with yer stupid plan, I'll have to do a month's digging just to find a body to rub against."
"Lead the charge down here, " Dagna offered, pointing to another section of open corridors on the map. "The rest of us'll give ye a hunnerd foot head start."
Regis put a sour look on the general and moved it, in turn, to each of the other dwarves, who were all bobbing their heads in agreement. Dagna was only half kidding, Regis knew. More than a few of Clan Battlehammer would not be teary eyed if obnoxious Thibbledorf Pwent happened to be among the fallen in the potential fight against the dark elves.
"Drop the tunnel, " Regis said to get them back on track. "We'll need strong defenses here and here, " he added, pointing to two open areas in the otherwise tight lower tunnels. "I'm meeting later this day with Berkthgar of Settlestone."
"Ye're bringin' the smelly humans in?" Pwent asked.
•Even the dwarves, who favored the strong smells of soot covered, sweaty bodies, twisted their faces at the remark. In Mithril Hall, it was said that Pwent's armpit could curl a hardy flower at fifty yards.
"I don't know what I'm doing with the humans, " Regis answered. "I haven't even told them my suspicions of a drow raid yet. If they agree to join our cause, and I have no reason to believe that they won't, I suspect that we would be wise to keep them out of the lower tunnels, even though we plan to light those tunnels."
Dagna nodded his agreement. "A wise choice indeed, " he said. "The tall men are better suited to fighting along the mountainsides. Me own guess is that the drow'll come in around the mountain as well as through it."
"The men of Settlestone will meet them, " added another dwarf.
From the shadows of a partly closed door at the side of the room, Bruenor Battlehammer looked on curiously. He was amazed at how quickly Regis had taken things into his control, especially given the fact that the halfling did not wear his hypnotic ruby pendant. After scolding Bruenor for not acting quickly and deci sively, for falling back into a mire of self pity with the trails to Catti brie and Drizzt apparently closed, the halfling, with Pwent in tow, had gone straight to General Dagna and the other war commanders.
What amazed Bruenor now was not the fact that the dwarves had gone eagerly into preparations for war, but the fact that Regis seemed to be leading them. Of course, the halfling had concocted a lie to assume that role. Using Bruenor's resumed indifference, the halfling was faking meetings with the dwarf king, then going to Dagna and the others pretending that he was bringing word straight from Bruenor.
When he first discovered the ruse, Bruenor wanted to throttle the halfling, but Regis had stood up to him, and had offered, more than sincerely, to step aside if Bruenor wanted to take over.
Bruenor wished that he could, desperately wanted to find that level of energy once more, but any thought of warfare inevitably led him to memories of his recent past battles, most of them beside Drizzt, Catti-brie, and Wulfgar. Paralyzed by those painful memo ries, Bruenor had simply dismissed Regis and allowed the halfling to go on with his facade.
Dagna was as fine a strategist as any, but his experience was rather limited regarding races other than dwarves or stupid goblins. Regis was among Drizzt's best friends, had sat and listened to Drizzt's tales of his homeland and his kin hundreds of times. Regis had also been among Wulfgar's best friends, and so he understood the barbarians, whom the dwarves would need as allies should the war come to pass.
Still, Dagna had never been fond of anyone who wasn't a dwarf, and the fact that he wholeheartedly accepted the advice of a half ling, and one not known for bravery!, surprised Bruenor more than a little.
It stung the king as well. Bruenor knew of the dark elves and the barbarians at least as well as Regis, and he understood dwarven tactics better than anyone. He should be at that table, pointing out the sections on the map; he should be the one, with Regis beside him, to meet with Berkthgar the Bold.
Bruenor dropped his gaze to the floor, rubbed a hand over his brow and down his grotesque scar. He felt an ache in the hollow socket. Hollow, too,