The Thousand Ords

by A. R. Salvatore

Several hundred were there in support of Shingles and Torgar, opposing perhaps twice that many soldiers of the Axe. Notably, no dwarves showed in the ranks of the Mirabarran garrison, though many dwarf Axe soldiers stood off to the side, arms crossed, faces dour and grim.

  Shoudra looked over at Djaffar, who was regarding the dwarf non-combatants with open contempt.

  “Do not even think of going against the marchion’s orders,” the sceptrana warned the stubborn Hammer, “and do not even think of delaying the release of Torgar in the hopes that this battle will erupt before us.”

  Djaffar turned a wry and wicked grin her way.

  “I have spells prepared,” Shoudra warned.

  It was a bluff, but she didn’t back away from the man an inch.

  When that didn’t work, she reminded, “It is a fight none in Mirabar can win. Look at them, Djaffar. Members of your own Axe stand to the side, torn in their loyalties.”

  Councilor Agrathan came over then, flustered and with his robes all twisted, as if someone had lifted him by the fine fabric and shook him all about (which, indeed, had happened).

  “There’s no talking to them!” the frustrated dwarf roared.

  “Djaffar can talk to them,” Shoudra explained, “for he has the news that Torgar is to be released.” She looked over the Hammer, whose eyes had narrowed. “Immediately, on word from the marchion. Torgar will be set upon the road out of Mirabar, here and now, and with all of his personal items returned.”

  “Praise Dumathoin,” Agrathan said with a great sigh of relief.

  He rushed off to spread the news, using words, finally, to quell many of the mounting brawls.

  “Be done with the foul Torgar, then!” Djaffar spat at Shoudra, an admission of defeat. “And let him be done with us. Let all his smelly little kin walk out with him, for all I care!”

  Shoudra accepted that tantrum for what it was, never really expecting anything more than that from Djaffar of the Hammers.

  Shoudra took center stage, commanding the attention of all by sending a magical burst of light up above her. All eyes upon her, she gave the announcement that so many of Mirabar’s dwarves desperately wanted to hear.

  When Torgar Hammerstriker walked out of the Mirabar jail a short while later, he did so to thunderous applause from Shingles and his supporters, mixed in with curses and jeers from many of the humans—and a few groans and mixed sounds from the Axe dwarves, still standing to the side.

  Shoudra made her way to Torgar and found Agrathan there as well.

  “You are not completely free in your choice of road,” the sceptrana explained to the dwarf, her body language and tone telling him that she was no enemy, despite her words. “You are bid to depart the city at once.”

  “Already decided upon that,” Torgar said.

  “Give him the night, at least,” Agrathan asked of Shoudra. “Allow him his farewells to those he will leave behind.”

  “I’m not thinking that he’s leaving many behind worth saying farewell to,” came a gruff voice, and the trio turned to see old Shingles, outfitted in traveling clothes and with a huge pack on his back, moving toward them.

  When they looked past the old dwarf, they saw others similarly outfitted, and others across the great square, meeting runners bearing their supplies and traveling gear.

  “Ye can’t be doing this!” Councilor Agrathan protested, but his was the only protest, for when he looked to Shoudra, he saw her nodding with grim resignation.

  Soon after, Torgar Hammerstriker left Mirabar for the last time, along with nearly four hundred dwarves, nearly a fifth of all the dwarves of Mirabar, many of whom had lived in the city for more than a century, and many from families who had served Mirabar since its founding. They all walked with their heads held high and with the conviction that they would not be ill-treated and would not be turned away by the King of Mithral Hall.

  “I did not think this possible,” Agrathan said to Shoudra as the pair, along with Djaffar, watched the departure.

  “Rats leave the ship when it’s taking water,” Djaffar reminded. “They’re seeing more riches in Mithral Hall, the greedy dogs.”

  “What they are seeing is the possibility that they will have a greater place among their own than we afford them in the city of Marchion Elastul,” Shoudra corrected. “The greatest of riches is respect, Djaffar, and few in all Faerûn are more deserving of respect than the dwarves of Mirabar.”

  Agrathan almost cynically added, “The dwarves of Mithral Hall, you mean,” but he bit the words back and reminded himself that he still had sixteen hundred dwarf constituents looking to him for leadership, particularly in this confusing time.

  Agrathan knew that it would take a long time for Mirabar to shake off the stench of the recent events.

  A very long time.

  Drizzt, Catti-brie, Wulfgar, and Regis sat around a rough map Regis had drawn of the town and the surrounding area and upon which Drizzt had added detail. The mood was dour and fearful—not for themselves, but for the townsfolk. First the orc prisoner had mentioned a huge army encircling the town, then a woman who had been out on patrol had come in, battered and terrified, and reporting that all the others were dead, wiped away by a powerful force of humanoids.

  Though she was obviously unnerved, her words told of a well-coordinated group, a dangerous foe beyond the usual expectations.

  None of the friends mentioned Clicking Heels that morning, but the images of that flattened town surely played upon all their minds. Shallows was larger than Clicking Heels and much better defended, with a wizard to help, but the signs were getting very dark.

  Bruenor came in soon after, his face locked in a scowl.

  “Stubborn bunch,” the dwarf remarked, moving between Regis and Wulfgar and observing the map with an approving grunt.

  “Withegroo cannot be dismissing the claims of the lone survivor,” Drizzt came back. “They lost nearly one in ten this morning.”

  “Oh, he’s believin’ her, he is,” Bruenor explained, “but him and the others’re thinking that they’re to pay back them that killed their kin. The folk of Shallows are up for a fight.”

  “Even if that fight’s against a foe they can’t be beating?” Catti-brie asked.

  “Don’t know that they’re thinking such a foe’s about,” came Bruenor’s response.

  The words had barely left his lips when Drizzt and Catti-brie rose up, the woman reaching for her bow, Drizzt going for his cloak.

  “I’ll go, too,” Regis offered.

  Wulfgar rose and picked up Aegis-fang.

  “The two of ye take the short perimeter,” Catti-brie said. “I’ll take one round out from there, and let Drizzt do the deep scouting.”

  “Should we wait for the cover of night?” Regis asked.

  “Orcs’re better at night than in the day,” Catti-brie remarked.

  “And we might not have that much time to spare,” Drizzt added. He looked to Bruenor and said, “The townsfolk have to agree to let the weak and infirm leave, at least.”

  “Got Dagnabbit putting together plans for a run even now,” the dwarf confirmed, “but I’m not thinking that many o’ Shallows’s folk’ll be wantin’ to go out. This is their place, elf, their home and the place of security they’ve known for many years. They’re trusting in Withegroo, and he’s one to be trustin’, I don’t doubt.”

  “I fear that he might be wrong this time,” Drizzt replied. “Every sign darkens the possibilities. If the force allied against Shallows is as strong as indications are, then before too long the folk of the town may all wish that they had gone out.”

  “Go and see,” Bruenor bade him. “I’ll make ’em listen while ye’re out. I’ll get the horses ready and the wagons packed. I’ll get me dwarfs in proper order and ready to roll out. I’ll be talking with Withegroo again, right off, now that I can catch him alone and without them hollering fools wanting revenge here and now.”

  “Do ye think he’ll hear ye?” Catti-brie asked.

  Br
uenor gave a shrug and an exaggerated wink, and said, “I’m the king, ain’t I?”

  On that lighter note, the four scouts rushed out of the building and out of the town. Wulfgar and Regis peeled away to high ground near to the town’s walls. Catti-brie found a similar but more defensible vantage point a hundred yards farther out, and Drizzt rushed away from there.

  Other scouting groups went out from Shallows as well, but none were nearly as organized, nor nearly as stealthy.

  One such group, seven strong, passed Wulfgar and Regis just outside the town’s southern gate.

  “Well met again,” the townsfolk greeted, pausing for just a moment.

  “You would do well—better for your town—if you remained inside the walls, preparing defenses should the expected attack come,” Wulfgar told the apparent leader: a young man, strong of limb and with a grim and angry expression locked upon his dark, strong features.

  The man stopped, his six companions paused behind him, and he shot the barbarian a curious, somewhat angry look.

  “We will discern the strength of our common enemy,” Wulfgar explained, “and report fully to the town leaders. None can scout the trails better than Drizzt Do’Urden.”

  The man’s look did not soften. It was almost as if he was taking Wulfgar’s remarks as a personal affront.

  “Every person out here is at risk,” Wulfgar went on, not backing down an inch. “For Shallows to lose seven more able-bodied fighters now would not bode well.”

  The man’s nostrils flared and his eyes widened, his expression intense indeed.

  Regis motioned to him, bidding him to move off to the side.

  “There are other considerations,” the halfling remarked, and he offered a sidelong glance at Wulfgar as he spoke, even managing a little telling wink to his large friend.

  The scout eyed the halfling suspiciously, but Regis only smiled innocently and turned, nodding for the man to follow. They held a short, private conversation off to the side, and the man from Shallows was smiling and nodding as he returned.

  “Back to the town,” he ordered his companions, sweeping past them and taking them up in his wake. “Our friends here are correct and we’re splitting our forces apart before we even know what it is we’re soon to fight.”

  There came some murmuring of dissent and confusion but the speaker was obviously the appointed and accepted leader, and the group started back the way they’d come.

  “Do you never feel the slightest twinge of regret when employing your magical ruby?” Wulfgar asked Regis when the others had moved off.

  “Not when it’s for their own good,” Regis replied, grinning from ear to ear. “We both heard that group coming from fifty feet away. I think the orcs would have, as well.” He turned and looked out to the south. “And if there are nearly as many as we’ve been led to believe, I likely just saved those seven from death this day.”

  “A temporary reprieve?” Wulfgar asked, the jarring question catching Regis off his guard and stealing the smile from his cherubic face.

  He and the barbarian looked at each other, but then Wulfgar looked past him, the barbarian’s blue eyes widening.

  Regis spun around, looking to the south once more, and there he saw Catti-brie running flat out toward them, waving her arms and her bow in the air.

  Regis winced. Wulfgar leaped ahead as the woman staggered suddenly, grasping at her shoulder. Only then did Regis and Wulfgar understand that she was being pursued by archers.

  Regis spun around and saw the seven scouts from Shallows rushing back his way.

  “To the town!” he yelled to them. “To the town and man the walls. Have the gate ready to swing wide for us!”

  By the time the halfling turned back, Catti-brie and Wulfgar had joined up and were both running back toward him, with Wulfgar supporting the wounded woman.

  Behind them, coming out of the brush and around the rocks, rushed a horde of orcs.

  Regis paused and watched, measuring the distance, and only then did he realize that he wouldn’t be doing Wulfgar and Catti-brie much good if they had to sweep him up in their wake.

  He turned and ran, reaching the gate at about the same time as his two friends. They scrambled in and the gate was closed and secured behind them, and after a cursory look at Catti-brie’s wound, which was superficial, the three rushed for the ladders and the wall parapets.

  The orcs came on, a great number indeed, and horns blew throughout the town, with folk rushing all around.

  The wave didn’t approach, though, but rather swung around in a fierce charge, howling all the louder as they ran back to the south.

  “That would be Drizzt,” Regis remarked.

  “Buying us time,” Catti-brie concurred.

  She looked up at Wulfgar as she spoke, and he at her, both of them grim-faced and concerned.

  The first boulder bounced across the stony ground and hit the town wall a few minutes after sunset. Surprisingly, it had come from the north, from across the narrow ravine.

  Horns blew and the militiamen of Shallows rushed to their defensive positions, as did Dagnabbit’s dwarves, and King Bruenor and his friends.

  A second boulder bounced in, this time closer.

  “Can’t even see ’em!” Bruenor growled at his three friends as they stood along the northern wall, peering into the gloom.

  “There!” Regis cried out, pointing to a boulder tumble.

  The others squinted and could just make out the forms of giants across the way.

  Catti-brie put her bow up immediately, taking aim, then lifting the angle to compensate for the great distance. She let fly, her arrow cutting a lightninglike line across the darkening sky.

  She didn’t hit a giant, but the flash at impact told her that she was in the general area at least. She lifted her bow, gritting her teeth against the pain in her fingers and shoulder, which had been creased by an orc’s arrow. Before she let fly, though, she had to stop and grab onto Wulfgar, for all the wall was shaking then, hit by a thrown rock.

  “Take cover!” came the cry from the lead sentry.

  Catti-brie got her bow back up and fired off her second shot, but then she and all her friends were scrambling as one boulder smashed into the courtyard behind them and another landed short of the wall but skipped in hard. Another hit the wall squarely, and another hit the northeastern juncture then skipped along the eastern wall, clipping stones and soldiers.

  “How many damned giants are there?” Bruenor asked as he and the others scrambled for cover.

  “Too many,” came Regis’s answer.

  “We gotta find a way to counter them,” the dwarf king started to reason, but before he could gain any momentum for that thought, a cry from the southern wall told him and his friends that they had other more immediate problems.

  By the time Bruenor, Wulfgar, Regis, and Catti-brie reached the southern wall to stand beside Dagnabbit and the other dwarves, the orcs’ charge was on in full. The field before the city seemed black with the rushing horde, and the air reverberated with their high-pitched keening. Hundreds and hundreds came on, not slowing at all as the first barrage of arrows went out from Shallows’s strong wall.

  “This is gonna hurt,” Bruenor remarked, looking to his friend and to Dagnabbit.

  “Gonna hurt them orcs,” Dagnabbit corrected with a grim nod. “We take the center!” he cried to his fifteen remaining warriors. “None come through that gate! None come over the wall!”

  With cheers of “Mithral Hall!” and “King Bruenor!” Dagnabbit’s well-drilled warriors clustered in the appointed area, the most vulnerable spot on Shallows’s southern wall. As one, they took up their dwarven arrows and their well-balanced throwing hammers, and they crouched. The orcs were throwing spears and launching arrows of their own. The dwarves held their ground atop the wall until the last possible second, then leaped up and whipped their hammers into the leading edge of the orc throng, interrupting the charge.

  Shallows’s bowmen sent a volley out from the
walls, and Catti-brie put the Heartseeker to devastating work, her streaks of arrow lightning cutting lines through the enemy ranks.

  An agonized cry from behind told them all that one of the townsfolk had caught a giant-thrown rock, and the continuing explosions and ground-shaking made it clear that the giants hadn’t let up their barrage in the least.

  Dagnabbit’s dwarves let fly a second volley before leaping from the wall into the courtyard to bolster the gate defenses, King Bruenor joining them. The bowmen and Catti-brie continued to drive into the orcs’ ranks as the blackness closed.

  Ropes and grapnels came up over the walls, many catching hold. The orcs, seemingly oblivious to the rain of death, leaped onto them and began scrambling up, while others below threw themselves at the gates, the sheer weight of the force bending the heavy locking bars.

  “I wish Drizzt was here!” a terrified Regis cried.

  “But he is not,” Wulfgar countered, and the two shared a look.

  With a growl of determination, Wulfgar nodded for the halfling to follow, and away they went, running along the parapet. The mighty barbarian grabbed grapnels and ropes, using his great strength to pull them free even if they were taut from the weight of orcs climbing on the other side.

  At one point, an orc crested the wall just as Wulfgar reached for the supporting grapnel. The barbarian howled and spun. The orc roared and started to swing its heavy club.

  And a silver-streaking arrow caught it in the armpit and blew it aside.

  Wulfgar glanced back at Catti-brie for just a moment then pulled free the grapnel.

  Another orc caught the wall-top as the barbarian tossed the rope back over. It started to pull itself up.

  Regis’s mace smashed it in the face once, then again.

  “More to the east!” Wulfgar cried.

  He rushed along to secure a breach where several orcs were even then coming over the wall, doing close battle with a group of Shallows’s bowmen.

  Regis started to follow but skidded to a stop as the reaching hands of another orc showed on the wall-top right before him. He lifted his mace, but he changed his mind and met the orc with a dazzling, spinning ruby instead.