To Bruenor's right sat another ally, and one he respected greatly. Lady Alustriel of Silverymoon had been a friend to Bruenor and to Mithral Hall for many years. When the dark elves invaded the dwarves' homeland Alustriel had stood strong beside Bruenor and his kin, and at great loss to the people of her city. Many of Alustriel's warriors had died fighting the drow in Keeper's Dale. Alustriel seemed as regal and beautiful as ever. She was dressed in a long gown of rich, deep green, and a silver circlet accentuated her sculpted features and her silvery hair. By all measures, the woman was beautiful, but there was something more about her, a strength and gravity. How many foolish men had underestimated Alustriel, Bruenor wondered, thinking her pretty face the extent of her powers?
Across from the dwarf sat Galen Firth of Nesme. Dirty and disheveled, carrying several recent scars and scabs, the man had just come from a battlefield, obviously, and had repeatedly expressed his desire to get right back to the fighting. Bruenor could respect that, certainly, but still the dwarf had a hard time in offering too much respect to that man. Bruenor still hadn't forgotten the treatment he and his friends had found in Nesme, nor the negative reaction of Nesme to Settlestone, a community of Wulfgar's folk that Bruenor had sponsored.
There was Galen, though, sitting in Mithral Hall as a representative of the town, and brought in by Alustriel as, so she said, a peer.
"Be it known and agreed that I speak not only for Silverymoon, but for Everlund and Sundabar, as well?" Alustriel asked.
"Aye," the other three all answered without debate, for Alustriel had informed them from the beginning that she had been asked to serve as proxy for the other two important cities, and none would doubt the honorable lady's word.
"Then we are all represented," Galen Firth remarked.
"Not all," said Emerus Warcrown, his voice as deep as a boulder's rumble within a mountain cave. "Harbromm's got no voice here."
"Two other dwarves sit at the table," Galen Firth argued. "Two humans for four human kingdoms, but two dwarves do not suffice for only three dwarven mines?"
Bruenor snorted. "Alustriel's getting three votes, and rightly so, since them other two asked her to do their voting here. Why yerself's even getting a voice is something I'm still wondering."
Galen narrowed his eyes, and Bruenor snorted again.
"Not I nor King Bruenor would deign to speak for King Harbromm of Citadel Adbar," Emerus Warcrown added. "King Harbromm has been advised of the situation, and will make his decisions known in time."
"Now is the time to speak!" Galen Firth replied. "Nesme remains under assault. We have driven the trolls and bog blokes from the town and pushed most back into the Trollmoors, but their leader, a great brute named Proffit, has eluded us. While he lives, Nesme will not be safe."
"Well, I'll be sending ye all me warriors then, and right off," Bruenor answered. "I'll just tell Obould to hold back his tens of thousands until we're properly ready for greeting him."
The sarcasm made Galen Firth narrow his eyes all the more.
"We will settle nothing about our enemies if we cannot come to civil agreement among ourselves," the ever-diplomatic Alustriel put in. "Bury old grievances, King Bruenor and Galen Firth, I beg of you both. Our enemies press us—press your two peoples most of all—and that must be our paramount concern."
Emerus Warcrown leaned back in his thick wooden chair and crossed his burly arms over his barrel-like chest.
Bruenor regarded his counterpart, and offered an appreciate wink. Emerus was dwarf first, Bruenor understood clearly. The hierarchy of his loyalty placed Bruenor and Harbromm, and their respective clans, at the top of Emerus's concerns.
As it should be.
"All right then, them grievances are buried," Bruenor answered Alustriel. "And know that I lost more than a few good Battlehammers in helping Galen Firth there and his troubled town. And not a thing have we asked in kind."
Galen started to say something, again in that petulant and negative tone of his, but Alustriel interrupted with a sudden and harsh, "Enough!" aimed directly at him.
"We understand the plight of Nesme," Alustriel went on. "Are not the Knights in Silver doing battle there even now, securing the region so that the tradesmen can rebuild the houses and strengthen the wall? Are not my wizards patrolling those walls, the words of the fireball ready at their lips?"
" 'Tis true, my good lady," Galen admitted, and he settled back in his chair.
"The trolls are on the run, and will be put back in the Trollmoors," Alustriel promised all three of them. "Silverymoon and Everlund will help Nesme see to this need."
"Good enough, and what's yer timetable?" asked Bruenor. "Will ye have them back afore winter settles in too deep?"
The question seemed all the more urgent since the first snows had begun to accumulate that very day outside of Mithral Hall's eastern door.
"That is our hope, so that the people of Nesme can return to their homes before the trails grow deep with snow," Alustriel answered.
"And so that yer armies will be ready to fight beside me own when the winter lets go of the land?" Bruenor asked.
Alustriel's face grew very tight. "If King Obould presses his attack on Mithral Hall, he will find Clan Battlehammer bolstered by the forces of Silverymoon, Everlund, and Sundabar, yes."
Bruenor let a long and uncomfortable moment of silence pass before pressing the point: "And if King Obould decides that his advance is done?"
"We have spoken of this before," Alustriel reminded him.
"Speak of it again," Bruenor demanded.
"By the time winter passes, Obould's army will be powerfully entrenched," said Alustriel. "That army was formidable enough when it was marching against defended positions. Your own people know that better than any."
"Bah, but ye're giving up!" King Emerus interrupted. "Ye're all thinking to leave the orc to his gains!"
"The cost in dislodging him will be terrible," Alustriel explained, not disagreeing. "Perhaps too great a price."
"Bah!" Emerus growled. He slammed a fist onto the heavy wooden table—and it was fortunate that the table was built so sturdily, else Emerus's smash would have splintered it to kindling. "Ye're going to fight for Nesme, but Mithral Hall's not worthy of yer sacrifice?"
"You know me better than to say that, King Emerus."
Alustriel's statement did calm the dwarf, who was far more on his edge than normal after the catastrophe at the river. Earlier that same day, King Emerus had presided over the consecration of the River Surbrin, saying farewell to nearly a thousand good dwarves.
He fell back in his seat, crossed his burly arms again, and gave a great, "Harrumph."
"King Bruenor.. Bruenor, my friend, you must understand our thinking in this," Alustriel said. "Our desire from Silverymoon to Everlund to Sundabar to rid the land of Obould and his thousands is no less than your own. But I have flown over the occupied lands. I have seen the swarms and their preparations. To go against them would invite disaster on a scale heretofore unknown in the Silver Marches. Mithral Hall is open once more—your path across the Surbrin will be assured. You are now the lone outpost, the last bastion for the goodly folk in all the lands between the Trollmoors and the Spine of the World, the Surbrin and Fell Pass. You are not without friends or support. If Obould comes against you again, he will find the Knights in Silver standing shoulder to shoulder with Clan Battlehammer."
"Waist to shoulder, perhaps," Galen Firth quipped, but the scowls of the two dwarves showed him clearly that his feeble attempt at humor was not appreciated, and Alustriel went on without interruption.