Tos’un smiled at them and nodded. “We will watch, Chieftain Dnark. And we will wait. And I will take great pleasure in witnessing the death of Obould Many-Arrows. And greater pleasure in taking the head of King Bruenor and crossing the River Surbrin to lay waste to the wider lands beyond.”

The drow gave a curt bow and turned away. “We are watching,” he warned as he started off. “All of it.”

“Listen for the Horn of Karuck,” Dnark said. “When you hear it blow, know that King Obould nears the end of his reign.”

Tos’un didn’t so much as offer a glance up at Drizzt as he crossed the clearing to the far side, but soon after the orcs had headed back to their encampment, the rogue drow returned to the base of the tree.

“Your belt,” Drizzt whispered down, but Tos’un was already undoing it. He let it fall to the ground and stepped back.

Drizzt hopped down and retrieved it.

“You might have prepared them to say as much,” Drizzt remarked.

“Ask the sword.”

Drizzt looked down at Khazid’hea skeptically. “It is not to be trusted.”

“Then demand of it,” said Tos’un.

But Drizzt merely slung the sword belt over his shoulder, motioning for Tos’un to lead the way back to the waiting dwarves.

Whatever Tos’un’s position, whether it was out of a change of heart or simple pragmatism, Drizzt had no reason to doubt what he had heard, and one statement in particular kept repeating in his thoughts, the orc’s claim that Obould had “sent an emissary to parlay with the dwarves, to beg forgiveness for Grguch’s attack.”

Obould would not march. For the orc king, the war was at its end. But for many of his subjects, apparently, that was not so pleasing a thought.

CHAPTER28

FOR THE GREATER GOOD

The scout pointed to a trio of rocky hills in the northwest, a few miles away. “Obould’s flag flies atop the centermost,” he explained to Grguch, Hakuun, and the others. “He has rallied his clan around him in a formidable defense.”

Grguch nodded and stared toward his distant enemy. “How many?”

“Hundreds.”

“Not thousands?” the chieftain asked.

“There are thousands south of his position, and thousands north,” the scout explained. “They could close before us and shield King Obould.”

“Or swing around and trap us,” said Hakuun, but in a tone that showed he was not overly concerned—for Jack, answering that particular question through Hakuun’s mouth, held little fear of being trapped by orcs.

“If they remain loyal to King Obould,” Toogwik Tuk dared interject, and all eyes turned his way. “Many are angry at his decision to halt his march. They have come to know Grguch as a hero.”

Dnark started as if to speak, but changed his mind. He had caught Grguch’s attention, though, and when the fierce half-orc, half-ogre turned his gaze Dnark’s way, Dnark said, “Do we even know that Obould intends to do battle? Or will he just posture and paint with pretty words? Obould rules through wit and muscle. He will see the wisdom of coaxing Grguch.”

“To build walls?” the chieftain of Clan Karuck said with a dismissive snicker.

“He will not march!” Toogwik Tuk insisted.

“He will speak enough words of war to create doubt,” said Dnark.

“The only word I wish to hear from the coward Obould is ‘mercy,’” Grguch stated. “It pleases me to hear a victim beg before he is put to my axe.”

Dnark started to respond, but Grguch held up his hand, ending any further debate. With a scowl that promised only war, Grguch nodded to Hakuun, who commanded forth the grotesque zombie of Oktule, still holding its head before it.

“This is our parlay,” Grguch said. He swung his gaze out to the side, where the battered Nukkels hung by his ankles from poles suspended across the broad shoulders of a pair of ogres. “And our advanced emissary,” Grguch added with a wicked grin.

He took up his dragon-fashioned axe and stalked toward Nukkels, who was too beaten and dazed to even register his approach. Nukkels did see the axe, though, at the last moment, and he gave a pathetic yelp as Grguch swung it across, cleanly severing the rope and dropping Nukkels on his head to the ground.

Grguch reached down and hoisted the shaman to his feet. “Go to Obould,” he ordered, turning Nukkels around and shoving him toward the northwest so ferociously that the poor orc went flying headlong to the ground. “Go and tell Obould the Coward to listen for the sound of Kokto Gung Karuck.”

Nukkels staggered back to his feet and stumbled along, desperate to be away from the brutal Karuck orcs.

“Tell Obould the Coward that Grguch has come and that Gruumsh is not pleased,” Grguch shouted after him, and cheers began to filter through all of the onlookers. “I will accept his surrender…perhaps.”

That sent the Karuck orcs and ogres into a frenzy, and even Toogwik Tuk beamed in anticipation. Dnark, though, looked at Ung-thol.

This conspiracy had been laid bare, to the ultimate fruition. This was real, suddenly, and this was war.

“Grguch comes with many tribes in his wake,” Obould said to General Dukka. “To parlay?”

He and Obould’s other commanders stood on the centermost of the three rocky hills. The foundations of a small keep lined the ground behind the orc leader, and three low walls of piled stones ringed the hill. The other two hills were similarly outfitted, though the defenses were hardly complete. Obould looked over his shoulder and motioned to his attendants, who brought forth the battered, nearly dead Nukkels.

“He’s already spoken, it would seem,” the orc king remarked.

“Then it will be war within your kingdom,” the general replied, and his doubts were evident for all to hear.

Doubts offered for his benefit, Obould recognized. He didn’t blink as he stared at Dukka, though others around him gasped and whispered.

“They are well-supported at their center,” Dukka explained. “The battle will be fierce and long.”

They are well-supported indeed, Obould thought but did not say.

He offered a slight nod of appreciation to Dukka, for he read easily enough between Dukka’s words. The general had just warned him that Grguch’s fame had preceded him, and that many in Obould’s ranks had grown restless. There was no doubt that Obould commanded the superior forces. He could send orcs ten-to-one against the march of Clan Karuck and its allies. But with the choice laid bare before them, how many of those orcs would carry the banner of Obould, and how many would decide that Grguch was the better choice?

But there was no question among those on the three hills, Obould understood, for there stood Clan Many-Arrows, his people, his slavish disciples, who would follow him into Lady Alustriel’s own bedroom if he so commanded.

“How many thousands will die?” he asked Dukka quietly.

“And will not the dwarves come forth when the opportunity is seen?” the general bluntly replied, and again Obould nodded, for he could not disagree.

A part of Obould did want to reach out and throttle Dukka for the assessment and for the lack of complete obedience and loyalty, but he knew in his heart that Dukka was right. If Dukka’s force, more than two thousand strong, joined battle on the side of Clan Karuck and her allies, the fight could well shift before first blood was spilled.

Obould and his clan would be overwhelmed in short order.

“Hold my flank from the orcs who are not Karuck,” Obould asked of his general. “Let Gruumsh decide which of us, Obould or Grguch, is more worthy to lead the kingdom forward.”

“Grguch is strong with Gruumsh, so they say,” Dukka warned, and a cloud crossed over Obould’s face. But Dukka broke a smile before that cloud could become a full scowl. “You have chosen wisely, and for the good of the Kingdom of Many-Arrows. Grguch is strong with Gruumsh, it is said, but Obould protects the minions of the One-eye.”