that battle, it explains much about why the orcs were so readily defeated."
"This one drow can sway the tide of battle against a host of orcs and a foursome of giants?" Ad'non asked doubtfully.
"No," Tos'un admitted, "but if Drizzt was there, then so was - "
"King Bruenor," Donnia reasoned. "The renegade is Bruenor's closest friend and advisor, yes?"
"Yes," Tos'un confirmed. "Likely the pair had some other powerful friends with them."
"So Bruenor is out of Mithral Hall and roaming the frontier with a small force?" Donnia asked, a wry smile widening on her beautiful face. "How fine an opportunity is this?"
"To strike a wicked blow against Mithral Hall?" Ad'non asked, following the reasoning.
"And to keep Gerti interested in pursuing our present course," said Donnia.
"Or to show our hand too clearly and bring the wrath of powerful enemies upon us," said the ever-cynical Kaer'lic.
"Why priestess, I fear that you have grown too fond of luxury, and too forgetting of the pleasures of chaos," Ad'non said, his growing smile matching Donnia's. "Can you really so easily allow this opportunity for fun and profit pass you by?"
Kaer'lic started to respond several times but retreated from every reply before she ever voiced it.
"I find little pleasure in dealing with the smelly orcs," the priestess said, "or with Gerti and her band, who think they are so positively superior, even to us. More pleasure would I find if we turned Obould against Gerti and let the giants and the orcs slaughter each other. Then we four could quietly kill all those left alive."
"And we would be alone up here, in abject boredom," said Ad'non.
"True enough," Kaer'lic admitted. "So be it. Let us fester this war between the dwarves and our allies. With King Bruenor out of his hole, we may indeed find an interesting course before us, but with all caution! I did not leave the Underdark to fall victim to a dwarven axe, or to the blade of a drow traitor."
The others nodded, sharing the sentiment, particularly Tos'un, who had seen so many of his fellows fall before the armies of Mithral Hall.
"I will go to Gerti and soften the blow of this present disaster," Donnia said.
"And I back to Obould," said Ad'non. "T will wait for your signal before sending the orc king to speak with the giantess."
They departed at once, eagerly, leaving Kaer'lic alone with Tos'un.
"We are winding our way into a deep chasm," the priestess observed. "If our allies betray us at the end of a dwarven spear, then our flight will by necessity be long and swift."
Tos'un nodded. He had been there once before.
Obould's every step was forced as he made his way through the caverns of Gerti's complex, very conscious of the many scowls the frost giant sentries were throwing his way. Despite Ad'non's assurances, Obould knew that the giants had been told of their losses. These creatures weren't like his own race, the orc king understood. They valued every one of their clan, every one of their kind. The frost giants would not easily dismiss the deaths of four of their kin.
When the orc king walked into Gerti's chamber, he found the giantess sitting on her stone throne, one elbow on her knee, her delicate chin in her hand, her blue eyes staring straight ahead, unblinking.
The orc walked up, stopping out of the giant's reach, fearing that Gerti would snap her hand out and throttle him. He resisted the urge to speak out about the disaster and decided that he would be better off waiting for Gerti to start the conversation.
He waited for a long, long while.
"Where are their bodies?" Gerti finally asked.
"Where they fell."
Gerti looked up at him, her eyes going even wider, as if her rage was boiling over behind them.
"My warriors can not begin to carry them," Obould quickly explained. "I will have them buried in cairns where they fell, if you desire. I thought you would wish to bring them back here."
That explanation seemed to calm Gerti considerably. She even rested back in her seat and nodded her chin at him as he finished his explanation.
"You will have your warriors lead my chosen to them."
"Course I will," said Obould.
"I was told that it is possible your son's rash actions may have brought powerful enemies upon the band," Gerti remarked.
Obould shrugged. "It is possible. I was not there."
"Your son survived?"
Obould nodded.
"He fled the fight, along with many of your kin."
There was no mistaking the accusatory edge that had come into Gerti's voice.