One orc did come rushing out, running right toward her, and she lifted Taulmaril to take it down.
But then it fell, suddenly and hard, tripped up by a lump that appeared on the ground before it, and Catti-brie merely shook her head and grinned when she saw the diminutive form of Regis unfold and rise up. The halfling darted forward and swung his mace once and again, then winced back from the crimson spray, a sour look upon his face. He looked up, noted Catti-brie, and just shrugged and melted back into the grass.
Catti-brie looked all around, her bow ready if needed, but she put it up and replaced the arrow in her magical, always-full quiver.
The short and brutal fight was done.
In all Faerun there was no tougher race than the dwarves, and among the dwarves there were few to rival the toughness of Clan Battlehammer— especially those who had survived the harshness of Icewind Dale—and so the battle was long over, and the dwarves had regrouped before several of them even realized that they had been injured in the battle.
Some of those wounds were deep and serious; at least two would have proven fatal if there had not been a pair of clerics along with the party to administer their healing spells, salves, and bandages.
Numbered among the wounded was Wulfgar, the proud and strong barbarian gashed in many places by orc weapons. He didn't complain any more than a reflexive grunt when one of the dwarves poured a stinging solution over the wounds to clean them.
"Are ye all right then?" Catti-brie asked the barbarian when she found him sitting stoically on a rock, waiting his turn with the overworked clerics.
"I took a few hits," he replied, matter-of-factly. "Nothing as hurtful as the chop Bruenor put on me when first we met, but. .»
He ended with a wide smile, and Catti-brie thought she'd never seen anything more beautiful than that in all her life.
Drizzt joined them then, nursing one hand.
"Clipped it on an orc's hilt," he explained, shaking it away.
"Where's Rumblebelly?" Calti-brie asked.
The drow nodded toward the place where Catti-brie had seen Regis trip up one orc.
"He won't end a fight without searching the bodies of the dead," Drizzt explained. "He says it's the principle of the thing."
They sat and talked for just a bit longer, before a louder argument off to the side drew their attention.
"Bruenor and Dagnabbit," Catti-brie remarked. "How am I guessin' what that's about?"
She and Drizzt rose to leave. Wulfgar didn't follow, and when they turned to question him, he waved them away.
"He's hurtin' a bit more than he's sayin'," Catti-brie remarked to Drizzt.
"But he could take a hundred times those wounds and still be standing," the drow assured her.
By the time they arrived, they had already discerned the cause of the argument, and it was exactly as Catti-brie had guessed.
"I'm heading for Mithral Hall when I'm telling ye I'm heading for Mithral Hall!" Bruenor roared, poking his finger hard into Dagnabbit's chest.
"We got wounded," Dagnabbit replied, staying strong to his unfortunate task of trying to protect the stubborn king.
Bruenor turned to Drizzt. "What're ye thinking?" he asked. "I'm sayin' we should move along from one town t' the next, all the way to Shallows. Wouldn't do to let 'em get run over without a warning."
"The orcs're dead and scattered," Dagnabbit put in, "and all their giant friends're lying dead too."
Drizzt wasn't sure he agreed with that assessment at all. The dress and cleanliness of the giants had told him that these were not rogues but were part of a larger clan. Still, he decided to keep that potentially devastating news to himself until he could gather more information.
"These orc s and these giants!" Bruenor bellowed before the drow could respond. "Might that there are more of 'em, running in packs all about!"
"Then all the more reason to go back, regroup, and get Pwent and his boys to join us," Dagnabbit replied.
"We take Pwent and his boys to Shallows and the last thing they'll be worryin' about're stupid orcs," Bruenor said.
Several around him, Drizzt included, caught on to the joke and appreciated the tension-breaking levity. Dagnabbit, his scowl as deep as ever, didn't seem to catch it.
"Well, ye're making more than a bit o' sense," Bruenor admitted a moment later. "The way I'm seein' it, we got a couple o' responsibilities here, and none I'm willing to ignore. We got to get our wounded back. We got to tell the folk o' the region about the danger and help 'em get prepared, and we got to get ourselves ready for fighting nearer to Mithral Hall."
Dagnabbit started to respond, but Bruenor stopped him with an upraised hand and continued on, "So let's send back a group with the wounded, and with orders to tell Pwent and his boys to lead a hunnerd to set up a base north o' Keeper's Dale. They can send another two hunnerd to block the low ground along the Surbrin north o' Mithral Hall. We'll make the rounds and work off that."
"A good plan, and I'm agreein'," said Dagnabbit.
"A good plan, and ye got no choice," Bruenor corrected.
"But…" Dagnabbit interjected, even as Bruenor turned to Drizzt and Catti-brie.
The dwarf king swung back to his commander.
"But ye're among them that's taking the wounded back to Mithral Hall," Dagnabbit demanded.
Drizzt was certain that he saw smoke coming out of Bruenor's ears at that remark and was almost as certain that he'd be spending the next few minutes pulling Bruenor off Dagnabbit's beard.
"Ye telling me to go and hide?" Bruenor asked, walking right up to the other dwarf, so that his nose was pressing against Dagnabbit's.
"I'm telling ye that it's me job to keep ye safe!"
"Who gived ye the job?"
"Gandalug."
"And where's Gandalug now?"
"Under a cairn o' rocks."
"And who's taking his place?"
"Yeah, that'd be yerself."
Bruenor assumed a bemused expression and posture, dropping his hands on his hips and smirking at Dagnabbit as if the ensuing logic should be perfectly obvious.
"Yeah, and Gandalug telled me ye'd be saying this," Dagnabbit remarked, seeming defeated.
"And what'd he tell ye to tell me when I did?"
The other dwarf shrugged and said, "He just laughed at me."
Bruenor punched him on the shoulder. "Ye go and get things set up as I telled ye," he ordered. "Leave us with fifteen, not countin' me boy and girl, the halfling, and the drow."
"We gotta send at least one priest back with the hurt ones."
Bruenor nodded. "But we'll keep th' other."
With that settled, Bruenor joined Catti-brie and Drizzt.
"Wulfgar's among them wounded," Catti-brie informed him.
She led him back to where Wulfgar was still sitting on the rock, tying a bandage tight about one thigh.
"Ye wantin' to go back with the group I'm sending?" Bruenor asked him, moving over to better inspect the many wounds.
"No more than you are," Wulfgar replied.
Bruenor smiled and let the issue drop.
Later on, eleven dwarves, seven of them wounded and one being carried on a makeshift stretcher, started off for the low ground to the south, and the trails that would take them home. Fifteen others, led by Bruenor, Tred, and Dagnabbit, and with Drizzt, Catti-brie, Regis, and Wulfgar running flank, moved off to the northeast.
CHAPTER 12 SPIN
"If they did not run away, the day was ours." Urlgen insisted to his fuming father. "Gerti's giants fled like kobolds!"
King Obould furrowed his brow and kicked the face-down body of a dead orc, turning it half up then letting it drop back to the dirt, utter contempt on his ugly face.
"How many dwarfs?" he asked.
"An army!" Urlgen cried, waving his arms emphatically. "Hundreds and hundreds!"
To the side of the young commander, an orc screwed up his face in confusion and started to say something, but Urlgen fixed the stupefied creature with a wick
ed glare and the warrior snapped his mouth shut.
Obould watched it all knowingly, understanding his son's gross exaggeration.
"Hundreds and hundreds?" he echoed. "Then Gerti's missing three would have done you's no good, eh?"
Urlgen stammered over a reply, finally settling on the ridiculous proclamation that his forces were far superior, whatever the dwarves' numbers, and that an added trio of giants would have indeed turned his tactical evasion into a great and sweeping victory.
Obould took note that never once had his son, there or when Urlgen had first arrived in the cavern complex, mentioned the words «defeat» or "retreat."
"I am curious of your escape," the orc king remarked. "The battle was pitched?"
"It went on for long and long," Urlgen proclaimed.
"And still the dwarfs did not encircle? You's got away."
"We fought our way through!"
Obould nodded knowingly, understanding full well that Urlgen and his warriors had turned tail and fled, and likely against a much smaller force than his son was indicating—likely against a force that was not even numerically equal to their own. The orc king didn't dwell on that, though. He was more concerned with how he might lessen the disaster in terms of his tentative and all-important alliance with Gerti.
Despite his bravado and respect for his own forces—ore tribes that had thrown their allegiance to him—the cunning orc leader understood well that without Gerti, his gains in the region would always be restricted to the most desolate patches of the Savage Frontier. He would be doomed to repeat the fiasco of the Citadel of Many Arrows.
Obould also knew that Gerti wasn't going to be pleased to learn that one of her giants was dead, lying amid a field of slaughtered orcs. With that unsettling thought in mind, Obould made his way to the fallen giant, the behemoth showing few wounds other than the fact that his throat was almost completely torn away.
He looked over at Urlgen, his expression puzzled, and offered a prompting shrug.
"My scouts said it was a big cat," his son explained. "A big black cat. Jumped from that tree to the throat. Killed the giant. Giant killed it."
"Where is it?"
Urlgen's mouth twisted, his formidable fangs pinching into his lower lip. He looked around at the other orcs, all of whom immediately began turning questioning looks at their comrades.
"Dwarfs musta taken it. Probably wanting its skin."
Obould's expression showed little to indicate that he was convinced. He gave a sudden growl, kicked the dead giant hard, and stormed away, furrowing that prominent brow of his and trying hard to figure out how he might parlay this disaster into some son of advantage over Gerti. Perhaps he could shift the blame to the three deserters, explaining that in the future her giants would have to be more forthcoming of their intentions to the orcs they accompanied on raids like this.
Yes, that might work, he mused, but then a cry came in from one of the many scouts they had sent out into the surrounding areas. That call soon led to a dramatic redirection of thinking for the frustrated and angry orc king.
Soon after, Obould furrowed his brow even more deeply as he looked over the second scene of battle, where three giants — the missing three giants, including one of Gerti's dear friends — lay slaughtered. They weren't far from where Urlgen had set his camp the night before the catastrophic battle, and it was obvious to Obould that the trio were missing from the march because they had been killed before that last march began. He knew it would be obvious to Gerti, who surely would investigate if he pushed the issue that the disaster was more the fault of her giants than his orcs.
"How did this happen?" he asked Urlgen.
When his son didn't immediately respond, the frustrated Obould spun around and punched him hard in the face, laying him low.
"Obould is frightened," Ad'non Kareese announced to his three co-conspirators.
Ad'non had followed Obould's forces to both battlegrounds and had met with the orc king soon after, counseling, as always, patience.
"He should be," said Kaer'lic Suun Wett, and the priestess gave a little cackle. "Gerti will roll him into a ball and kick him over the mountains."
Tos'un joined in the priestess's laughter, but neither Ad'non nor Donnia Soldou seemed overly amused.
"This could break the alliance," Donnia remarked.
Kaer'lic shrugged, as if that hardly mattered, and Donnia shot her an angry look.
"Would you be content to sit in our hole in boring luxury?" Donnia asked.
"There are worse fates."
"And there are better," Ad'non Kareese was quick to put in. "We have an opportunity here for great gain and great fun, and all at a minimal risk. I prefer to hold this course and this alliance."
"As do I," Donnia seconded.
Kaer'lic merely shrugged and seemed bored with it all, as if it did not matter.
"What about you?" Donnia asked Tos'un, who was sitting off to the side, obviously listening and obviously amused, but giving little indication beyond that.
"I think we would all do well to not underestimate the dwarves," the warrior from Menzoberranzan remarked. "My city made that mistake once."
"True enough," agreed Ad'non, "and I must tell you that Urlgen's report of the size of the dwarven force seemed greatly exaggerated, given the battleground. More likely, the dwarves were greatly outnumbered and still routed the orcs—and killed four giants besides. Their magic may have been no less formidable."
"Magic?" Kaer'lic asked. "Dwarves possess little magic, by all accounts."
"They had some here, as far as T can discern," Ad'non insisted. "The orcs spoke of a great cat that felled the giant, one that apparently disappeared after doing its murderous business."
Off to the side, Tos'un perked up. "A black cat?"
The other three looked at the Menzoberranyr refugee.
"Yes," Ad'non confirmed, and Tos'un nodded knowingly.
"Drizzt Do'Urden's cat," he explained.
"The renegade?" Kaer'lic asked, suddenly seeming quite interested.
"Yes, with a magical panther that he stole from Menzoberranzan. Very formidable."
"The panther?"
"Yes, and Drizzt Do'Urden," Tos'un explained. "He is no enemy to be taken lightly, and one who threatens not only the orcs and giants on the battleground, but those quietly behind the orcs and giants as well."
"Lovely," Kaer'lic said sarcastically.
"He was among the greatest of Melee-Magthere's graduates," Tos'un explained, "and further trained by Zaknafein, who was regarded as the greatest weapons master in all the city. If he was at that battle, it explains much about why the orcs were so readily defeated."
"This one drow can sway the tide of battle against a host of orcs and a foursome of giants?" Ad'non asked doubtfully.
"No," Tos'un admitted, "but if Drizzt was there, then so was —»
"King Bruenor," Donnia reasoned. "The renegade is Bruenor's closest friend and advisor, yes?"
"Yes," Tos'un confirmed. "Likely the pair had some other powerful friends with them."
"So Bruenor is out of Mithral Hall and roaming the frontier with a small force?" Donnia asked, a wry smile widening on her beautiful face. "How fine an opportunity is this?"
"To strike a wicked blow against Mithral Hall?" Ad'non asked, following the reasoning.
"And to keep Gerti interested in pursuing our present course," said Donnia.
"Or to show our hand too clearly and bring the wrath of powerful enemies upon us," said the ever-cynical Kaer'lic.
"Why priestess, I fear that you have grown too fond of luxury, and too forgetting of the pleasures of chaos," Ad'non said, his growing smile matching Donnia's. "Can you really so easily allow this opportunity for fun and profit pass you by?"
Kaer'lic started to respond several times but retreated from every reply before she ever voiced it.
"I find little pleasure in dealing with the smelly orcs," the priestess said, "or with Gerti and her band, who think they are so posi
tively superior, even to us. More pleasure would I find if we turned Obould against Gerti and let the giants and the orcs slaughter each other. Then we four could quietly kill all those left alive."
"And we would be alone up here, in abject boredom," said Ad'non.
"True enough," Kaer'lic admitted. "So be it. Let us fester this war between the dwarves and our allies. With King Bruenor out of his hole, we may indeed find an interesting course before us, but with all caution! I did not leave the Underdark to fall victim to a dwarven axe, or to the blade of a drow traitor."
The others nodded, sharing the sentiment, particularly Tos'un, who had seen so many of his fellows fall before the armies of Mithral Hall.
"I will go to Gerti and soften the blow of this present disaster," Donnia said.
"And I back to Obould," said Ad'non. "T will wait for your signal before sending the orc king to speak with the giantess."
They departed at once, eagerly, leaving Kaer'lic alone with Tos'un.
"We are winding our way into a deep chasm," the priestess observed. "If our allies betray us at the end of a dwarven spear, then our flight will by necessity be long and swift."
Tos'un nodded. He had been there once before.
Obould's every step was forced as he made his way through the caverns of Gerti's complex, very conscious of the many scowls the frost giant sentries were throwing his way. Despite Ad'non's assurances, Obould knew that the giants had been told of their losses. These creatures weren't like his own race, the orc king understood. They valued every one of their clan, every one of their kind. The frost giants would not easily dismiss the deaths of four of their kin.
When the orc king walked into Gerti's chamber, he found the giantess sitting on her stone throne, one elbow on her knee, her delicate chin in her hand, her blue eyes staring straight ahead, unblinking.
The orc walked up, stopping out of the giant's reach, fearing that Gerti would snap her hand out and throttle him. He resisted the urge to speak out about the disaster and decided that he would be better off waiting for Gerti to start the conversation.
The Thousand Orcs th-1 Page 16