these nightly brawls, had been taking a diplomatic route in the hopes that Elastul's imprisonment of Torgar would prove a temporary thing, maybe even that Elastul would come to see that he had erred in capturing Torgar in the first place.
"I'm with ye if ye can tell me truly that Elastul'll be lettin' Torgar out soon," he answered.
"The condition hasn't changed," Agrathan replied. "When Torgar denounces his road, Torgar walks free."
"Won't happen."
"Then he won't walk free. Elastul's not moving on this one."
A body came crashing past, flopping over the bar between the pair so quickly that neither was really sure if it had been a human or a dwarf.
"Are you with me or against me?" Agrathan asked again, for the fight was at the critical moment, obviously, just about to get out of control.
"Thought I gived ye me answer three tendays ago," Shingles replied.
As a reminder, he balled up his fist and laid Agrathan low with a single heavy punch.
For all the like-minded dwarves in the tavern that night, those on the line of divided loyalties, Shingles's action came as a signal to fight. For all those, human and dwarf, of the opposite mind, the punch thrown by this leader of Torgar's supporters was a call to arms.
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