loghain asked, "How big is the Carta in Kirkwall, anyway?"
"About two hundred core members. Then there are some who work for them part-time. The ones you've met are obviously the crazy Carta dwarves. So... Loghain..." Varric grinned at him, testing the way the name rolled off his tongue. "You have a plan? I've got a pretty good idea where their hideout is, but what then?"
Loghain sneered. "Hunt them down. Kill them all."
Maude beamed at him, and rested her head on his shoulder fondly. "I like that sort of plan."
Fenris asked acidly, "So we just walk in and start cutting off heads?"
Oghren guffawed. "Just doing what we do best."
Varric waggled his brows outrageously. "The bloodstains always come out."
Loghain felt there was more they should know. "We questioned one of the dwarves who attacked Bethany. He was a ghoul."
A brief, uneasy silence hung in the air.
"You mean," Hawke probed, "that he really was Tainted?"
"All the dwarves were," Loghain said. "The one we captured spoke of a being called Corypheus, who appeared to be controlling them somehow. Our working theory is that Corypheus is an intelligent, talking darkspawn. We have come across them before."
Another silence.
"Talking darkspawn?" Merrill said faintly. "That's...not very nice."
"They're nasty," Maude agreed. "The one we met before was called the Architect, and he was a powerful mage."
Fenris snorted, as if it were only to be expected.
"—but," Maude added reassuringly. "We put him down. And we did it with a much smaller party than we have now."
Fenris frowned, and then spoke slowly. He had a remarkably pleasant voice. "Corypheus..." he said, considering it, "...is a Tevinter name."
"Do you think that significant?" Loghain asked.
Fenris shrugged. "I think it is ominous. Tevinter mages are the scourge of Thedas."
Loghain had known only one Tevinter mage personally, and had thought him a greedy, strutting poser, but admittedly this elf had known more of them, and for longer. And Maude had hinted that Caladrius had been powerful. Tevinters knew a lot of magic that they had not shared with anyone else. How else had they fended off the Chantry, the Qunari, and all the rest of Thedas for the past thousand years?
Speculation was useless, so they moved on to serious planning. There was another round of the execrable ale, and then Loghain picked up Varric's latest literary effort, which had been personally inscribed by the author and ceremoniously presented to Maude that very evening.
"Hard in Hightown…" He read the title aloud, voice laden with disbelief. "What kind of book is this?"
Maude mulled it over. "I think," she said, "it's sort of like those romance novels Wynne liked to read, only for men."
"Hmmph!"
Maude nudged him. "All the men are hairy-chested—"
"And all the women, double-breasted!" Varric finished. The two of them burst out laughing. Loghain blew out a breath. Was he going to have to listen to this sort of thing the entire time he was in the Free Marches?
Sixteen people and three dogs was a serious enough party that they could be fairly bold. They had been accosted in the streets a few times, and then the would-be bandits noticed what they were dealing with, and slinked away with sickly smiles and an occasional "never mind." Loghain thought they should slaughter them all on general principles, but they had a mission to accomplish before he could please himself.
The stiff letter to the Warden-Commander of Tantervale was posted, and Varric, once one got past all the flowery talk and nonsense, had actually gleaned some useful information about a probable site in the Vimmark Mountains. From there it was mostly a matter of putting together their supplies, hiring some guards with a decent reputation, loading a pair of wagons, and marching out past the incredibly irritating gawkers to get the bloody job done. They left behind a growing pile of letters and petitions from scores of people, all begging Loghain to step in and fix their lives, right a wrong, find their cat, or otherwise save the world. Loghain considering burning them all before they left, but Maude advised against it.
"Let's look at them when we get back. There might be something fun there."
There followed a two-day journey through unknown territory, featuring unfamiliar food, musty tents, and plagues of new and disgusting insects. The road was impossible: bits of Tevinter work interspersed with rubble and abyssal potholes. After watching his own people and Hawke's people for a time, he decided to let Hawke's party coalesce into their own little squad, rather than trying to integrate them into the Wardens. If this were to be a long journey, that would be a problem, but as they did not expect to be out here more than two weeks at most, he would let it go. There were no significant personality problems, other than a certain hostility in Hawke's band between the the two elves. Fenris genuinely loathed mages, even the fragile, harmless Merrill. Hawke seemed to have it under control.
Loghain was having enough trouble with the landscape.
It was a wasteland. Loghain had heard and read the word "wasteland," but he had not fully pictured it. No unBlighted place in Ferelden resembled this arid land, devoid of green growing things and good water. Rotting bodies of men and beasts sporadically decorated the road and the ditches to either side. Dusty plains stretched before them, bare of vegetation save for some stunted thorny brush. The Vimmark Mountains, growing larger as they headed north, were not imposing and snow-capped, but squat and rocky, splintered and arranged in strange, unnatural formations. In fact, this was...a desert.
He must have spoken aloud, for Fenris nodded in agreement. "There are many kinds of desert. This windblown scrubland resembles parts of the Qunari territory. It can be treacherous, especially when one is not accustomed to any difficulty finding water."
Loghain reflected with relief on the big water barrels in the wagons. It was true: he had never dealt with thirst as a likelihood. He was definitely not moving to the Free Marches.
Maude patted his arm. "It's all right, Loghain. We'll probably have to explore some sort of ghastly underground deathtrap, and we won't have spend much time here in the desert!"
On the morning of the third day, they were into the mountains, and were—as far as they could tell—close to their destination. At least they hoped they were, for the wagons could go no farther.
"Well," Varric sighed, shading his eyes with his hand, "the road stops here. My sources say we go through that gap to find the hideout. Not a very pretty place for a vacation."
The road, in fact, did end abruptly at a rocky landslide and a jumble of burned wagons and bloated dead bodies. A traders' caravan had come to a very sticky end, and not long ago.
Varric shook his head. "I still say it's really strange. The Carta shouldn't be here. In fact, here shouldn't be here. It's all a big blank spot on the map." He nudged a headless body with the toe of his boot. "He was a member of the Merchant's Guild. The Carta doesn't kill Guild members...usually. They're businessmen. I don't get it."
"Don't think of them as Carta anymore," Maude said. "They're ghouls now. Their brains are totally scrambled. Probably they'd attack anything."
Loghain said, "You estimated that the Carta in Kirkwall numbered about two hundred. Corypheus must have gained control of a rogue band: small, but strong enough to deal damage."
Their hired guards were left with the wagons, and promised serious gold if they stayed with them for three days. Loghain saw no reason to expect more of them. Everyone filled their canteens—and spares— from the water barrels, and they moved out, quite an impressive company.
A dirt path wound through a gully, descending on a shallow grade. From far off in the rocks, a gruff voice shouted, "It's the Hawke!"
Ambrose remarked, "Apparently we're not alone here."
"Up there," Maude murmured, carefully not looking. "The Carta's people are watching us. Apparently we're expected. Let's see what they do."
They moved in deeper, and turning a corner, they found themselves before the crumbling walls of an old fort. The path led through a huge gateway, but the gates themselves were long gone. Just inside, a lone dwarf awaited them—another ghoul, his eyes filmed like grey marble. Those horrible eyes stared unblinkingly at Adam and Bethany, blind to all else.
"You!" the dwarf shouted. "The children of Malcolm Hawke—brother and sister both. You...have come to us."
Adam burst out, annoyed, "What does my father have to do with this?"
"It began with him and it ends with you!" the wretched dwarf declared. "Blood for blood!"
"Oh, that makes all sorts of sense," snarked Isabela.
Bethany asked, "Did our Father do something to the Carta?"
The dwarf was too far gone to answer questions. "You've come to us! That's the only thing that matters!"
Maude told the dwarf, "Sorry. You can't have their blood. And that's an icky thing to want, anyway. Loghain, this one doesn't seem to know any more than that lunatic in Breaker's Cove."
"The blood!" shouted the dwarf. "We must have it! Corypheus will walk in the sun once more!"
A few dwarves ran up to support the lunatic, but all of them were dealt with swiftly. Loghain had already had enough of this Corypheus.
"Blood," Oghren muttered. "It's always blood. "Why can't it be spit? Or a lock of hair?"
Ambrose asked, "Would you really want to encounter a Spit Mage?"
"For variety, sure."
Maude and Isabela paused to pick up anything of value, and they moved cautiously ahead. where they saw some impressive gate machinery. A dilapidated wooden stockade enclosed a dusty courtyard, behind the tall gates.
Maude edged closer, studying the lay of the land. "There are probably traps in there. Thanyra, come along with me. I want to show you how to disarm them."
There were traps, indeed, and a wild bronto, which was fairly exciting for those who had never seen one before; and also a dozen dwarves, mostly archers. It was a lively few minutes. Those with shields put them up and rushed the dwarves. Overwhelmed, the dwarves did not flee or sue for mercy. Ghouls were beyond that. Loghain was reconsidering his original estimate of the opponent's numbers. Had the entire Carta of Kirkwall become infected with the Taint?
He had his people search the site for any clues as to what was going on; and then they cleaned their weapons, rested, and prepared to move on into the compound. A few minor wounds were healed, and there was time for a brief snack. Unsurprisingly, there was a lot of talk and gossip.
"You never take me anywhere nice," Isabela complained to Hawke.
Adam sighed, "Someday I'll go somewhere not filled with crazy, murderous ghouls lusting for my blood. Maybe a beach."
Varric scoffed. "The day you go to the beach will be the day an armada of angry demon pirates shows up."
"Demon pirates," Maude breathed. "Sounds good to me."
"Besides, we go to the beach all the time," Isabela said. "The Wounded Coast is all one big beach. It can be profitable, but no one could call it nice."
"It could be, though," Merrill piped up. "If you don't count the demons and Tal-Vashoth and bandits and slavers, it's quite pretty, really."
"That's true, " Maude allowed. "You could clear out the riff-raff and develop the place for pleasure jaunts, complete with chaise lounges and cool, fruity drinks. You could rent little sailboats so people could explore the islands. Make sure they sign waivers, though, so you're not called before the Viscount when people drown or get eaten by sea monsters."
Loghain tuned all this out, getting his people on the move once more, focusing on the path before him. He eyed the stone heights on either side, alert for hidden bowmen and ambushes. They moved past the last twist in the red rocks, and then—
"What's this?"
"Will you look at that!"
An ancient bridge spanned the chasm before them, and on the other side was a huge stone complex, obviously the work of centuries. In the midst of it rose a stone tower adorned with gilded griffons and statues that recalled the figures of Paragons in Orzammar. Dwarven work commissioned by the Wardens? One side of the tower was protected by the deep cleft. Loghain peered into the depths below, trying to see if a river ran through it. Hard to tell, for the thick mist that rose up within it. A gallery of stone arches sheltered a long descending staircase. Built into the side of the mountain nearest them was a jumble of doorways and steps and tiny barred windows.
"A fortress," said Bethany, "It really is a fortress, here in the middle of nowhere!"
Gravel scraped ahead. Scattered dwarves darted out of the shadows, and scampered down a flight of stairs.
"I'll keep looking for traps," Maude said, "These little buggers have no doubt arranged some surprises for us."
Traps, yes: on a narrow staircase were a series of pressure plates that Maude handily disarmed. She stood back and let Thanyra handle the last set, watching intently. Once past them, they found a grubby courtyard and two brontos charging them. Arrows and crossbow bolts slowed but did not stop them. Loghain found himself wishing for a stout boarspear. As long as one did not stupidly stand in front of the brute's rush, they were not that hard to kill. Exasperatingly, a company of crazed dwarven ghouls charged in to support them. Loghain again mentally revised his estimates upward. They had not even reached the tower yet.
A few minutes later, there were dead ghouls and slaughtered brontos in the courtyard. Loghain cleaned his sword, deep in thought. "Is it possible that the entire Carta is involved? You said there are about two hundred of them."
Varric shrugged. "That just a guesstimate. The numbers go up and down. Full-fledged members? At least two hundred. On the other hand, nearly every dwarf in Kirkwall has some dealings with them."
Well, their party was strong and unhurt. If the ghouls kept throwing handfuls against them, they should be able to deal with them readily, no matter how large the total number. The party's morale seemed high, since they were now talking about food.
"Brontos are good eating," Oghren told Kain. "If these weren't Tainted, I'd say we should dig a pit for a proper roast. Heh. Maybe another time."
For safety's sake, they needed to clear out all the rooms and dwellings carved out of the living rock of the mountain. Most of it had the look of barracks. They were certainly used for that now, and they stank of ghoul; but they definitely seemed to have been constructed with that purpose in mind.
Loghain broke the company into squads, and they were told to report anything of note and look for documents. Loghain ducked his head under a lintel, and looked about in disgust. When anyone—dwarf, human, or elf —became a ghoul, they lost all inhibitions and all interest in camp hygiene. It was fairly disgusting. Then too, these crumbling chambers reminded him of whatever architect had perpetrated the monstrosity known as Lowtown. The coolness inside, however, was not unwelcome. Ferelden's sun did not beat down as hard as the sun in these northern parts.
More dwarves were found in the inner chambers, and quickly dispatched. There was a general ransacking, for treasure and coin was there in plenty, and a huge store of old weapons, as well.
"What this?" Loghain muttered. A bow obviously, but a kind he had never before seen.
"A Tevinter longbow," Fenris told him, the word "Tevinter" uttered like a curse. "Of an antique design."
"Impressive," Loghain commented, wishing he could take it along.
In the adjoining chamber, Maude picked the lock of a chest and found armor.
"Grey Warden trappings," she said, "also of ancient design. When we're done here, we should tote off the good stuff, Loghain. We can display it at Soldier's Peak. Our very own Museum of Warden Memorabilia."
Valentine proudly brought back his own find, a crumbling piece of parchment. Since the script was old and dwarven, Varric read it aloud, with Oghren squinting over his shoulder.
"Scout's report:
"Our examination revealed construction that is remarkably sturdy for its age. The fortress's foundations reach deeper into the rock than expected. Two levels below the surface, we discovered a series of twisting, underground passages, chiseled out of the mountain itself. I commanded the men to set up camp there.
"Not an hour later, one of the newer men reported voices from the depths. He flew into a frenzy, demanding that we leave immediately. Those unused to tight spaces often display such hysteria. Thankfully, I was able to calm him before his raving affected the rest of the team.
"But he was gone this morning. Tracks led deeper into the caverns. We shall follow him...
"Bad idea," Hawke snorted. "Though I shouldn't say that, since we're doing exactly the same thing..."
"It was nailed up on a wall," Valentine said. "A long time ago from the look of the parchment. It must pre-date these ghouls."
They moved on, descending more staircases, finding more traps, more ghouls. A last doorway seemed to lead deep into the rambling structure.
"This is it," Maude said. "This is where things get interesting."
They entered a big shabby warehouse of a place: rough-hewn wood pillars supporting the high ceiling, scores of crates stacked carelessly. The place had something of the look of dwarf mine, for there were mining carts on rails. The party moved from room to room, and found all of it crude and unfinished, the wooden walls crumbling, the floorboards creaking underfoot. In one tiny room, they found a writing table and a pile of badly-scrawled parchment. It looked fairly fresh.
"What's all this?" Maude asked eagerly. "Pamphlets? I hope they're not denouncing Alistair!" She thumbed through them, and made a face.
"They're notes of various kinds. Here's a memorandum someone left."
She read, "We have tracked Bethany Hawke to Ferelden, where the Grey Wardens are housed. Bring her intact and unharmed. We must have the blood of Malcolm Hawke. If someone gets in your way, kill them, but do it quietly. The Great One will reward you richly for your service.
"In the name of the Master, Corypheus. May he see sunlight again."
Loghain sneered. "Not if I can help it."
Bethany protested, "But dwarves can't use magic—blood magic or any other kind. This makes no sense."
"I agree, Sunshine," Varric said, "Dwarves want gold, not blood. This is...different."
"Yes," Maude explained patiently. "They're ghouls. They're...all messed up. Oh, good, this one is political," she said airily. "Ghouls have politics. Exciting."
She read it aloud.
"Praise Corypheus!"
"Like many of you, I was once a thieving wretch. I was a servant to coin and my own base desires. And that is when I heard his call. Corypheus opened my eyes, just as he has opened yours, and showed me what was true.
"What is the Carta beside Corypheus? Nothing but dust and ashes. Only Corypheus is eternal. We are his hands and his eyes on the surface. We are the ones he honored with his trust, to dig him from his prison in the Deep Roads.
"When Corypheus steps into the sunlight, we will be rewarded. Praise him! Praise Corpheus."
"Not a pamphlet," Loghain grunted. "A speech. Now ghouls make speeches. Next, they really will begin distributing explanatory pamphlets."
"Ghoul culture," Maude shook her head. "What a thing it is to travel in exotic lands. The Ferelden ghouls I've known had no culture at all. Don't look at me like that, Varric. No aspersions on general Ferelden culture are to be cast today. We have heaps of culture. Besides, this is serious."
Varric agreed, looking worried. "Ghouls haven't just infiltrated the Carta," he said. "It's sounds like they've taken it over!"
"And there's a journal," Maude picked up the little leather book and made a face at its smell. "A ghoul journal. Travel is certainly very broadening. It says it's the property of one Rhatigan."
"Rhatigan!" Varric was not the only one surprised. Hawke and Isabela looked genuinely alarmed.
"Rhatigan," Hawke explained, "is the head of the Carta in Kirkwall."
"This really does go all the way to the top," Varric muttered.
"Read it," Loghain ordered, revising his numbers yet again.
Maude put up her hand for silence. "This is interesting, though I can't claim to understand it. Rhatigan's writing gets weird starting around the beginning of the year. Before it was all grubby criminal scheming that made perfect sense. Now he's talking about 'The Great One.' Poor bastard. What do you make of this? 'The Great One's Key,'" she read."A bad sign, that. When people talk about anyone they call 'The Great One,' you know they've gone completely around the bend."
"Maude..." Loghain said, "Just read it."
"Oh, all right."
"The Wardens did not guard the Key with care. It was left in a repository, with objects of little worth. Trinkets. Dusty Grey Warden trophies. Not even a guard posted. Fools. If only they knew what they had, and had lost.
"It will not wake at my touch; it sleeps and its power remains within. The Great One says it requires Malcolm Hawke's blood to awaken it. Only then can its powers set him free.
"I will find the heir to the blood and the Great One will reward me. Yes. Let is be soon."
The Hawkes, obviously, were unhappy with this. "A key tuned to Father's blood?" Bethany wondered. "That's highly unlikely. He was no blood mage, right?"
Loghain sighed. Children always had trouble grasping that a parent had had a life long before children were in the picture. Perhaps this Malcolm Hawke not only had a life, but a Past.
"One thing is certain," he said heavily. "The Grey Wardens have not done their duty by this place. Why is there no guard? Why could these ghouls move in and take over?" He narrowed his eyes at Valentine, who put up his hands in surrender, looking helpless.
"I don't know! I told you, I didn't even know this place existed. Maybe the Warden-Commander thought it could be better hidden if no one came here at all. Obviously, he was wrong. Or maybe," he admitted. "he simply didn't have the manpower. We're only about a hundred strong in Tantervale. It would take all of us to man this place."
That was true. Perhaps, as the Blights receded from popular memory and tithes grew thin, the force at Tantervale had shrunk, and they had abandoned this place. It didn't make it right, but it was definitely a possibility.
Maude clearly thought it all badly done. "If you decide to close down a prison, it's only rational to make sure you've properly disposed of your prisoners. You can kill them, you can take them with you and put them in a new prison, or you can set them free. The Wardens did none of the above. They left the prison to the inmates, and one of them has clearly taken over, and now is gathering minions, using the prison as his base. We'll have to send the Warden-Commander of Tantervale another unpleasant letter, Loghain."
"Yes. Later. Let's move out."
After a few minutes of prowling, they came to a closed door. Maude pressed her ear to it, gestured for silence, and opened it slowly. Loghain could hear voices raised in half-witted conversation.
One idiot said, "Rhatigan says we shall be rewarded if the Blood of the Hawke comes soon. We shall hear our master's voice."
Another voice, thin and whining, complained. "I hate how all of you can hear the Master. I never do."
So that was ghoulish conversation. Very edifying. They moved quickly into the room and killed the two ghouls at once, and then the seven others that came rushing in from a corridor. One of them was a strong bowman, but he was simply swept away by numbers.
The place was a maze: haphazardly constructed, mostly of wood. Sawdust drifted in the murky air. A stray spark could set the entire place ablaze. Loghain gestured the mages close.
"Don't use fire spells. They could be fatal to all of us."
Merrill looked at him blankly, and then it registered. "Oh. Yes. I quite see what you mean."
Maude shot him a sympathetic grin.
"Good. Now that's settled, we won't all have to be burned alive," he muttered to himself.
A quick reconnaissance assured them that no other ghouls were close. Loghain ordered another search of the area. This yielded up even more treasure, including a small and heavy chest that someone had carelessly left under a staircase. It was not even locked.
"Seventeen sovereigns!" Oghren exclaimed. "These sodding, nug-humping dwarf ghouls are rich!"
They passed a series of cells, all with locked doors. Maude picked the locks and found they were strongrooms.
"There's over a thousand sovereigns here!" she said, excited. "Loghain! At this rate, we'll more than pay for our trip to Kirkwall, even counting our tab at the Hanged Man!"
Isabela cleared her throat.
Maude added, "And of course all loot will be shared out fairly and equitably."
The atmosphere cleared, and became as pleasant and cheerful as possible, aside from the general ghoul-stink.
They made their way down more rickety stairs, where they found more mining tracks and more carts, and yet more dusty clutter. Abruptly, they were discovered.
A young dwarf, beardless as Varric, ran toward them. He did not seem hostile, though his eyes were glazed like the rest of the ghouls. Varric stepped forward, his bow lowered.
"Gerav?"
"Varric?" The young face contracted in bewilderment. "No one told me you would be part of this. We were just going after the Hawke!"
"You know each other?" Loghain asked. Was this creature sane enough to tell them something useful?
Varric made the introductions. "Loghain, this is Gerav, a no-good, brilliant, greedy son of bitch. These are Grey Wardens, Gerav, and with them are the Hawkes, whom your friends seem to want to meet."
The faint gleam of intelligence faded. The dwarf 's voice dulled. "The Master is calling. He needs the blood."
"Gerav, buddy!" Varric groaned. "This isn't like you! Look! I've still got Bianca. You remember Bianca? You built Bianca! Never misfired a day in her life. You don't want her to see her Papa like this, do you?
"Er, Varric?" Adam asked. "You want to spare this friend of yours?"
Gerav's face tightened in a vicious smirk, and he drew his sword. A mob of ghouls pounded into the room.
"Not if he's after you, Hawke," Varric replied, grimly raising his bow. "Bianca, I think it's time to say good bye."
The room exploded into controlled violence. Loghain had noticed that as they went deeper into the structure, the ghouls were becoming fiercer. Gerav himself put up quite a fight before Osbeck sheared off his head. The rest of the ghouls were put down; by arrow or blade or springbow bolt. One fell to his death, when Hawke kicked him from the staircase and sent him screaming into space, to land on a pile of rubble three floors down. After it was over, Varric stood over Gerav's body, not exactly grieving, but clearly not happy.
"You poor, stupid bastard." He turned to Maude. "Gerav was always a nutcase, but in a good way. You understand what I mean?"
"He designed Bianca?"
"Yeah. Brilliant. And last I heard he was trying to build a repeater that was even better. I can't believe he ended up like this."
She patted his shoulder. "It wasn't his fault."
As they moved on, the structure gradually evolved from a ramshackle wooden one to something built at least partly of stone. The sensation of ghoul and Taint also grew stronger. They reached a big stone opening with a raised portcullis. Clearly, these dwarves had never imagined an attack. A ranting voice drew them on, and they saw, illuminated by oil lamps, a powerful bearded dwarf.
"Rhatigan," Varric muttered. "That's really Rhatigan himself."
They stepped out into the big chamber, and took their positions. One of Rhatigan's minions spotted them and cried out a hoarse alarm.
Filmy eyed, but with something of his personality remaining, the dwarf swaggered toward them.
"Both Hawkes. How generous. You've made it easy for me. I swore to Corypheus I would bring him your blood."
"Pompous ass!" hissed Maude. "Fanaticism and dwarves do not make for an attractive combination, Varric!"
Heedless of her critique, Rhatigan roared out, "Master! Your sacrifice is here!"
He fought like no ordinary dwarf. Had he drunk dragon's blood? Was he channeling some of his Master's magic? However he did it, he was formidable. He actually knocked an astonished Osbeck down. Kain and Darrow double-teamed him: a feint from one, a slash from another. Isabela somersaulted low and hacked at his legs. Hunter got a grip on a massive arm and slowed the dwarf enough for blades to bite into him. He had a personal guard of a dozen, mostly bowmen, though Ambrose was surprised to come face-to-face with a human mage. A mage who very shortly thereafter was dead.
Varic said, "One of the Coterie's alchemists. The Carta borrows them from time to time. This poor sod got sucked in and Tainted. Nope. No idea who he is."
Rhatigan, as the Carta leader, had a great deal of personal plunder. In a chest, they even found a mage's staff: a staff inscribed with the name "Malcolm Hawke."
"Bethany!" Loghain called. "Come and look at this!"
The girl came forward, a puzzled look in her eyes as she saw her father's name. "It was Father's staff? Or a staff he used? Oh, that is a strange one." She put out her hand to touch it and then cried out as it began sparking. She fell back, and her brother caught her.
"Are you all right?"
"I could feel it," she gasped, wide-eyed. "I could feel it inside me. That's no ordinary staff."
"It's entirely possible," Maude speculated, "that this is the Key they were speaking of. 'The Great One's Key.' They said it only responds to the touch of the Hawke's blood. If it is...then it's going to take us to Corypheus."
"Let me see it," Ambrose asked. "Maybe it's just a very powerful staff..."
If it was, it was certainly temperamental. It did not respond in any way either to Ambrose or to Merrill. It was a completely inert if decorative piece of silverite, onyx, and crystal. To the non-mages of the group—with the exception of Adam Hawke—holding it gave them a dully unpleasant sensation, and they dropped it quickly. Adam could hold it without discomfort, and he said he felt something, but he was not sure what it was.
"You probably have just enough innate magic to do what the dwarves want, but not enough to use it as a real staff," Ambrose remarked. "Sorry, but this is one weapon Bethany can use better than you."
"It's amazing," Bethany murmured. "It's incredibly powerful. I feel like I could do anything with this."
Fenris muttered, "Oh, good. Like rule the world? Mages..."
Bethany pretended not to hear him, and decided to take the new staff with her. If it was the key, they would need it. If it was not, it was still the best staff she had ever held in her hands.
They searched all the alcoves and doorways and hiding places, checking for traps and plunder. There was loot, certainly, but Loghain was even more pleased to find a windlass and a well. The mages inspected the water and pronounced it untainted and fit to drink. Canteens were refilled, and Loghain sent Darrow and Kain to scout ahead. Not too much later, they trotted back to report.
"We've cleared everything out on this level, Commander," said Darrow. "There's a stone staircase ahead that doesn't look like anything we've seen before. Much finer and more finished-like. It goes down a long way."
Kain agreed. "It's different, all right. Older. It looks...important. And there are darkspawn down there, too, ser. Quite a few of them."
Thanks to my reviewers: MsBarrows, Rakeesh14, Judy, Psyche Sinclair, KnightOfHolyLight, EpitomyofShyness, Zute, tgcgoddess, Oleander's One, Jyggilag, anon, Aoi24, Kira Kyuu, Rexiselic, Tsu Doh, Nimh, Jenna53, Phygmalion, Anime-StarWars-fan-zach, mille libri, Josie Lange, JackOfBladesX, Costin, kdarnell2, Thomas Blaine, Mike3207, and Shakespira.
I know that in canon the Key takes the form of Hawke's persona, whether mage, warrior, or rogue, but that simply makes no sense. Malcolm Hawke was a mage, and the key ought to be a staff. And since Bethany is a mage, she get's Daddy's inheritance. It's only fair. Adam got the house.
"All the men are hairy-chested..." I'm quoting a song from the movie The Great Race. I love that goofy film.
I'll post a new chapter of Victory at Ostagar next week. I've got to get Anora down from that tower!