through the eastern tunnels?" Regis asked. "We must set a proper feast for a visiting king."
"Ain't about food this time, Rumblebelly," said Bruenor. "And not through any tunnels. King Emerus's got his boys spilling out aboveground. A great force, marching to the River Surbrin. Already their front runners are setting up camp at Winter Edge, just across the river. Townsfolk there ain't never had such company as they're seeing today!"
"You're breaking out the eastern door," Catti-brie said.
"We're crossing Garumn's Gorge with everything we've got," Bruenor replied, referring to the cavern and ravine that separated the eastern end of Mithral Hall from the rest of the complex. "We'll blow the side o' the mountain away before us, and come out in such a rush that them stupid orcs'll be jumping into the river to get away from us!"
"And we'll wave at each other across the river?" Regis remarked.
Bruenor scowled at him and said, "We're gonna set a hold on our side, and smash those orcs back to the north. Emerus is coming across - they're building the boats as they march. From the eastern doors to the river will become a part of Mithral Hall, walled and strong, and with a bridge that'll cross over and give our growing allies a clean route to join in the fight."
The bold plan stole any quips from Regis, and had both he and Catti-brie sitting quietly attentive.
"How long?" the halfling finally managed to ask.
"Three days," said Bruenor, and Regis's jaw dropped open.
"I'll be ready to go," Catti-brie remarked, and both dwarf and halfling turned to her in surprise.
"No ye won't," said her father. "Already been talking to Cordio and Stumpet. This is one ye're missing, girl. Ye get yerself healthy and ready to fight. We'll be needing ye, don't ye doubt, when we've got the hold and're trying to get the damn bridge built. Yer bow on a tower's worth a legion of ground fighters to me."
"Ye're not keeping me out o' the fight!" Catti-brie argued.
Regis nearly giggled at how dwarflike the woman suddenly seemed when her ire went up.
"No, I'm not," Bruenor agreed. "It's yer wound that's doing that. Ye can't even stand, ye unbearded girl gnome."
"I will stand!"
"And ye'll hobble," said Bruenor. "And ye'll have me and me boy Wulfgar, and Rumblebelly there, looking back for ye as often as we're looking ahead at the damned orcs!"
Catti-brie, sitting so bolt upright then that she was leaning forward at Bruenor, started to argue, but her words dissipated as she seemed to melt beck into her pillows. The intensity didn't leave her eyes - she so dearly wanted to fight - but it was clear that Bruenor's appeal to her on the grounds of how her stubbornness would affect those she loved had done the trick.
"Ye get well," Bruenor said quietly. "I promise ye girl that there'll be plenty more orcs looking for an arrow when ye're ready to come back in."
"What do you need me to do?" Regis asked.
"Ye stick with Jackonray," the dwarf king instructed. "Ye're me eyes and ears for Felbarr's worries. And I might be needing ye to look in on Nanfoodle and them Bouldershoulders, to tell me straight and without the gnome's winding words and Pikel's 'Boom!' what's really what in their progress on opening up that durned door. Them giants've put a hunnerd tons o' rock over them doors when we closed them, and we're needing to break through fast and strong to drive right to the Surbrin."
Regis nodded and hopped up, starting out of the room. He skidded to an abrupt halt even as he began, though, and turned back to regard Catti-brie.
"Better days are coming," he said to her, and she smiled.
It was the smile of a friend, but one who, Regis understood, was beginning to see the world through a different set of eyes.
15. DWARVEN FORTITUDE
The mob of trolls receded down the hill, sliding back into the bog and mist to lick their wounds, and a great cheer went up along the line of warriors both dwarf and human. They had held their ground again, for the third time that day, stubbornly refusing to be pushed back into the tunnels that loomed as black holes on the hillside behind them.
Torgar Hammerstriker watched the retreat with less excitement than his fellows, and certainly with less enthusiasm than the almost-giddy humans. Galen Firth ran along the human lines, proclaiming yet another victory in the name of Nesme.
That was true, Torgar supposed, but could victory really be measured