Seeming taller, feeling taller, Regis rolled over the side of the branch and caught a foothold below, moving down the tree to a better vantage point where he could rouse the orc and judge its demeanor.
He stopped, though, and suddenly, his head snapping around, as something came bouncing into the encampment.
An old boot.
The worg leaped at it and tore at it with snapping jaws—and those jaws were snapping indeed, as a series of small explosions erupted from within the boot.
The worg yelped and howled, and leaped up into the air, doing a complete somersault.
The most curious looking creature Regis had ever seen rushed in to join the dance: a green-bearded dwarf wearing light green robes, open sandals on his dirty feet, and a cooking pot on his head. The dwarf ran right up to the worg and began waggling his fingers and his lips. The great wolf stopped its yammering and its hopping and froze in place, ears going back, eyes going wide.
With a sound that could only be described as a shriek, the worg put its tail between its legs and ran away.
"Hee hee hee," said the dwarf.
"What?" roared the awakened orc, its protesting cry cut short—as tended to happen when a battle-axe crushed the speaker's skull.
From behind the tumbling orc came a second dwarf, this one with a brilliant yellow beard, and dressed in more conventional dwarven attire—except for a tremendous helm that sported the huge antlers of a full-grown buck.
"Ye should o' killed the damned dog, too," the yellow bearded dwarf roared. "I'm hungry!"
As the green-bearded creature started wagging his finger in a scolding manner, Regis moved down the tree as quickly as his aching arm would permit.
"Who are you?" he called.
Both dwarves spun on him—and the yellow-bearded one almost launched his deadly axe Regis's way.
"No friend o' orcs … like yerself!" the yellow-bearded dwarf roared.
"No, no, no!" Regis insisted coming to the ground and waving his empty hand up in a sign of submission, his other arm tucked in close to his side. "I have come from the town of Shallows."
"Don't know it," said the yellow-bearded dwarf.
He looked to the other, who agreed with a "Nope, nope."
"And King Bruenor Battlehammer," Regis went on.
"Ah, nowye're talking!" said the dwarf with the yellow-beard. "Ivan Bouldershoulder at yer service, little one. And this's me brother—"
"Pikel!" Regis cried.
He had heard quite a bit about these two from Drizzt and Catti-brie, though in truth, no spoken words could do the specter of Pikel Bouldershoulder justice.
"Aye," said Ivan, "and tell me, little one, how're ye knowin' that, and what're ye doing with the likes o' them two?"
"We have to hurry," Regis replied, urgency suddenly flying back into his tone. "Bruenor's in trouble—they all are! — and I have to get to Mithral Hall… no, to the camp that Thibbledorf Pwent was supposed to be building north of the hall."
"Yeah, that's where we're goin'," said Ivan. "To Pwent. We took a circular route, but a bird telled me brother where they were at. We were just fixing to go there when another bird telled me brother about the orc and his puppy."
"He talks to a lot of birds, does he?" Regis asked dryly.
"Aye, and to the trees. Come along and he'll get us there afore ye can ask me how."
"There is no time," Regis said to the Bouldershoulders, to Thibbledorf Pwent and to the other leaders at the second dwarven outpost, some twenty miles across uneven, rocky ground north of Keeper's Dale, the vale heralding the main entrance to Mithral Hall. "Bruenor and the others don't have the four extra days it will take for the runners to gather the army and return here."
"Bah, they'll do it in three!" one of the outpost bosses, a crusty little fellow named Runabout Kickastone, insisted. "Ain't ye never seen a mad dwarf run?"
"Three's three too many!" roared Pwent, who had been leaning toward the north ever since Regis and the Bouldershoulders had arrived with the dire news of Shallows's predicament.
Indeed, Thibbledorf Pwent had been leaning to the north since Bruenor had separated from him and sent him to the south.
"We only got a hunnerd!" said Runabout. "And from what the little one's saying, a hunnerd ain't to do much!"
"Ye got the Gutbusters!" Pwent roared right back. "Them orcs'll think they're outnumbered, don't ye doubt!"
"And you've got clerics," added Regis, who knew they had to be away at once, and who guessed easily enough that some of his friends were likely in desperate need of some healing magic.
Runabout sighed and looked around, planting his hands on his hips.
"We might be doin' some good if we can get to the town," he admitted. "Shorin' up defenses and healing them that's hurt and all that. Don't sound like we'll be getting there with any kind o' ease, though."
Off to the side, Pikel hopped over to Ivan and began whispering excitedly into his brother's car. All the others turned to watch and listen, though they couldn't really make out any clear words or meanings.
"Me brother's got some berries that'll make ye walk longer and faster," Ivan explained. "Takin' away yer need to stop and eat or drink. That'll get us up there all the faster, with short camps."
"Getting up there's sounding like the easy part," the ever-doubting Runabout replied, and before he had even finished, Pikel hopped up to Ivan and put his lips near his brother's ear again.
Ivan's expression turned sour, his face full of doubt, and he began to shake his head, but as Pikel continued, ever more excitedly, the dwarf slowly settled and began to listen more intently.
Finally, Pikel hopped back and Ivan turned an incredulous stare upon him and asked, "Ye think?"
"Hee hee hee."
"What?" Thibbledorf Pwent, Regis, and Runabout all demanded at once.
"Well, me brother's got a plan," Ivan haltingly explained. "Crazy plan. ."
"Yes!" said Pwent, punching his fist into the air.
"But a plan's a plan, at least," Ivan went on. He looked to Pikel and asked again, "Ye think?"
"Hee hee hee."
"Well?" prompted Runabout.
"Well, are we to stand here jawing or to get going?" Ivan shot right back. "Ye got a big, strong wagon?"
"Yes," Runabout answered.
"Ye got a lot o' wood? Especially them big logs ye been using to hold the stone walls in place?"
Runabout looked around and slowly nodded.
"Then get all yer wood and get yer biggest and strongest wagons, and get all yer boys into line on the road north," said Ivan.
"What about yer brother's plan?" Runabout asked.
"I'm thinkin' it'd be better if I tell ye on the way," Ivan responded. "Both because we can't be standing here talking while yer king's in trouble, and because.." He paused and looked at the giggling Pikel, then admitted, "Because when ye hear it, ye might think we'd've been better waiting for the army."
"Hee hee hee," said Pikel.
Within the hour, the hundred dwarves and Regis set out from the outpost, pulling huge wagons laden with tons of strong wood. Pikel wasn't pulling and wasn't even walking. Rather, the dwarf moved from wagon to wagon, working the wood with his druidic magic, considering each piece and how it might fit into his overall design, and giggling. Despite the gravity of the situation, despite the fact that they were walking into an obviously desperate battle, Pikel was always giggling.
CHAPTER 27 WHEN HOPE FADES
Catti-brie sat in the dim light of a single candle, staring at Bruenor, her beloved father, as he lay on the cot. His face was ashen, and it was no trick of the light, she knew. His chest barely moved, and the bandages she had only recently changed were already blood-stained yet again.