Of course it had come to this, the halfling realized. Ever since they had been fighting bandits on the road in Icewind Dale, Regis had been trying to fit in, had been trying to find a way where he would not only be out of harm's way but would actually prove an asset to his friends.
He had found more success than any of them had expected, particularly in the fight at the guard tower in the Spine of the World, when they had discovered the place overrun by ogres.
In truth, Regis was quite proud of his recent exploits. Ever since he had taken that spear in the shoulder on the river, when the friends were
journeying to bring the Crystal Shard to Cadderly, Regis had come to view his place in the world a bit differently. Always before, the halfling had looked for the easy way, and in truth that was the way he most wanted to take even now, but his guilt wouldn't allow it. He had been saved that day on the river by his friends, by the same friends who had traveled halfway across the world to rescue him from the clutches of Pasha Pook, by the same friends who had carried him along, often literally, for so many years.
And so of late he had tried with all his might to find some way to become a greater asset to them, to pay them back for all they had done for him.
But never once had Regis believed that his luck would hold. He should have died atop that ogre tower in the Spine of the World, far to the west, and he should have died on the wall of Shallows.
His hand slipped down to his wounded belly as he considered that.
He turned around and peered out at the four friends again, the real heroes. Yes, he had been the one carried on the shoulders of the folk of Ten-Towns after the defeat of Akar Kessell. Yes, he had been the one who had ascended to a position of true power after the fall of Pook, though he had so quickly squandered that opportunity. Yes, he was spoken of by the folk of the North as one of the companions, but crouching there, watching the group, he knew the truth of it.
In his heart, he could not deny that truth.
They were the heroes, not he. He was the beneficiary of fine friends.
As he tuned back to the conversation, the halfling realized that his friends were talking of alternative plans to fighting, of sneaking the villagers away or of sending for help from the south.
The halfling took a deep and steadying breath, then stepped out into the room just as Bruenor was saying to Drizzt, "We can't be sparing yer swords, elf. Nor yer cat. Too long a run to Pwent. Even if ye could get there, ye'll not get back in time to do anythin' more then clean up the bodies."
"But I see no way for us to take a hundred villagers out of Shallows and run to the south," the drow replied.
He stopped short to regard Regis, as did the others.
"Ye're up!" Bruenor cried.
Catti-brie stood from her chair and moved to guide Regis to the seat, but the halfling, whose side was still stiff and tight, didn't really want to bend. Standing seemed preferable to sitting.
"Up halfway, at least," he answered Bruenor.
He winced as he spoke but waved Catti-brie away, motioning for her to keep her scat.
"You are made of tougher stuff than you seem, Regis of Lonely wood," Wulfgar proclaimed.
He held up a flagon in toast.
"And quicker feet," Regis replied with a knowing grin. "You don't believe that my descent from the wall was anything but intentional, do you?"
"A cunning flank!" Wulfgar agreed and all the friends shared a laugh.
It was a short-lived one, for the grim reality of the situation remained.
"We'd not get the folks of Shallows to follow us out in any case," Catti-brie put in when the conversation got back to the business at hand. "They're thinking to hold against whatever comes against them. They've great faith in themselves and their town and greater faith in their resident mage."
"Too much so, I fear," said Drizzt. "The force is considerable, and the giant bombardment could go on for days and days — there is no shortage of stones to throw in the mountains north of Shallows."
"Bah, they ain't doing much damage," Bruenor argued. "Nothing that can't be fixed."
"A townsman was struck and killed by a stone today," Drizzt answered. "Another two were hurt. We haven't many to spare."
Regis stepped back a bit and let the four ramble on with their defensive preparations. The idea of "ducking yer head and lifting yer axe," as Bruenor had put it, seemed to be the order of the day, but after the ferocity of the first attack, the halfling wasn't sure he agreed.
The giants hadn't crossed the ravine and yet the orcs had almost breached the wall, and the southern gates had been weakened by the press of enemies. While Shallows would continue to see a thinning of their forces as men and dwarves were injured, the orcs' numbers would likely grow. Regis understood the creatures and knew that others might be fast to the call if they believed victory to be imminent and riches to be split.
He almost announced then that he would take the initiative and leave
Shallows for the south, that he would find a way to Pwent and the others and return beside a dwarven army. He owed his friends that much at least.
He almost announced it, but he did not, for in truth, the prospect of sneaking away to the south through an army of bloodthirsty orcs shook Regis to his spine. He would rather die beside his friends than out there, and even worse than dying would be getting captured by the orcs. What tortures might those beasts know?
Regis shuddered visibly, and Catti-brie caught the movement and offered a curious glance.
"I'm a bit chilled," Regis explained.
"Probably because you lost so much blood," said Drizzt.
"Get yerself back in yer bed, Rumblebelly," said Bruenor. "We'll take care o' keeping ye safe!"
Yes, Regis pondered, and the thought made him wince. They'd keep him safe. They were always keeping him safe.
They knew the second assault would come soon after sunset.
"They're being too quiet," Bruenor said to Drizzt. The pair was standing on the northern wall, peering out across the ravine to where the giant had been. "Restin' to come on, no doubt."
"The giants won't approach," Drizzt reasoned. "Not while the defense is still in place. They'll not face a wizard's lightning when they can strike from afar with complete safety."
"Complete?" Bruenor asked slyly, for he and Drizzt had just been discussing that very issue, and they had just come to the conclusion that Drizzt should go out and bring the fight to the giants or distract them from their devastating bombardment at least.
Now the drow was hesitating, and Bruenor knew why.
"We could use yer swords here, don't ye doubt," the dwarf said.
Drizzt eyed him curiously.
"But we'll hold without ye," Bruenor added. "Don't ye doubt that, either. Ye go and get 'em, elf. Keep their damned rocks off our heads and leave the little orcs to us."
Drizzt looked back to the north and took a deep breath.
"And now ye're asking all them questions in yer head again, ain't
ye?" Bruenor remarked. "Ye're thinking that maybe ye were wrong in telling Catti-brie not to go. Ye're thinking that maybe ye were wrong in thinking to go out at all. Ye're thinking that everything ye’re doing is wrong. But ye know better'n that, elf. Ye know where we're standing, and that's under the shadow o' flying rocks. As much as ye're thinking ye don't want to be away from yer friends, yer friends're thinking they don't want ye away."
Drizzt offered him a smile.
"Yet you believe that I have to go, as we discussed," he finished for the dwarf.
"We don't stop or at least slow them giants, and there's no Shallows to defend," the dwarf answered. "Seeming pretty simple from where I'm looking at it. Ye're the only one who can get across that ravine fast enough to make a difference, despite the arguing ye got from me girl when we decided ye should go."