all the marchions of Mirabar, humans all, the Delzoun heritage could be both a blessing and a curse. That Delzoun heritage bound the dwarves to this land, and this land bound them to the marchion. But that Delzoun heritage also bound them to a commonality of their own race, one apart from the marchion. Why was it, after all, that every time Agrathan spoke of the weight of Elastul's decision to imprison the traitor Torgar, he used, and emphasized, that middle name?
"So they know," Elastul remarked. "Perhaps that is the proper thing, in the end. Surely most of the dwarves of Mirabar recognize Torgar Hammerstriker as the traitor that he is, and surely many of those same dwarves, merchants among them, craftsmen among them, understand and appreciate the damage the traitor might have caused to us all if he had been allowed to travel to our hated enemies."
"Enemies?"
"Rivals, then," the marchion conceded. "Do you believe that Mithral Hall would not welcome the information that the traitor dwarf might have offered?"
"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!"