R. Salvatore: The Dragon King

“Perhaps,” Brind’Amour said. “But whatever the cause of the cyclopian raids, it only stands to reason that both your dwarfs and the folk of Eriador would profit from an alliance.”

Bellick nodded. “I know what you’re wanting from me and my kin, King Brind’Amour,” he said. “You need a mountain army, protection from the one-eyes, and security against Greensparrow, should the Avon king decide to come calling once more. What I want to know is what you’ve to offer to my folk.”

Brind’Amour was a bit surprised by the dwarf’s straightforwardness. A diplomatic summit such as this could roll on for days before the obvious questions were so plainly asked. Shuglin had warned the wizard about the dwarf king’s blunt style, and now, with so much trouble brewing and reports arriving daily about cyclopian raids, Brind’Amour found that he liked straightforward Bellick all the more.

“Markets,” Brind’Amour replied. “I offer you markets. Both Caer MacDonald and Dun Caryth will be open for you, and with Eriador trying to establish her true independence, we shall be drilling a formal militia, and shall require many weapons.”

“And none forge better weapons than your dwarfs,” Siobhan quickly added.

Bellick put his elbows up on the oaken table and crossed his fingers in front of his hairy face. “You wish DunDarrow to become a city of Eriador,” he said bluntly, and somewhat sourly.

“We considered an alliance of separate kingdoms,” Brind’Amour replied without hesitation, “but I truly believe that—”

“That with DunDarrow under your control, you will get the supplies you so desperately need much more cheaply,” interrupted Bellick.

Brind’Amour sat back once more, staring intently at the dwarf king. After a short pause, he started to respond, but Bellick cut him short with an upraised hand.

“It’s true enough,” the dwarf said, “and I admit that I would be doing much the same if I found myself in your tentative position. The king of Avon wants Eriador, not DunDarrow—by the stones, he’d not find us anyway, and not take us if he did!” The orange-bearded dwarf’s voice rose excitedly, and his three brethren were quick to take up the cheer.

Oliver, wanting the floor, tapped Brind’Amour on the arm, but Bellick began again before the wizard could acknowledge the halfling.

“So I am not blaming you,” Bellick said. “We came out of the mountains to Princetown because of what you and yours have done for our kin, those enslaved in the city and the mines, and in all of Eriador. We know you as dwarf-friend, no small title. And, to be truthful, DunDarrow, too, would profit by securing as tight an alliance with Eriador as you desire.”

“None but the king of DunDarrow may rule in DunDarrow,” said the dwarf warrior seated beside Shuglin.

“And he who rules in DunDarrow must be of Clan Burso,” the other general added. “Of dwarven blood, and only dwarven blood.”

Brind’Amour, Siobhan, and Oliver all understood that the interruptions had been planned, the words carefully rehearsed. Bellick wanted Brind’Amour to see his predicament clearly, even if the dwarf decided to join in with Eriador.

Brind’Amour began to respond, to offer the dwarfs all respect, but this time Oliver leaped from his chair and scrambled atop the table.

“My good fellow furry folk,” the halfling began.

Shuglin groaned; so did Siobhan.

“I, too, am a citizen of Eriador,” Oliver continued, ignoring the audible doubts. “In service to King Brind’Amour!” He said it dramatically, as if expecting some applause, and when none came, he seemed caught off guard, stumbling verbally for just a moment.

“But not a one rules Oliver deBurrows except for Oliver deBurrows!” With that, the halfling drew his rapier and struck a dramatic pose.

“Your point?” Bellick asked dryly.

“A duocracy,” the halfling explained.

There came a round of murmurs and questions, no one having any idea of what a “duocracy” might be.

“Eriador is Brind’Amour’s,” Oliver went on. “In Eriador, he rules. And yet, he would not tell the Riders of Eradoch what to do in Mennichen Dee. Nor would he tell Gahris, who rules on Isle Bedwydrin, how to handle his affairs of state.”

“Not unless he had to,” Siobhan put in, drawing a sour look from the halfling.

“Please, I am speaking,” Oliver huffed at her.

Siobhan winked at him, further throwing him off, but other than that, the half-elf let him go on.

“So it shall be with the dwarfs, but even more so,” Oliver explained. He had to pause then, for a moment, as he considered the signals Siobhan was throwing his way. Was she merely teasing? As he considered the possibilities, the sheer beauty and intelligence of this most wonderful half-elf, Oliver hoped that she was not!

“You were saying,” Brind’Amour prompted.

“I was?”

“So it shall be with the dwarfs, but even more so,” Siobhan put in.

“Ah, yes!” beamed the halfling, and he brightened all the more when Siobhan offered yet another wink. “A duocracy. DunDarrow will become a city of Eriador, but the king of Eriador will have no say over matters of state within DunDarrow.”

Both Bellick and Brind’Amour seemed somewhat intrigued, and also a bit confused.

“I have never heard of such a government,” Brind’Amour put in.

“Nor have I,” agreed Bellick.

“Nor have I!” Oliver admitted. “And since it hasn’t been done before, it should work all the better!”

“Oliver is no supporter of government,” Brind’Amour explained, noticing Bellick’s confused expression.

“Ah,” replied the dwarf, then to Oliver, “In this duocracy, what am I? Servant of Brind’Amour or king of DunDarrow?”

“Both,” said the halfling. “Though never would I call one in the line of Burso Ironhammer a ‘servant.’ No, not that. Ally to Eriador, allowing Brind’Amour to determine all our course through the greater . . . er, larger, though certainly more boring, issues outside of Eriador.”

“Sounds like a servant,” one of the dwarven generals said distastefully.

“Ah, but it all depends upon how you look at it,” Oliver replied. “King Bellick does not want to deal with such diplomatic matters as fishing rights or emissaries from Gascony. No, no, King Bellick would rather spend his days at the forge, I am sure, where any good dwarf belongs.”

“True enough,” admitted the orange-bearded king.

“In that light, it seems to me as if Brind’Amour was King Bellick’s servant, handling all the troublesome pettiness of government while King Bellick beats his hammer, or whatever it is you dwarfs beat.”

“And of course, in any matters that concern DunDarrow directly or indirectly, I would first inform you and seek your counsel and your decision,” Brind’Amour cut in, wanting to keep Oliver’s surprising momentum flowing.

The four dwarfs called for a break, then huddled in the corner, talking excitedly. They came back to the table almost immediately.

“There are details to be defined,” Bellick said. “I would protect the integrity of DunDarrow’s sovereignty.”

Brind’Amour sagged in his chair.

“But,” Bellick added, “I would be loving the expression on ugly Greensparrow’s face when he hears that DunDarrow and Eriador are one!”

“Duocracy!” shouted Oliver.

They adjourned then, with more progress made than Brind’Amour had dared hope for. He left with Oliver and Siobhan, all three in fine spirits, and of course, with Oliver retelling, and embellishing, his inspirational interruption.

“I did notice, though,” Brind’Amour remarked when the breathless halfling paused long enough for him to get a word in, “that in your little speech, you referred to my counterpart as King Bellick, while I was referred to as merely Brind’Amour .”