From the opening came a volley of grenades, but Doum’wielle was behind Tiago now, and Tiago behind his shield, the magnificent Orbbcress defeating the jarring and explosive barrage.
Out through the oval went the pair, back into the hallway where they sprinted back the way they had come. In the days they had been in Gauntlgrym, this had been their first encounter with the kobolds, and they hoped it would be their last.
“Clever,” Doum’wielle said through a grimace when they had put the enemy far behind. She lifted her left arm from her side and inspected an angry welt and blister where a drop of lava had bit her.
“Too clever,” Tiago spat, openly on edge-for he was not used to being chased off by kobolds. “The drow of Q’Xorlarrin have trained them as an upper guard, no doubt, and taught them well.”
“You are drow,” Doum’wielle reminded him.
“They saw you,” Tiago accused. “Were you not with me-”
“You would have faced a dozen lava bombs from the doorway,” Doum’wielle interrupted.
The two stared at each other for a long while, and it crossed Tiago’s mind more than once to cut the impertinent elf down where she stood. He held his strike, though, and his temper, for he couldn’t deny, to himself at least, that Doum’wielle’s clever trick with the stalactite had broken them free of the ambush.
Nor could he deny, again to himself, that without Doum’wielle’s trick, they would not have survived that assault.
Against kobolds.
More than once, Tiago glanced back in the direction of that chamber. He wanted to believe his own words that Matron Mother Zeerith’s soldiers had trained the beasts, but he knew that was not the truth. These kobolds, wretched little creatures though they were, had found harmony with the mountain and the under-chambers-enough so to effectively use the blood of the primordial as a weapon.
Tiago had to remember that.
He glanced about curiously. He had expected Drizzt to come forth to scout for the dwarves, but so far, that had not happened. From his own scouting, it seemed to him that the dwarves were being very cautious, fortifying every inch of ground they had secured.
Or perhaps that would end with the grand entry cavern and the throne room, and once those positions were secured, the dwarves would come forth, and once the dwarves moved along, Drizzt would come forth.
Tiago had to be ready for that, doubly now, for he suspected that if he wanted the kill, he would have to find the ranger before the kobolds did.
Kobolds!
Tiago shook his head and again glanced in the direction of the nowdistant ambush chamber. He had never known kobolds to be so clever and industrious.
The chasm called the Clawrift, which split the grand cavern of Menzoberranzan, housed tens of thousands of kobolds, perhaps hundreds of thousands.
Tiago blew a deep sigh, visibly shaken.
They knew a fight was coming. Indeed, they were going to start one! And so Bruenor and the other kings decided that they could not delay the Rite of Fealty. This would bring the dwarves closer together, a bonded force marching in unison.
Bruenor stood at the end of the receiving line, with Emerus first, Connerad to his left, and Bruenor to Connerad’s left, all three facing the Throne of the Dwarf Gods. Bruenor held his breath a bit as the first of the dwarves not of royal blood stepped up to the throne. Fittingly, and unanimously approved by the trio, Ragged Dain would be the first.
He moved up to the throne, turned and bowed respectfully to the three kings, closed his eyes, and sat down. Immediately his eyes opened, but the throne did not reject him or wound him, as Bruenor knew it could.
Ragged Dain remained seated for only a few heartbeats, then hopped off and moved down to kneel before King Emerus.
“Ar tariseachd, na daoine de a bheil mise, ar righ,” he said reverently, ancient Delzoun for “Me dying fealty, me kith’n kin, me king.”
Emerus placed his hand on Ragged Dain’s head with genuine affection. The two had been close for more than a century. Then the king nodded and released his hand, and Ragged Dain rose, accepted a kiss on the check from Emerus, and stepped over to kneel before King Connerad.
He repeated his words, and Connerad did as Emerus had done, accepting the fealty, not to himself, but to kith and kin, to Gauntlgrym and the dwarves-all the dwarves-assembled in her halls.
On to Bruenor went Ragged Dain, and it was repeated a third time, and at the end, Bruenor, on sudden impulse, reached behind his shield and brought forth a flagon of ale and handed it to Ragged Dain, waggling a finger to indicate that he should not drink it at that time.
The second dwarf, Oretheo Spikes, was already at King Connerad by then, with the third, Bungalow Thump, kneeling before King Emerus.
And so it went, one after another in fast order, and all walked off to the side with a flagon of Bruenor’s ale in hand-there seemed to be no limit to the shield’s production this day!
It went on for hour after hour. At the very back of the line, still outside the entryway, Athrogate and Amber fidgeted nervously. Would the throne accept them? Both had committed crimes against their previous kings, Athrogate in Citadel Felbarr, Amber in Citadel Adbar. Would the dwarf gods forgive them, or reject them?
Four hours passed, five hours, then six and they were in the throne room, though still in the back of a long and winding line. Athrogate caught Bruenor’s eye, and the dwarf king smiled at him and nodded confidently.
Another hour passed, and now there were only a few score ahead of the couple, with near to five thousand others filling the large hall, many singing softly and using words that those still in line, who had not sat upon the throne, could not begin to understand.
Athrogate lost himself in that song, trying to make sense of it, and so distracted was he that he was caught by surprise when Amber tugged on his sleeve and said, “Here I go, then.”
He held his breath as this woman he had come to love moved up to the throne. She bowed to the kings, added a shrug to Bruenor, then took her seat.
With a wide smile and tears flowing from her eyes, Amber Gristle O’Maul of the Adbar O’Mauls hopped back up and verily ran to kneel before King Emerus.
That left Athrogate standing alone in front of the throne, the eyes of all upon him. He bowed to the kings, accepted Bruenor’s nod. .
But still he hesitated.
Athrogate allowed himself a deep sigh. Many of those nearest stopped singing and stared. They wouldn’t take him, he knew in his heart. Too far had he strayed. He shook his hairy head and looked at Amber, now holding her flagon, and his tears fell thicker than hers.
Tears of regret.
Tears for a life that had not been lived as well as it should have.
The great hall was silent, not a whisper to be heard. Athrogate looked around at the thousands of faces, and one by one, they began to nod. At the back of the hall, near the exit to the tunnels, he noted Drizzt and Catti-brie, the two beaming at him with wide smiles.
“Suidh!” one called, then another, then all of them.
“Suidh! Suidh!” and Athrogate understood that they were telling him to sit. But not to judge him, he realized, but rather to welcome him.
So he sat upon the throne.
He was not thrown free.
And he heard the language and then knew their song, and knew, too, that he was kith’n kin.
To the side of Tiago, not far away and nursing her wounded arm, Doum’wielle did not miss the noble Baenre’s expression of dismay-nor did her sentient sword, which had guided her to strike the stalactite and had warned her to offer a quick retreat after she had.
She watched Tiago’s face go through a range of expressions, anger to trepidation to frustration. She understood that he feared for Drizzt’s life more than he feared that she would be killed by kobolds.