Of course, on the surface it seemed as though she was mad-completely insane! She was down in the Brackenrock dungeon right now talking to the ogre prisoner Mouse had captured earlier that summer, seeking some idea as to how to enter the stronghold of Winterheim. Meanwhile, Highlander and Arktos warriors were gathering here, camping on the tundra around the fortress, awaiting the commands of their chiefwoman or the thanes. All came willingly and showed great courage in joining this desperate errand-though it was certainly hard for any of them to believe they even had a chance of success.
“I can’t see how we’ll ever get into the place, much less bring Strongwind Whalebone out alive!” the elf said aloud, staring into the southern distance as if expecting the landscape to respond to his statement.
“How do you know?”
The answer came from right behind him, so calmly and quickly that Kerrick almost jumped over the wall in surprise. Instead he spun about, recognizing the voice, certain that he was going mad.
There he was, leaning casually against the parapet, smiling nonchalantly as if he’d been walking beside Kerrick the whole way.
“Cor-Coraltop Netfisher?” the elf stammered, gaping dumbly. “But … but … how are you even here?”
“I asked first,” said the kender, lifting his diminutive frame up to look between two of the stone ramparts, kicking his feet against the wall like an impatient child. “How do you know we’ll never get into Winterheim?”
“Do you know what she’s planning?” asked the elf after a moment, almost stunned into silence by the mysterious appearance of his old sailing companion, the kender whom Kerrick alone had ever seen-and then only aboard Cutter, when he had presumed himself to be alone, far from shore in the lonely ocean of the south. “How did you get here? I was afraid I’d never see you again when my boat sank!” Only then did he consider the kender’s exact words. “Wait. Do you mean to say that you’re coming along with us? To Winterheim?”
“Too many questions! To the first, yes I know what she plans-she’s going to rescue Strongwind, to bring him home. I think that’s pretty brave,” Coraltop acknowledged. “As to the last, well, of course, thanks for the invite-I mean, a chance to see Winterheim! Who wouldn’t want to go? A whole city inside a mountain, they say. Well, that’s not the kind of thing you find just anywhere-not unless you hang around with dwarves, I mean, and who’d want to do that?”
“Not me,” Kerrick chuckled. “I’m just as happy to have landed among humans. There are times I even prefer them to elves!”
“Well, of course. Humans are lots of fun. More lively, too. Elves can be so … well, serious. They don’t laugh much, have you ever noticed? Present company excepted, of course.”
Kerrick did laugh then, softly, so as not to break the mood of the moment. He relished this time with Coraltop and was certain that if someone else was to stir, the kender would perform his usual vanishing act. He felt a rush of affection for the little fellow.
“The Tusker Escarpment, too-of course you’ll have to get a look at that. Though I’d be careful about that part-you might want to take some strong drink along.”
“Strong drink? Why?” Kerrick asked.
The kender continued as though he hadn’t heard. “Too bad I can’t come with you for the whole way. You know I’m really pretty busy, have lots of things to do-”
“Of course,” Kerrick replied, growing exasperated, remembering the art of conversation the way it was practiced with the kender-as if they were always talking about two different things. “Maybe I should ask where you’ve been. You disappear for years, then pop back up just now? No one else sees you, and they think I’m mad if I even talk about you! You’re off doing those important things, no doubt?”
“Do you even have to ask? I have a life too, you know.”
The elf shook his head again, turning to look over the rim of the parapet. “Yes, we all have our lives,” he said quietly, “and she’s counting on us to sacrifice ours, if necessary, to help her, and by Zivilyn, I mean to do just that!”
He heard footsteps and laughter, as several people made their way up the stairs, approaching the rampart. Kerrick turned around, looking for Coraltop Netfisher, but of course the kender was nowhere to be seen.
Barq One-Tooth actually had several ivory stubs jutting from his gums-at least five or six, Moreen estimated quickly-but it was surely the one incisor of solid gold that gave the rough-hewn Highlander his name. That tooth was in clear evidence as the hulking thane glowered at her from across one of the banquet tables that had been set up in Brackenrock’s great hall. The chiefwoman watched that gleaming chip of metal as the burly, bearded man-clad in fur from his boots to leggings and his tunic and even his huge cloak-tore off a piece of bread and chomped down on it as if it were an enemy warrior’s head.
Repulsed, she turned to the other thane who had emerged as a spokesman from the band of a dozen or more Highlander lords. He, too, was seated at the chiefwoman’s table for this hastily arranged banquet. Thedric Drake came from Seascape, one of the coastal realms. The Highlanders who lived near the sea, Moreen had learned, tended to have at least a civilized veneer, unlike the mountain-dwelling clans such as Barq’s stronghold at Southhelm.
Many of both groups were here, as well as more than a hundred of her own Arktos people, men and women from her tribe and others. All of them had sworn to assist in her great cause and had gathered in the hall for this night of planning and farewells. Even the gully dwarf, Slyce, had insisted on joining the war party-in fact, he had volunteered as soon as he learned there would be beer and warqat at the departure feast.
The midnight sun was pale, almost touching the horizon now as summer drew to a close, and the soft light spilled through the hall’s high windows, joining the fire smoke to shroud the room in a cloudy haze. Bruni and Dinekki were also here, and Mouse of course, and Kerrick. Moreen once again felt the warmth in her heart that came from the presence of these good, trusted friends.
“To Strongwind Whalebone-King of the Highlanders!” cried Thedric Drake, raising his mug of warqat and offering a toast. “May he breathe free air e’en before the next Sturmfrost!”
“King Strongwind!” The name was echoed around the great hall as more than four hundred folk, Arktos and Highlanders alike, joined in the accolade. Moreen was careful to take only a sip of the pungent beverage, though she noted that most of those in the hall were unwilling to practice such restraint. Already, though the evening was young, the level of noise and boisterousness was rising considerably.
Why not? She knew that all of these men and women were willing to gamble their lives embarking on a quest that offered little hope of success or even of survival. Let them drink on this night!
“To the bravest of the brave, Mad Randall!” Kerrick Fallabrine offered, more somberly. He was seated to Moreen’s left and swayed slightly as he raised his mug. Abruptly the elf pushed back his chair, which fell over, and stood unsteadily. “The true warrior who fell to the ogres but took a dozen of the bastards with him when he died!” He turned and cast his glass into the fireplace, where the remnants of warqat whooshed into a burst of blue flame. The elf blinked in surprise, then laughed aloud.
“Mad Randall!” The toast became a cheer, with many Highlanders thumping on their tables. Even Moreen was swept up in the moment, her eyes tearing as she remembered the brave man and loyal friend. She took a long draught from her mug and gritted her teeth as the fiery liquid seared down her throat.
“We carry on the fight!” Barq One-Tooth roared, standing up and raising his mug so that warqat splashed across the table. “The ogres will learn to fear us-and they will die! Mad Randall will be avenged for all the Highlands!”