them some privacy.
"How far into Mithral Hall will your giants travel?" Obould asked her.
"Into Mithral Hall?" came her scoffing reply. "We are not built for dirty, cramped dwarven tunnels, Obould."
"The ceiling of the entry hall is high, by all that I have heard."
"I told you that we would knock down the door, and so we shall. Once the portal falls, let your orcs run into the killing chambers of King Bruenor."
"The treasures of Mithral Hall are considerable, so it is said," Obould teased.
"Treasures that I have already earned."
Obould bowed again, not as low, and not as respectfully. "Your giants will be of great help to my warriors in that entry hall," he said. "Help us to secure our foothold. From there, my warriors will spread like thick smoke throughout the tunnels, routing the dwarves."
Gerti's sly smile showed that she wasn't so sure of that.
"Then you and your kin can go to the Surbrin, as we agreed," said Obould.
"I will go to the Surbrin as I determine," Gerti retorted. "Or I will not. Or I will go back to Shining White, or to Silverymoon, if I feel so inclined to take the city of Lady Alustriel. I am bound by no agreements to Obould."
"We are not enemies, Dame Orelsdottr."
"Keep it that way, for your own sake."
Obould's red-streaked yellow eyes narrowed for just an instant, tipping off the giantess to the simmering rage within him.
"I wish for your giants to accompany the lead ranks through the entry hall," said Obould.
"Of course you do. You have no warriors who can approach their strength and skill."
"I do not ask this without recompense."
"You offer me the treasures of Mithral Hall?" asked Gerti. "The head of King Battlehammer, whom you already claimed dead?"
"The pegasus," Obould blurted, and for a brief moment, he saw a telltale flash of intrigue in Gerti's blue eyes.
"What of it?"
"I am not so foolish as to try to ride the creature, for it is not an unthinking beast, but a loyal friend to the elf I destroyed," Obould admitted. "I could eat it, of course, but would not any horse do as well? But you believe it to be a beautiful creature, do you not, Dame Orelsdottr? A fitting trophy for Shining White?"
"If you have no use for it - "
"I did not say that," Obould interrupted.
"You play a dangerous game."
"I make an honest offer. Send your giants in beside my orcs to crush the initial defenses of Mithral Hall. Once we have pushed the dwarves to the tighter tunnels, then leave the hall to me and go your own way, to the Surbrin or wherever you choose. And take with you the winged horse."
Gerti held a defiant pose, but the sparkle in her eyes betrayed her interest.
"You covet that creature," Obould said bluntly.
"Not as much as you believe."
"But your giants will charge into the hall beside my orcs."
"Only because they do so enjoy killing dwarves."
Obould bowed low once again and let it go at that. He didn't really care why Gerti sent her forces in there, as long as she did.
* * * * *
"Hee hee hee."
Ivan couldn't help but smile at his brother's continuing glee. Pikel hopped all about the upper western chambers of Mithral Hall, chasing behind Nanfoodle mostly. King Bruenor had come to the pair immediately following his discussion with Cordio and Banak. Convinced that the orcs would try to break into the hall, Bruenor had commissioned the two unconventional characters, the dwarf "doo-dad" as Pikel described himself, and the gnome alchemist, to help in setting unconventional and unpleasant surprises for the invaders. Of course, Nanfoodle had immediately set the best brewers of Mithral Hall to work in concocting specific formulas of various volatile liquids. All of the rarest and most expensive ingredients were even then being poured into vats and beakers. On Bruenor's instructions, Nanfoodle's team was holding nothing back.
Ivan followed behind the pair, carefully and gently carrying one such large pail of a clear liquid. He tried very hard not to let the volatile fluid slosh about, for in that pail was the same liquid that was held in a small vial in each of his hand crossbow darts. "Oil of Impact," it was commonly called, an exotic potion that exploded under the weight of concussion. Ivan's crossbow darts had been designed to collapse in upon themselves on impact, compressing the chamber and vial, and resulting in an explosion that would then drive the tip through whatever barrier it had struck. Given the force of those