had been thrown out in that previous roar. "King Bruenor walks into our city and sets it all into confusion. They are beating us with their ore and with their demeanor.
This will not do."
"Our markets remain strong for all the items that do not need the fine and expensive Mithral Hall ore," Shoudra reminded. "Those items, the hoes and plows, the hinges and wheel strips, outnumber the swords and breastplates by far. Mithral Hall has cut down one portion of our business alone."
"The one portion that defines a mining city."
"True enough," Shoudra had to agree, but she merely shrugged.
She had never been overly excited about the return of the neighboring dwarven stronghold and had always figured that Clan Battlehammer were better neighbors than the previous inhabitants of the place, the evil grey dwarves.
"Their momentum mounts," Elastul said, and he seemed to be talking more to himself than to Shoudra. "King Bruenor, the legend, returns to them now."
"King Gandalug Battlehammer was fairly well known himself," Shoudra sarcastically replied. "Returning from the ages lost, and all."
Elastul shook his head with every word. "Not like Bruenor, who wrested back control of the hall in our time. With his strange friends and hearty clan, Bruenor reshaped the northland, and his return is significant, I fear. With Bruenor back on the throne, you will find an even harder time in securing the contracts we need to prosper."
"Not so."
"It is not a chance I wish to take," Elastul snapped. "Witness what his reputation alone did to shake our own city. A simple pass through, and half the dwarves are muttering his praises. No, this cannot stand."
He sat back and put a finger to his pursed lips. Behind them, a smile gradually widened, as if some devious plan was formulating.
Shoudra looked at him curiously and said, "You cannot be thinking . .
"There are ways to see that Mithral Hall's reputation drops a few notches."
"Ways?" an incredulous Shoudra asked.
"We have dwarves here who have befriended King Bruenor, yes? We have dwarves among us who now cal I the King of Mithral Hall their friend, and he returns the compliment."
"Torgar will commit no sabotage against Mithral Hall," Shoudra reasoned, seeing easily enough where this was leading.
"He will if he doesn't know he's doing it," Elastul said mysteriously, and for the first time since Nanfoodle had arrived with the initial, misguided news, the marchion's smile was wide and genuine.
Shoudra Stargleam just looked at the man doubtfully. She had often heard his devious plotting, for he spent a great portion of his time on his throne doing just that. Almost always, though, it was just his wishful thinking at work. Despite his bluster, and even more than that, the bluster of the four Hammers who always stood behind him, Elastul wasn't really a man of action. He wanted to protect what he had and even try to improve it in a safe and secure manner, such as hiring alchemists, but to go an extra step, to actually attempt sabotage against Mithral Hall, for example, and thus risk starting a war, simply was not the man's style.
It was entertaining to watch, though, Shoudra had to admit.
Chapter 9 BECAUSE THAT'S HOW WE DO IT
For Tred McKnuckles, the sight was as painful as anything he had ever witnessed. By his estimation, the people of Clicking Heels had treated him and Nikwillig with generosity and tender care, had jeopardized their own safety by getting into a conflict that had not even involved them. Nikwillig and he had done that to them by approaching their town, and they had reacted with more kindness and openness than a pair of lost dwarves from a distant citadel could have expected.
And now they had paid the price.
Tred walked about the ruins of the small village, the blasted and burned houses, and the bodies. He chased away the carrion birds from one corpse, then closed his eyes against the pain, recognizing the woman as one of the caring faces he had seen when he had first opened his eyes after resting against the weariness of the difficult road that had brought him there.
Bruenor Battlehammer watched the dwarf's somber movements, noting always the look on Tred's face. Before there had been a desire for vengeance-the dwarves' caravan had been hit and destroyed, and Tred had lost friends and a brother. Dwarves could accept such tragedies as an inevitability of their existence. They usually lived on the borderlands of the wilderness, and almost always faced danger of one sort or another, but