“Well, well, well,” the sergeant chuckled, seemingly more amused by the turn of events than Kre thought he should be. “Quite the conundrum here. What to do… what to do?”
Virryn stepped up behind Ortho and placed a hand on the Dweorvkin’s shoulder just as Ortho opened his mouth in preparation for his retort. At her tough, he pressed his lips together firmly and stood up a little straighter, presenting quite the formidable foe, even though he was armed only with a pair of wrought iron dinner knives.
“It would be best for you and your men to lay down arms,” Virryn said softly. “We have no desire to shed any more blood than absolutely necessary.”
The anger behind the eyes of the six armed figures around her seemed to indicate otherwise, but they held their places stoically and made no move to instigate violence without her say so.
The sergeant looked over each of his former prisoners. Half a dozen Dweorvkin in various stages of malnourishment and physical health, but all six with furious hatred in their eyes. He glanced at the weapons they held in their thick, scarred hands.
One with a pair of dinner knives.
One with a kitchen mallet normally used to tenderize thick cuts of meat.
Two each with a serving fork, one slightly bent.
Two with the swords of the guardsmen he sent in to settle down the rowdy bunch.
He tried to peer behind, to see if his men were alive or not, but the door was partially shut. He had to assume the worst though, given that no sounds of injured men were issuing out from the cell.
Eyes narrowed, a small growl started deep in his throat. “Go then, see how far you get.” He stepped back, dragging Kre by the neck from behind. He jerked his head and his two remaining men stepped back as well, leaving the path open to the hallway beyond. “Know that you won’t get far, and that the punishment will be severe. Even for a pet of the Master. I imagine he’ll let me cut off your feet for this. After all, you won’t need them with the new job you’ll have.”
The four Dweorvkin that were unknown to Kre started to shift sideways as if to make for the passage, but Ortho and Gnore shook their heads. “The boy too,” Gnore said, gesturing to Kre. “The boy goes free too.”
“Ah,” the sergeant chuckled. “That’s a definite no. For, as you can see,” he grabbed Kre’s hair and pulled his head sharply to one side, “he ain’t one of you.”
“He ain’t one’er you neither,” Gnore snapped back. “That lad be safer with us.”
“No,” the sergeant snapped back. “You walk now or never, but this boy… this traitor to his kind… he stays and pays for his part in all of this. You’ll all pay, but his punishment starts now and won’t end until every last one of you is back in a cell or dead on the ground. Up to you on how long that takes, I suppose.” He tightened his grip and Kre started to see blackness creeping in along the edges of his vision as his head began to feel light.
“Yer outnumbered, six on three,” Ortho said with a sad shake of his head. “Just give’im up.”
“I have no doubt my two men can handle the lot of you… especially as you can barely stand, but I’ll make this easier. Drop your… dinnerware, and I won’t rip the boy’s throat out.”
Ortho’s eyes flickered for a moment, as he calculated the distance between him and where the sergeant had Kre firmly held. Even Kre could tell that it was too far for him to make in time, especially as he knew the sergeant to be more dexterous than he seemed for a man of his size.
There was no time for Virryn and the Dweorvkin to respond as all eyes immediately darted to the open passageway as the soft sound of jingling armor echoed from beyond.