yerself, Nikwillig, will go back to Mithral Hall with the others."
"King Bruenor, yer words make ye sound like ye're headin' out on the hunt yerself," Dagnabbit remarked, drawing a hard stare from Bruenor.
Bruenor knew the expectations of those around him, particularly of Dagnabbit, who was sworn to secure his king's safety. He knew that the proper course for him, as King of Mithral Hall, would be to head south straightaway with the bulk of his force, back to the security of his kingdom, back where he could direct further counterstrikes in search of this marauding band of orcs and giants. That was what was expected of him, but the mere thought of it made Bruenor's gut churn.
He looked over at Drizzt with a pleading look, and the dark elf offered a slight, knowing nod in response.
"What're ye thinking, elf?" Bruenor asked.
"T would have an easier time finding the monsters than Pwent and his wild band," Drizzt replied. "An easier time even than good Dagnabbit here, though I doubt not his prowess at hunting orcs."
"Then ye come with me," Dagnabbit offered.
There was a slight crack in his voice, showing that he saw where this might be heading, and showing that he was not too pleased by the prospect.
"T will go," Drizzt agreed, "but with my friends around me. Those whom I have come to trust the most. Those who best recognize how to compliment my every move."
He nodded in turn to Catti-brie, to Wulfgar, and to Regis, then paused for a moment and turned directly to Bruenor-and nodded. A smile widened on the face of the dwarf king.
"No, no, no," Dagnabbit remarked immediately. "Ye cannot be taking me king into the wilds."
"I believe the choice is Bruenor's to make, my friend, not yours, and not mine," Drizzt replied. He returned Bruenor's grateful smile and asked the king, "One last hunt?"
"Who says it's the last?" came Bruenor's gruff reply.
The friends chuckled, then laughed all the harder when Dagnabbit stomped his heavy boot on the ground and exclaimed, "Dagnabbit!"
"Bah, but yerself can come along, ye dumb dwarf," Bruenor said to his young commander. "And yerself," he added, looking over at Tred, who nodded grimly.
"And ye bring some fighters with ye!" Dagnabbit insisted.
"Pwent and his boys," said Bruenor.
"No!" Dagnabbit shouted emphatically.
"But you just said . . ."
"That was afore I thinked yerself was goin'."
Bruenor patted his hands in the air to calm the excited dwarf.
"Not Pwent, then," he said, understanding his young commander's concern. Pwent could start a fight with a rock, so it was said in Mithral Hall, and hurt himself and everyone around him badly before he won the scuffle. "Ye pick the group yerself. Twenty o' yer best-"
"Twenty-five," Dagnabbit argued.
"Well, get 'em ready soon," Bruenor said to Dagnabbit, and to all of them. "I'm wanting to be on the road this same day. We got orcs and giants to squish!"
The dwarf looked around at all his friends and noted that Wulfgar's grin was not as wide as those of Drizzt, Catti-brie, and even Regis. Bruenor nodded his understanding to his adopted son, his implied permission for Wulfgar, now a father and a husband, to opt out of the hunt if he saw fit to do so.
Wulfgar tightened his jaw in response, returned the nod, and strode away.
"Ye can't be thinkin' what I'm thinkin' ye're thinkin'!" said Shingles McRuff.
He was one of the toughest looking critters in all of Mirabar, a short and exceedingly stout dwarf whose nasty attitude was always clearly shown on his ruddy, weathered face. He was missing an eye, and simply never bothered to fill in the empty socket, just covered it with an eye patch. Half of his black beard was torn away, the right side of his face showing as one big scar.
"Well, I'm thinkin' what I'm thinkin'," Torgar Hammerstriker replied, "and I'm not knowin' what ye're thinkin' I'm thinkin'!"
"Well, I'm thinkin' that ye're thinkin' o' leavin'," Shingles slated bluntly, and that got the attention of all the other dwarves in the crowded tavern in the highest subterranean level of the city. "Don't know what the marchion said to ye, bud, but I'm betting it ain't nothing next to what yer grandpa'd be sayin' to ye if yer grandpa was still here to be sayin' things to ye."
Torgar threw up his hands and waved away the words, and the looks of all the others.
At least he tried to, for several other dwarves moved in close, pulling up chairs, and more than one started the same question: