“Your pardon, sir, but Cottie’s got twenty folk with her. Good strong hands, who know the frontier and who know how to fight.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“No, sir!” Teegorr was quick to reply. “But if Nesmé’s not to protect our own, then how are our own to stay in Nesmé?”
“What are you asking?” Galen replied, standing up forcefully. “Am I to condone kidnapping? Is Nesmé to become an outpost for criminals?”
“It’s not so simple as that, is all,” said Teegorr. “Delly Curtie gave the girl to Cottie, so she’s no kidnapper, and not without claim.”
That settled Galen Firth back a bit. He couldn’t keep the disdain from his face, for it was not a fight he wanted to entertain just then. Clan Battlehammer and Nesmé were not on good terms, despite the fact that the dwarves had sent warriors down to help the Nesmians. In the subsequent sorting of events, the rebuilding of Nesmé had taken precedence over King Bruenor’s desire to take the war back to Obould, something that had clearly simmered behind the angry eyes of the fiery dwarf.
And there remained that old issue of the treatment Bruenor and his friends, including Wulfgar and the drow elf Drizzt, had met with on their initial pass through Nesmé those years ago, an unpleasant confrontation that had set Galen Firth and the dwarf at odds.
Neither could Galen Firth keep the wry grin from breaking through his otherwise solemn expression on occasion as he pondered the possibilities. He couldn’t deny that there would be a measure of satisfaction in causing grief to Wulfgar, if the opportunity presented itself.
“Who knows that you came here?” Galen asked.
Teegorr looked at him curiously. “To Nesmé?”
“Who knows that you and your friend brought Cottie and the child here to me?”
“Some of the others who crossed the Surbrin beside us.”
“And they will not speak of it?”
“No,” said Teegorr. “Not a one of us wants to see the child taken from Cottie Cooperson. She’s suffered terribly, and now she’s found peace—and one that’s better for the girl than anything Wulfgar might be offering.”
“Wulfgar is a prince of Mithral Hall,” Galen reminded. “A man of great wealth, no doubt.”
“And Mithral Hall is no place for a man, or a girl—particularly a girl!” Teegorr argued. “Good enough for them dwarves, and good for them. But it’s no place for a human girl to grow.”
Galen Firth rose up from his seat. “Keep her here,” he instructed. “I will go and see my old friend Wulfgar. Perhaps he is here for reasons other than the girl.”
“And if he is?”
“Then you and I never had this discussion,” Galen explained.
He set a pair of guards outside the anteroom, with orders that no one should enter, and he gathered up a couple of others in his wake as he headed out across the darkening town to the taverns and the common rooms. As he expected, he found Wulfgar and Catti-brie in short order, sitting at a table near the bar of the largest of the taverns, and listening more than speaking.
“You have come to join our garrison!” Galen said with great exaggeration as he approached. “I always welcome strong arms and a deadly bow.”
Wulfgar and Catti-brie turned to regard him, their faces, particularly the large barbarian’s, hardening upon recognition.
“We have need for a garrison of our own in Mithral Hall,” Catti-brie replied politely.
“The orcs have not been pushed back,” Wulfgar added, his sharp tone reminding Galen Firth that Galen himself, and his insistence on Nesmé taking precedence, had played no minor role in the decision to not dislodge King Obould.
The other folk in the town knew that as well, and didn’t miss the reference, and all in the tavern hushed as Galen stood before the two adopted children of King Bruenor Battlehammer.
“Everything in its time,” Galen replied, after looking around to ensure his support. “The Silver Marches are stronger now that Nesmé has risen from the ruins.” A cheer started around him, and he raised his voice in proclamation, “For never again will the trolls come forth from the mud to threaten the lands west of Silverymoon or the southern reaches of your own Mithral Hall.”
Wulfgar’s jaw tightened even more at the notion that Nesmé was serving as Mithral Hall’s vanguard, particularly since Mithral Hall’s efforts had preserved what little had remained of Nesmé’s population.
Which was exactly the effect Galen Firth had been hoping for, and he grinned knowingly as Catti-brie put her hand on Wulfgar’s enormous forearm in an effort to keep him calm.
“We had no word that we would be so graced,” Galen said. “Is it customary among Clan Battlehammer for emissaries to arrive unannounced?”
“We are not here on the business of Bruenor,” said Catti-brie, and she motioned for Galen Firth to sit down beside her, opposite Wulfgar.
The man did pull out the chair, but he merely turned it and put his foot up on it, which made him tower over the two even more. Until, that is, Wulfgar rose to his feet, his nearly seven foot frame, his giant shoulders, stealing that advantage.
But Galen didn’t back down. He stared hard at Wulfgar, locking the man’s gaze. “Then why?” he asked, his voice lower and more insistent.
“We came in as sentries for a caravan,” Catti-brie said.
Galen glanced down at her. “The children of Bruenor hire out as mercenaries?”
“Volunteers doing our part in the collective effort,” Catti-brie answered.
“It was a way to serve others as we served our own needs,” Wulfgar said.
“To come to Nesmé?” asked Galen.
“Yes.”
“Why, if not for Brue—”
“I have come to find a girl, Colson, who was taken from Mithral Hall,” Wulfgar stated.
“‘Taken’? Wrongly?”
“Yes.”
Behind Wulfgar, several people bustled about. Galen recognized them as friends of Teegorr and Cottie, and expected that there might soon be trouble—which he didn’t think so dire a possibility. In truth, the man was interested in testing his strength against that of the legendary Wulfgar, and besides, he had enough guards nearby to ensure that there would be no real downside to any brawl.
“How is it that a child was abducted from Mithral Hall,” he asked, “and ferried across the river by Bruenor’s own? What dastardly plot turned that result?”
“The girl’s name is Colson,” Catti-brie intervened, as Wulfgar and Galen Firth leaned in closer toward each other. “We have reason to believe that she has come to Nesmé. In fact, that seems most assured.”
“There are children here,” Galen Firth admitted, “brought in with the various groups of displaced people, who have come to find community and shelter.”
“No one can deny that Nesmé has opened her gates to those in need,” Catti-brie replied, and Wulfgar shot a glare her way. “A mutually beneficial arrangement for a town that grows more grand by the day.”
“But there is a child here that does not belong in Nesmé, nor to the woman who brought her here,” Wulfgar insisted. “I have come to retrieve that girl.”
Someone moved fast behind Wulfgar, and he spun, quick as an elf. He brought his right arm across, sweeping aside a two-handed grab by one of Cottie’s friends, then turned the arm down, bringing the fool’s arms with it. Wulfgar’s left hand snapped out and grabbed the man by the front of his tunic. In the blink of an astonished eye, Wulfgar had the man up in the air, fully two feet off the ground, and shook him with just the one hand.
The barbarian turned back on Galen Firth, and with a flick of his arm sent the shaken fool tumbling aside.
“Colson is leaving with me. She was wrongly taken, and though I bear no ill will”—he paused and turned to let his penetrating gaze sweep the room—“to any of those who were with the woman to whom she was entrusted, and no ill will toward the woman herself—surely not! — I will leave with the girl rightfully returned.”