Robert Salvatore - The Thousand Orcs

"Then why go through here now?"

"Think about it, elf," Bruenor answered, looking around at the encampment, which seemed fairly calm and at ease, despite their location. "Ye look danger right in the face, at its worst—or what ye're thinking to be its worst—right up front, and ye're not to be caught off yer guard by fear no more."

Indeed, in looking around at the settled camp, Drizzt understood exactly what Bruenor was driving at.

The night was not completely restful, and more than once, a sentry team cried out, "Ghost!" and the dwarves and others scrambled.

There were sightings and shrieks from unseen sources out in the darkness. Despite their weariness from the road, the clan did not get a good night's sleep, but they were back on the move in the morning, singing their songs, denying fear as only a dwarf could.

"Dreadmont and Skyfire," Bruenor explained to his friends the next day, pointing out two mountains, one to the south and one to the north. "Markin' the pass. Ye take in every landmark, elf. I'll be needing yer ranger nose if we're finding a place worth a return visit."

That day went uneventfully, and the troupe passed another fitful, but not overly so, night and were back on the road before the dawn.

At mid-morning, they were rolling along at a brisk pace, singing their songs from front to back, the battleragers and other soldiers trotting along easily.

But then the wagon beside Bruenor's lurched suddenly, its back right wheel dropping, and its front left coming right off the ground. The horses reared and whinnied, and the poor drivers fought hard to hold it steady. Dwarves rushed in from the side, grabbing on, some trying to catch the cargo that was sliding off the back, sliding into a gaping hole that was opening in the ground like a hungry mouth.

Drizzt rushed across in front of Bruenor's wagon and darted back behind the frightened, rearing horses, who were being dragged back with the rest of the wagon. His scimitars flashed repeatedly, cutting loose the harness, saving the team.

Catti-brie ran past the drow, heading for the drivers, and Wulfgar leaped from Bruenor's wagon to join her.

The wagon fell backward into the hole, taking the two struggling dwarves and the woman who had rushed to rescue them into the darkness.

Without even hesitating, Wulfgar dived down to his chest at the lip of the hole and reached out, catching the remains of the horse harness in his powerful hands. The wagon wasn't falling free. If it had been, Wulfgar would have disappeared along with it. Rather, it was slipping down along a rocky shaft, and enough of its weight was supported from below so that Wulfgar somehow managed to tentatively secure it.

The growling barbarian nearly let go in shock when a diminutive figure ran past him and leaped headlong into the hole, and behind him, Drizzt did cry out for Regis. Then both noticed that the halfling was tethered, and with Bruenor standing secure on his wagon, holding the other end of the line.

"Got them!" came a cry from below.

Dagnabbit and several other dwarves joined Bruenor, taking up the line and locking it in place.

Catti-brie was the first to climb out along the lifeline, followed in short order by the two shaken and bruised but not badly hurt drivers.

"Rumblebelly?" Bruenor called when the other three were out with no sign of the halfling.

"Lots of tunnels down here!" came Regis cry, cut short by a shriek.

That was all the dwarf team had to hear, and they began pumping their powerful arms, hoisting a very shaken Regis from the hole. Wulfgar could hold the wagon no longer. It went crashing down, disappearing from view, until the clatter of its descent became a distant thing.

"What'd ye see?" Bruenor and many others yelled at Regis, who was as white as an autumn cloud.

Regis shook his head, his eyes wide and unblinking. "I thought it was you," he said to one of the drivers. "I… I went to hand you the rope. It went right through … I mean, it didn't touch … I mean."

"Easy, Rumblebelly," Bruenor said, patting the halfling on the shoulder. "Ye're safe enough here and now."

Regis nodded but didn't seem convinced.

Off to the side, Delly gave Wulfgar a huge hug and kiss.

"Ye done good," she whispered to him. "If ye hadn't caught the wagon, then all three would've crashed down to their deaths."

Wulfgar looked past her to Catti-brie, who was standing comfortably in Drizzt's embrace but was looking Wulfgar's way and nodding appreciatively.

Surveying the scene, recognizing that many were thoroughly shaken, Bruenor Battlehammer walked over to the edge of the hole, put his hands on his hips, and yelled down, "Hey, ye damned ghosties! Ye got nothing more about ye than a wisp of smoke?"

A chorus of moans rolled out of the hole, and dwarves scrambled away.

Not Bruenor, though. "Oo, ye got me shaking in me boots now!" he taunted. "Well, if ye got something to say, then get up here and say it. Otherwise, shut yer traps!"

The moans stopped, and for a short, uncomfortable moment, not a dwarf moved or made the slightest sound, all of them wondering if Bruenor's challenge was about to be met by a wave of attacking ghosts.

As the seconds slipped by and nothing ominous crawled out of the hole, the troupe settled back.

"Ye get Pwent and his boys tethered together on long lines and out in front, stomping the ground as they go," Bruenor instructed Dagnabbit. "Don't want to be losin' any more wagons."

The team went back into action, and Drizzt moved near his dwarf friend.

"Challenging the dead?" he asked.

"Bah, they don't mean nothing with their booing and floating about. Probably don't even know they're dead."

"True enough."

"Mark well this spot, elf," Bruenor instructed. "I'm thinking that it might be a good place to start our hunt for Gauntlgrym.

With that, the unshakable Bruenor moved back to his wagon, patted Regis on the shoulder one more time, then led the clan forward as if nothing had happened.

"Roll on. Bruenor Battlehammer," Drizzt whispered.

"Don't he always?" Catti-brie asked, moving beside the drow and wrapping her arm comfortably around his waist.

It took them three days to cross the broken ground of the Fell Pass. The ghosts hovered around them every step of the way and the wind did not cease its mournful song. Some areas were relatively clear, but others were thick with remnants of that long-ago battle. The signs weren't always physical, often just a general feeling of loss and pain, a thick, tangible aura of a land haunted by many lost souls.

Late that third day, up high on one ridge, Catti-brie spotted a distant, welcomed sight, a silvery river running through the land to the east like a giant snake.

"The Surbrin," Bruenor said with a smile when she told him, and all heads about began to bob in recognition, for the great River Surbrin passed only a few miles to the east of Mithral Hall, and the dwarves had actually opened an eastern gate right along its banks. "Couple o' days and we'll be home," the dwarf explained, and a great cheer went up for King Bruenor, who had conquered the Fell Pass.

"I'm still not figuring why ye took us this way, if ye're just meaning to go home anyway," Catti-brie confided to the dwarf as the excitement continued around them.

"Because I'm coming back out here, and so're yerself, the elf, Rumblebelly, and Wulfgar if he's wanting it. And so're Dagnabbit and some o' me best shield dwarves. Now we're knowing the ground, and we learned it under the protection of an army. Now we can start our looking."

"Ye think the leaders in Mithral Hall are to let ye go out and run free?" Catti-brie asked. "Ye're their king, ye might be remembering."

"Are they to let me? Well, I'm their king, ye might be remembering," Bruenor shot back. "I'm not thinking that I'm needing anyone's permission, girl, and so what makes ye think I'm to be askin'?"