Crimson Shadow, The - R. A. Salvatore Page 0,251

It had been Shuglin, a dwarf of Caer MacDonald and not of the Iron Cross, who had initiated this meeting and all the discussions between his mountain brethren and the new leaders of Eriador. Any alliance between the groups would benefit both, Shuglin realized, for these two kings, Bellick and Brind’Amour, were of like mind and goodly ilk.

Two other dwarfs, broad-shouldered generals, flanked King Bellick and Shuglin.

The formal greetings went off well, with Oliver doing most of the talking, as Brind’Amour had planned. This was their party, after all; through the emissary Shuglin, it had been Brind’Amour, and not Bellick, who had requested the summit.

“You know our gratitude for your help in overcoming Princetown,” Brind’Amour began quietly. Indeed the dwarfs did know, for Brind’Amour had sent many, many messengers, all of them bearing gifts, to the stronghold of DunDarrow, the dwarfish underground complex nestled deep in the Iron Cross mountain range. Bellick’s folk had arrived on the field outside of Princetown, Avon’s northernmost city, just in time to cut off the retreat of the Avon garrison, which had been routed in Glen Durritch by the Eriadorans. With Bellick’s sturdy force blocking the way, the victory had been complete. “Eriador owes much to King Bellick dan Burso and his warriors,” Brind’Amour reaffirmed.

Bellick gave an accepting nod. “Princetown would have fallen in any event, even without our help,” the dwarf replied graciously.

“Ah, but if the soldiers of Princetown had gotten back behind their so high walls . . .” Oliver put in, though it was certainly not his place to interrupt.

Brind’Amour only chuckled, more than used to the halfling’s often irreverent ways.

Bellick did not seem so pleased, a fact that made Brind’Amour eye him curiously. At first, the wizard thought that the dwarf had taken insult at Oliver’s interruption, but then he realized that something else was bothering Bellick.

The dwarf king looked to Shuglin and nodded, and Shuglin stood solemnly and cleared his throat.

“Twenty Fairborn were slain yestereve in the foothills of the Iron Cross,” he reported. “Not twenty miles from here.”

Brind’Amour sank back in his high-backed chair and looked to Siobhan, who bit her lip and nodded her head in frustration. The half-elf had heard rumors of the battle, for her people, the Fairborn, were not numerous throughout Avonsea, and kept general tabs on each other. Now it seemed the number of Fairborn had diminished once again.

“Cyclopian raiders,” Shuglin continued. “A group of at least a hundred.”

“Never before have the one-eyes been so organized,” Bellick added. “It would seem that your little war has riled the beasts from the deep mountain holes.”

Brind’Amour understood the dwarf’s frustration and the accusation, if that was what Bellick had just offered. The cyclopian activity along the northern foothills of the Iron Cross had indeed heightened tremendously since the signing of the truce with Greensparrow of Avon. Brind’Amour kept his gaze on Siobhan for a long moment, wondering how she would react. Then he looked to Oliver, and realized that his companions also understood that the cyclopian activity so soon after the truce was not a coincidence.

Shuglin waited for Brind’Amour to turn back to him before he resumed his seat. The wizard noted a slight nod from the black-bearded dwarf, an encouragement the beleaguered king of Eriador sorely needed at that time.

“The one-eyes have struck at several villages,” Brind’Amour explained to Bellick.

“Perhaps they believe that with King Greensparrow no longer concerned with Eriador, the land is free for their pillaging,” Bellick replied, and from his tone it seemed that he didn’t believe that statement any more than did Brind’Amour. Both kings knew who was behind the cyclopian raids, but neither would speak it openly, especially since they hadn’t yet reached any formal agreement with each other.

“Perhaps,” Brind’Amour said. “But whatever the cause of the cyclopian raids, it only stands to reason that both your dwarfs and the folk of Eriador would profit from an alliance.”

Bellick nodded. “I know what you’re wanting from me and my kin, King Brind’Amour,” he said. “You need a mountain army, protection from the one-eyes, and security against Greensparrow, should the Avon king decide to come calling once more. What I want to know is what you’ve to offer to my folk.”

Brind’Amour was a bit surprised by the dwarf’s straightforwardness. A diplomatic summit such as this could roll on for days before the obvious questions were so plainly asked. Shuglin had warned the wizard about the dwarf king’s blunt style, and now, with so much trouble brewing and reports arriving daily about