“You boast loudly for such a little creature,” Hengredda remarked.
Drizzt, Catti-brie, and all the dwarves around gasped at that, expecting Bruenor to spring upon the giant and throttle him. King Harnoth even started forward threateningly, but Bruenor swung out an arm and held him back.
Bruenor just stood there and smiled, staring at Hengredda for a long, long while.
“Nothin’ worth sayin’ to the like o’ yerself,” said Bruenor. “I telled ye what was what, so do what ye want with it. But take yerself a good look at the field behind us, giant. At the big holes we’re filling with dead enemies. Ye might want to tell yer Jarl Orelson about that.”
The frost giant snorted derisively.
“And if yer sense of honor, or whatever stupid thing’s driving ye makes ye think ye’re wantin’ to fight me, then go and deliver the message to Shining White and come back,” Bruenor offered. “We’ll fight it out, me and yerself-just me and yerself. And when we’re done, me boys’ll dig a hole and put ye in it.”
“Brave words, dwarf,” the giant replied.
“Not just any dwarf,” King Emerus said, stepping forward. “King Bruenor Battlehammer, Eighth King of Mithral Hall, Tenth King of Mithral Hall, who slew Hartusk. So go and run yer errands, boy, and ye come back and play. Ye’ll get the chance to kill a legend, or think ye’ll get the chance, because we’re knowin’, and yerself should be too, that Bruenor’ll cut ye down bit by bit and spit in yer eye afore he finishes ye.”
Through it all, Bruenor never blinked, never changed his expression, never seemed anything but calm.
Hengredda, though, did blink. “Aye, I will! I will come back and kill a legend!” he said, but no one, not even Lorgru and the goblin standing beside him, believed him.
“Ye don’t come back,” Bruenor warned Lorgru. “And ye don’t get too many o’ yer dogs all in one place, or we’ll find ye and break ye. Now get on. Go to yer holes and stay there.”
Lorgru, looking thoroughly defeated, nodded his agreement and led the others away.
“We’ll watch for the giant,” Connerad assured Bruenor.
“He won’t be back,” Bruenor told him. He noted then the scowl of King Harnoth, off to the side and standing beside Emerus, so he moved over to the pair, with Connerad in tow.
“Ah, but we erred in lettin’ that dog go,” Harnoth insisted. “He’s an orc king and they’ll swarm about him, and so we’re to be knowin’ war soon enough.”
“No,” said Sinnafein, off to the side, and she, too, moved over to join the impromptu meeting. “Lorgru is not like Hartusk or the other war chiefs. He is the son of Obould, and traces his bloodline to the first Obould. He believes in that vision.”
“Then he shouldn’t’ve let his dogs come huntin’,” was all that Bruenor would say.
“King Harnoth wants to push into the mountains to hunt down the orcs,” Catti-brie explained to Drizzt, the two off to the side and watching the small gathering. “Bruenor won’t let him, and Emerus and Connerad back Bruenor. Harnoth may still go. He is outraged about the death of his brother and will never rest easy knowing the orcs are so close.”
Drizzt spent a long while staring at her, measuring her tone and the tenseness within her strong frame. “You agree with Harnoth,” he said.
Catti-brie matched his stare but didn’t respond.
“Because of the goddess,” Drizzt reasoned. “You think it our. . your duty to hunt down and kill the orcs, one and all.”
“We did not start this war.”
“But we ended it,” Drizzt replied. “Lorgru won’t come back.”
“What of his son?” Catti-brie asked. “Or his grandson? Or the next warlord who usurps the throne with visions of glory in his eyes?”
“Do you mean to kill every orc in all the world?”
Catti-brie just stared at him again, and Drizzt knew then that he and his wife would spend many hours on this topic in the coming days and months. Many unpleasant hours.
Drizzt turned back to the dwarves and nodded at Bruenor. “Do you think he’s told them yet?”
Even as he asked the question, King Harnoth cried out in dismay.
“He has now,” Catti-brie dryly replied.
Bruenor had confided his plans to the couple. He was going west with as many soldiers as the three dwarven citadels of the Silver Marches would afford him. Bruenor meant to reclaim Gauntlgrym from the drow and any other inhabitants who might have made the place a home.
Across the way, Harnoth had become quite animated, waving his arms and stomping in circles. Drizzt and Catti-brie went over to lend support to their dwarf friend.
“Why don’t ye just empty all the durned citadels and let the durned orcs come walking in?” Harnoth roared.
“Never said I’d empty any,” Bruenor calmly replied.
“Four thousand, he said,” King Emerus added solemnly, his demeanor cutting at Harnoth as much as his words. “We’ve twice that number and half again right here on the field. And we’ve all left worthy garrisons back behind us.”
“Four thousand!” said Harnoth. “That orc swine ye just sent walking’s got ten times that number! Twenty times that number!”
“And you’ve got Silverymoon and Everlund,” Aleina Brightlance remarked, all the dwarves turning to regard her with surprise-and in the case of all but fiery Harnoth, with gratitude.
“We’ll not be abandoning you,” Aleina vowed. “And we will rebuild Sundabar, do not doubt. The alliance will be stronger than ever, if the three dwarven citadels and the Moonwood elves so desire it.”
“Aye,” Bruenor, Emerus, and Connerad all said together, while Sinnafein nodded.
“My people will serve as your eyes in the north,” Sinnafein added. “If the orcs begin to stir, we will know, and you will know, and any march they might make will be hampered by the sting of elven arrows, do not doubt.”
“The dogs almost won this time,” King Harnoth warned. “And now we’d be down four thousand dwarves, and with Sundabar a shell o’ what she was, and with so many others dead-all o’ Nesmé dead! Who’ll stop ’em this time if they come calling?”
“They didn’t get into the halls afore, and they won’t next time, if there’s e’er to be a next time,” Bruenor insisted. “And now we’re knowin’ the threat and there are ways we can better prepare.”
“Some of us always knew, King Bruenor,” Harnoth said, and it was clearly meant as a jab at the dwarf who had signed the Treaty of Garumn’s Gorge.
“Are ye thinkin’ to drive us apart, King o’ Adbar?” King Emerus was quick to retort. “Cause aye, that’s what yer words’re doing now. And don’t ye doubt that Felbarr’ll be standin’ with Mithral Hall if ye keep on with it.”
“As will the cities of Silverymoon and Everlund,” Aleina added with an equally grim tone.
King Harnoth, young and full of pride, started to respond in an animated and angry fashion, but Oretheo Spikes put a hand on his shoulder to calm him, and when the young king snapped his head about to regard the Wilddwarf, Oretheo nodded and led him off to the side.
“He’s a stubborn one,” Catti-brie remarked.
“He lost his father not long ago, and his brother was slain in the war,” Drizzt reminded. “As were many of his most important advisers. He sits atop a throne now, alone and unsure. He knows that he erred many times in the last year, and that we saved him from certain doom.”
“Then he might be offerin’ some gratitude and a dose o’ well-earned humility, eh?” asked Bruenor.
Drizzt shrugged. “He will, but on his terms.”
“If Adbar refuses our plan, then yerself and meself’ll raise the army we’re needin’ to get yer quest done, me friend,” King Emerus promised.
“We’ll not be raising that number without Adbar,” Bruenor said.
“So we’ll go to Mirabar and find more allies-should be thinkin’ that anyway,” said Emerus. “Them boys are Delzoun, and so’re yer boys in Icewind Dale. We’ll get back Gauntlgrym, don’t ye doubt!”
“ ‘We’ll’?” Drizzt asked, catching on to Emerus’s hint.