Robert Salvatore - The Lone Drow

"They will be ready," the orc undercommander remarked.

Urlgen turned to face him.

"The dwarves and their stink have not stopped the giants," the undercommander asserted.

Urlgen nodded and looked back to the west. He had assurances from the giants that the catapults would begin their barrage before the dawn.

Back in the north, the battle continued, not in full force, for that was not Urlgen's intent, but strongly enough to prevent the dwarves from retreating in full. He had to keep them there, engaged, until his father sealed off any possible escape.

The orc leader issued a low growl and curled his fists up at his side in eager anticipation. The dawn would bring his greatest victory.

He couldn't help but glance back nervously at the western ridge as he considered that without the giant catapults, his task would be much more difficult.

* * *

Nikwillig rolled the small mirror over and over in his hands. He glanced to the west and the ridge, then to the east and the taller peaks. He focused on one smaller peak at the edge of the cliff, a short but difficult climb. That was where he had to go to catch the morning rays. Returning from that place, should Banak lose, would prove nearly impossible.

"What am I hearing?" he heard Tred call to him, drawing him from the unsettling thought.

Nikwillig observed the swift approach of his Citadel Felbarr companion.

"What am I hearing?" Tred demanded again, storming up right before the seated Nikwillig.

"Someone's got to do it."

Tred put his hands on his hips and looked all around at the continuing bustle of the encampment. He had just come back from the fighting, dragging a pair of wounded dwarves with him, and he meant to get right back into the fray.

"I was wondering why ye weren't with us on the line," he said.

"I'm more trouble than help down there, and ye know it," said Nikwillig. "Never been a warrior."

"Bah, ye were doing fine!"

"It's not me place, Tred. Ye know it, too."

"Ye could've gone running back to King Emerus then, with news," Tred answered. "I bid ye to do just that—was yer own stubbornness that kept us both here!"

"And we belong here," Nikwillig was quick to reply. "We're owing that much to Bruenor and Mithral Hall. And to be sure, they're glad that Tred was up here fighting beside them."

"And Nikwillig!"

"Bah, I ain't killed an orc yet and would've been slain more than once if not for yerself and others pulling me out o' the fight."

"So ye're choosin' this road?" came the incredulous question.

"Someone's got to do it," Nikwillig said again. "The way I'm seeing it, I might be the most expendable one up here."

"What about Pikel?" Tred asked. "Or the durned gnome Nanfoodle—yeah, was his crazy idea in the first place."

"Pikel probably can't even make the climb with his one arm. And Nanfoodle might be needed here—ye know it. Pikel, too, since he's been so important to it all so far. Nah, Tred, shut up yer whining. This's a good job for meself and ye know it. I can do this as well as any, and I'll be the least missed here."

Tred started to argue, but Nikwillig rose up before him, his stern expression stealing the blustery dwarf's words.

"And I'm wanting to do it," Nikwillig declared. "With all me heart and soul. Now I'm paying back the Battlehammers for their help."

"Ye might find a tough time in getting back. In getting anywhere."

"And if that's true, then yerself and all them standing here will have hard a tough time of it, too," said Nikwillig. He gave a snort and a sudden burst of laughter. "Yerself's about to charge down headlong into a sea of smelly orcs, and ye're fearing for me?"

When he heard it put that way, Tred, too, gave a little laugh. He reached up and patted his longtime companion on the shoulder.

"I'm not liking that we might be meeting our ends so far apart," he said.

Nikwillig returned the pat, and the look, and said, "Nor am I. But I been looking to make meself as helpful as can be, and this job's perfect for Nikwillig." Again, Tred started to protest—reflexively, it seemed—but again, Nikwillig cut him short.

"And ye know it!" Nikwillig said flatly.

Tred went quiet and stared at his friend for a long moment, then gradually admitted as much with a hesitating nod.

"Ye be careful."

"Are ye forgetting?" Nikwillig replied with a wink. "I'm knowing how to ran away!"

A shout from down the slope caught their attention then. The orcs had breached the dwarven line right between the two defensive squares—not seriously, but enough to put a few of the bearded folk in apparent and immediate danger.

"Moradin, put yer strength in me arms!" Tred howled, and he charged headlong down the slope.

Nikwillig smiled as he watched his friend go, then he turned back to the east and the dark silhouettes of the imposing mountains. He glanced back one more time to take his bearings and to better mark the critical area of the mountain spur, then, without another word, he tucked the mirror safely into his pack and trudged off on what he figured would be the last journey of his life.

* * *

Several hours later, the sky still dark but the eastern rim holding the lighter glow of the approaching dawn, word filtered up to Banak that an orc force had been spotted in the southwest, fast approaching the dwarf positions on the western edge of Keeper's Dale. The dwarf quickly assembled his leaders, along with Nanfoodle, Pikel, and Shoudra Stargleam, who had been the bearer of the information, having scouted the western reaches personally with her magical abilities.

"It is a sizable force," Shoudra warned them. "A great and powerful army. Our friends will be hard-pressed to hold out for very long."

The dispiriting news had all the dwarves glancing around to one another.

"Are ye saying that we should ran down the cliff now and be done with it?" Banak asked.

Shoudra had no answer to that, and Banak turned to Nanfoodle.

"I'm hoping to steal a victory here," he explained. "But we're not to do that if them giants start throwing their boulders across our flank. It comes down to yer plan, gnome."

Nanfoodle tried to look confident—futilely.

"If we gotta leave, then we gotta leave," Banak said to them all. "But I'm thinkin' we need to hurt these pig orcs, and bad."

Thibbledorf Pwent growled.

"They're coming soon," Ivan Bouldershoulder put in. "They're stirring in the north, getting ready for another charge."

"Because they know the giants will soon begin their barrage," Wulfgar reasoned.

"But if them giants ain't throwing. …" Banak said slyly.

Again he turned to Nanfoodle, guiding the eyes of all the others to the gnome as well.

"Oo oi!" Pikel cheered in support of the hunched little alchemist.

"Is it gonna work?" Banak asked.

"Oo oi!" Pikel said again, punching his one fist into the air.

"The smell was not supposed to.. " Nanfoodle started to reply, but then he stopped and took a deep breath. "I do not know," he admitted. "I think…"

"Ye think?" Banak berated. "Ye got more than a thousand dwarves up here, little one. Ye think? Do we hold the fight or get down now?"

Poor Nanfoodle had no idea how to answer and couldn't begin to take that heavy responsibility upon his tiny shoulders.

"Oooi!" cried Pikel.

"It's gonna work," Ivan added.

"So we should stay?" Banak asked.

"That's yer own choice to make," Ivan replied. "But I'm thinking them giants're gonna be wishing we'd turned tail and run!"

He stepped over and patted Nanfoodle on the shoulder.

"Oo oi!" cried Pikel.

"Orcs're coming again," said another dwarf, Rockbottom the cleric. "Big charge this time."

"Good enough. I was gettin' bored!" said Thibbledorf Pwent, who was already covered in blood and gore from the evening's fighting—some of it his own, but most of it that of his unfortunate enemies.