The Thousand Orcs

 

Even after the greeting by the guards sent out from Shallows, the response from the town the following morning, when the King of Mithral Hall and his entourage walked through the front gate of the walled town, stunned the group.



Trumpeters sounded from the parapets and from the top of the lone tower that stood along the northern wall of the small town. Though none of the trumpeters was very good, and none dressed in the shining armor one might expect from the court of a larger city like Silverymoon, Bruenor was certain that he had never heard anyone play with more heart.



All the people of the village, more than a hundred, encircled the area beyond the gate, clapping and waving and throwing petals. There were more women than Bruenor had expected from a frontier town and even a few children, including a couple of babies. Perhaps he should be spending quite a bit of time out of Mithral Hall and watching over these developing towns, Bruenor mused. It was not an unpleasant thought. In just looking at the place, it seemed to him as if Shallows was trying hard to become a regular town, a settled place, instead of the pocket of rogues and outlaws he had always thought it and all the other towns of the Savage Frontier to be. He considered his former home then, Ten-Towns, and recalled the evolution of those ten cities into something far more settled than they had been when he had first arrived in Icewind Dale those centuries before.



The dwarf, leading the procession, paused and looked around, past the many cheering people to their sturdy houses. Most were made of stone with supporting wooden frames, and all were built solid, as if the inhabitants meant to be there for a while. Bruenor nodded his silent approval, his gaze gradually moving to the single tower that so clearly marked the town. It was a thirty-foot gray cylinder, flying a pennant of a pair of hands surrounded by golden stars on a red background. A wizard's emblem, obviously, and when the crowd before him parted and a white-bearded old man walked through, dressed in a tall and pointy hat and bright red robes emblazoned in golden stars, it wasn't hard for the dwarf to make the connection.



"Welcome to my humble town, King Bruenor of Mithral Hall," the man said, walking up to stand right before Bruenor. He swept off his hat and fell into a grand bow. "I am Withegroo Seian'Doo, the founder of Shallows and present liege. This honor is unexpected but surely not unwelcome."



"Me greetings to yerself, Withe . .."



"Withegroo."



"Withegroo," Bruenor finished. "And I'm not yet King Bruenor- well, not yet again, if ye get me meaning."



"It was with great sadness that I and my fellow townsfolk here heard of the passing of your ancestor, Gandalug."



"Yep, but the old one had himself a few good centuries, and I'm not thinking we can be askin' for more than that," Bruenor replied.



He looked around, to see the cheery and sincere smiles of the townsfolk, and he knew that he could be at ease there, that he and his friends, even Drizzt who was standing right behind him, were indeed welcomed guests in Shallows.



"Got the word in the west," the dwarf explained. "In Icewind Dale, where me and a few o' me friends were making our homes."



"Did you get lost on your journey home to Mithral Hall?"



Bruenor shook his head.



"Found me a couple o' friends from Felbarr," he explained, and he turned and indicated Tred, who gave an uncomfortable though still gracious bow. "They'd found themselves a bit o' trouble with some orcs."



He noted a shadow cross over Withegroo's wrinkled old face and long, hawkish nose. The man's enormous cars twitched beneath the bristles of his wild while hair, which was slicking out in every direction under the bent brim of his red hat.



Bruenor matched that look with a grave one of his own.



"Ye know the town o' Clicking Heels?" he asked somberly.



Withegroo looked around, to see several of his townsfolk nodding.



"Well, it ain't no more," Bruenor said bluntly. "Orcs 'n giants laid it to waste. Killed them all."



Groans, gasps, and whispers sprang up all around the courtyard.



"We been chasin' the dogs and killed more than a few," Bruenor went on quickly, wanting to put a better light on the tragedy. "Left a handful o' giants and near to a hunnerd orcs layin' dead in the mountains, but we thinked it smart to come in here and make sure that Shallows was standing strong."



"Stronger than you can imagine," Withegroo replied.



He stood up straight and tall -and he was tail, well over six feet, tall enough to look Wulfgar in the eye without bending back his head. Unlike Wulfgar, though, the man was stick lean and couldn't have weighed more than half the barbarian's three hundred pounds.



"We have suffered the likes of orcs and giants many times," the wizard continued, "but not once have any crossed the line of our strong walls."



"Old Withegroo lays 'em dead with his lightning!" one man shouted from the side, and others immediately took up the chorus of cheers for the wizard,



Withegroo smiled, somewhat sheepishly, somewhat pridefully, and turned to them, patting his hands humbly to silence the growing chorus.



"I do what I can," the wizard said to Bruenor, turning back to face the dwarf. "I am no novice to battle, and I made my name and my fortune adventuring in dark caves filled with all sorts of beasts."



"And ye bought yerself a town," Bruenor remarked, with no sarcasm in his tone.



"I built myself a tower," the wizard corrected. "I thought this a fine place to live out my days, in study and recollections of adventures past. These good folk" -he turned and swept his hand across the crowd- "found me, one by one and family by family. I believe they recognized the value of having so striking a landmark as my tower in their intended settlement-brings in the dwarf traders, you see."



He ended with an exaggerated wink, which brought a smile to Bruenor's face.



"Bet they weren't minding having a wizard lookin' over them, throwing a few bolts o' lightning at any monsters venturing too close, either," the dwarf said to Withegroo, who took the compliment in stride.



"I do what I can."



"I'm bettin' ye do."



"Well," the wizard said with a deep breath, setting an abrupt change in the conversation. "You have come to check in on us, and an honor it is, King-or soon to be King-Bruenor Battlehammer. You can sec that we are secure and strong, but I beg you, do not take quick leave of us. The walls of Shallows and the houses alike are of stone, and may seem cold - though not to a dwarf!-but they mask hearths of warmth and the voices of those with many adventures to share." He stepped back and looked up, addressing the whole company. "You are welcome, one and all. Welcome to Shallows!"



And with that, a great cheer went up form all the townsfolk, and Bruenor motioned for his road-weary group to disperse and relax.



"A bit better welcome than we received from Mirabar," Drizzt remarked to Bruenor, Catti-brie, Regis, and Wulfgar when the dwarf king moved away from Withegroo to rejoin his closest friends.



"Yeah, Mirabar." Bruenor grumbled. "Remind me to knock that place down."



"Not a sign of orc about," Catti-brie said, "and a town with strong walls and stronger folk, and a wizard backing them. . . ."



She nodded her approval.



"And a southern road awaiting us," Wulfgar put in.



"But not right yet," said Catti-brie. "I'm thinking we should stay on a bit, just to be sure they're safe."



"Ye got a feeling, do ye?" Bruenor asked.



Catti-brie looked around, and despite the festivities, the laughter, and the seemingly normal scene, a cloud crossed her face.



"Yeah, I got it, too," said Bruenor. "But not to worry. We'll be checkin' all the land, and we'll take our march to the Surbrin in the east. Tred's telling me there's a couple more towns down that way. Let's see how many o' the folk in the region are as welcoming to King Bruenor and his friends."



He looked at Drizzt and pointedly added, "All his friends." The drow shrugged as if it did not matter, and in truth, it did not.



"There are ten thousand more in dark holes who will be led if they believe that they will find greater glory," Ad'non Kareese said to his three companions.



He had just returned from a scouting circuit of the region between the dark elves hideaway and Gerti's complex, including a pair of visits with other minor monster kings: an orc who knew of Obould and a particularly wretched goblin.



"Twenty thousand," Donnia corrected, "at least. The mountain caverns crawl with the little beasts, and the only thing that keeps them in there is their own stupidity and fear. If Obould and Gerti claim this prize, the head of the king of the dwarven stronghold, then we will coax more than a few, I am certain."



"To what end?" Kaer'lic interjected doubtfully. "Then we will only have to look at the beasts scurrying about the surface."



"In chaos we find comfort," Tos'un put in with a wry grin.



"Spoken like a dolt from Menzoberranzan," said Kaer'lic, which only made Tos'un smile even wider.



"To your own tests of worthiness, then," Tos'un replied. "In chaos we find wealth. In chaos we find enjoyment."



Kaer'lic shrugged and didn't argue.



"I have already made some connections with the leaders of the various goblin and orc tribes and have heard hints of one that holds great ties to the more formidable beasts of the Trollmoors to the south," Ad'non remarked.



"Beware the boasts of goblins," said Donnia. "They would tell you that the mountain giants bow to them if they thought you would be impressed."



"Their tunnels stretch long," Ad'non replied.



"I am willing to believe that we can do this," said Tos'un, "and willing to believe that we will enjoy it greatly. I was the biggest doubter when we first tried to tie Obould to Gerti, and T was certain that the giantess would throttle the wretched orc when she learned of the loss of four of her kin, yet look where we are. Obould's scouts are everywhere, running the mountains, tracking this band that we believe contains King Bruenor himself. Once he is found, and Gerti takes her revenge. . . ."



"We can rally thousands to Obould's side," said Ad'non. "We can create a dark swarm that will cover the land for miles around!"



"And?" Kaer'lic asked dryly.



"And let them kill the dwarves, the humans, and each other," Ad'non replied. "And we will be there, always one step behind, yd always one step ahead, to collect our due at every turn."



"And to thoroughly enjoy die spectacle of it all," Donnia added with a wicked grin.



Kaer'lic accepted that reasoning and nodded her approval.



"Be certain that our allies are warned of the presence of a drow who is not a friend," the priestess advised.



She sat back as the others began formulating plans for their next moves. Kaer'lic did like the excitement, but there were other matters that concerned her more. She thought back to some experiences she had faced before finding her two, then three companions, when she had been out of her Underdark city on a mission for the ruling priestesses.



In those thoughts, Drizzt Do'Urden surely came to mind more than once, for he was not the first traitor to Lolth and drow ways that Kaer'lic the Terrible had faced.



It wasn't that she had any particular hatred or vendetta against Drizzt, of course-Tos'un would more likely harbor such resentments, she supposed-but the ever-plotting priestess had to wonder how it would all play out. Would she find unexpected opportunities to pay back old debts? Might the reputation of one renegade drow be put in good service to the Spider Queen, and even more importantly, to a priestess who had fallen out of favor with the goddess?



She smiled and looked around at the other three, all seeming so much more eager to play this out than was she.



Kaer'lic the Terrible, ever the patient one.



They heard the trumpets, and though they were somewhat dimwitted, one of the orc band made the connection between that heralding sound and the troupe they had been tracking.



From across the ravine, the orcs had the same view of Withegroo's tower as Drizzt and his friends had enjoyed only the day before.



Wicked grins splayed on their misshapen, tusked mouths, the orc patrol rushed away, back up into the foothills to where Urlgen, son of Obould, waited.



"Bruenor in the town," the patrol leader informed the tall, cruel orc leader.



Urlgen curled his torn lip, welcoming the information. The orc needed to redeem himself, and nothing short of the death of Bruenor Battlehammer would suffice. Obould blamed him, and so did Gerti, and for any creature living in the cold mountains at the end of the Spine of the World, having those two angry with him was not a good thing.



But they had King Bruenor within their grasp, at rest in a remote town and with little understanding of the catastrophe that was about to befall him.



Urlgen dispatched his messengers with all speed and with orders to press Obould to move quickly. They had the rat in the trap and Urlgen did not want him to slip out.



The orc was exhausted, having spent day after day in rallying others to his cause. Still, King Obould knew that he had to make this journey personally and not deliver the news that Bruenor had been found through any messenger.



He found Gerti sitting on the very edge of her throne, her blue eyes narrow and dangerous, her posture that of a predator anxious to spring.



"You have located King Bruenor and those others who murdered my kin?" she asked before the orc king could even offer a formal greeting.



"A small town," Obould replied. "The one with the lone tower."



Gerti nodded her recognition. With its singular tower, Shallows was quite distinct in this region of abandoned, simple villages and underground dwarven or goblinkin strongholds.



"And you have prepared your forces?"



"An army is out and running already," Obould answered.



Gerti's eyes widened and she seemed about to explode.



"Only to circle south," the orc quickly explained. "The ground is flat and easy to cross there, and King Bruenor must be held in the town."



"They are out to seal the road and nothing more?"



"Yes."



Gerti nodded to one of her attendants, a massive, muscular frost giant clad in shining metal armor and holding the largest, nastiest spear Obould had ever seen. The warrior immediately returned the nod with a bow and started out of the room.



"Yerki will lead my forces," Gerti explained. "They are ready to march at once."



"How many?" the orc had to ask.



"Ten," Gerti replied.



"And a thousand orcs," Obould added.



"Then our contributions to the downfall of King Bruenor Battlehammer are about the same," remarked the superior-minded giantess.



Obould almost blurted a sarcastic response, but he remembered where he was and how easy it would be for any of Gerti's associates to smash him, and he just chuckled instead.



With her eyes still focused, narrow again and deadly serious, Gerti didn't join in his mirth.



"We must be away at once," Obould explained, shifting the subject a bit. "Three days running to the town."



"Make it in two," Gerti said.



Obould nodded, bowed, and turned around, hustling away from the giantess, but she stopped him as he was about to exit the cave, calling out his name.



The orc turned to face the power that was Gerti.



"Do not fail me ... again," the giantess warned, putting emphasis on that last, damning word.



But Obould stood tall and straight and didn't back away from Gerti's imposing stare at all. He had ten giants at his disposal. Ten giants!



And a thousand orcs!