transition 01 The Orc King

by R . A. Salvatore

  Wulfgar hopped down from the back of the wagon, then helped Catti-brie to the ground so that she didn’t have to pressure her injured hip. She spent a moment standing there, using his offered arm for support, as she stretched the tightness out of her pained leg.

  “The folk ye seek could be anywhere in the town,” their wagon driver said to them, walking over and speaking quietly.

  He alone among the caravan had been in on the real reason Wulfgar and Catti-brie were journeying to Nesmé, for fear that someone else might gossip and send word to Cottie and her friends to flee ahead of their arrival. “They’ll not be in any common rooms, as ye saw in Silverymoon, for Nesmé’s being built right around the new arrivals. More than half the folk ye’ll find here just came from other parts, mostly from lands Obould’s darkened with his hordes. Them and some of the Knights in Silver, who remained with the Lady’s blessing so that they could get closer to where the fighting’s likely to be….”

  “Surely there are scribes making note of who’s coming in and where they’re settling,” said Catti-brie.

  “If so, ye’ll find them in there,” said the driver, motioning toward the impressive town hall. “If not, yer best chance is in frequenting the taverns after work’s done. Most all the workers find their way to those places—and there’re only a few such establishments, and they’re all together on one avenue near the southwestern corner. If any’re knowing of Cottie, there’s the place to find them.”

  Word spread fast through Nesmé that the arriving caravan had carried with it a couple of extraordinary guards. When the whispers of Catti-brie and Wulfgar reached the ears of Cottie Cooperson’s fellow refugees, they knew at once that their friend was in jeopardy.

  So by the time Wulfgar and Catti-brie had made their way to the tavern avenue, a pair of concerned friends had whisked Cottie and Colson to the barracks area and the separate house of the town’s current leader, Galen Firth.

  “He’s come to take the child,” Teegorr Reth explained to Galen, while his friend Romduul kept Cottie and Colson out in the anteroom.

  Galen Firth settled back in his chair behind his desk, digesting it all. It had come as a shock to him, and not a pleasant one, that the human prince and princess of Mithral Hall had arrived in his town. He had assumed it to be a diplomatic mission, and given the principals involved, he had suspected that it wouldn’t be a friendly one. Mithral Hall had suffered losses for the sake of Nesmé in the recent battles. Could it be that King Bruenor sought some sort of recompense?

  Galen had never been friendly with the dwarves of Mithral Hall or with these two.

  “You cannot let him have her,” Teegorr implored the Nesmian leader.

  “What is his claim?” Galen asked.

  “Begging your pardon, sir, but Cottie’s been seeing to the girl since she left Mithral Hall. She’s taken Colson as her own child, and she’s been hurt.”

  “The child?”

  “No, Cottie, sir,” Teegorr explained. “She’s lost her own—all her own.”

  “And the child is Wulfgar’s?”

  “No, not really. He brought the girl to Mithral Hall, with Delly, but then Delly gave her to Cottie.”

  “With or without Wulfgar’s agreement?”

  “Who’s to say?”

  “Wulfgar, I would assume.”

  “But…”

  “You assume that Wulfgar has come here to take the child, but could it be that he is merely passing through to check up on her?” Galen asked. “Or might it be that he is here for different reasons—would he even know that your friend Cottie decided to settle in Nesmé?”

  “I…I…I can’t be saying for sure, sir.”

  “So you presume. Very well, then. Let Cottie stay here for now until we can determine why Wulfgar has come.”

  “Oh, and I thank you for that!”

  “But make no mistake, good Teegorr, if Wulfgar’s claim is true and he wants the child back, I am bound to honor his claim.”

  “Your pardon, sir, but Cottie’s got twenty folk with her. Good strong hands, who know the frontier and who know how to fight.”

  “Are you threatening me?”

  “No, sir!” Teegorr was quick to reply. “But if Nesmé’s not to protect our own, then how are our own to stay in Nesmé?”

  “What are you asking?” Galen replied, standing up forcefully. “Am I to condone kidnapping? Is Nesmé to become an outpost for criminals?”

  “It’s not so simple as that, is all,” said Teegorr. “Delly Curtie gave the girl to Cottie, so she’s no kidnapper, and not without claim.”

  That settled Galen Firth back a bit. He couldn’t keep the disdain from his face, for it was not a fight he wanted to entertain just then. Clan Battlehammer and Nesmé were not on good terms, despite the fact that the dwarves had sent warriors down to help the Nesmians. In the subsequent sorting of events, the rebuilding of Nesmé had taken precedence over King Bruenor’s desire to take the war back to Obould, something that had clearly simmered behind the angry eyes of the fiery dwarf.

  And there remained that old issue of the treatment Bruenor and his friends, including Wulfgar and the drow elf Drizzt, had met with on their initial pass through Nesmé those years ago, an unpleasant confrontation that had set Galen Firth and the dwarf at odds.

  Neither could Galen Firth keep the wry grin from breaking through his otherwise solemn expression on occasion as he pondered the possibilities. He couldn’t deny that there would be a measure of satisfaction in causing grief to Wulfgar, if the opportunity presented itself.

  “Who knows that you came here?” Galen asked.

  Teegorr looked at him curiously. “To Nesmé?”

  “Who knows that you and your friend brought Cottie and the child here to me?”

  “Some of the others who crossed the Surbrin beside us.”

  “And they will not speak of it?”

  “No,” said Teegorr. “Not a one of us wants to see the child taken from Cottie Cooperson. She’s suffered terribly, and now she’s found peace—and one that’s better for the girl than anything Wulfgar might be offering.”

  “Wulfgar is a prince of Mithral Hall,” Galen reminded. “A man of great wealth, no doubt.”

  “And Mithral Hall is no place for a man, or a girl—particularly a girl!” Teegorr argued. “Good enough for them dwarves, and good for them. But it’s no place for a human girl to grow.”

  Galen Firth rose up from his seat. “Keep her here,” he instructed. “I will go and see my old friend Wulfgar. Perhaps he is here for reasons other than the girl.”

  “And if he is?”

  “Then you and I never had this discussion,” Galen explained.

  He set a pair of guards outside the anteroom, with orders that no one should enter, and he gathered up a couple of others in his wake as he headed out across the darkening town to the taverns and the common rooms. As he expected, he found Wulfgar and Catti-brie in short order, sitting at a table near the bar of the largest of the taverns, and listening more than speaking.

  “You have come to join our garrison!” Galen said with great exaggeration as he approached. “I always welcome strong arms and a deadly bow.”

  Wulfgar and Catti-brie turned to regard him, their faces, particularly the large barbarian’s, hardening upon recognition.

  “We have need for a garrison of our own in Mithral Hall,” Catti-brie replied politely.

  “The orcs have not been pushed back,” Wulfgar added, his sharp tone reminding Galen Firth that Galen himself, and his insistence on Nesmé taking precedence, had played no minor role in the decision to not dislodge King Obould.

  The other folk in the town knew that as well, and didn’t miss the reference, and all in the tavern hushed as Galen stood before the two adopted children of King Bruenor Battlehammer.

  “Everything in its time,” Galen replied, after looking around to ensure his support. “The Silver Marches are stronger now that Nesmé has risen from the ruins.” A cheer started around him, and he r
aised his voice in proclamation, “For never again will the trolls come forth from the mud to threaten the lands west of Silverymoon or the southern reaches of your own Mithral Hall.”

  Wulfgar’s jaw tightened even more at the notion that Nesmé was serving as Mithral Hall’s vanguard, particularly since Mithral Hall’s efforts had preserved what little had remained of Nesmé’s population.

  Which was exactly the effect Galen Firth had been hoping for, and he grinned knowingly as Catti-brie put her hand on Wulfgar’s enormous forearm in an effort to keep him calm.

  “We had no word that we would be so graced,” Galen said. “Is it customary among Clan Battlehammer for emissaries to arrive unannounced?”

  “We are not here on the business of Bruenor,” said Catti-brie, and she motioned for Galen Firth to sit down beside her, opposite Wulfgar.

  The man did pull out the chair, but he merely turned it and put his foot up on it, which made him tower over the two even more. Until, that is, Wulfgar rose to his feet, his nearly seven foot frame, his giant shoulders, stealing that advantage.

  But Galen didn’t back down. He stared hard at Wulfgar, locking the man’s gaze. “Then why?” he asked, his voice lower and more insistent.

  “We came in as sentries for a caravan,” Catti-brie said.

  Galen glanced down at her. “The children of Bruenor hire out as mercenaries?”

  “Volunteers doing our part in the collective effort,” Catti-brie answered.

  “It was a way to serve others as we served our own needs,” Wulfgar said.

  “To come to Nesmé?” asked Galen.

  “Yes.”

  “Why, if not for Brue—”

  “I have come to find a girl, Colson, who was taken from Mithral Hall,” Wulfgar stated.

  “‘Taken’? Wrongly?”

  “Yes.”

  Behind Wulfgar, several people bustled about. Galen recognized them as friends of Teegorr and Cottie, and expected that there might soon be trouble—which he didn’t think so dire a possibility. In truth, the man was interested in testing his strength against that of the legendary Wulfgar, and besides, he had enough guards nearby to ensure that there would be no real downside to any brawl.

  “How is it that a child was abducted from Mithral Hall,” he asked, “and ferried across the river by Bruenor’s own? What dastardly plot turned that result?”

  “The girl’s name is Colson,” Catti-brie intervened, as Wulfgar and Galen Firth leaned in closer toward each other. “We have reason to believe that she has come to Nesmé. In fact, that seems most assured.”

  “There are children here,” Galen Firth admitted, “brought in with the various groups of displaced people, who have come to find community and shelter.”

  “No one can deny that Nesmé has opened her gates to those in need,” Catti-brie replied, and Wulfgar shot a glare her way. “A mutually beneficial arrangement for a town that grows more grand by the day.”

  “But there is a child here that does not belong in Nesmé, nor to the woman who brought her here,” Wulfgar insisted. “I have come to retrieve that girl.”

  Someone moved fast behind Wulfgar, and he spun, quick as an elf. He brought his right arm across, sweeping aside a two-handed grab by one of Cottie’s friends, then turned the arm down, bringing the fool’s arms with it. Wulfgar’s left hand snapped out and grabbed the man by the front of his tunic. In the blink of an astonished eye, Wulfgar had the man up in the air, fully two feet off the ground, and shook him with just the one hand.

  The barbarian turned back on Galen Firth, and with a flick of his arm sent the shaken fool tumbling aside.

  “Colson is leaving with me. She was wrongly taken, and though I bear no ill will”—he paused and turned to let his penetrating gaze sweep the room—“to any of those who were with the woman to whom she was entrusted, and no ill will toward the woman herself—surely not!—I will leave with the girl rightfully returned.”

  “How did she get out of Mithral Hall, a fortress of dwarves?” an increasingly annoyed Galen Firth asked.

  “Delly Curtie,” said Wulfgar.

  “Wife of Wulfgar,” Catti-brie explained.

  “Was she not then this child’s mother?”

  “Adopted mother, as Wulfgar is Colson’s adopted father,” said Catti-brie.

  Galen Firth snorted, and many in the room muttered curses under their breath.

  “Delly Curtie was under the spell of a powerful and evil weapon,” Catti-brie explained. “She did not surrender the child of her own volition.”

  “Then she should be here to swear to that very thing.”

  “She is dead,” said Wulfgar.

  “Killed by Obould’s orcs,” Catti-brie added. “For after she handed the child to Cottie Cooperson, she ran off to the north, to the orc lines, where she was found, murdered and frozen in the snow.”

  Galen Firth did grimace a bit at that, and the look he gave to Wulfgar was almost one tinged with sympathy. Almost.

  “The weapon controlled her,” said Catti-brie. “Both in surrendering the child and in running to certain doom. It is a most foul blade. I know well, for I carried it for years.”

  That brought more murmurs from around the room and a look of astonishment from Galen. “And what horrors did Catti-brie perpetrate under the influence of such a sentient evil?”

  “None, for I controlled the weapon. It did not control me.”

  “But Delly Curtie was made of stuff less stern,” said Galen Firth.

  “She was no warrior. She was not raised by dwarves.”

  Galen Firth didn’t miss the pointed reminder of both facts, of who these two were and what they had behind their claim.

  He nodded and pondered the words for a bit, then replied, “It is an interesting tale.”

  “It is a demand that will be properly answered,” said Wulfgar, narrowing his blue eyes and leaning even more imposingly toward the leader of Nesmé. “We do not ask you to adjudicate. We tell you the circumstance and expect you to give back the girl.”

  “You are not in Mithral Hall, son of Bruenor,” Galen Firth replied through gritted teeth.

  “You deny me?” Wulfgar asked, and it seemed to all that the barbarian was on the verge of a terrible explosion. His blue eyes were wide and wild.

  Galen didn’t back down, though he surely expected an attack.

  And again Catti-brie intervened. “We came to Nesmé as sentries on a caravan from Silverymoon, as a favor to Lady Alustriel,” she explained, turning her shoulder and putting her arm across the table to block Wulfgar, though of course she couldn’t hope to slow his charge, should it come. “For it was Lady Alustriel, friend of King Bruenor Battlehammer, friend of Drizzt Do’Urden, friend of Wulfgar and of Catti-brie, who told us that Colson would be found in Nesmé.”

  Galen Firth tried to hold steady, but he knew he was giving ground.

  “For she knows Colson well, and well she knows of Colson’s rightful father, Wulfgar,” Catti-brie went on. “When she heard our purpose in traveling to Silverymoon, she put all of her assets at our disposal, and it was she who told us that Cottie Cooperson and Colson had traveled to Nesmé. She wished us well on our travels, and even offered to fly us here on her fiery chariot, but we felt indebted and so we agreed to travel along with the caravan and serve as sentries.”

  “Would not a desperate father take the quicker route?” asked Galen Firth, and around him, heads bobbed in agreement.

  “We did not know that the caravan bearing Colson made it to Nesmé, or whether perhaps the hearty and good folk accompanying the child decided to debark earlier along the road. And that is not for you to decide in any case, Galen Firth. Do you deny Wulfgar’s rightful claim? Would you have us go back to Lady Alustriel and tell her that the proud folk of Nesmé would not accede to the proper claim of Colson’s own father? Would you have us return at once to Silverymoon and to Mithral Hall with word that Galen Firth refused to give Wulfgar his child?”

  “Adopted child,” remarked
one of the men across the way.

  Galen Firth didn’t register that argument. The man had thrown him some support, but only because he obviously needed it at that moment. That poignant reminder had him squaring his shoulders, but he knew that Catti-brie had delivered a death blow to his obstinacy. For he knew that she spoke the truth, and that he could ill afford to anger the Lady of Silverymoon. Whatever might happen between King Bruenor and Galen would not likely ill affect Nesmé, for the dwarves would not come south to do battle, but for Lady Alustriel to take King Bruenor’s side was another matter entirely. Nesmé needed Silverymoon’s support. No caravan would travel to Nesmé that did not originate in, or at least pass through, the city of Lady Alustriel.

  Galen Firth was no fool. He did not doubt the story of Catti-brie and Wulfgar, and he had seen clearly the desperation on Cottie Cooperson’s face when he had left her in the barracks. That type of desperation was borne of knowing that she had no real claim, that the child was not hers.

  For of course, Colson was not.

  Galen Firth looked over his shoulder to his guards. “Go and fetch Cottie Cooperson and the girl,” he said.

  Protests erupted around the room, with men shaking their fists in the air.

  “The child is mine!” Wulfgar shouted at them, turning fiercely, and indeed, all of those in front stepped back. “Would any of you demand any less if she was yours?”

  “Cottie is our friend,” one man replied, rather meekly. “She means the girl no harm.”

  “Fetch your own child, then,” said Wulfgar. “Relinquish her, or him, to me in trade!”