Bruenor scoffed and tossed his bowl to the ground, then pulled off his one-homed helm and began rapping hard on his head.
"Bah! Ye'd need more'n a hunnerd to get through this skull, elf!"
Drizzt smiled and didn't disagree.
Dagnabbit returned then to find his king in a fine mood. The younger dwarf looked at Drizzt, but the drow merely nodded and grinned all the wider.
"If we're wantin' to make Shallows in two days, we gotta set straight out," Dagnabbit remarked. "No more chasin' orcs after this group's dead."
"Then no more chasing orcs," said Drizzt.
Dagnabbit nodded, seeming neither surprised nor upset.
"Rushing me home, still," Bruenor said with a shake of his head, broth flying from his wild beard. He brought a hand up and wiped the beard down.
"Or we might be using Shallows as the front base," Dagnabbit offered. "Put a link line to Pwent an' his boys at both camps outside o' Mithral Hall, and spend the summer runnin' the mountains near to Shallows. The folks'll appreciate that, I'm thinking."
A look of astonishment melted into a smile on Bruenor's face.
"And I'm liking the way ye're thinking!" he said as he took the bowl for his third helping. "Making sure there's not too much for Rumblebelly when he gets in," Bruenor offered between gulps. "Can't let him get too fat again if we're walkin' mountain roads, now can we?"
Drizzt settled back comfortably and was quite pleased for his dwarf friend. It was one thing to know your heart, another thing to admit it.
And something altogether different to allow yourself to follow it.
Torgar walked his post on Mirabar's northern wall, a slight limp in his stride from a swollen knee he had suffered in the previous night's escapade. The wind was up strong this day, blowing sand all about the dwarf, but it was warm enough so that Torgar had loosened his heavy breastplate.
He was well aware of the many looks, scowls mostly, coming at him from the other sentries. His actions with Bruenor had resulted in downward spiral, with arguments growing across the city and with many fists being raised. Torgar was tired of it all. All he wanted was to be left alone to his duties, to walk the wall without conversation, without trouble.
When he noted the approach of a well-groomed dwarf wearing bright robes, he knew he wouldn't get his wish.
"Torgar Hammerstriker!" Councilor Agrathan Hardhammer called.
He moved to the base of the ladder leading to the parapet, hiked up his robes and began to climb.
Torgar kept walking the other way, looking out over the wall and feigning ignorance, but when Agrathan called again, more loudly, he realized that to delay would only bring him more frustration.
He paused and leaned his strong, bruised hands on the wall, staring out to the empty, open land.
Agrathan moved up beside him, and similarly leaned on the wall.
"Another battle last night," the councilor stated.
"When they're askin' for a fist, they're getting a fist," Torgar replied.
"And how many are ye to fight?"
"How many're needin' a good kick?"
He looked at Agrathan, and saw that the councilor was not amused.
"Yer actions're tearing Mirabar apart. Is that what ye're looking to do?"
"I'm not looking to do anything," Torgar insisted, and honestly. He turned to Agrathan, his eyes narrowing. "If me speaking me mind's doing what ye say, then the problem's been there afore I speaked it."
Agrathan settled more comfortably against the wall and seemed to relax, as if he was not disagreeing.
"Many of us have been shaking our heads at the Mithral Hall problem. Ye know that. We're all wishin' that our biggest rivals weren't Battle-hammer dwarvess! But they are. That's the way of it, and ye know it, and if ye keep pressing that point into everyone's nose, ye're to bend those noses out of shape."
"The rivalry and the arguin' are as much our own fault as the Battle-hammers'," Torgar reminded. "Might that a deal benefiting us both could be fashioned, but how're we to know unless someone tries?"
"Yer words aren't without merit," the councilor agreed. "It's been suggested and talked about at the Sparkling Stones."
"Where most o' the councilors ain't dwarfs," Torgar remarked, and Agrathan fixed him with a cold stare.
"The dwarves are spoken for, and their thoughts are heard at council."
Torgar knew from the dwarf's look and icy tone that he had hit a nerve with Agrathan, a proud and long-serving councilor. He thought for a moment to take back his bold and callous statement, or at least to exclude his present company, but he didn't. He felt as if he was being carried away by an inner voice that was growing independent of his common sense.
"When ye joined the Axe of Mirabar, you took an oath," Agrathan said. "Are ye remembering that oath, Torgar Hammerstriker?"
Now it was Torgar's turn to issue a cold stare.
"The oath was to serve the Marchion of Mirabar, not the King of Mithral Hall. Ye might be wise to think on that a bit."
The councilor patted Torgar on the shoulder—many seemed to be doing that lately—and took his leave.
Torgar remembered his oath and weighed that oath against the realities of present day Mirabar.
CHAPTER 14 THEY THOUGHT THEY HAD SEEN IT ALL
"Well, ain't this a keg o' beer in a commode," Ivan grumbled.
He was moving around the small lea that the elves were using as a temporary prison for the two intruders. Using some magic that Ivan did not understand, the moon elves had coaxed the trees around the lea in close together, blocking all exits with a nearly solid wall of trunks.
Ivan, of course, was none too happy with that. Pikel reclined in the middle of the field, hands tucked comfortably behind his head as he lay on his back, staring up at the stars. His sandals were off and the contented dwarf waggled his stubby toes happily.
"If they hadn't taked me axe, I'd be making a trail or ten!" Ivan blustered.
Pikel giggled and waggled his toes.
"Shut yer mouth," Ivan fumed, standing with hands on hips and staring defiantly at the tree wall.
He blinked a moment later and rubbed his eyes in disbelief as one of the trees drifted aside, leaving a clear path beyond. Ivan paused, expecting the elves to enter through the breach, but the moments slipped past with no sign the their captors. The dwarf hopped about, started for the break, then skidded to a stop and swung around when he heard his brother giggling.
"Ye did that," Ivan accused.
"Hee hee hee."
"Well if ye could do that, then why've we been sitting here for two days?"
Pikel propped himself on his elbows and shrugged.
"Let's go!"
"Uh uh," said Pikel.
Ivan stared at him incredulously. "Why not?"
Pikel hopped to his feet and jumped all around, putting a finger to pursed lips and saying "Shhhhhhr
"Who ye shushing?" Ivan asked, his expression going from angry to confused. "Ye’re talking to the damned trees," he realized.
Pikel looked at him and shrugged.
"Ye're meaning that the damned trees'll tell the damned elfs if we walk outta here?"
Pikel nodded enthusiastically.
"Well, shut 'em up!"
Pikel shrugged helplessly.
"Ye can move 'em, and ye can walk through 'em, but ye can't shut 'em up?"
Pikel shrugged again.
Ivan stomped a boot hard on the ground. "Well, let 'em tell the elfs! And let them elfs try to catch me!"
Pikel put his hands on his hips and cocked his head to the side, his expression doubtful.
"Yeah, yeah," Ivan called to him, waving his hand and not wanting to hear any of it.
Of course he had no weapon. Of course he had no armor. Of course he had no idea of where he was or of how to get out of there. Of course he wouldn't likely get fifty feet into the forest before being recaptured, probably painfully.