"A hundred and sixty-two," Nanfoodle corrected. "With half of one left over."
"We can't be doing that!"
"You have to," the gnome countered. "If this was a merchant's order needing to be filled, you would pump those furnaces hot and get the job done."
"Merchants're paying," Wocco dryly answered.
"And so am I," Nanfoodle insisted.
"And what's yer pay, little one?"
"A score of giants," Nanfoodle answered with a great flourish, for he saw that he had many of the other blacksmiths watching him. "A score, I say, and victory for Banak Brawnanvil and Mithral Hall. I offer you nothing less than that, good Master Brawnanvil."
"We build weapons for that," came the smithy's protest.
"This is a weapon," Nanfoodle assured him. "As great a weapon as you've ever built. A hundred and sixty-two. You can do this."
Wocco glanced over at the other blacksmiths.
"It's a lot o' metal," one of the smiths remarked.
"It'll take more than half our stores," said another.
"Much more," a third put in.
"You can do this," Nanfoodle said again to Wocco. "You must do this. Time is running out for Banak and his forces. Would you fail them and have them pushed over the cliff?"
That hit a nerve, the gnome saw immediately, for Wocco puffed out his chest and tightened his jaw, his wide mouth puckering up into an angry pout.
For a moment, Nanfoodle thought the dwarf would surely punch him, but the gnome did not back away an inch, and even added, "This is Banak's only chance to hold out against the hordes. Without your superior efforts here, he will be forced into a disastrous retreat."
Wocco held the pose but did not come forward to throttle the gnome, and gradually, the dwarf's anger seemed to melt into resolve. He looked to the other blacksmiths.
"Well, ye heared him. We got work to do." Wocco turned back to Nanfoodle and said, "Ye'll get yer hunnerd and sixty-two and a few extra for good measure, in case yer own measure weren't so good."
As the chief blacksmith stormed back to his forge, Nanfoodle settled back against the table. He moved to begin collecting his many diagrams but stopped and brought his hand to cover his eyes, overwhelmed suddenly. He could hardly believe that he was really doing it, that the dwarves were trusting him enough to take such a risk.
He hoped that trust wasn't misplaced, for he understood that he was reaching to the ends of common sense, and though he had so vigorously defended his plans to Regis, Shoudra, Wocco Brawnanvil, and all the others, he had to privately admit that his words were stronger than his thoughts.
Nanfoodle sincerely hoped he didn't destroy all of Mithral Hall.
CHAPTER 25 SILENCING THE CHEERS
"Obould is Gruumsh!" Arganth Snarrl shouted at the tribe of orcs exiting the tunnel along the eastern side of one mountain. "He killed the elf demon— all of us witnessed this great victory! He is the chosen! He will lead us to glory!"
The dozen of his comrades behind the shaman took up the chant, and those orcs coming out from their mountain homes glanced around but gradually came to similar chanting.
"He is a dangerous one," Innovindil remarked to Drizzt, the two of them crouched behind a low wall of stone off to the side. They had been listening to Arganth for some time and were both somewhat overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of the orc shaman in his praise for Obould.
"He truly believes that Obould is the avatar of his vile god," Drizzt replied.
"Then he will watch his vile god die."
Innovindil hadn't turned to face Drizzt as she spoke the angry vow, but he could feel the intensity in her eyes and heart as she spat every word. He thought to point out to her that she had scolded him for just the same angry attitude not so long before, bidding him to look past his thirst for vengeance. But crouching behind and to the side of the elf, looking down at her fair profile, Drizzt could recognize the pain there. Of course she was hurting. And despite her wise words to him, that pain could slip past her guard and bring her uncharacteristic moments of weakness. Drizzt, who had recently witnessed the fall of a dear friend, could surely understand.
"The orc king has gone south with his force, but this one remains," Drizzt remarked.
"To rouse the rabble who crawl out of their mountain holes," said Innovindil.
"We cannot underestimate the importance of that," said Drizzt. "And this one is close to Obould—he may have information."
Innovindil turned around and looked up at the drow, and her expression told him that she understood his reasoning completely.
"They will likely camp within the tunnels," she said.
Drizzt looked to the east and agreed, for already the lighter blue of dawn was blossoming beyond the horizon. Also, while the new orc additions had come forth from the tunnel, they hadn't come out very far.
"They will not move off until late afternoon, likely," said Innovindil.
Drizzt scanned the area, then patted Innovindil's shoulder and motioned for her to follow him off to the side.
"Let us go underground before them and learn our way around," he explained. "We will take the shaman while he sleeps. There is much I wish to hear from that one."
* * *
The two drow moved swiftly along the tunnels, their keen eyes scanning every crevice, every jut, every uneven grade, in the darkness. Well in advance of Proffit's lumbering trolls, Kaer'lic and Tos'un paused many times and listened—and more often than not, found their scouting inhibited by the ruckus of the trolls.
They do roll along, Kaer'lie's fingers flashed to her partner, and she gave a disgusted shake of her face.
Eager for dwarf blood, came Tos'un's response. Will Proffit be so eager to meet with dwarven fire? For the bearded folk know how to battle trolls!
Before Kaer'lic could begin to signal her agreement, she caught a whisper of noise reverberating through the stone. Her fingers stopped abruptly, and she left one extended to signal her companion to silence, then she eased her head against the stone. Yes, there it was, unmistakably so, the march of heavy dwar-ven boots.
Tos'un came up beside her.
Our friends again? his fingers asked.
Kaer'lic nodded.
"A sizable force," she whispered. "Two score or more, I would guess."
How far? asked Tos'un's fingers.
Kaer'lic paused and listened for a moment, then shook her head.
Not far… she started to sign.
But parallel, Tos'un's movements interrupted. And who knows where these tunnels might intersect?
One thing is certain, Kaer'lic replied, our enemies are heading past us to the south. Back toward the Trollmoors.
Reinforcements for Nesmй? asked Tos'un.
Kaer'lic looked back at the stone wall, her expression doubtful.
"Ornamental, if so," she whispered. "A gesture by Mithral Hall, perhaps, to show support for their neighbors."
Sounds echoed down the corridor behind them as the trolls closed ground. The two drow looked at each other, each silently asking the same question.
"Proffit will wish to chase the dwarves down, but the diversion will cost Obould the desired pressure on the dwarves underground, perhaps for several days," reasoned Tos'un.
That possibility didn't bother Kaer'lic greatly, as she let her expression show.
"We might perhaps find some enjoyment if the dwarf band is not so large," Tos'un went on, a smile widening on his face.
"Run along with all speed and find a place where we might cross over to the tunnels used by our enemies," Kaer'lic instructed. "Better to pursue them out to the south than to backtrack and hope to find their tunnel's exit on the cursed surface."