"I am not certain that I believe that Torgar would have offered anything other than his friendship to King Bruenor," Agrathan replied.
"And that alone would be worthy of hanging him," Elastul retorted.
The Hammers laughed and agreed, and Agrathan paled, his eyes going wide.
"You can't be thinking.. ."
"No, no, Councilor," Elastul assured him. "I have not constructed any gallows for the traitor dwarf. Not yet, at least. Nor do T intend to. It is as I told you before. Torgar Hammerstriker will remain in prison, not abused, but surely contained, until such time as he sees the truth of things and returns to his own good senses. I'll not risk the wealth of Mirabar on his judgment."
Agrathan seemed to calm a bit at that, but the cloud did not leave his soft (for a dwarf, at least) features. He stroked his long white beard and paused for a bit, deep in thought.
"All that you say is true," he admitted, his vernacular becoming more sophisticated as he calmed. "I do not deny that, Marchion, but your reason, for all of its worth, docs little to alleviate the fires burning brightly beneath this very room. The fires in the hearts of your dwarf subjects—in a good number of them, at least, who named Torgar Delzoun Hammerstriker as a friend."
"They will come to their senses," Elastul replied. "I trust that Agrathan, beloved councilor, will convince them of the necessity of my actions."
Agrathan stared at Elastul for a long time, his expression shifting to one of simple resignation. He understood the reasoning, all along. He understood why Torgar had been taken from his intended road, and why he had been jailed. He understood why Elastul considered it up to him to calm the dwarves.
That didn't mean that Agrathan believed he had any chance of succeeding, though.
"Well good enough for him, I'm saying," one dwarf cried, and banged his fist on the wall. "The fool would o' telled them all our tricks. If he's to be a friend o' Mithral Hall, then throw him in a hole and leave him there!"
"The words of a fool, if ever I heared 'em," yelled another.
"Who ya callin' a fool?"
"Yerself, ye fool!"
The first dwarf charged forward, fists flying. Those around him, rather than try to stop him, came forward right beside him. They met the name-caller and his friends of similar mind.
Toivo Foamblower leaned back against the wall as the fight exploded around him, the fifth fight of that day in his tavern, and this one looking as if it would be the largest and bloodiest of them all.
Out in the street, just beyond his windows, a score of dwarves were fighting with a score of dwarves, rolling and punching, biting and kicking.
"Ye fool, Torgar," Toivo muttered under his breath.
"And ye bigger fool, Elastul!" he added as he dodged a living missile that soared over him, smashing the wall and a sizeable amount of good stock before falling to the floor, groaning and bitching.
It was going to be a long night in the Undercity. A long night indeed.
The scene was repeated in every bar along the Undercity and in the mines, where miner squared off against miner, sometimes with picks raised, as the news of the imprisonment of Torgar Hammerstriker spread like wildfire among the dwarves of Mirabar.
"Good for Elastul!" was shouted all along the dwarven enclaves, only to be inevitably refuted by a shout of "Damn the marchion!"
Raised voices, predictably, led to raised fists.
Outside Toivo's tavern, Shingles McRuff and a group of friends confronted a host of other-minded dwarves, the group spouting the praises of the man who had "stopped the traitor afore he could betray Mirabar to Mithral Hall."
"Ye're seeming a bit happy that Elastul's quick to jail one o' yer own," Shingles argued. "Ye're thinking it a good thing to have a dwarf rotting in a human jail?"
"Might be that I'm thinking it a good thing to have a traitor to Mirabar rotting in a Mirabar jail!" retorted the other dwarf, a tough-looking character with a black beard and eyebrows so bushy that they nearly hid his eyes. "At least until we've built the dog a proper gallows!"
That brought applause from the dwarves behind him, roars of anger from those beside Shingles, and an even more direct opposition response from old Shingles himself in the form of a well-aimed fist.
The black-bearded dwarf hopped backward beneath the weight of the blow, but thanks to the grabbing arms of his companions, not only didn't he fall, but he came rushing right back at Shingles.
The old dwarf was more than ready, lifting his fists as if to block the attack up high, then dropping to his knees at the very last second and jamming his shoulder into the black-bearded dwarf's waist. Up scrambled Shingles, lifting the outraged dwarf high and launching him into his fellows, then leaping in right behind, fists and feet flying.
Battling dwarves rolled all about the street, and the commotion brought many doors swinging open. Those dwarves who came to view the scene wasted little time in jumping right in, flailing away, though in truth they often had little idea which side they were joining. The riot went from street to street and snaked its way into many houses, and more than one had a fire pit overturned, flames leaping to furniture and tapestries.
Amidst it all, there came the blaring of a hundred horns as the Axe of Mirabar charged down from above, some on the lifts, others just setting ropes and swinging over, trying to get down fast before the rioting swept the whole of the Undercity into disaster.
Dwarf against dwarf and dwarf against man, they battled. In the face of the battle joined by humans, some with weapons drawn, many of the dwarves who had initially opposed Shingles and his like-minded companions changed sides. To many of those in the middle ground concerning the arrest of Torgar, it then became a question of loyalty, to blood or to country.
Though nearly half of the dwarves were fighting beside the Axe, and though many, many humans continued to filter down to quell the riot, it took hours to get the supporters of Torgar under control. Even then, the soldiers of the marchion were faced with the unenviable task of containing more than a hundred prisoners.
Hundreds more were watching them, they knew, and the first sign of mistreatment would likely ignite an even larger riot.
To Agrathan, who came late upon the scene, the destruction along the streets, the bloodied faces of so many of his kin, and even more than that the expressions of sheer outrage on so many, showed him the very danger of which he had warned the marchion laid bare. He went to the Axe commanders one by one, pressing for lenience and wise choices concerning the disposition of the prisoners, always with a grim warning that though the top was on the boiling kettle, the fire was still hot beneath it.
"Keep the peace as best ye can, but not a swing too far," Agrathan warned every commander.
After reciting that speech over and over, after pulling one angry guard after another off a prisoner, the exhausted councilor moved to the side of one avenue and plopped down on a stone bench.
"They got Torgar!" came a voice he could not ignore.
He looked up to see a bruised and battered Shingles, who seemed more than ready to break free of the two men who held him and start the row all over again.
"They dragged him from the road and beat him down!"
Agrathan looked hard at the old dwarf, gently patting his hands in the air to try to calm Shingles.
"Ye knew it!" Shingles roared. "Ye knew it all along, and ye're not for caring!"
"I care," Agrathan countered, leaping up from the bench.
"Bah! Ye're a short human, and not a thing more!"
As he shouted the insult, the guards holding Shingles gave a rough jerk, one letting go with one hand to slap the old dwarf across the face.
That was all the opening he needed. He accepted the slap with a growing grin then leaped around, breaking completely free of that one's grasp. Then, without hesitation, he launched his free fist hard into the gut of the soldier still holding him, doubling the man over and loosening his grasp. Shingles tore free completely, twisting and punching to avoid the grasp of the first man.