Within seconds, everyone in the tavern was into it, and it began to spill onto the streets. Out there, of course, more were drawn in, mostly dwarves, and more on Shingles's side than opposing.
As the fight tilted Shingles's way, the Axe of Mirabar arrived in force, brandishing weapons and telling the dwarves to disperse. This time, unlike all the previous, the dwarf supporters of Torgar Hammerstriker were ready to take their case to a higher authority.
Many ran off at the first sign of the Axe, only to return in full battle gear, wearing mail and with weapons drawn, in numbers far greater than the ranks of the policing Axe. In the ensuing standoff, more and more of Shingles's allies ran to get their gear, as well, and many of those dwarves opposing Shingles threw insults freely, or warned against the action.
But surprisingly few would go to that next level and take up arms against their kin.
The standoff held for a long time, but as the dwarves' numbers increased—one hundred, two hundred, four hundred—the predominantly human soldiers of the Axe began to shrink back toward the lifts that would take them back to the overcity.
"Ye're not wanting this fight," Shingles called to them. He had taken his position at the front center of the mob of dwarves. "Not over that one dwarf ye got jailed."
"The marchion's word. ." the leader of the Axe contingent yelled back.
"Won't be much good if ye’re all dead, now will it?" Shingles interrupted.
He could hardly believe he was speaking those words aloud, could hardly believe that he, and those following him, were taking this road. It was a path that would lead to the overcity, certainly, and likely right out of the city. This wasn't like the initial riot, which was based solely on shock and sheer emotion. The tone was different. This was a revolt more than a riot.
"Seems ye got yer choice, boys," Shingles bellowed. "Ye want to fight us, then fight us, but one way or th' other, we're gettin' Torgar back among them where he's belongin'!"
As Shingles finished, he noticed the bloodied Agrathan standing off to the side, looking at him plaintively, a desperate expression begging him to reconsider this most dangerous course.
As he finished, the dwarves behind him, hundreds strong, gave out a round of wild cheers and began to move inexorably forward, like a great, unstoppable wave.
The doubt was easily recognizable on the faces of the Mirabarran soldiers, as clear as was the resolve stamped upon the grim face of every dwarf marching behind Shingles.
It wasn't much of a battle, there in the Undercity, in the great corridor just off the lift area. A few hits were traded, a couple of them serious, but the Axe gave way, running back to the room with all the lifting platforms and barring the doors. Shingles's dwarves pounded on them for a bit, but in an orderly fashion, they followed their leader down another side corridor, one that would get them to the surface along a winding, sloping tunnel.
Agrathan, his face bloody and bruised, stood before them, alone.
"Do not do this," the councilor pleaded.
"Get outta our way, Agrathan," Shingles told him, firmly but with a measure of respect. "Ye tried yer way in getting Torgar out—I know ye did—but Elastul's not for listening to ye. Well, he'll be listening to us!"
The cheers behind Shingles drowned out Agrathan's responses and told the councilor beyond all doubt that the dwarves would not be deterred. He turned and ran along the tunnel ahead of the marching mob, who took up an ancient war song, one that had rung out from Mirabar's walls many times over the millennia.
That sound, as much as anything else, nearly broke Agrathan's heart.
The councilor rushed through the positions of the Axe warriors at the tunnel's exit in the overcity, bidding the commanders to wield their force judiciously.
Agrathan ran on, down the streets toward Elastul's palace.
"What is it?" came a cry behind him and to the side.
He didn't slow, but turned his head enough to see Sceptrana Shoudra Stargleam coming out of one avenue, waving for him to wait for her. He kept running and motioned for her to catch up instead.
"They are in revolt," Agrathan told her.
Shoudra's expression after the initial shock showed that she was not so surprised by the news.
"How serious are they?" she asked as she ran along beside Agrathan.
"If Elastul will not release Torgar Hammerstriker, then Mirabar will know war!" the dwarf assured her.
Djaffar was waiting for the pair when they arrived at Elastul's palace. He leaned on the door jamb, seeming almost bored.
"The news beat you here," he explained.
"We must act, and quickly!" Agrathan cried. "Assemble the council. There is no time to spare."
"The council need not get involved," Djaffar began.
"The marchion has agreed to the release?" Shoudra cut in.
"This is a job for the Axe, not the council," Djaffar went on. seeming supremely confident. "The dwarves will be put down."
Agrathan trembled as if he would explode — and he did just that, leaping at the Hammer and putting a lock on the man's throat, pulling Djaffar down to the ground.
A bright flash of light ended that, blinding both combatants, and in the moment of surprise, the Hammer managed to pull away. Both looked to Shoudra Stargleam, the source of the magic.
"The whole of the city will act thusly," the woman said sourly.
Even as she finished the sound of battle, of metal on metal, rang out in the night air.
"This is the purest folly!" Agrathan cried. "The city will tear apart because of—"
"The actions of one dwarf!" Djaffar interrupted.
"The stubbornness of Elastul!" Agrathan corrected. "Show us to him. Will he sit there quiet in his house while Mirabar burns down around him?"
Djaffar started to respond, his expression holding its steady, sour edge, but then Shoudra intervened, stepping up to the man and fixing him with an uncompromising glower. She walked right by him into the house.
"Elastul!" Shoudra called loudly. "Marchion!"
A door to the side banged open and the marchion, flanked by the other three Hammers, swept into the foyer.
"I told you to control them!" Elastul yelled at Agrathan.
"Nothing will control them now," the dwarf shot back.
"Nothing short of the Axe," Djaffar corrected.
"Not even yer Axe!" Agrathan cried, his voice taking on an unmistakable reversion to his Dwarvish accent. "Torgar's part o' that Axe, or have ye forgotten? And five hundred of me … of my people count among the two thousand of your ranks. You'll have a quarter that won't fight with you if you're lucky, and a quarter that will join the enemy if you're not."
"Get out there," Elastul told Agrathan, "and speak to them. Your people are sorely outnumbered here, good dwarf. Would you have them slaughtered?"
Agrathan trembled visibly, his lips chewing on words that would not come. He turned and ran out of the house, following the volume of the battle, which predictably led him toward the town's jail.
"The dwarves are more formidable than you believe," Shoudra Stargleam told Elastul.
"We will defeat them."
"To what end?" the Sceptrana asked. It was hard to deter Elastul on such a matter by reasoning concerning losses to his soldiers, since his own safety didn't really seem to be at stake, but by changing the subject to the not-so-little matter of profits, she quickly gained the marchion's attention. "The dwarves are our miners, the only miners we have capable of bringing up proper ore."
"We'll get more," the marchion retorted.
Shoudra shot him a doubtful look.
"What would you have me do?"
"Release Torgar Hammerstriker," the Sceptrana replied.
Elastul winced.