R. Salvatore - Archmage

Errtu scowled.

“Do not kill this one,” Lolth instructed. She waved her hand and a powerful roll of energy lifted K’yorl from the floor and sent her flipping and spinning through the air. “I might need her again.”

“Kill her?” Errtu asked as if the very thought was preposterous. “Torturing her brings me great pleasure, Lady of Pleasure and Pain!”

“I feel the same way about balors,” Lolth remarked, and she was simply gone in a puff of acrid black smoke. “And do take care that she cannot use her psionic trumpets to warn Demogorgon or Graz’zt, or any of the other demon lords.”

Errtu sat on his throne and tapped his clawed fingernails together in front of his flame-filled eyes.

So much to hate.

That was his nourishment.

Me thinking’s not changed. Four thousand’re needed,” Bruenor explained late that year of 1485 DR. Outside, winter was on in full, but in Mithral Hall, all seemed cozier than it had in many a year. The tunnels to Felbarr and Adbar were secured, and couriers moved between the three dwarven fortresses on a regular basis, with every new dispatch bringing news of growing excitement for the march to Gauntlgrym. The threat of the orcs felt far removed now.

“Might be more than that,” King Connerad remarked. “Harnoth’s had his griping, but Oretheo Spikes’s been there, every hour, whisperin’ in his ear. Now the young king’s thinking that Adbar’s best served by bringing the biggest force to Gauntlgrym.”

“Might be that he’s got his eyes on the throne,” General Dagnabbet chimed in.

“That ain’t for happenin’,” said Bruenor. “But let the hungry young one think what he’s thinkin’ if it’s getting me the warriors I need."

“If Gauntlgrym’s all ye say, then might be harder to keep the three citadels o’ the Silver Marches open and manned,” King Connerad said, with something in his tone that gave Bruenor pause-and not for the first time over these tendays of anticipation. Bruenor looked to Drizzt, who nodded, obviously catching the other king’s demeanor as well. “So when’re ye meanin’ to speak it clear, me friend?” Bruenor asked pointedly.

Connerad looked at him with puzzlement.

“I’m knowin’ yer heart, young Brawnanvil,” said Bruenor. “As I knowed yer Da’s, as I’m knowing me own.”

By that point, all eyes were squarely focused on the young King Connerad.

“Ye ain’t gettin’ Gauntlgrym’s throne,” said Bruenor.

“Not wantin’ it,” Connerad replied.

“But. .” Drizzt prompted.

Connerad sighed, snorted, and said nothing.

“But ye’re wantin’ to go,” said Bruenor.

Connerad snorted again, as if the mere suggestion was preposterous.

But Bruenor never blinked, and his probing expression would not let go of Connerad.

“Aye,” the young king finally admitted.

“Ye got Mithral Hall,” Bruenor replied. “We been through it, lad.

I ain’t for taking that from ye.”

“Been all me life here in the Hall,” said Connerad, and with that, Bruenor nodded his agreement.

“With half that life havin’ yer arse on the throne,” said Bruenor.

“Weighin’ on ye, is it? Aye, I know, lad.”

“Weighed on yer own arse when ye left,” said Dagnabbet, and there was an unmistakable edge in her voice that gave Bruenor, and some others, pause. “Suren that ye’re not for thinking that King Bruenor owed the hall more,” Connerad scolded the general.

“Never said that,” she replied.

“Then what?”

“Aye,” Bruenor agreed. “What?”

General Dagnabbet swallowed hard, her deep breaths showing that she was at a crossroads and trying to find her heart. “Was me grandfather that chased the gray dwarfs from Mithral Hall,” she said. “Was me grandfather and me Da that readied the throne for King Bruenor’s return from Calimport, and was them that served well aside ye.”

“Aye, as was me own Da,” Connerad Brawnanvil said. “Served King Bruenor and the king afore him.”

“Aye, and yer legacy’s no greater than me own,” General Dagnabbet blurted, drawing gasps from everyone else.

“Careful lass, he’s yer king,” Bungalow Thump warned. “Me king who’s wantin’ to leave, he just said,” Dagnabbet pressed. “As yerself’s leaving to serve as Bruenor’s shield.”

Off to the side, Catti-brie chuckled, and when Bruenor looked from Dagnabbet to his adopted daughter, he noted Catti-brie nodding in approval to Dagnabbet.

“What’re ye sayin’, girl?” Bruenor demanded of the young but capable general. “Just speak it!”

“Me own claim on Mithral Hall’s throne’s no less than Connerad’s, except that ye gived the throne to his Da, Banak,” she said bluntly.

Bungalow Thump wailed, but Connerad calmed him with an upraised hand. “And I’m not doubtin’ yer pick o’ Banak, as me own Da and Grandda were dead under the stones.”

“But?” Drizzt prompted again.

“But me friend’s not thinkin’ Mithral Hall’s needing a steward on her throne when I’m aside ye on the road to Gauntlgrym, King Bruenor,”

Connerad explained. “She’s thinkin’ Mithral Hall’s needin’ a queen .” Bruenor stared hard at General Dagnabbet, who matched his look without blinking, not backing away a finger’s breadth from the accusation. “Throne’s not me own to give,” he said at length, and both turned to Connerad.

“Queen Dagnabbet?” the young Brawnanvil mused aloud, and he chuckled and nodded. He and Dagnabbet had been dear friends for all their lives, military nobility in Mithral Hall’s proud ranks.

He turned to Bruenor. “She’s speakin’ truly,” he admitted. “None’re more distinguished, none more deservin’. If me own father’d had been killed to death in the Obould war, who’d Bruenor’ve chosen, meself or Dagnabbet?”

Bruenor shrugged, not willing to go there.

“If ye’d choosed meself, then me friend Dagnabbet would serve ye well, as she’s served me well,” said Connerad. “And if ye’d choosed to make a Queen Dagnabbet, then know she’d’ve had no more loyal friend and general than meself.”

“And now ye’re leavin’,” said Bruenor. He turned to Dagnabbet. “And yerself’s stayin’.”

“Then Queen Dagnabbet,” Connerad said to Bruenor, and he wasn’t asking, for in truth, it wasn’t Bruenor’s-or anyone else’s-place to offer an opinion. Succession was the choice of the king of Mithral Hall, and Connerad was the king of Mithral Hall.

“Are ye askin’ or tellin’?” Bruenor did reply.

“Both.”

“Then aye, and aye!” said Bruenor.

“Queen Dagnabbet!” Bungalow Thump shouted, and the huzzahs and heigh-ho’s filled the audience chamber and exploded out to echo down the corridors of Mithral Hall.

Dagnabbet bowed respectfully, then stood up straight, seeming hardly shaken and looking every bit the ferocious leader of Mithral Hall. “Me first request’s an easy one,” she said to both Connerad and Bruenor. She smiled and turned to Bungalow Thump. “Once ye get done chasin’ the drow from Gauntlgrym, ye give me back me Bungalow Thump. Mithral Hall’s not to be without him.”

“Honored, me king!” Bungalow said, punching his fists together. It took him a while to realize why everyone in the room was staring at him then, and with expressions full of amusement.

“Honored, me queen!” the embarrassed Gutbuster corrected, and Dagnabbet led the ensuing laughter.

When the council of the three dwarven citadels convened in Citadel Felbarr in the second month of 1486, Queen Dagnabbet was announced formally as the ruler of Mithral Hall, and King Connerad, now shield general of Bruenor’s impending march, did not even make the trip to Felbarr, busy as he was organizing the warriors Mithral Hall would send to the west.