Crypt of the shadowking - Mark Anthony [114]
"They want to go on, Tyveris," Kyana said softly. She and the monk stood slightly apart from the mass of prisoners who huddled in the dim dungeon corridor. Not two hundred paces down the passageway was the dungeon's central chamber-and the Zhentarim.
"By all the gods, they'll be killed, every one of them," Tyveris rumbled as quietly as he could. Tyveris cast a glance back at the cityfolk. They stood in the corridor, their faces pale, their hands gripping their weapons tightly. "If we head back to the thieves' entrance now, at least some of these cityfolk will be able to escape," he growled.
Kyana shook her head. "They're not going to retreat," she said fiercely. "Look at them, monk. These folk are ready to fight. All you have to do is give the word."
"I can't," Tyveris said, shaking his head. His dark eyes were mournful behind his spectacles. "Maybe Mari could have, but I cannot."
Then we have no hope of driving the Zhentarim from the city," Kyana said flatly.
The two returned to the crowd of prisoners. However, when Tyveris told them of his intention to turn back, a burly man with the calloused hands of a blacksmith stepped forward.
"Begging your pardon, sire," he said hesitantly, "but I don't think there's any here who want to turn back." The crowd murmured in agreement. "You see, it wouldn't be right for us to escape while all the others are still caged up like so many animals. Besides, we've had enough of Cutter and her guards." He shook the stout cudgel he gripped in his hand. "We've acted like frightened pups long enough. Now's the time to fight"
Tyveris opened his mouth to protest, but the sound of quickly padding footsteps stopped him. Talim pushed his way through the crowd of prisoners, breathing hard.
"There are a dozen guards patrolling the corridors not far from here, and they're headed this way," the young thief said hoarsely.
Tyveris groaned in dismay. They couldn't get back to the thieves' entrance without fighting the patrol. And if they did that the other Zhentarim were bound to hear the noise and rush to join the fray.
"It seems your decision has been made for you," Kyana said, watching Tyveris carefully.
Tyveris was silent for a long while. Finally he spoke. 'To the stairs," was all he said.
Tyveris was forced to admit that when the cityfolk rushed into the dungeon's central chamber it was a glorious moment. "Iriaebor!" the prisoners cried as they raised their weapons high. "For the Thousand Spires!"
They poured down the ramp which led into the large, circular chamber. Those prisoners who bore crossbows loosed a rain of bolts down upon the Zhentarim from the high walkway that circled the room.
Yet the Zhentarim had been warned there would be a battle that night and were not caught unaware. A few fell with arrows quivering in chest or throat, but far more blocked the flurry of deadly bolts with wooden shields. The rest of the prisoners streamed into the chamber, and the room erupted into chaos.
Abruptly two score prisoners came rushing out of one of the cell blocks, knocking several spear-wielding guards aside. Talim was with them. Somehow the wiry young thief had slipped past the guards and freed the prisoners. They dashed into the chamber, grabbing weapons from fallen Zhents or fighting with the very chains that bound their wrists. Even so, the battle-hardened Zhents pushed them back with almost comic ease.
It's not enough, Tyveris realized, standing numbly on the edge of the battle. They have the hearts of lions, but their hands are those of merchants and artisans, not warriors. He tried to say a prayer to his god, but his lips were unable to form the words. Already the cityfolk were faltering. In minutes, it would be over.
The battle surged before him. A prisoner, a young woman hardly more than a girl, was clumsily brandishing a rusty sword, fending off the hard blows of a grinning guard. Even as Tyveris watched, the sword spun from her hand to clatter against the slate floor. The Zhent's grin broadened luridly