And soon after Torgar's meeting with Banak, with the potentially dangerous duty offered before them, not one backed away from volunteering to spearhead the push into the tunnels of the mountain spur.
Torgar left it to Shingles to pick the half who would accompany him.
* * *
The expressions on the faces of the three guests showed that the leader sitting on Mithral Hall's throne before them was not exactly who or what they had expected.
But Regis did not shrink away in the face of those obvious doubts.
"I am the Steward of Mithral Hall," he explained, "serving in the name and interests of King Bruenor."
And where is your king?" asked Galen Firth, his tone a bit abrupt and impatient.
"Recovering from grievous wounds," Regis admitted, and how he hoped his description was correct. "He was on the front end of the fighting you heard when you were escorted across Keeper's Dale."
Galen started to respond again, but Regis came forward and put on as stern an expression as he could muster with his cherubic features.
"I have heard rumors as to whom you three are," said the halfling, "who come here unbidden—but surely not unwelcome! — in this dangerous time. Before I answer any more of your understandable questions, I would know the truth from you, of who you are and why you have come."
"I am Galen Firth of the Riders of Nesmй," said Galen, and his mention of the riders brought a hint of a scowl to the halfling's face. "Come to bid King Bruenor to send aid to my besieged town. For the trolls have arisen out of their moors. We are sorely pressed!"
Regis brought a hand up to rub his chin, and he glanced to the Battlehammer dwarves standing a bit off to the side. They were a long way from Nesmй; could he dare to send any of Bruenor's clan so far and into such exposure? He offered Galen a nod, for he had nothing more to give just then.
"And you are the Sceptrana of Mirabar," Regis remarked, turning from Galen to Shoudra. "Such was told to me, and I recognize you in any case from my recent visit to your town."
"Your scrimshaw has become quite a novelty in Mirabar, good Steward Regis," Shoudra said politely, and she bowed low. "Shoudra Stargleam at the service of Mithral Hall. This is my assistant, Nanfoodle Buswilligan."
"At the service of Mithral Hall?" Regis echoed. "Or come to check on your wayward dwarves?"
The gnome at Shoudra's side bristled, but the sceptrana merely smiled all the wider.
"I pray that Torgar fares well," she replied, and if she was bothered at all by the emigration of Torgar and his band of dwarves, neither her tone nor her expression showed it.
"But you have not come to join him," said Regis.
Shoudra chuckled at the seemingly absurd notion and said, "I do not agree with Torgar's choice, nor with those who accompanied him away from Mirabar, but it was I who convinced Marchion Elastul that he must allow the dwarves to leave, if that was their decision. It was a sad day in Mirabar when Torgar Ham-merstriker and his kin departed."
"When they came to Mithral Hall," Regis reminded. "And Mithral Hall has accepted them as brothers, a bond forged in battle from the day we first met up with Torgar in the mountains and valleys north of here. They are of Clan Battlehammer now. You know this?"
"I do, and though it pains me greatly, I accept it," Shoudra finished with another bow.
"Then why have you come?"
"I beg of your pardon, Steward Regis," Galen Firth interrupted, "but I have not come to witness an argument over the disposition of purposefully misplaced dwarves. My town is besieged, my business urgent." Some of the dwarves at the side of the room began to mutter and shift uneasily as Galen's voice steadily rose in ire. "Could you not continue your discussion with Sceptrana Shoudra at a later time?"
Regis paused and stared at the tall man for a long time.
"I have heard your request," the halfling said, "and deeply regret the situation in Nesmй. I too have some experience with the foul creatures of the Trollmoors, having come through that place in our search to find and reclaim Mithral Hall."
He fixed Galen with a look that told the man in no uncertain terms that he remembered well the shabby treatment the Riders of Nesmй had offered to Bruenor and the Companions of the Hall on that long-ago occasion.
"But you cannot expect me to throw wide the gates of Mithral Hall and empty the place of warriors with a horde of orcs and giants pressing us across the northland," Regis went on, and he gave a glance at the dwarves and took comfort in their assenting nods. "Your situation and request will be discussed at length, and in short order, but before I adjourn this meeting I wish to have all the facts open before me concerning the disposition of all of Mithral Hall's guests, that I might bring all options to the council."
"Decisive action is necessary!" Galen argued.
"And I have not the power to give you that which you desire!" Regis yelled right back. He came forward out of the throne and stood upon the dais, which allowed him to almost look the tall man in the eye. "I am not King Bruenor. I am not the king of anything. I am a steward, an advisor. I will discuss your situation in detail with the dwarves who better understand what Mithral Hall could or could not do to aid Nesmй in her time of need, particularly when we, too, are in a time of need."
"Then my business now, at this meeting, is at its end?" Galen asked, not blinking as he matched Regis's stare.
"It is."
"I will take my leave, then," said Galen. "Am I to presume that Mithral Hall will offer me a place of respite, at least?"
That last "at least" had Regis narrowing his brown eyes.
"Of course," he said, though his jaw hardly moved to let the words escape.
The halfling turned to the side and nodded. A pair of dwarves moved up to flank Galen. The man gave a bow that was more curt than polite and moved off, his heavy boots emphatically thumping against the stone floor.
"He is fearful for the fate of his town, is all," Shoudra remarked when Galen had left.
"True enough," Regis agreed. "And I certainly understand his fears and impatience. But the folk of Clan Battlehammer do not consider Nesmй to be much of a friend, I fear, for Nesmй has never shown much friendship to the folk of Mithral Hall. When we came looking for the Hall those many years ago, we encountered a group of the Riders of Nesmй just outside of the Trollmoors. They were in dire straits, under assault by a band of bog blokes. Bruenor didn't hesitate to go to their rescue—neither did Wulfgar, nor Drizzt. We saved their lives, I believe, and were soundly rebuffed in return."
"Because of the drow elf," Shoudra said.
"True enough," Regis sighed. He gave a little shrug as he settled back in his chair. "That in itself wasn't such a problem. It has happened often and will again."
His obvious reference to the treatment the caravan out of Icewind Dale had received at Mirabar's gate, where Drizzt Do'Urden had not been allowed entrance, had the woman and the gnome looking to each other with a bit of embarrassment.
"After the reclamation of Mithral Hall, Settlestone was rebuilt," the half-ling went on. "By Uthgardt warriors, not dwarves."
"I remember Berkthgar the Bold and his people," said Shoudra.
"The community was promising early on," said Regis. "We were all hopeful that the barbarians from Icewind Dale would flourish here. But while they maintained a close relationship with Mithral Hall, their primary goods—furs— were of little use to the dwarves who lived underground, where the temperature remains nearly constant. If Nesmй, the closest neighbor of Berkthgar's people, had welcomed them with trade, Settlestone might still thrive today. Instead, it is just another abandoned ruin along the mountain pass."
"The people of Nesmй lead a difficult existence," Shoudra remarked. "They suffer on the very edge of the dangerous moors, in nearly constant battle. They have learned through tragic experience that they must rely upon themselves most of all, oftentimes only upon themselves. Not a family in Nesmй has not known the tragedy of loss. Most have witnessed at least one of their loved ones being carried off by horrid trolls."