mind, using it to bolster his resolve, to remind himself that he was indeed doing the right thing, that he wasn't forsaking Mirabar so much as Mirabar, in mistreating King Bruenor, and in scolding any who dared befriend the visiting leader, had forsaken him. This was not the robust and proud city of his ancestors, Torgar had decided. This was not a city determined to lead through example. This was a city on the decline. One more determined to bring down their rivals through deceit and sabotage than to elevate themselves above those who would vie with them for markets
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?"