The preparations began before dawn, wizards ruffling the pages of their spellbooks, dwarves sharpening weapons. With a wave of yet another wand, Lady Alustriel turned herself into an owl, and flew off silently to scout out the coming battlefield.
She returned in mere moments, and reverted to her human form as the first rays of dawn crept across the Surbrin, revealing to all the others what Alustriel had returned to report.
Spellbooks snapped shut and the dwarves lowered their weapons and tools, moving to the riverbank and staring in disbelief.
Not an orc was to be seen.
Alustriel set them to motion, her minions opening dimensional doors that soon enough got all of them, dwarf, wizard, and Catti-brie alike, across the Surbrin, the last of them crossing even as Mithral Hall’s eastern door banged open and King Bruenor himself led the charge out from the stronghold.
But all they found were a dozen dead dwarves, stripped naked, and a dead wizard, still standing, held in place by a mighty javelin.
The wizards’ encampment had been razed and looted, as had the small shacks the dwarf builders had used. An assortment of boulders lay around the base of the damaged bridge abutment, and all of the towers and a good portion of the northern wall had been toppled.
And not an orc, dead or alive, was anywhere to be found.
CHAPTER 19
AN ORC KING’S CONJECTURE
By all the glories of Gruumsh!” Kna squealed happily when the reports of the victory at the Surbrin made their way like wildfire back to King Obould’s entourage. “We have killed the dwarves!”
“We have stung them and left them vulnerable,” said the messenger who had come from the battle, an orc named Oktule, who was a member of one of the many minor tribes that had been swept up in the march of Chieftain Grguch—a name Oktule used often, Obould had sourly noted. “Their walls are reduced and the winter is fast receding. They will have to work through the summer, building as they defend their position at the Surbrin.”
The orcs all around began to cheer wildly.
“We have severed Mithral Hall from their allies!”
The cheering only increased.
Obould sat there, digesting it all. He knew that Grguch hadn’t done any such thing, for the cunning dwarves had tunnels under the Surbrin, and many others that stretched far to the south. Still, it was hard to dismiss the victory, from both practical and symbolic terms. The bridge, had it been completed, would have provided a comfortable and easy approach to Mithral Hall from Silverymoon, Winter Edge, the Moonwood, and the other surrounding communities, and an easy way for King Bruenor to continue doing his profitable business.
Of course, one orc’s victory was another orc’s setback. Obould, too, had wanted to claim a piece of the Surbrin bridge, but not in such a manner, not as an enemy. And certainly not at the cost of assuring the mysterious Grguch all the glory. He fought hard to keep the scowl from his face. To go against the tide of joy then was to invite suspicion, perhaps even open revolt.
“Chieftain Grguch and Clan Karuck did not hold the ground?” he asked, not so innocently, for he knew well the answer.
“Lady Alustriel and a gang of wizards were with the dwarves,” Oktule explained. “Chieftain Grguch expected that the whole of the dwarven hall would come forth with the morning light.”
“No doubt with King Bruenor, Drizzt Do’Urden, and the rest of that strange companionship at its head,” Obould muttered.
“We did not have the numbers to hold against that,” Oktule admitted.
Obould glanced past the messenger to the gathered crowd. He saw more trepidation on their faces than anything else, along with an undercurrent of…what? Suspicion?
The orc king stood up and stretched to his full height, towering over Oktule. He looked up and let his gaze sweep in the mob then said with a wicked grin, “A great victory anyway!”
The cheering reached new heights, and Obould, his anger beginning to boil within him, used that opportunity to steal off into his tent, the ever-present Kna and the priest Nukkels following close behind.
Inside the inner chamber, Obould dismissed all of his guards.
“You, too,” Kna snapped at Nukkels, errantly presuming that the glorious news had excited her partner as it had her.
Nukkels grinned at her and looked to Obould, who confirmed his suspicions.
“You, too,” Obould echoed, but aimed the comment at Kna and not the priest. “Be gone until I summon you back to my side.”
Kna’s yellow eyes widened in shock, and she instinctively moved to Obould’s side and began to curl sensually around him. But with one hand, with the strength of a giant, he yanked her away.
“Do not make me ask you again,” he said slowly and deliberately, as if he were a parent addressing a child. With a flick of his wrist he sent Kna skipping and tumbling backward, and she kept scrambling away, her eyes wide with shock as she locked her stare on Obould’s frightening expression.
“We must commune with Gruumsh to determine the next victory,” Obould said to her, purposely softening his visage. “You will play with Obould later.”
That seemed to calm the idiot Kna a bit, and she even managed a smile as she exited the chamber.
Nukkels started to talk then, but Obould stopped him with an upraised hand. “Give Kna time to be properly away,” the king said loudly. “For if my dear consort inadvertently overhears the words of Gruumsh, the One-eye will demand her death.”
As soon as he finished, a rustling just to the side of the exit confirmed his suspicions that his foolish Kna had been thinking to eavesdrop. Obould looked at Nukkels and sighed.
“An informative idiot, at least,” the priest offered, and Obould could only shrug. Nukkels began spellcasting, waving his arms and releasing wards to silence the area around himself and Obould.
When he finished, Obould nodded his approval and said, “I have heard the name of Chieftain Grguch far too often of late. What do you know of Clan Karuck?”
It was Nukkels’s turn to shrug. “Half-ogres, say the rumors, but I cannot confirm. They are not known to me.”
“And yet they heard my call.”
“Many tribes have come forth from the deep holes of the Spine of the World, seeking to join in the triumph of King Obould. Surely Clan Karuck’s priests could have heard of our march through communion with Gruumsh.”
“Or from mortal voices.”
Nukkels mulled that over for a bit. “There has been a chain of whispers and shouts, no doubt,” he replied cautiously, for Obould’s tone hinted at something more nefarious.
“He comes forth and attacks the Moonwood then sweeps south and overruns the dwarves’ wall. For a chieftain who lived deep in the holes of the distant mountains, Grguch seems to know well the enemies lurking on the borders of Many-Arrows.”
Nukkels nodded and said, “You believe that Clan Karuck was called here with purpose.”
“I believe I would be a fool not to find out if that was the case,” Obould replied. “It is no secret that many have disagreed with my decision to pause in our campaign.”
“Pause?”
“As far as they know.”
“So they bring forth an instigator, to drive Obould forward?”
“An instigator, or a rival?”
“None would be so foolish!” the priest said with proper and prudent astonishment.
“Do not overestimate the intelligence of the masses,” Obould said. “But whether as an instigator or a rival, Grguch has brought trouble to my designs. Perhaps irreparable damage. We can expect a counterattack from King Bruenor, I am sure, and from many of his allies if we are unlucky.”
“Grguch stung them, but he left,” Nukkels reminded the king. “If they see his strike as bait, Bruenor will not be so foolish as to come forth from his defended halls.”
“Let us hope, and let us hope that we can quickly contain this eager chieftain. Send Oktule back to Grguch, with word that I would speak to him. Offer an invitation to Clan Karuck for a great feast in honor of their victories.”