Bruenor surprised them all, then, by opening one eye and even managing to turn his head toward Dagnabbit.
"Then ye take a bunch o' stinkin' orcs along for yer ride," the dwarf said, and he sank back into his bed.
Catti-brie was there in an instant, hovering over him, but after a quick inspection she realized that he had slipped off into that semi-conscious state once again.
"Where's Rockbottom?" she asked, referring to the one cleric who had remained with their group of dwarves when the expeditionary force had split.
"Tending Withegroo, though I'm thinking the old mage's about finished," Dagnabbit answered. "Rockbottom says he's done all he can for Bruenor for now, and he's thinking like I'm thinking that we're gonna be needin' that wizard to have any chance o' getting outta here."
Catti-brie bit back her urge to scream at poor Dagnabbit, for she realized that despite his seemingly callous attitude toward Bruenor, he was as torn up as she was about the dwarf king's predicament. Dagnabbit was above all else pragmatic, though. He was the commander of Mithral Hall's forces, and always followed the road that promised the best chance of positive result, whatever the emotional burden. Catti-brie understood that he was as angry and frustrated as she at their helplessness, at having to sit there and watch the life ebb out of Bruenor.
Dagnabbit moved to the side of Bruenor's bed and gently lifted the signature one-horned helm off the dwarf king's head, rolling it about in his hands.
"Even if we find a way outta here, L don't know if we can take him with us," the dwarf said quietly.
Wulfgar was up in an instant, towering over Dagnabbit despite his necessary crouch.
"You would leave him?" he roared incredulously.
Dagnabbit didn't shrink from the barbarian's wild stare. He looked from Bruenor to Wulfgar, then back to his beloved king.
"If bringing him means throwing out all chance of us running by them, yeah," he admitted. "Bruenor'd not want to go if going meant getting them he loves slaughtered, and ye're knowing that."
"Get Rockbottom back in here to tend to him."
"Rockbottom can't do a thing for him, and ye heared it yerself when last he was here," said Dagnabbit. "Damned orc got him good. He'll be needin' a bigger priest than Rockbottom, might be even that he'll be needin' a whole bunch o' priests."
Wulfgar started toward Dagnabbit, but Catti-brie grabbed him by the arms and forced him to stop and look at her. He saw only sympathy there, a complete understanding of, and agreement with, his frustrations.
"We'll make our choices as we sec them," the woman said softly.
"If we arc to run to the south, then I will carry Bruenor all the way to Mithral Hall," Wulfgar said, casting a stern look at Dagnabbit.
The commander didn't flinch, but he did, after a moment, nod.
"Well if ye do, then ye know that me and me boys'll do all we can to keep ye running and to keep them damned orcs off ye."
That calmed Wulfgar, even though he, Catti-brie, and Dagnabbit all knew that those were words of the heart, not of the mind. In truth, to all three, the point seemed moot anyway. A few scouts had dared to slip out of Shallows in the hours since the end of the second battle and the reports of the tightening ring of orcs showed no chance of any large-scale escape.
They were trapped, Bruenor was dying, Drizzt and Regis were both missing, and there was nothing they could do about it.
Punctuating that disturbing logic, another giant boulder smashed against the tower above them, and cries of "Fire! Fire!" echoed down the low tunnels leading to the small, smoky room.
"Town lost thirty in the fighting," Dagnabbit informed them. "Counting the twelve killed afore the first fight."
"Almost a third," said Catti-brie.
"And most o' them men — some o' their best fighters," said the dwarf. "Two o' me own are dead, another five down too hurt to fight. If they come on again, we'll be hard pressed to hold."
"We'll hold," Wulfgar said grimly.
"After seein' ye on the wall, I'm almost believing ye," the dwarf replied.
"Almost?" Catti-brie asked.
Dagnabbit, who had seen the extent of destruction to the fortifications above, could only offer a shrug in reply.
"We hold or we die," said Catti-brie.
"We gotta get out," Dagnabbit remarked.
"Or get help in," said Catti-brie. 'Regis got over the wall, though I'm not for knowing if he's dead on the field outside, or if he's running for help." She looked to Wulfgar as she explained, "Right after he went over the wall, the orcs on worgs came charging in."
After the fight, the friends had searched the ground west of Shallows as much as possible, but had found no sign of Regis. That had brought them some hope, at least, but in truth, both of them feared the halfling captured or dead.
"Even if he got away, I'm not for hoping that'll do anyone but himself any good," said Dagnabbit. "How long will it take him to find Pwent? It'll take an army to get through to us, I'm thinking, and not just them Gut-busters. And how long will it take them to gather an army to our aid?"
"As long as it takes," said Wulfgar. "Until then, we must hold."
Dagnabbit started to reply, seeming as if to argue the point, but then he just blew a long sigh.
"Stay with King Bruenor," he bade Catti-brie. "If any're to keep his heart beating, it's yerself. Keep him warm, and wish him well from me and all me boys if he walks his journey to the other side."
He looked to Wulfgar.
"Help me and me boys fix what defenses we can?" he asked the man.
With a nod and a determined look to Catti-brie, the barbarian lifted his bloodied frame and crawled out of the small tunnel to begin the work of shoring up the defenses.
Such as they were.
He caught himself just as he was about to fall off of the branch, and when he realized that, when he realized where he was, the halfling had to spend a long moment telling his heart not to leap out of his chest. The fall probably wouldn't have been so bad, a few bruises and scratches, but Regis knew all too well what awaited him on the ground: a snarling, vicious worg.
He settled himself quickly and looked over the impromptu encampment. The orc was snoring contentedly between a pair of shading rocks, while the worg was curled right at the base of Regis's tree.
Wonderful, the halfling thought.
The sun was up and the day bright and warm, and Regis's heart told him that this was his last and only chance, that he had to find some way out of there. Would the orc still consider him a friend when it awoke? Would the gem-enhanced promises he had made of treasures and new weapons still hold strong in the dim-witted creature's thinking? If not, how could he use his ruby once again? How could he even get close enough to a hostile orc with that hungry worg wanting nothing more than to make a meal of him?
Regis put his head down and fought hard to hold back his sobs, for it seemed to him that it had all been for naught. He wished that he was back in Shallows with his friends, that if he was to die, as he surely believed he was, it would be with Bruenor and the others, with the friends who had walked the road beside him.
Not like this. Not torn apart by a cruel worg on a lonely mountain pass.
"Stop it!" Regis scolded himself, more loudly than he had intended.
Below him, the worg looked up, gave a long, low growl, then put its head back atop its paws.
"No time for self pity," the halfling whispered. "Your friends need you, Regis, so what arc you going to do for them? Sit here and cry?"
No, he decided, and he sat up straighter and resolutely shook his head. Even that motion made his broken arm throb more. It was time to rouse the orc, to hope that the creature was still under the sway of the enchanted ruby, or to find some other way if it was not. If he had to fight them both, orc and worg, then he'd fight and be done with it. His friendship with those who had risked themselves time and again for his sake demanded no less.