The Two Swords th-3 Read online

  Bruenor gave no indication to Regis that he was doubting the wisdom of the suggestion, though. The halfling had proven himself many times over in the last tendays, by all accounts, and his insight and understanding was a resource Bruenor had no intention of squashing.

  "Come along, Rumblebelly," he said with a toothy grin. "Let's go see how Ivan and Pikel are getting on. Might be that they know allies we haven't yet considered."

  "Cadderly?"

  "Was thinking more of the elves of the Moonwood," Bruenor explained. "Seems them two came through there on their way to Mithral Hall. I'm thinking it'd be a good thing to get them elves putting arrows and magic across the Surbrin to soften our enemy's entrenchment."

  "How would we get word to them?" Regis asked. "The elves, I mean. Do we have tunnels that go that far east and north?"

  "How'd Pikel get him and Ivan there in the first place?" Bruenor replied with an exaggerated wink. "By Ivan's telling, it's got something to do with trees and roots. We ain't got no trees, but we got plenty o' roots, I'm thinking."

  Regis put on his best Pikel voice when he replied, "Hee hee hee."

  * * * * *

  Tred McKnuckles emphatically raised a finger to his pursed lips, reminding the dwarven catapult team that silence was essential.

  Bellan Brawnanvil mimicked the movement back to Tred in agreement and tapped his sideslinger pull crew to ease up on their movements as they worked to set the basket. Mounted on the side of the jamb of a hallway door, the sideslinger catapult served as the staple war engine of the outer defenses of Mithral Hall. Its adjustable arm length made it the perfect war engine to fit any situation, and in the east, so close to the great flowing river that the stones continually hummed with the reverberations of its currents, the catapults were front-line and primary. For just beyond the group's present position in the eastern reaches of the complex, the tunnels dived down into the wilds of the Underdark. Even in times of peace, the eastern sideslingers were often put to use, chasing back umber hulks or displacer beasts, or any of the other dark denizens of those lightless corridors.

  By his own request, Tred had come down for duty right after the door to Keeper's Dale had been sealed, for the position oversaw those tunnels that connected Mithral Hall, through the upper Underdark, to Citadel Felbarr, Tred's home. From that very spot, a location where an ironbound door that could be quickly and tightly sealed, emissaries from Steward Regis had gone out to gain audience with King Emerus Warcrown of Citadel Felbarr, to tell Emerus the tale of Tred and Nikwillig, and his missing caravan.

  Tred had remained there for many hours, taking double shifts, and staying even when he was not on watch. The only time he'd gone back to the main halls of Clan Battlehammer's complex had been that very day, for he had been summoned to meet with King Bruenor. He had just returned from that meeting, to find his companions all astir at reports of movement in the east.

  Tred stood with them anxiously and thought, Is this the front end of yet another attack by Obould's masses? Some monstrous Underdark creature coming forth in search of a meal? The return of the emissaries, perhaps?

  Beyond the door, the tunnel sloped down into a roughly circular natural chamber that branched off in several directions. Ready to turn that chamber into a killing ground, the dwarves opposite the sideslinger readied several kegs of highly flammable oil. At the first sign of trouble, the dwarves would lead, rolling the barrels down into the lower room, contents spilling on the floor, then the sideslinger would let fly a wad of burning pitch.

  Bellan Brawnanvil signaled Tred and the barrel-rollers that the catapult was ready, and all the dwarves hushed, more than one falling to the floor and putting an ear to the stone.

  They heard a sound below, from one of the tunnels off the circular chamber.

  A barrel was silently brought into place at the top of the ramp and an eager young dwarf put his shoulder behind it, ready to send it bouncing down.

  Tred peered anxiously around the door jamb above that barrel, straining his eyes in the darkness. He caught the flicker of torchlight.

  So did the dwarf behind the barrel, and he gave a little yelp and started to shove.

  But Tred stopped him before he ever began, waggling a finger at him and fixing him with a scowl. A moment later, all were glad that he did, for they heard, "Bah, ye great snorter of pig-sweat, ye turned us all about again!"

  "Did not, yer mother's worst mistake! This ain't no chamber we been through."

  "Been through and been out four times, ye dolt!"

  "Ain't not!"

  Tred and the dwarves around him grinned widely.

  "Well, if ye been through four times, then ye been through with a lot less racket than ye're making now, ye fat-bellied bearded bunch o' archery targets!" Tred hollered.

  Below him, the chamber went silent, and the light quickly flickered out.

  "Oh, so now ye're the sneaky things?" Tred asked. "Step up and be recognized, be ye Warcrown or Battlehammer!"

  "Warcrown!" came a shout from below, a voice that sparked some recognition in Tred.

  "Battlehammer!" said another, and the dwarves in the room recognized it as Sindel Muffinhead, one of the emissaries sent out by Steward Regis, a young acolyte, and expert pie baker, who named the now famous Cordio as his older brother.

  Torches flared to life below and several figures moved into sight, then began stomping up the ramp. As they neared, Tred noted an old friend.

  "Jackonray Broadbelt!" he called. "Been a halfling's meal and more since I last seen ye!"

  "Tred, me friend!" replied Jackonray, leading the way into the room for his seven companions, including Sindel, but not the other emissary.

  Jackonray wore heavy armor with dark gray metal plates set on thick leather. His helm was bowl-shaped and ridged, and topped a shock of gray hair that reached out wildly from beneath its metal hem. Jackonray's beard was not so unkempt, though, and was streaked with hair the color of gold and lines the color of silver, braided together to give the dwarf a very distinctive and distinguished appearance. In accord with his surname, his girdle was wide and decorated with sparkling jewels. He rested the elbow of his weapon arm on it as he continued, "Sorry I am to hear o' yer brother." He patted Tred hard on the shoulder with a hand that seemed as hard as stone.

  "Aye, Duggan was a good friend."

  "And a loyal companion. A tribute to yer family."

  Tred reached up and solemnly squeezed Jackonray's thick and strong arm.

  "Ye come from King Emerus, then, and with good news, I'm thinking," Tred remarked a moment later. "Let's get ye to King Bruenor."

  "Aye, straightaways."

  The pair and Sindel moved off at a swift pace, the other Felbarran dwarves falling in line behind them. As they wound through the more populated reaches of Mithral Hall, more than a few Battlehammer dwarves took up the march, as well, so that by the time they crossed through the great Undercity and climbed along the main tunnels leading to Bruenor's chamber, nearly fifty dwarves formed the procession, many of them chatting amongst themselves, exchanging information about their respective strongholds. Other runners went far ahead to announce them to Bruenor long before they arrived.

  "Where's Nikwillig, then?" asked Jackonray, rolling along at Tred's side.

  "Still out there in the North," Tred explained, and there was no mistaking the sudden graveness to his tone. "Nikwillig went out to the mountains in the east to send back a signal, and he knew in doing it that he'd not easily get back into Mithral Hall. Felt he—we, owed it to Bruenor, since he done so much to help us avenge our lost kin."

  "Seems proper," said Jackonray. "But if he's not in now, he's likely dead."

  "Aye, but he died a hero," said Tred. "And no dwarf's ever asking more than that."

  "What more than that might ye ask?" asked Jackonray.

  "Here, here," added Sindel.

  When the troupe arrived at Bruenor's audience chamber door, they found it wide open, with the dwarf king inside on his throne, awaitin
g their arrival.

  "King Bruenor, I give ye Jackonray Broadbelt," Tred said with a bow. "Of the Hornriver Broadbelts, first cousins to King Emerus Warcrown himself. Jackonray here's King Warcrown's own nephew, and a favored one at that. Sixth in line for the throne, by last count, behind King Emerus's five sons."

  "Sixth or twenty-fifth, depending upon King Warcrown's disposition," Jackonray said with a wink. "He's one for keeping us guessing."

  "Aye, and a smart choice that's always been," said Bruenor.

  "Yer ambassadors're telling me King Emerus that ye've come against Obould Many-Arrows," Jackonray said.

  "One and the same, by all I'm hearing."

  "Well, King Bruenor, know that Obould's a smart one, as orcs go. Ye take great care in handling this snortsnout."

  "He sealed me and me kin inside the hall," Bruenor explained. "Shut the east door by the Surbrin."

  "Felbarr scouts have seen as much," Jackonray said. "And them giants and orcs're building defenses all along the river's western bank."

  "And they drove me kin in from the western door, in Keeper's Dale," Bruenor admitted. "I'd not thinked that Clan Battlehammer could be put underground by a bunch o' stinkin' orcs, but what a bunch it is. Thousands and thousands."

  "And led by one that knows how to fight," said Jackonray. "Know in yer heart, King Bruenor, that if Obould's got ye in here, then Obould's thinking to come in after ye."

  "That'll cost him."

  "Dearly, I'm sure, good King Bruenor."

  "They been fighting in the south tunnels a bit already," Bruenor reported. "With smelly trolls and not orcs, but the battling's not so heavy."

  Jackonray stroked his silver and gold beard. "Lady Alustriel of Silvery-moon's been sending out the word of a wide push from the Trollmoors. One that's threatened all the lands south of here. It's as big a fight as we thinked we'd ever be seeing, don't ye doubt. But know that Obould's not to let it sit, and not to let you sit. By all me experience in fighting that dog, and I've had more than ye know, if there's fighting in the south, then prepare for something bigger from the north, east, or west. Obould's got you in a hole, but he's not to let you stay, even if it costs him every orc, goblin, and giant he can find."

  "Stupid orcs," Tred muttered.

  "Aye, and that's just why they're so dangerous," Bruenor said. He looked from the two dwarves to his own advisors, then back at Jackonray directly. "Well, then, what's coming from Felbarr?"

  "I appreciate yer bluntness," Jackonray said with another low bow. "And I'm here to tell ye not to doubt us. Felbarr's behind ye to the last, King Bruenor.

  All our gold and all our dwarves. Right now we got hundreds working the tunnels under the Surbrin, securing the line all the way from Mithral Hall to Felbarr. We'll have them open and secure, don't ye doubt."

  Bruenor nodded his gratitude, but at the same time motioned with his hand that he wanted to hear more.

  "We'll set it as a trade and supply route," Jackonray went on. "King Emerus telled me to tell yerself that we'll work as agents for Mithral Hall in yer time o' need, no commission taken."

  That brought a concerned look to Bruenor's face, and it was a look mirrored on all the Battlehammers in attendance.

  "Ye're to need to get yer goods to market, and so we'll be yer market," Jackonray stated.

  "Ye're sounding like we're to give Obould all that he's got and let him keep it," Bruenor voiced.

  For the first time since the meeting commenced, Jackonray seemed a bit less than sure of himself.

  "No, we're not for that, but King Emerus is thinking that it's to take some time to push the orcs back," Jackonray explained.

  "And when time's come to do the pushing?"

  "If it comes to fighting, then we'll shore up yer ranks, shoulder to shoulder," Jackonray insisted. "Know in yer Delzoun heart, King Bruenor, that Felbarr's with ye, dwarf to dwarf. When the fighting's starting, we'll be with ye. And not just Felbarr, don't ye doubt, though it'll take Citadel Adbar longer to mobilize her thousands."

  The show of solidarity touched Bruenor deeply, to be sure, but he didn't miss the equivocation to Jackonray's remark. The other leaders of the region had taken note of the orc march, indeed, but there was apparently some discussion going on about what they should, or even could, do about it.

  "In the meanwhile, we'll get those tunnels opened and safe for ye to move yer goods through to Felbarr and out to market," Jackonray offered, and Bruenor, who hadn't even entertained such a thought, who hadn't even begun to resign himself to that grim possibility, merely nodded.

  * * * * *

  "That orc was something … beyond any orc," Wulfgar remarked. With a frame closer to seven feet than six, and hardened in the wilderness of the tundra of Icewind Dale, the barbarian was as strong as any man, and so he thought, stronger than any orc. But the brutish creature who had cut Shoudra Stargleam in half had taught Wulfgar better, tossing the barbarian aside with a shrug. "It was as if I was pushing against a falling mountainside."

  Catti-brie understood his shock and distress. It wasn't often that Wulfgar, son of Beornegar, had been bested in a test of sheer strength. Even giants had not thrown him aside with such seeming ease. "They're saying it was Obould Many-Arrows, himself," she replied.

  "He and I will meet again," Wulfgar vowed, his crystalline blue eyes sparkling at the thought.

  Catti-brie limped up beside him and gently brushed his long blond hair from the side of his face, forcing him to turn and look at her directly.

  "You don't be doing anything foolhardy," she said softly. "We'll get Obould, don't you doubt, but we'll get him in the proper order of business. We'll get him as we'll get all of them, and there's no room for personal vengeance here. Bigger stakes than pride."

  Wulfgar snickered and smiled. "True enough," he replied, "and yet, you're not believing the words any more than you're expecting me to believe them. You want that ugly one in your bow-sight again, as much as I want him now that I understand what to expect from him."

  Catti-brie tried hard not to smile back at the barbarian, but she knew that her rich blue eyes were shining as brightly as Wulfgar's. "Oh, I'm wanting him," she admitted. "But not so much with me bow."

  She led his gaze with her own down to the fabulous sword sheathed on her left hip. Khazid'hea, "Cutter," as it was called, a name that surely fit. Catti-brie had put that blade through solid stone. Could any armor, even the wondrous suit encasing Obould Many-Arrows, turn its keen edge?

  Both of them seemed to realize then that they were but inches apart, close enough to feel the warmth of each other's breath.

  Catti-brie broke the tension first, reaching up and playfully tousling Wulfgar's wild shock of hair, then hopping up to her tip-toes and giving him a kiss on the cheek—the kiss of a friend, and nothing more.

  In its own way, that was a defining moment for her.

  Wulfgar's reciprocating grin, though, seemed a bit less than certain.

  "So we're thinking we should be getting scouts out through the chimneys," came a voice from behind Catti-brie, and she turned around to see her adoptive father Bruenor entering the room, Regis in tow. "We got to know what our enemies are thinking if we're to counter them properly."

  "They're orcs," Wulfgar said. "Betting would say that they're not thinking much."

  His attempt at humor would have been more successful if that last maneuver of the orc army had not been so fresh in all their minds, the deceptive swing behind the mountain spurs to the west that brought the bulk of their force in behind Banak's charges, nearly spelling disaster for the dwarves.

  "We can't be knowing a thing about them orcs unless we're seeing it ourselfs," Bruenor remarked. "I'm not for underestimating this one again."

  Regis shifted uncomfortably.

  "I'm thinking that we scored a bigger victory than we realized," Catti-brie was quick to remark. "We won the day out there, though our losses surely hurt."

  "Seems to me like we're the ones in our hole," Bruenor replied. />
  "But it's seeming to me that we could not've done better," reasoned the woman, and she looked directly at the halfling, her expression showing her approval. "If we'd've come right in, then we'd not now know what's come against us. What straights might we soon find ourselves in if you had acted otherwise, if we had run from the ridge straightaway? Would we truly understand the size and ferocity of the force that's arrayed against us? Would we have delivered so powerful a blow against our enemy? They've come to fight us, and so we'll be fighting, don't you doubt, and better that we understand what we're fighting, and better that we've laid so many low already. Thanks to Nanfoodle and the others, we've killed them as overwhelmingly as we could ever have hoped thus far, even if all the fighting had been in our own defended tunnels."

  "Ye got the right way o' seeing things, girl," Bruenor agreed after a pause to digest the reasoning. "If they're thinking to come in against us, at least now we're knowing what they got to throw our way."

  "So hold our heads high and hold our weapons all the tighter," Wulfgar chimed in.

  "Oo oi!" said Regis, and everyone looked at him curiously.

  "What's that meaning, anyway?" asked Catti-brie.

  Regis shrugged. "Just sounded right," he explained, and no one disagreed.

  CHAPTER 5 TOO HIGH A CEILING

  Galen Firth paced furiously, every stride showing his mounting impatience. He muttered under his breath, taking care to keep his curses quiet enough so that they wouldn't disturb the dwarves, who were huddled together in a great circle, each with his arms over the shoulders of those beside him. Heads down, the bearded folk offered prayers to Moradin for the souls of Fender and Bonnerbas. They had run a long way from the hole they had cut out of the tunnels to escape the troll ambush, but they were still outdoors, sheltered within a copse of fir trees from a heavy rain that had come up.