Robert Salvatore - The Thousand Orcs

"Climb that trail!" Duggan crooned, and several looked at him, not sure if he was singing or ordering them around. "Break down that door!" Duggan went on, prompting Stokkum to yell out, "What door?"

But Duggan only continued, "Find that tunnel and run some more!"

"Ah, Upsen Downs!" Stokkum yelled, and the whole crew, even surly Nikwillig, couldn't resist, and broke into a rowdy, back-slapping song.

"Climb that trail

Break down that door

Find that tunnel

and run some more

"Cross the bridge of fiery glow

Running deeper down below

Make some smiles from those frowns

Ye've found the town of Upsen Downs!

"Upsen Downs! Upsen Downs!

Ye've found the town of Upsen Downs!

Upsen Downs! Upsen Downs!

Make some smites from those frowns.

" Ye've found the place o'the finest ale

With arm-sized pretzels that're never stale!

With big Chef Muglump and his coney stew

And Master Bumble with his forty brews!

"And in the holes ye can break the rock

and haul it up with yer tackle and block

Smelt it down and ye 'II get it sold

Upsen Downs's got the finest gold!

" Upsen Downs! Upsen Downs!

Ye've found the town of Upsen Downs!

Upsen Downs! Upsen Downs!

Make some smiles from those frowns.

It went on for many verses, and when the seven dwarves ran out of the formal lines of the old song, they just improvised, as they always did, with each piping in his own wants from such a remarkable place as Upsen Downs. That was the fun of the dwarven song, after all, and also a fairly subtle way for any perceptive dwarf to take a good measure of a potential friend or a potential foe.

Also, the song was a fine distraction, mostly for the three tugging the wagon along, backs bent and straining. They made fine progress through those minutes, bouncing along the rocky ground, the mountains rising up to their right as they moved south along the trail.

In the driver's seat, Tred called out names in order, bellowing for each to add the next verse. It went on smoothly, until he called out to his little brother Duggan.

The other five kept humming, providing the background, but they went through almost an entire verse, and there was still no response from Duggan.

"Well?" Tred asked, turning to regard his little brother and seeing a very confused look on Duggan's face. "Ye got to sing in, boy!"

Duggan looked at him curiously, confusedly, for a long moment, then quietly said, "I think I be hurt."

Only then did Tred look past that puzzled expression, moving his head back and taking a wider view of Duggan. Only then did Tred notice the spear sticking out of Duggan's side!

He gave a shriek, and the humming behind him stopped, with the two sitting in the back of the wagon turning to regard the slumping Duggan. Up front it quieted, too, but not completely, until a huge boulder whistled down, slamming the path right beside the three surprised dwarves and bouncing over them, clipping Nikwillig on the shoulder and knocking him silly.

The terrified horses broke into a gallop, and both the injured horse and poor Stokkum broke free of the rig, with Stokkum tumbling out onto the stony ground. Tred grabbed the reins hard, trying to slow the beasts, for his poor kinsmen up front were being tugged and dragged along, especially Nikwillig, who seemed unconscious.

Another boulder smashed down right behind the bouncing wagon, and a third hit the ground before the charging team. The horses veered wildly to the left, then tried to turn back to the trail on the right, putting the wagon up on two wheels.

"Move right!" Tred ordered, but even as he spoke the command, the wagon's left wheels buckled and the cart crashed down and flipped.

The horses broke free, then, taking the harness and the three strapped dwarves on a dead run down the rocky trail.

The two dwarves behind Tred went flying away — and Duggan was hardly aware of it—and Tred would have, too, except that his leg got hooked under the wagon seat. He felt the crunch of bone as the wagon came down atop him, then he got smacked on the head, and hard. He thought he had erupted into a bloody mess for a moment as the wagon continued its sidelong roll, but he had the fleeting notion that it was ale washing over him.

Luck alone extracted the dwarf from the crunching catastrophe, for he somehow wound up inside that decapitated keg. He went bounding and rolling away down the slope of the foothills. A rock stopped him abruptly, shattering the keg, and Tred went into a weird twisting somersault.

Tough as the stone around him, the dwarf struggled to his feet. One of his legs gave out under him, so he fell forward against the stone, stubbornly propping himself up on his elbows.

He saw them then, dozens and dozens of ores, waving spears, clubs, and swords, swarming over the destroyed wagon and fallen dwarves. A pair of giants followed them down from the higher ground — not hill giants, as Tred would have expected, but larger, blue-skinned frost giants. He knew

then that this was no ordinary band of raiders.

Slipping from consciousness, Tred kept enough of his wits about him to throw himself backward, falling into a roll down another slope, ending hard against another rock beneath a tangle of brambles. He tried to stand again but then tasted bloody dirt in his mouth.

Tred knew no more.

"Well, are ye alive, or ain't ye?" came a distant, gravelly voice.

Tred opened one eye, caked with blood, and through a haze saw the battered form of Nikwillig, crouched before the brambles and staring in at him.

"Good, so ye are," said Nikwillig and he slipped his arm in, offering Tred a hand. "Keep your arse low or the pickers'll be skinning it good."

Tred took that hand and squeezed it tightly but did not start out of the tangle.

"Where're the others?" he asked. "Where's me brother?"

"The ores killed 'em all to death in battle," came the grim response, "and the pigs're not too far away. Damned horses dragged me a mile an' more."

Tred didn't let go, but neither did he start forward.

"Come on, ye dolt," Nikwillig scolded. "We got to get to Shallows and get the word spreadin' back to King Warcrown."

"Ye run on," Tred replied. "Me leg's all broke. I'll slow ye down."

"Bah, ye're talking like the fool I always knowed ye was!"

Nikwillig gave a great tug, dragging Tred right out from under the brambles.

"Bah, yerself!" Tred growled at him.

"And so ye'd be leaving me if it was th' other way around?"

That question hit home. "Get me a stick, ye stubborn old fool!"

Soon after, arm in arm, with Tred leaning on both Nikwillig and a stick, the two hardy dwarves ambled off toward Shallows, already plotting their revenge on the ambushing ore band.

They didn't know that another hundred such bands were out of their mountain holes and roaming the countryside.

When Thibbledorf Pwent and his small army of battleragers arrived in Icewind Dale with news that Gandalug Battlehammer, the First King and Ninth King of Mithral Hall, had died, I knew that Bruenor would have no choice but to return to his ancestral home and take again the mantle of leadership. His duties to the clan would demand no less, and for Bruenor, as with most dwarves, duties to king and clan usurp everything.

I recognized the sadness on Bruenor's face as he heard the news, though, and knew that little of it was in grieving for the former king. Gandalug had lived a long and amazing life, more so than any dwarf could ever hope. So while he was sad at losing this ancestor he had barely known, that wasn't the source of Bruenor's long look. No, what most troubled Bruenor, I knew, was the duty calling him to return to a settled existence.