“How did she get out of Mithral Hall, a fortress of dwarves?” an increasingly annoyed Galen Firth asked.
“Delly Curtie,” said Wulfgar.
“Wife of Wulfgar,” Catti-brie explained.
“Was she not then this child’s mother?”
“Adopted mother, as Wulfgar is Colson’s adopted father,” said Catti-brie.
Galen Firth snorted, and many in the room muttered curses under their breath.
“Delly Curtie was under the spell of a powerful and evil weapon,” Catti-brie explained. “She did not surrender the child of her own volition.”
“Then she should be here to swear to that very thing.”
“She is dead,” said Wulfgar.
“Killed by Obould’s orcs,” Catti-brie added. “For after she handed the child to Cottie Cooperson, she ran off to the north, to the orc lines, where she was found, murdered and frozen in the snow.”
Galen Firth did grimace a bit at that, and the look he gave to Wulfgar was almost one tinged with sympathy. Almost.
“The weapon controlled her,” said Catti-brie. “Both in surrendering the child and in running to certain doom. It is a most foul blade. I know well, for I carried it for years.”
That brought more murmurs from around the room and a look of astonishment from Galen. “And what horrors did Catti-brie perpetrate under the influence of such a sentient evil?”
“None, for I controlled the weapon. It did not control me.”
“But Delly Curtie was made of stuff less stern,” said Galen Firth.
“She was no warrior. She was not raised by dwarves.”
Galen Firth didn’t miss the pointed reminder of both facts, of who these two were and what they had behind their claim.
He nodded and pondered the words for a bit, then replied, “It is an interesting tale.”
“It is a demand that will be properly answered,” said Wulfgar, narrowing his blue eyes and leaning even more imposingly toward the leader of Nesmé. “We do not ask you to adjudicate. We tell you the circumstance and expect you to give back the girl.”
“You are not in Mithral Hall, son of Bruenor,” Galen Firth replied through gritted teeth.
“You deny me?” Wulfgar asked, and it seemed to all that the barbarian was on the verge of a terrible explosion. His blue eyes were wide and wild.
Galen didn’t back down, though he surely expected an attack.
And again Catti-brie intervened. “We came to Nesmé as sentries on a caravan from Silverymoon, as a favor to Lady Alustriel,” she explained, turning her shoulder and putting her arm across the table to block Wulfgar, though of course she couldn’t hope to slow his charge, should it come. “For it was Lady Alustriel, friend of King Bruenor Battlehammer, friend of Drizzt Do’Urden, friend of Wulfgar and of Catti-brie, who told us that Colson would be found in Nesmé.”
Galen Firth tried to hold steady, but he knew he was giving ground.
“For she knows Colson well, and well she knows of Colson’s rightful father, Wulfgar,” Catti-brie went on. “When she heard our purpose in traveling to Silverymoon, she put all of her assets at our disposal, and it was she who told us that Cottie Cooperson and Colson had traveled to Nesmé. She wished us well on our travels, and even offered to fly us here on her fiery chariot, but we felt indebted and so we agreed to travel along with the caravan and serve as sentries.”
“Would not a desperate father take the quicker route?” asked Galen Firth, and around him, heads bobbed in agreement.
“We did not know that the caravan bearing Colson made it to Nesmé, or whether perhaps the hearty and good folk accompanying the child decided to debark earlier along the road. And that is not for you to decide in any case, Galen Firth. Do you deny Wulfgar’s rightful claim? Would you have us go back to Lady Alustriel and tell her that the proud folk of Nesmé would not accede to the proper claim of Colson’s own father? Would you have us return at once to Silverymoon and to Mithral Hall with word that Galen Firth refused to give Wulfgar his child?”
“Adopted child,” remarked one of the men across the way.
Galen Firth didn’t register that argument. The man had thrown him some support, but only because he obviously needed it at that moment. That poignant reminder had him squaring his shoulders, but he knew that Catti-brie had delivered a death blow to his obstinacy. For he knew that she spoke the truth, and that he could ill afford to anger the Lady of Silverymoon. Whatever might happen between King Bruenor and Galen would not likely ill affect Nesmé, for the dwarves would not come south to do battle, but for Lady Alustriel to take King Bruenor’s side was another matter entirely. Nesmé needed Silverymoon’s support. No caravan would travel to Nesmé that did not originate in, or at least pass through, the city of Lady Alustriel.
Galen Firth was no fool. He did not doubt the story of Catti-brie and Wulfgar, and he had seen clearly the desperation on Cottie Cooperson’s face when he had left her in the barracks. That type of desperation was borne of knowing that she had no real claim, that the child was not hers.
For of course, Colson was not.
Galen Firth looked over his shoulder to his guards. “Go and fetch Cottie Cooperson and the girl,” he said.
Protests erupted around the room, with men shaking their fists in the air.
“The child is mine!” Wulfgar shouted at them, turning fiercely, and indeed, all of those in front stepped back. “Would any of you demand any less if she was yours?”
“Cottie is our friend,” one man replied, rather meekly. “She means the girl no harm.”
“Fetch your own child, then,” said Wulfgar. “Relinquish her, or him, to me in trade!”
“What foolish words are those?”
“Words to show you your own folly,” said the big man. “However good Cottie Cooperson’s heart, and I do not doubt your claim that she is worthy both as a friend and a mother, I cannot surrender to her a girl that is my own. I have come for Colson, and I will leave with Colson, and any man who stands in my way would do well to have made his peace with his god.”
He snapped his arm in the air before him and called to Aegis-fang, and the mighty warhammer appeared magically in his grasp. With a flick, Wulfgar rapped the hammer atop a nearby table, shattering all four legs and dropping the kindling to the floor.
Galen Firth gasped in protest, and the one guard behind him reached for his sword—and stared down the length of an arrow set on Catti-brie’s Taulmaril.
“Which of you will come forward and deny my claim to Colson?” Wulfgar asked the group, and not surprisingly, his challenge was met with silence.
“You will leave my town,” Galen Firth said.
“We will, on the same caravan that brought us in,” Catti-brie replied, easing her bow back to a rest position as the guard relinquished his grip on the sword and raised his hands before him. “As soon as we have Colson.”
“I intend to protest this to Lady Alustriel,” Galen Firth warned.
“When you do,” said Catti-brie, “be certain to explain to Lady Alustriel how you almost incited a riot and a tragedy by playing the drama out before the hot humors of men and women who came to your town seeking naught but refuge and a new home. Be certain to tell Lady Alustriel of Silverymoon of your discretion, Galen Firth, and we will do likewise with King Bruenor.”
“I grow tired of your threats,” Galen Firth said to her, but Catti-brie only smiled in reply.
“And I long ago tired of you,” Wulfgar said to the man.
Behind Galen Firth, the tavern door opened, and in came Cottie Cooperson holding Colson and pulled along by a guard. Outside the door two men jostled with another pair of guards, who would not let them enter.
The question of Wulfgar’s claim was answered the moment Colson came into the room. “Da!” the toddler cried, verily leaping out of Cottie’s grasp to get to the man she had known as her father for all her life. She squealed and squirmed and reached with both her arms for Wulfgar, calling for her “Da!” over and over again.