As he finished, the other five Mirabarran dwarves in the room exploded into cheers for their mighty leader and the legendary Shingles.
“Make it seven, then,” Cordio Muffinhead added. “For ye can’t be goin’ on a march for Moradin without a priest o’ Moradin, and I’m that priest.”
“Eight, then,” Bruenor corrected, “for I’m thinking that Hralien o’ the Moonwood won’t be leaving us after we find Drizzt.”
“Eight for the road and eight for Obould!” came the cheer, and it grew louder as it was repeated a second then a third time.
Then it ended abruptly, as a scowling Catti-brie came in through the door, staring hard at Bruenor with a look that had even the doubting Banak Brawnanvil looking at the dwarf king with sympathy.
“Go and do what needs doin’,” Bruenor instructed them all, his voice suddenly shaky, and as the others scattered through every door in the room, Catti-brie limped toward her father.
“So you’re going for Obould’s head, and you’re to lead it?” she asked.
Bruenor nodded. “It’s me destiny, girl. It’s why Moradin put me back here.”
“Regis brought you back, with his pendant.”
“Moradin let me go from his hall,” Bruenor insisted. “And it was for a reason!”
Catti-brie stared at him long and hard. “So now you’re to go out, and to take my friend Regis with you, and to take my husband with you. But I’m not welcome?”
“Ye can’t run!” Bruenor argued. “Ye can hardly walk more than a few dozen yards. If we’re turning from orcs, then are we to wait for yerself?”
“There’ll be less turning from orcs if I’m there.”
“Not for doubtin’ that,” said Bruenor. “But ye know ye can’t do it. Not now.”
“Then wait for me.”
Bruenor shook his head. Catti-brie’s lips grew tight and she blinked her blue eyes as if fighting back tears of frustration.
“I could lose all of you,” she whispered.
Bruenor caught on then that part of her difficulty at least had to do with Wulfgar. “He’ll come back,” the dwarf said. “He’ll walk the road that’s needin’ walking, but don’t ye doubt that Wulfgar’ll be coming back to us.”
Catti-brie winced at the mention of his name, and her expression showed her to be far less convinced of that than was her father.
“But will you?” she asked.
“Bah!” Bruenor snorted, throwing up a hand as if the question was ridiculous.
“And will Regis come back? And Drizzt?”
“Drizzt is out there already,” Bruenor argued. “Are ye doubtin’ him?”
“No.”
“Then why’re ye doubting me?” asked Bruenor. “I’m out for doing the same thing Drizzt set out to do afore the winter. And he went out alone! I won’t be out there alone, girl, and ye’d be smarter if ye was worrying about the damned orcs.”
Catti-brie continued to look at him, and had no answer.
Bruenor opened wide his arms, inviting her to a hug that she could not resist. “Ye won’t be alone, girl. Ye won’t ever be alone,” he whispered into her ear.
He understood fully her frustration, for would his own have been any less if he was to be left out of such a mission, when all of his friends were to go?
Catti-brie pulled back from him far enough to look him in the eye and ask, “Are you sure of this?”
“Obould’s got to die, and I’m the dwarf to kill him,” said Bruenor.
“Drizzt tried, and failed.”
“Well Drizzt’ll try again, but this time he’s got friends trying with him. When we come back to ye, the orc lines’ll be breaking apart. Ye’ll find plenty o’ fighting then, to be sure, and most of it outside our own doors. But the orcs’ll be scattered and easy to kill. Take me bet now, girl, that I’ll kill more than yerself.”
“You’re going out now, and getting a head start,” Catti-brie answered, her face brightening a bit.
“Bah, but I won’t count the ones I’m killing on the road,” said Bruenor. “When I get back here and the orcs come on, as they’re sure’n to do when Obould’s no more, then I’ll be killing more orcs than Catti-brie’s to fell.”
Catti-brie wore a sly grin. “I’ll have me bow back from Drizzt then,” she said, assuming a Dwarvish accent as she threw out the warning. “Every arrow’s taking one down. Some’ll take down two, or might even be three.”
“And every swipe o’ me axe is cutting three in half,” Bruenor countered. “And I’m not for tiring when there’re orcs to cut.”
The two stared at each other without blinking as each extended a hand to shake on the bet.
“The loser represents Mithral Hall at the next ceremony in Nesmé,” Catti-brie said, and Bruenor feigned a grimace, as though he hadn’t expected the stakes to be quite so high.
“Ye’ll enjoy the journey,” the dwarf said. He smiled and tried to pull back, but Catti-brie held his hand firmly and stared him in the eye, her expression solemn.
“Just get back to me, alive, and with Drizzt, Regis, and the others alive,” she said.
“Plannin’ on it,” said Bruenor, though he didn’t believe it any more than did Catti-brie. “And with Obould’s ugly head.
Catti-brie agreed. “With Obould’s head.”
CHAPTER 24
TAKING CARE IN WHAT THEY WISHED FOR
Clan Wolf Jaw lined both sides of the trail, their formidable array of warriors stretching out for hundreds of feet, beyond the bend and out of Chieftain Grguch’s line of sight. None moved to block the progress of Clan Karuck, or to threaten the hulking orcs in any way, and Grguch recognized the pair who did step out in the middle of the trail.
“Greetings again, Dnark,” Grguch said. “You have heard of our assault on the ugly dwarves?”
“All the tribes of Many-Arrows have heard of the glory of Grguch’s march,” Dnark answered, and Grguch smiled, as did Toogwik Tuk, who stood to the side and just behind the ferocious chieftain.
“You march west,” remarked Dnark, glancing back over his shoulder. “To the invitation of King Obould?”
Grguch spent a few moments looking over Dnark and his associate, the shaman Ung-thol. Then the huge orc warrior glanced back at Toogwik Tuk and beyond him, motioning to a trio of soldiers, two obviously of Clan Karuck, with wide shoulders and bulging muscles, and a third that Dnark and Ung-thol had parted company with just a few days earlier.
“Obould has sent an emissary, requesting parlay,” Grguch explained. Behind him, Oktule saluted the pair and bowed repeatedly.
“We were there among King Obould’s entourage when Oktule was sent forth,” Dnark replied. “Know you, though, that he was not the only emissary sent out that day.” He finished and met Grguch’s hard stare for a few heartbeats, then motioned behind to the Wolf Jaw ranks. Several warriors stepped out, dragging a beaten and battered orc. They took him around Dnark, and on his signal closed half the distance to Grguch before dropping their living cargo unceremoniously onto the dirt.
Priest Nukkels groaned as he hit the ground, and squirmed a bit, but Ung-thol and Dnark had done their work extremely well and there was no chance of him getting up from the ground.
“An emissary sent to you?” Grguch asked. “But you said that you were with Obould.”
“No,” Toogwik Tuk explained, reading correctly the smug expressions worn by his co-conspirators. He stepped forward, daring to pass Grguch as he moved toward the battered priest. “No, this is Nukkels,” he explained, looking back at Grguch.
Grguch shrugged, for the name meant nothing to him.
“King Obould’s advisor,” Toogwik Tuk explained. “He would not be sent to deliver a message to Chieftain Dnark. No, not even to Chieftain Grguch.”