Robert Salvatore - The Thousand Orcs

"Only enough for us," Wulfgar said to him. "Sorry."

"Bah, ye can spare me a leg!"

"Just enough for us," Wulfgar said again, putting his hand on Pwent's forehead and pushing the dwarf back to arm's length. "And for me to bring some leftovers to my wife and child. You will have to go and dine with your kin, I fear."

"Bah!" the battlerager snorted. "Ye ain't even kilt it right!"

With that, he stepped up and balled his fist, retracting his arm for a devastating punch.

"No!" Drizzt, Wulfgar, and Catti-brie all yelled together.

The woman and the drow leaped up and rushed in to intercept. Wulfgar, spinning aside, put himself between the battlerager and the sack. As he did, though, the sack swung out wide and bounced off the rock facing, drawing another groan from within.

"We're wanting it fresh," Catti-brie explained to the befuddled battlerager.

"Fresh? It's still kicking!"

Catti-brie rubbed her hands together eagerly and licked her lips, mimicking Pwent's initial reaction.

"It is indeed!" she said happily.

Pwent backed off a step and put his hands firmly on his hips, staring hard at the woman, then he exploded into laughter.

"Ye'll make a good dwarf, girl!" he howled.

He slapped his hands against his thighs and bounded away, back down the slope toward the main encampment.

As soon as he was gone, Wulfgar swung the sack over his shoulder and bent low, gently spilling its contents: one very irate, slightly overweight halfling dressed in fine traveling clothes, a red shirt, brown vest, and breeches.

Regis rolled on the ground, quickly regained his footing, and frantically brushed himself off.

"Your pardon," Wulfgar offered as graciously as he could while stifling a laugh.

Regis glared up at him then hopped over and kicked him hard in the shin—which of course hurt Regis's bare toes more than it affected the mighty barbarian.

"Relax, my friend," Drizzt bade him, stepping over and draping his arm over the halfling's shoulder. "We needed to speak with you, that is all."

"And asking is beyond your comprehension?" Regis was quick to point out.

Drizzt shrugged, "It had to be done secretly," he explained. Even as the words left his mouth Regis began to shrink back, apparently catching on.

"Ye been talking a lot with Bruenor of late," Catti-brie piped in, and Regis shrank back even more. "We're thinking that ye should be sharing some of his words with us."

"Oh, no," Regis replied, patting his hands in the air before him, warding them away. "Bruenor's got his plans spinning, and he will tell you when he wants you to know."

"Then there is something?" Drizzt reasoned.

"He is returning to Mithral Hall to become the king," the halfling replied. "That is something, indeed!"

"Something more than that," said Drizzt. "I see it clearly in his eyes, in the bounce of his step."

Regis shrugged. "He's glad to be going home."

"Oh, is that where we're going?" Catti-brie asked.

"You are. T am going farther," the halfling admitted. "To the Herald's Holdfast," he explained, referring to a renowned library tower located east of Mithral Hall and northwest of Silverymoon, a place the friends had visited years before, when they were trying to locate Mithral Hall so that Bruenor could reclaim the place. "Bruenor has asked me to gather some information for him."

"About what?" asked the drow.

"Gandalug and Gandalug's time, mostly," Regis answered, and while it seemed to the other three that he was speaking truthfully, they also sensed that he was speaking incompletely.

"And what might Bruenor be needing that for?" asked Catti-brie.

"I'm thinking that's a question ye should be asking Bruenor," came the gruff reply of a familiar voice, and all four turned to see Bruenor stride into the firelight. "Ye go grabbing Rumblebelly there, when all ye had to do was ask meself."

"And ye'd be telling us?" Catti-brie asked.

"No," said the dwarf, and three sets of eyes narrowed immediately. "Bah!" Bruenor recanted. "Hoping to surprise ye three is hoping for the impossible!"

"Surprise us with what?" asked Wulfgar.

"An adventure, boy!" the dwarf howled. "As great an adventure as ye've ever knowed."

"I've known a few," Drizzt warned, and Bruenor howled.

"Sit yerselfs down," the dwarf bade them, motioning to the fire, and all five sat in a circle about the blaze.

Bruenor pulled a bulging pack off his back. After dropping it to the ground he pulled it open to reveal packets of food and bottles of ale and wine.

"Though ye're fancying fresher food," he said with a wink to Catti-brie, "I was thinking this'd do for now."

They sorted out the meal, and Bruenor hardly waited for them to begin eating before he launched into his tale, telling them that he was truly glad they had pressed the issue, for it was a tale, a promise of adventure, that he desperately wanted to share.

"We'll be making the mouth o' the Valley of Khedrun tomorrow," he explained. "Then we're turning south across the vale, to the River Mirabar, and to Mirabar herself."

"Mirabar?" Catti-brie and Drizzt echoed in unison, and with equal skepticism.

It was hardly a secret that the mining city of Mirabar was no supporter of Mithral Hall, which threatened their business interests.

"Ye're knowing Dagnabbit?" Bruenor asked, and the friends all nodded. "Well, he's a few friends there who'll be giving us some information that we're wanting to hear."

The dwarf paused and hopped up, glancing all around into the darkness as if searching for spies

"Ye got yer cat about, elf?" the red-bearded dwarf asked.

Drizzt shook his head.

"Well, get her here, if ye can," Bruenor bade him. "Send her out about and tell her to drag in any who might overhear."

Drizzt looked to Catti-brie and to Wulfgar, then reached into his belt pouch and brought forth an onyx figurine of a panther.

"Guenhwyvar," he called softly. "Come to me, friend."

A gray mist began to swirl around the figurine, growing and thickening, gradually mirroring the shape of the idol. The mist solidified quickly, and the huge black panther Guenhwyvar stood there, quietly and patiently waiting for Drizzt's instructions.

The drow bent low and whispered into the panther's ear, and Guenhwyvar bounded away, disappearing into the blackness.

Bruenor nodded. "Them Mirabar boys're mad about Mithral Hall," he said, which wasn't news to any of them. "They're looking for a way to get back an advantage in the mining trade."

The dwarf looked around again, then bent in very close, motioning for a huddle.

"They're looking for Gauntlgrym," he whispered.

''What is that?" Wulfgar asked.

Catti-brie looked equally perplexed, though Drizzt was nodding as if it was all perfectly logical.

"The ancient stronghold of the dwarves," Bruenor explained. "Back afore Mithral Hall, Citadel Felbarr, and Citadel Adbar. Back when we were one big clan, back when we named ourselves the Delzoun."

"Gauntlgrym was lost centuries ago," Drizzt put in. "Many centuries ago. Beyond the memory of any living dwarves."

"True enough," Bruenor said with a wink. "Now that Gandalug's gone to the Halls of Moradin."

Drizzt's eyes widened — so did those of Catti-brie and Wulfgar.

"Gandalug knew of Gauntlgrym?" the drow asked.

"Never saw it, for it fell afore he was born," Bruenor explained.

"But," he added quickly, as the hopeful smiles began to fade, "when he was a lad the tales of Gauntlgrym were fresher in the mouths o' dwarves." He looked at each of his friends in turn, nodding knowingly. "Them Mirabar boys're looking for it under the Crags to the south. They're looking in the wrong place."

"How much did Gandalug know?" Catti-brie asked.

"Not much more than I knew about Mithral Hall when first we went a' lookin'," Bruenor admitted with a snort. "Less even. But it'll be an adventure worth making if we're finding the city. O, the treasures, I tell ye! And metal as good as anything ye've e'er seen!"