At Dnark’s side, Ung-thol realized that his companion’s quick-thinking had likely just saved both their lives. For King Obould would not kill them and tacitly admit that Grguch had acted independent of the throne.
“Chieftain Grguch and Clan Karuck will serve the kingdom well,” Dnark pressed. “They are as fierce as any tribe I have ever seen.”
“They breed with ogres, I am told.”
“And carry many of the brutes along to anchor their lines.”
“Where are they now?”
“In the east, I expect,” said Dnark.
“Near the Moonwood still?”
“Likely,” said Dnark. “Likely awaiting the response of our enemies. If the ugly elves dare cross the Surbrin, Chieftain Grguch will pike more heads on the riverbank.”
Ung-thol eyed Obould carefully through Dnark’s lie, and he easily recognized that the king knew more than he was letting on. Word of Grguch’s march to the south had reached Obould’s ear. Obould knew that the chieftain of Clan Karuck was a dangerous rival.
Ung-thol studied Obould carefully, but the cunning warrior king gave little more away. He offered some instructions for shoring up the defense of the region, included a punishing deadline, then dismissed the pair with a wave of his hand as he turned his attention to the annoying Kna.
“Your hesitance in admitting your knowledge of Grguch warned him,” Ung-thol whispered to Dnark as they left the tent and crossed the muddy ground to rejoin their clan.
“He pronounced it wrong.”
“You did.”
Dnark stopped and turned on the shaman. “Does it matter?”
CHAPTER 18
THE SURBRIN BRIDGE
The wizard held his hand out, fingers locked as if it were the talon of a great hunting bird. Sweat streaked his forehead despite the cold wind, and he locked his face into a mask of intensity.
The stone was too heavy for him, but he kept up his telekinetic assault, willing it into the air. Down at the riverbank, dwarf masons on the far bank furiously cranked their come-alongs, while others rushed around the large stone, throwing an extra strap or chain where needed. Still, despite the muscle and ingenuity of the dwarf craftsmen, and magical aid from the Silverymoon wizard, the floating stone teetered on the brink of disaster.
“Joquim!” another citizen of Silverymoon called.
“I…can’t…hold…it,” the wizard Joquim grunted back, each word forced out through gritted teeth.
The second wizard shouted for help and rushed down to Joquim’s side. He had little in the way of telekinetic prowess, but he had memorized a dweomer for just that eventuality. He launched into his spellcasting and threw his magical energies out toward the shaking stone. It stabilized, and when a third member of the Silverymoon contingent rushed over, the balance shifted in favor of the builders. It began to seem almost effortless as the combination of dwarf and wizard guided the stone out over the rushing waters of the River Surbrin.
With a dwarf on the end of a beam guiding the way, the team with the come-alongs positioned the block perfectly over the even larger stones that had already been set in place. The guide dwarf called for a hold, rechecked the alignment, then lifted a red flag.
The wizards eased up their magic gradually, slowly lowering the block.
“Go get the next one!” the dwarf yelled to his companions and the wizards on the near bank. “Seems the Lady’s almost ready for this span!”
All eyes turned to the work at the near bank, the point closest to Mithral Hall, where Lady Alustriel stood on the first length of span over the river, her features serene as she whispered the words of a powerful spell of creation. Cold and strong she appeared, almost godlike above the rushing waters. Her white robes, highlighted in light green, blew about her tall and slender form. There was hardly a gasp of surprise when a second stone span appeared before her, reaching out to the next set of supports.
Alustriel’s arms slipped down to her sides and she gave a deep exhale, her shoulders slumping as if her effort had thrown out more than magical strength.
“Amazing,” Catti-brie said, coming up beside her and inspecting the newly conjured slab.
“The Art, Catti-brie,” Alustriel replied. “Mystra’s blessings are wondrous indeed.” Alustriel turned a sly look her way. “Perhaps I can tutor you.”
Catti-brie scoffed at the notion, but coincidentally, as she threw her head back, she twisted her leg at an angle that sent a wave of pain rolling through her damaged hip, and she was reminded that her days as a warrior might indeed be at their end—one way or another.
“Perhaps,” she said.
Alustriel’s smile beamed genuine and warm. The Lady of Silvery moon glanced back and motioned to the dwarf masons, who flooded forward with their tubs of mortar to seal and smooth the newest span.
“The conjured stone is permanent?” Catti-brie asked as she and Alustriel moved back down the ramp to the bank.
Alustriel looked at her as if the question was completely absurd. “Would you have it vanish beneath the wheels of a wagon?”
They both laughed at the flippant response.
“I mean, it is real stone,” the younger woman clarified.
“Not an illusion, to be sure.”
“But still the stuff of magic?”
Alustriel furrowed her brow as she considered the woman. “The stone is as real as anything the dwarves could drag in from a quarry, and the dweomer that created it is permanent.”
“Unless it is dispelled,” Catti-brie replied, and Alustriel said, “Ah,” as she caught on to the woman’s line of thought.
“It would take Elminster himself to even hope to dispel the work of Lady Alustriel,” another nearby wizard interjected.
Catti-brie looked from the mage to Alustriel.
“A bit of an exaggeration, of course,” Alustriel admitted. “But truly, any mage of sufficient power to dispel my creations would also have in his arsenal evocations that could easily destroy a bridge constructed without magic.”
“But a conventional bridge can be warded against lightning bolts and other destructive evocations,” Catti-brie reasoned.
“As this one shall be,” promised Alustriel.
“And so it will be as safe as if the dwarves had…” Catti-brie started, and Alustriel finished the thought with her, “dragged the stones from a quarry.”
They shared another laugh, until Catti-brie added, “Except from Alustriel.”
The Lady of Silverymoon stopped cold and turned to stare directly at Catti-brie.
“It is an easy feat for a wizard to dispel her own magic, so I am told,” Catti-brie remarked. “There will be no wards in place to prevent you from waving your hands and making expanse after expanse disappear.”
A wry grin crossed Alustriel’s beautiful face, and she cocked an eyebrow, an expression of congratulations for the woman’s sound and cunning reasoning.
“An added benefit should the orcs overrun this position and try to use the bridge to spread their darkness to other lands,” Catti-brie went on.
“Other lands like Silverymoon,” Alustriel admitted.
“Do not be quick to sever the bridge to Mithral Hall, Lady,” Catti-brie said.
“Mithral Hall is connected to the eastern bank through tunnels in any case,” Alustriel replied. “We will not abandon your father, Catti-brie. We will never abandon King Bruenor and the valiant dwarves of Clan Battlehammer.”
Catti-brie’s responding smile came easy to her, for she didn’t doubt a word of the pledge. She glanced back at the conjured slabs and nodded appreciatively, both for the power in creating them and the strategy of Alustriel in keeping the power to easily destroy them.
The late afternoon sun reflected moisture in Toogwik Tuk’s jaundiced brown eyes, for he could hardly contain his tears of joy at the ferocious reminder of what it was to be an orc. Grguch’s march through the three remaining villages had been predictably successful, and after Toogwik Tuk had delivered his perfected sermon, every able-bodied orc warrior of those villages had eagerly marched out in Grguch’s wake. That alone would have garnered the fierce chieftain of Clan Karuck another two hundred soldiers.