Robert Salvatore - The Thousand Orcs

There wasn't really much that Catti-brie could say against that.

"Ain't ye supposed to be out hunting with Drizzt?" Bruenor asked.

"He took Regis with him today," Catti-brie answered, and she looked to the north, as if she expected to spot the pair running along a distant ridgeline.

"The halfling howl about going?"

"No. He asked if he could go."

"Still wonderin' what's got into Rumblebelly," Bruenor admitted with a shake of his hairy head.

Regis, once the lover of comfort, did indeed seem transformed. He had pressed on through the bitter cold of winter in the Spine of the World without complaint, indeed even lending rousing words for his friends. In every action, the halfling had tried to get involved, to somehow help out, whereas the Regis of old seemed amazingly adept at finding an out of the way shadow.

The change was somehow unsettling to Bruenor and to all the others, a shifting of the sand beneath the world as they had known it. At least it seemed to be shifting in a positive direction.

Not so far away, Wulfgar came upon Delly as she watched Catti-brie

and Bruenor in their private discussion. The barbarian noted that his wife was focusing almost exclusively on Catti-brie, as if taking a measure of the woman. He walked up behind her and wrapped his huge arms around her waist.

"She is a fine companion," he said.

"I can see why ye loved her."

Wulfgar gently turned Delly around to face him. "I did not…"

"Oh, sure ye did, and stop trying to save me feelings!"

Wulfgar stammered over a couple of responses, not knowing how he should respond.

"She is a companion to me, on the road, in battle. ."

"And in all yer life," Delly finished.

"No," Wulfgar insisted. "Once I thought that I desired such a joining, but now I see the world differently. Now I see you, and Colson, and know that I am complete."

"Who said ye weren't?"

"You just said. ."

"I said that yer Catti-brie was a companion in all yer life, and so she is, and so ye're better off for it," Delly corrected. "Ye don't be pullin'her back from yerself for me own sake!"

"I do not wish to hurt you."

Delly turned around to regard Catti-brie.

"Nor does she. She's yer friend, and I'm liking it that way." She pulled away from Wulfgar but stood back and stared at him, a sincere smile wide on her pretty face. "To be sure, there's a part o' me fearing that ye'll want her for more than friendship. I can't be helping that, but I'm not to be giving in to it. I trust ye and trust in what me and ye have started here, but don't ye be putting Catti-brie away from yerself in trying to protect me, because that's not where she belongs. Most folks'd be glad to have a friend like her."

"And I am," Wulfgar admitted. He looked curiously at Delly. "Why are you saying this now?"

Delly couldn't suppress her telling grin.

"Bruenor's talking about coming back out here. He's hoping that ye'll be joining him."

"My place is with you and Colson."

Delly was shaking her head even as he started that predictable response.

"Yer place is with me and our girl when yer life permits. Yer place is on the road with Bruenor and Drizzt and Catti-brie and Regis. I'm knowing that, and it makes me love ye all the more!"

'Their road is a dangerous one," Wulfgar reminded.

"Then more the reason for ye to help them along it."

"They're dwarfs!" Nikwillig exclaimed, his voice breaking with excitement and relief.

Tred, who had not climbed the last part of the steep boulder tumble and so could not see the huge caravan rolling along the flat ground to the south, leaned back against a rock and put his head in his hands. His left leg was swollen and would not bend. He hadn't realized how badly it had been torn during their respite in the small village, and he knew that he would not be able to go on for much longer without some proper tending, maybe even some divine intervention, courtesy of a cleric.

Of course, Tred hadn't complained at all and had fought with every ounce of his strength to keep up with Nikwillig in their flight. It had been a strong and valiant run, but both dwarves knew they were nearing the end of their endurance. They needed a break, and apparently, one had found them.

"We can catch them if we angle out to the southeast," Nikwillig explained. "Ye up for one more run?"

"We need to make the run, we make the run," Tred said. "Ain't come this far to lay down and die."

Nikwillig nodded and turned around, gingerly beginning the steep descent. He stopped, though, freezing in place, his eyes locked across the way. Tred noted that look and followed that gaze to see a huge panther, black as the night sky, crouched on a ledge not so far away—not far enough away!

"Don't ye move," Nikwillig whispered.

Tred didn't even bother to answer, thinking exactly the same thing, though he understood that the great cat knew exactly where they were. He pondered what he might do if the cat sprang his way. How could he even begin to hurt that mass of muscle and claws?

Well, he decided, if it comes on, it goes away bloody.

The seconds slipped past, neither the cat nor the dwarves moving an inch.

With a growl that seemed a challenge, Tred pushed out from the wall to stand straight and strong and put his heavy axe up at the ready beside him.

The great panther looked his way but not threateningly. In fact, the cat seemed almost bored.

"Please don't throw that at her," came a voice from below and to the side, and the two dwarves glanced down to see a brown-haired halfling moving out onto an open, flat stone. "When Guenhwyvar gets an invitation to play, it's hard to stop her."

"That yer cat?" Tred asked.

"Not mine, no," the halfling answered. "She a friend and mastered by a friend, if you get my meaning."

Tred nodded. "Well, who are ye then?"

"I could be asking you the same question," the halfling answered. "In fact, I believe that I will."

"And ye'll be getting yer answer after we're getting ours."

The halfling bowed low. "Regis of Mithral Hall," he said. "Friend to King Bruenor Battlehammer, and scout for the caravan your friend sees below. Returning from Icewind Dale."

Tred relaxed, and so did Nikwillig.

"The King o' Mithral Hall keeps strange company," Tred remarked.

"Stranger than you would ever believe," Regis was quick to answer.

He glanced to the side, and so did both dwarves, to see a second dark figure, this one not feline, but a drow elf.

Tred nearly fell over. Above him, Nikwillig did slip a bit, barely catching a hold before he tumbled from the climb.

"You still have not told me your name," Regis reminded, "and I am guessing that you're not from around here if you've not heard of Drizzt Do'Urden and his panther Guenhwyvar."

"Wait, I heared o' him!" Nikwillig said from above Tred, and Tred looked up. "Bruenor's friend drow. Yeah, we heared o' that!"

"And pray tell us where you were when you heard," Drizzt prompted.

Nikwillig moved down fast, dropping beside Tred, and both dwarves set themselves more presentably, with Nikwillig brushing some of the road dust from his weathered tunic.

"Tred McKnuckles's me name," Tred announced, "and this's me friend Nikwillig, outta Citadel Felbarr and the kingdom o* Emerus Warcrown."

"Long way from home," Drizzt observed.

"Longer than ye're thinking," Tred answered. "Been a road o' orcs and giants, and one wrong trail leading to another wrong trail."

"A tale well worth hearing, I am sure," Drizzt replied, "but not here and not now. Let us get you down to Bruenor and the others."

"Bruenor's in that caravan?" Nikwillig asked.

"Returning from Icewind Dale to assume the throne of Mithral Hall, for word reached us that Gandalug Battlehammer is dead."