Just before he reached the gate, where a pair of dwarf guards stood looking at him incredulously and a pair of human guards stood scowling at him, Torgar was hailed by a familiar voice.
"Do not be doing this," Agrathan advised, running up beside the stern-faced dwarf.
"Don't ye be tryin' to stop me."
"There is more at stake here than one dwarf deciding to move," the councilor tried to explain. "Ye understand this, don't ye? Ye're knowing that all your kinfolk are watching ye and that your actions are starting dangerous whispering among our people?"
Torgar stopped abruptly and turned his head toward the frantic Agrathan. He wanted to comment on the dwarf's accent, which was leaning more toward the human way of speaking than the dwarven. He found it curiously fitting that Agrathan, the liaison, the mediator, seemed to speak with two distinct voices.
"Might be past time the dwarfs o' Mirabar started asking them questions ye're so fearin'."
Agrathan shook his head doubtfully, gave a shrug and a resigned sigh.
Torgar held the stare for a moment longer, then turned and stomped toward the door, not even pausing to consider the expressions of the four guards standing there, or the multitude of folks, human and dwarf alike, who were following him, the horde moving right up to the gate before stopping as one.
One brave soul yelled out, "Moradin's blessings to ye, Torgar Hammers triker!"
A few others yelled out less complimentary remarks.
Torgar just kept walking, putting the setting sun at his back.
"Predictable fool," Djaffar of the Hammers remarked to the soldiers beside him, all of them astride heavily armored warhorses.
They sat behind the concealment of many strewn rocks on a high bluff to the northeast of Mirabar's eastern gate, from which a lone figure had emerged, walking proudly and determinedly down the road.
Djaffar and his contingent weren't surprised. They had heard of the exodus only a few moments before Torgar had climbed the ladder out of the Undercity, but they had long-ago prepared for just such an eventuality. Thus, they had ridden out quietly through the north gate, while all eyes had been on the dwarf marching toward the eastern one. A roundabout route had brought them to this position to sit and wait.
"If it were up to me, I'd kill him here on the road and let the vultures have his rotting flesh," Djaffar told the others. 'And good enough for the traitor! But Marchion Elastul's softer in the heart—his one true weakness—and so you understand your role here?"
In response, three of the riders looked to the fourth, who held up a strong net.
"You give him one chance to surrender. Only one," Djaffar explained.
The four nodded their understanding.
"When, Hammer Djaffar?" one of them asked.
"Patience," the seasoned leader counseled. "Let him get far from the gate, out of sight and out of their hearing. We have not come out here to start a riot, but only to prevent a traitor from bringing all of our secrets to our enemies."
The grim faces looking back at Djaffar assured him that these hand-picked warriors understood their role, and the importance of it.
They caught up to Torgar a short while later, with dusk settling thick about the land. The dwarf was sitting on a rock, rubbing his sore feet and shaking the stones out of his boots, when the four riders swiftly approached. He started to jump up, even reached for his great axe, but then, apparently recognizing the riders for who they were, he just sat back down and assumed a defiant pose.
The four warriors charged up and encircled him, their trained mounts bristling with eagerness.
A moment later, up rode Djaffar. Torgar gave a snort, seeming hardly surprised.
'Torgar Hammerstriker," Djaffar announced. "By the edict of Marchion Elastul Raurym, I declare you expatriated from Mirabar."
"Already done that meself," the dwarf replied.
"It is your intention to continue along the eastern road to Mithral Hall and the court of King Bruenor Battlehammer?"
"Well, I'm not for thinking that King Bruenor's got the time for seein' me, but if he asked, I'd be goin' to sec him, yes."
It was all said so casually, so matter-of-factly, that the faces of the five men tightened with anger, which seemed to please Torgar all the more.
"In that event, you are guilty of treason to the crown."
"Treason?" Torgar huffed. "Ye're declarin' a war on Mithral Hall, are ye?"
"They arc our known rivals."
"That don't make me goin' there treason."
"Espionage, then!" Djaffar yelled. "Surrender now!"
Torgar studied him carefully for a moment, showing no emotion and no indication of what might happen next. He did glance over at his heavy axe, lying to the side.
That was all the excuse the Mirabarran guards needed. The two to Torgar's left dropped their net between them and spurred their horses forward, running past on either side of the dwarf, plucking him from his seat and bouncing him down to the ground in the strong mesh.
Torgar went into a frenzy, tearing at the cords, trying to pull himself free, but the other two guards were right there, drawing forth solid clubs and dropping from their mounts. Torgar thrashed and kicked, even managed to bite one, but he was at an impossible disadvantage.
The soldiers had the dwarf beaten to semi-consciousness quickly, and managed to extricate him from the net soon after, unstrapping and removing his fine plate armor.
"Let the city find slumber before we return," Djaffar explained to them. "I have arranged with the Axe to ensure that no dwarves are on the wall this night."
Shoudra Stargleam was not truly surprised, when she thought about it, but she was surely dismayed that night. The sceptrana stood on her balcony, enjoying the night and brushing her long black hair when she noted a commotion by the city's eastern gate, of which her balcony provided a fine view.
The gates opened wide and some riders entered. Shoudra recognized Djaffar of the Hammers from his boastfully plumed helmet. Though she could make out few details, it wasn't hard for the Sceptrana to guess the identity of the diminutive figure walking behind the riders, stripped down to breeches and a torn shirt and with his hands chained before him, on a lead to the rear horse.
She held quiet but did nothing to conceal herself as the prisoner caravan wound its way right beneath her balcony.
There, shuffling along behind the four, and being prodded by the fifth, came Torgar Hammerstriker, bound and obviously beaten.
They hadn't even let the poor fellow put his boots on.
"Oh, Elastul, what have you done?" Shoudra quietly asked, and there was great trepidation in her voice, for she knew that the marchion might have erred and badly.
The knock on her door sounded like a wizard's thunderbolt, jarring Shoudra from her restless sleep. She leaped out of bed and scrambled reflexively to answer it, only half aware of where she was.
She pulled the door open, then stopped cold, seeing Djaffar standing there leaning on the wall outside her apartment. She noted his eyes, roaming her body head to toe, and became suddenly conscious of the fact that she was wearing very little that warm summer's night, just a silken shift that barely covered her.
Shoudra edged the door closed a bit and moved modestly behind it, peering out through the crack at the leering, grinning Hammer.