“Time’s up, I’m afraid,” the sergeant said with wide grin. “That’d be our backup. Drop your weapons and get back in the cell. We might be more lenient that way.”
Two of the four Dweorvkin that were unknown to Kre, the ones with the serving forks, looked at each other with true fear starting to show in their eyes. Kre was worried they’d either make a break for it, taking their chances with the two guards coming down, or they’d just drop to the ground cowering in fear. Either way, it would greatly reduce their collective chance of making it through this alive.
The sergeant wrenched Kre’s arm behind his back and gave it a sharp twist, sending a jolt of pain across his shoulder and into his already taut neck. “Convince them to give up boy,” the sergeant hissed in his ear. “You’d be saving their lives, and yours.”
“I… hrg…” Kre gasped, trying to obtain enough air to respond, though he had no intent of warning off his friends. They were too far beyond the point of no return to give up now. He knew that Ortho and Gnore would rather go down fighting than be subjected to imprisonment again.
The grip on his neck loosened just enough to allow him a single, sharp breath of stale cavern air. It also allowed him just enough movement to slam his head back into the sergeant’s nose.
Kre had to hand it to the veteran guard. His iron grip never wavered despite the head smash to the face.
“You little…” the sergeant spat. He seemed about to say more, but two armored figures started to emerge from the passageway. The growl turned into a laugh as he saw his two men come into view. “Round them up boys!”
The iron grip tightened once more as the sergeant called out again, “Pick one boy. Pick one to die or I’ll kill one of my own choosing in addition to the elf!”
This time there was no space for a crazy escape maneuver. The sergeant knew his craft well and Kre was as immobile as he could be without dislocating something.
“You should not force such a choice on such a young boy,” came the familiar quiet murmur that was the trademark of Kersath. “Release him, or it will not go well for any of you.”
All three of the remaining guards turned as one, and there was an immediate and joint realization that the two new guards were not their companions, Piper and Gund. Kersath looked sharp in the guard’s armor and uniform, and save for his hair and skin color, could have easily passed for one of the Master’s men.
The other figure was less at ease in his Tehynshin guard’s gear, though his face blended in far better than Kersath’s. Talimar was just a hair too tall and a bit too wiry for his borrowed armor and the look on his face expressed that he had thought it stupid to try and deceive the guards in this manner. Now that the jig was up, he started to pull the ill-fitting armor off though he still somehow managed to maintain the threat of his bared blade against the real guards.
“Release the boy and you get to live.” It would have been a chilling statement even if it didn’t come from Kersath. As it was, the two guards gave each other the same look that the two fork-wielding Dweorvkin had given each other earlier. They were almost certainly wondering just what happened to the real Piper and Gund, and maybe they even spared a thought for the other guard they had sent up there to relieve them.
“As I told the dirty dwarves,” the sergeant snapped in retort, “you can go and make your run for as long as you can. The boy stays with his own kind.”