“No doubt with King Bruenor, Drizzt Do’Urden, and the rest of that strange companionship at its head,” Obould muttered.
“We did not have the numbers to hold against that,” Oktule admitted.
Obould glanced past the messenger to the gathered crowd. He saw more trepidation on their faces than anything else, along with an undercurrent of…what? Suspicion?
The orc king stood up and stretched to his full height, towering over Oktule. He looked up and let his gaze sweep in the mob then said with a wicked grin, “A great victory anyway!”
The cheering reached new heights, and Obould, his anger beginning to boil within him, used that opportunity to steal off into his tent, the ever-present Kna and the priest Nukkels following close behind.
Inside the inner chamber, Obould dismissed all of his guards.
“You, too,” Kna snapped at Nukkels, errantly presuming that the glorious news had excited her partner as it had her.
Nukkels grinned at her and looked to Obould, who confirmed his suspicions.
“You, too,” Obould echoed, but aimed the comment at Kna and not the priest. “Be gone until I summon you back to my side.”
Kna’s yellow eyes widened in shock, and she instinctively moved to Obould’s side and began to curl sensually around him. But with one hand, with the strength of a giant, he yanked her away.
“Do not make me ask you again,” he said slowly and deliberately, as if he were a parent addressing a child. With a flick of his wrist he sent Kna skipping and tumbling backward, and she kept scrambling away, her eyes wide with shock as she locked her stare on Obould’s frightening expression.
“We must commune with Gruumsh to determine the next victory,” Obould said to her, purposely softening his visage. “You will play with Obould later.”
That seemed to calm the idiot Kna a bit, and she even managed a smile as she exited the chamber.
Nukkels started to talk then, but Obould stopped him with an upraised hand. “Give Kna time to be properly away,” the king said loudly. “For if my dear consort inadvertently overhears the words of Gruumsh, the One-eye will demand her death.”
As soon as he finished, a rustling just to the side of the exit confirmed his suspicions that his foolish Kna had been thinking to eavesdrop. Obould looked at Nukkels and sighed.
“An informative idiot, at least,” the priest offered, and Obould could only shrug. Nukkels began spellcasting, waving his arms and releasing wards to silence the area around himself and Obould.
When he finished, Obould nodded his approval and said, “I have heard the name of Chieftain Grguch far too often of late. What do you know of Clan Karuck?”
It was Nukkels’s turn to shrug. “Half-ogres, say the rumors, but I cannot confirm. They are not known to me.”
“And yet they heard my call.”
“Many tribes have come forth from the deep holes of the Spine of the World, seeking to join in the triumph of King Obould. Surely Clan Karuck’s priests could have heard of our march through communion with Gruumsh.”
“Or from mortal voices.”
Nukkels mulled that over for a bit. “There has been a chain of whispers and shouts, no doubt,” he replied cautiously, for Obould’s tone hinted at something more nefarious.
“He comes forth and attacks the Moonwood then sweeps south and overruns the dwarves’ wall. For a chieftain who lived deep in the holes of the distant mountains, Grguch seems to know well the enemies lurking on the borders of Many-Arrows.”
Nukkels nodded and said, “You believe that Clan Karuck was called here with purpose.”
“I believe I would be a fool not to find out if that was the case,” Obould replied. “It is no secret that many have disagreed with my decision to pause in our campaign.”
“Pause?”
“As far as they know.”
“So they bring forth an instigator, to drive Obould forward?”
“An instigator, or a rival?”
“None would be so foolish!” the priest said with proper and prudent astonishment.
“Do not overestimate the intelligence of the masses,” Obould said. “But whether as an instigator or a rival, Grguch has brought trouble to my designs. Perhaps irreparable damage. We can expect a counterattack from King Bruenor, I am sure, and from many of his allies if we are unlucky.”
“Grguch stung them, but he left,” Nukkels reminded the king. “If they see his strike as bait, Bruenor will not be so foolish as to come forth from his defended halls.”
“Let us hope, and let us hope that we can quickly contain this eager chieftain. Send Oktule back to Grguch, with word that I would speak to him. Offer an invitation to Clan Karuck for a great feast in honor of their victories.”
Nukkels nodded.
“And prepare yourself for a journey, my trusted friend,” Obould went on, and that reference took Nukkels off-guard, for he had only known Obould for a short time, and had only spoken directly to the orc king since Obould had climbed back up from the landslide that had nearly killed him and the dark elf.
“I would go to Mithral Hall itself for King Obould Many-Arrows,” Nukkels replied, standing straight and determined.
Obould grinned and nodded, and Nukkels knew that his guess had been correct. And his answer had been sincere and well-placed—and expected, since it had, after all, come from the king’s “trusted friend.”
“Shall I invite Kna and your private guard to return to you, Great One?” Nukkels asked, bowing low.
Obould paused for a moment then shook his head. “I will call for them when they are needed,” he told the priest. “Go and speak with Oktule. Send him on his way, and return to me this night, with your own pack readied for a long and trying road.”
Nukkels bowed again, turned, and swiftly departed.
“Ah, but it’s good that ye’re here, Lady,” Bruenor said to Alustriel when they met out by the wall. Catti-brie stood beside the Lady of Silverymoon, with Regis and Thibble dorf Pwent close behind Bruenor.
Not far away, Cordio Muffinhead and another dwarf priest went to work immediately on the poor, impaled Duzberyl, extricating the dead wizard as gently as possible.
“Would that we could have done more,” Alustriel replied solemnly. “Like your kin, we were lulled by the passing months of quiet, and so the orc assault caught us by surprise. We had not the proper spells prepared, for our studies have focused on working the Surbrin Bridge to completion.”
“Ye did a bit o’ damage to the pigs, and got most o’ me boys back to the hall,” said Bruenor. “Ye did good by us, and we’re not for forgettin’ that.”
Alustriel responded with a bow. “And now that we know, we will not be caught unawares again,” she promised. “Our efforts on the bridge will be slowed, of course, as half our magical repertoire each day will be focused on spells for defending the ground and repelling invaders. And indeed, we will have just a small crew at the bridge until the wall and towers are repaired and completed. The bridge will serve no useful purpose until—”
“Bah!” Bruenor snorted. “The point’s all moot. We seen the truth o’ Obould, suren as there is any. Put all yer spells for orc-killing—excepting them ye’ll be needin’ to get yer Knights in Silver across the Surbrin. When we’re done with the damned orcs, we can worry about the bridge and the wall, though I’m thinkin’ we won’t be needing much of a wall!”
Behind him, Thibble dorf Pwent snorted, as did several others, but Alustriel just looked at him curiously, as if she didn’t understand. As her expression registered to Bruenor, his own face became a scowl of abject disbelief. That look only intensified as he noted Catti-brie’s wince at Alustriel’s side, confirmation that he wasn’t misreading the Lady of Silverymoon.