The Thousand Orcs - By R. A. Salvatore Page 0,113

can't be forgetting all the years! All the damned years! More'n any o' yerselfs'll e'er know!"

He ended by wagging an accusing finger at a group of humans seated at a nearby table in the crowded tavern.

Over at the bar, Shingles watched the spectacle with resignation, and he even gave a knowing nod of what was soon to come, when one the humans wagged a finger back at the drunk dwarf and told him to "sit down and shut his hairy mouth."

Was there anyone in Mirabar whose knuckles were not bruised from recent fights?

"Not another one, I pray," came a quiet voice to the side. Shingles turned to regard the dwarf who had taken the stool beside him. The old dwarf nodded and lifted his mug to second the sentiment, but he stopped before the mug even lifted from the bar. "Agrathan?" Shingles asked in surprise.

Councilor Agrathan, dirty and disguised, put a finger to pursed lips, motioning for old Shingles to calm down.

"Aye," he said quietly, looking around to make certain that none were watching. "I heard that trouble was brewing on the streets."

"Trouble's been brewing since yer fool marchion hauled Torgar Hammerstriker back from the road," Shingles pointed out. "Been a dozen fights every day and every night, and now the fool humans arc coming down here, and doin' nothing but causing more trouble."

"Those in the city above have come to view this as a test of loyalty," the councilor explained. "To blood or to town?"

"To town, which to them is of utmost importance." "Ye're speakin' like a human again," Shingles warned. "I'm just telling ye the truth of it," Agrathan protested. "If ye don't want to be hearing that truth, then don't be asking!"

"Bah!" Shingles snorted. He buried his face with the mug, swallowing half its contents in one big gulp. "What about the loyalty of the marchion to the folk o' Mirabar? Ain't that countin' for nothing?"

"Elastul's thinking that he did right by the folk of Mirabar by preventing Torgar from going to Mithral Hall, taking our secrets along with him," Agrathan replied, an argument that Shingles and all the others had heard countless times since Torgar's imprisonment.

"More years than ye'll know from the time yer mother dropped ye to the time they plant ye in the ground!" the drunk dwarf at the table shouted even more loudly and more vehemently.

He was wagging a fist at the men, not just a finger. He threw back his chair and staggered toward the men, who rose as one, along with many other humans in the establishment-and along with many, many dwarves, including the drunk's companions, who rushed to hold the drunk back.

"And more years than the marchion's to rule and to live, and more than the ten marchions before him and a good number yet to come," Shingles added privately to Agrathan. "Torgar and his kin been serving since Mirabar's been Mirabar. Ye just can't be throwing a fellow like that in yer jail and not expecting to stir the folk."

"Elastul remains firm that he did the right thing," Agrathan answered.

For just a moment, Shingles thought he caught a look of regret cross the councilor's face.

"I hope ye're telling him that he's a fool, then," Shingles bluntly replied.

Agrathan's expression went to a stem look.

"Ye should be watching your words concerning our leader," the councilor warned. "I took an oath of loyalty to Mirabar and one to Elastul when I took my place at the table of the Sparkling Stones."

"Are ye threatening me, Agrathan?" Shingles quietly and calmly asked.

"I'm advising you," Agrathan corrected. "Many ears are out and about, don't doubt. Marchion Elastul's well aware that there might be trouble."

"More trouble than Mirabar would e'er've knowed if he just let Torgar alone," Shingles grumbled.

Agrathan gave a great sigh. "I come to you to ask ye to help me calm things down a bit. The place is on the edge of a fall. I can smell it."

Even as he finished, the drunken dwarf broke free of his comrades and launched himself at the humans, beginning a brawl that quickly escalated.

"Well?" Agrathan yelled at Shingles as the place began to erupt. "Are you with me or against me?"

Shingles sat calmly, despite the tornado exploding into fury all around him. So there it was, presented calmly, a choice that he had been mulling over for a month. He looked around at the growing fight, man against dwarf and dwarf against dwarf. Of late, Shingles had been playing the part of the calming voice in

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