“We will build a wonderful life,” he promised her in a whisper.
“When we find the time,” she replied, somewhat sourly, but Drizzt put his finger over her lips to silence her.
“We will make the time,” he promised.
Bruenor reached behind his enchanted shield and pulled forth a flagon of ale.
“Bah, but ye’re to put the brewers out o’ their living,” Emerus said, taking the offered mug.
“Fine ale,” Connerad agreed.
“Ale, mead, beer,” Bruenor said with a hearty laugh.
“Fine shield, then!” said Connerad, offering a toast, and the three kings tapped their flagons together.
They were on the beach outside of the grand entry hall, the work buzzing around them. All of the dwarves had gained the cavern by then, filling the place and the entry hall. Already, construction on the bridge across the dark pond was well underway, with the buttresses growing tall and solid. The Harpells were out there assisting with the bridge, and old Kipper seemed to be having quite the time of it, easing the heavy burden of the laboring dwarves by magically lifting the heavy beams, which could then be easily shoved into place.
“We should send groups back up to the surface for more logs,” Connerad remarked. “Can’t have enough ballistae and catapults out.”
“Go see to it,” said Emerus. “Send some Mirabarrans. Tell them o’ the importance.”
Connerad looked at the old king curiously, for Connerad, too, was a dwarf king and was not used to being ordered about. But Emerus gave him a solemn nod and Connerad understood. He drained his flagon and handed it to Bruenor, who laughed and threw it over his shoulder to smash against the stone wall of Gauntlgrym. With a wink, Bruenor reached behind the shield yet again to produce another, full to the brim, which he gave to Connerad.
“Ye best be sendin’ some Gutbusters with the teams heading back to the sunlight,” Bruenor said. “Still might be monsters in the tunnels.”
“Ye chose well in fillin’ yer seat when ye gived up yer throne,” Emerus said when Connerad had gone. “A good dwarf is that one."
“His Da’s among the best Mithral Hall e’er knew,” Bruenor replied. “Ye miss it?” Emerus asked after a while.
“Mithral Hall?”
“Aye, and bein’ king.”
Bruenor snorted and took a big gulp of his ale. “Nah, can’t be sayin’ that. Don’t ye get me wrong, if some orcs or drow took the place, I’d go straight back and kick ’em out, don’t ye doubt, for the place’s is e’er me home. But I’m likin’ the road.”
“But now ye’re here to stay.”
“Moradin called me back.”
Emerus nodded, a most serene expression coming over his face. “Aye,” he said, several times, for when he had sat on the Throne of the Dwarf Gods, he, too, had felt the infusion of strength and wisdom and ancient secrets, and so he understood.
“All me life I had Felbarr,” he said quietly. “Obould took the place and so we kicked him out, and ye know well that he’d come back again to all our misery.”
“And all our hope,” Bruenor reminded his friend.
“It pained me to watch ye sign that damned treaty in Garumn’s Gorge,” Emerus admitted. “I know it pained yerself, too.”
“Yerself agreed with the treaty. .” Bruenor began.
“Aye,” Emerus cut him short. “Had to be done. And we had to hope. We could’no’ve fought them damned orcs without the full backin’ o’ Silverymoon and Sundabar, and they wanted no part o’ war.” He paused to gulp a swallow of ale then spat upon the ground. “Then they come roarin’ back blamin’ Bruenor for the new war,” he said with a disgusted shake of his hairy head. “Cowards, the lot!”
“Worse,” said Bruenor. “Politicians.”
Emerus got a loud chuckle out of that.
“Ye done right, me friend,” Emerus said. “In the first fight with Obould, back there in Garumn’s Gorge, and now again in yer new life. Ye done yer Da and Grandda and all the line o’ Battlehammer proud, and know that the name o’ Bruenor will e’er be toasted with reverence in Citadel Felbarr.” He lifted his flagon and Bruenor tapped it with his own.
“And in Mithral Hall,” Emerus went on. “And here in Gauntlgrym, don’t ye doubt.”
“And yerself?” Bruenor asked. “Ye missing Felbarr?”
“Was me home all me life,” said Emerus. “But no, I’m not missin’ it now. Wishin’ Parson Glaive was with me, but glad he’s holdin’ the throne in me place. Nah, now,” he said, looking around at the grand construction, listening to the fall of mallet and the crank of the turnstiles, looking back at the ancient and solid wall of Gauntlgrym, “now me old heart’s tellin’ me that I’ve come home, me friend. Truly home.”
Bruenor understood, for he had felt the same way when first he had ventured into these hallowed halls, when first he had sat upon the Throne of the Dwarf Gods. There was something deeper here than even in Mithral Hall for him, some ancient murmur of magic that touched him to the core of his Delzoun soul. He recalled his elation when he had found Mithral Hall those decades and decades ago, marching in with the Companions of the Hall-indeed, culminating the adventure that gave the troupe its name. But this was different. Deeper and more solemn, and less parochial.This adventure to reclaim Gauntlgrym would be shared by all the Delzoun dwarves.
“We’re right to be here,” Emerus said with conviction.
“Ye didn’t see me kicking Connerad to the side and taking back me throne, did ye?” Bruenor agreed. “Aye, I’m knowin’ the same, me friend.”
Connerad came back over then, the look on his face showing that he had overheard that last comment.
“Bah, but who ye kickin’ where?” he asked.
“Yerself!”
“Weren’t yer throne to take back,” Connerad said. “Was me own to keep or to give.”
“Aye,” said Bruenor, and Emerus lifted his flagon and said, “King Connerad!” and Bruenor gladly joined in the toast.
“But I hear yer words,” Connerad said.
“Glad ye gived yer throne over?” Emerus asked, and Connerad smiled and nodded.
“Only wish me Da might’ve seen this place,” the young king said.
“Ye plannin’ to put yer butt on the throne?” Bruenor asked.
Connerad stared at him, seeming unsure.
“Aye, yerself’s more than worthy,” said Bruenor. “Ye’ll see. Go and look at it. Touch it and feel its power. But don’t ye sit on it until me and me friend Emerus come in and bear witness.”
“Ye’re sure?” Connerad asked.
“Sure that it’ll be akin to yer first time with a dwarf lass,” Emerus said with a laugh. “Ye’ll get off it a changed dwarf, and ye’ll know. Aye, but ye’ll know.
“Don’t tarry,” Connerad said, turning for the door.
“We’ll be right along,” said Bruenor.
“He’s a good lad,” Emerus noted as Connerad again left them. “Hard for me to call him that when he’s standing next to yerself, for ye’re the one looking so much like a dwarfling!”
“Aye, and good riddance to me old bones!” Bruenor said, toasting yet again, draining his flagon and throwing it, too, against the wall behind him.
Emerus did likewise, but grabbed Bruenor by the shoulder as the redbearded dwarf started to rise. “I’m jealous of ye, Bruenor Battlehammer,” Emerus told him. “Ye’ll be the First King o’ Gauntlgrym in the new age.”
Bruenor stared at him, caught by surprise by the blunt words. He hadn’t given the disposition of Gauntlgrym much thought, not beyond waging the war to kick out the drow. There were three dwarf kings here, after all, though Bruenor and Emerus could surely lay claim above the call of Connerad. But Emerus was as old as Bruenor, and surely as distinguished, and so the claim now that Bruenor would get the throne struck the red-bearded dwarf curiously, and uncomfortably.
Had Emerus seen something on the Throne of the Dwarf Gods to incite that statement?
It was clear to Bruenor that Emerus believed his prediction, and Bruenor saw no reason to doubt the possibility that he would become the First King of Gauntlgrym.
But he and Emerus were wrong.
“It’s here,” Kipper said, and his old eyes sparkled at the thought. He reached into his pouch and carefully, with both hands, brought forth that dark gemstone. Kipper lifted the pocked sphere, which was almost as large as a human skull, up for the others to see.