Gauntlgrym Read Free Page B

character. The clan was the thing, and the clan would survive, and thrive, long beyond the days of great King Bruenor.
    But there were indeed many tears whenever one of Cordio’s priests announced that the king lay gravely ill, and Moradin had not answered their prayers.
    “We cannot help him,” Cordio announced to Drizzt and a few others on the third night of Bruenor’s fretful sleep. “He has fallen beyond us.”
    He flashed a quiet, disapproving smirk Drizzt’s way, but the drow remained steadfast and solid.
    “Ah, me king,” Pwent moaned.
    “Woe to Mithral Hall,” said Banak Brawnanvil.
    “Not so,” Drizzt replied. “Bruenor has not been derelict in his responsibilities to the hall. His throne will be well filled.”
    “Ye talk like he’s dead already, ye durned elf!” Pwent scolded.
    Drizzt had no answer against that, so he merely nodded an apology to the battlerager.
    They went in and sat by Bruenor’s bed. Drizzt held his friend’s hand, and just before dawn, King Bruenor breathed his last.
    “The king is dead, long live the king,” Drizzt said, turning to Banak.
    “So begins the reign of Banak Brawnanvil, Eleventh King of Mithral Hall,” said Cordio.
    “I be humbled, priest,” old Banak replied, his gaze low, his heart heavy. Behind his chair, his son patted him on the shoulder. “If half the king as Bruenor I be, then all the world’ll know me reign as a goodly one—nay, a great one.”
    Thibbledorf Pwent stumbled over and fell to one knee before Banak. “Me … me life for ye, me … me king,” he stammered and stuttered, hardly getting the words out.
    “Blessed be me court,” Banak replied, patting Thibbledorf’s hairy head.
    The tough battlerager threw his forearm across his eyes, turned back, and fell over Bruenor to hug him tightly, then he tumbled back with a great wail and stumbled from the room.
    Bruenor’s tomb was built right beside those of Catti-brie and Regis, and it was the grandest mausoleum ever constructed in the ancient dwarven clanhold. One after another, the elders of the Clan Battlehammer came forth to give a long and rousing recounting of the many exploits of the long-lived and mighty King Bruenor, who had taken his people from the darkness of the ruined halls to a new home in Icewind Dale, and who had personally rediscovered their ancient home, and had then reclaimed it for the clan. In more tentative voices, they spoke of the diplomat Bruenor, who had so dramatically altered the landscape of the Silver Marches.
    On and on it went, through the day and night, for three full days, one tribute after another, all of them ending with a sincere toast to a most worthy successor, the great Banak Brawnanvil, who now formally added Battlehammer to his name: King Banak Brawnanvil Battlehammer.
    Emissaries came from every surrounding kingdom, and even the orcs of Many-Arrows had their say, the Priestess Jessa Dribble-Obould offering a lengthy eulogy that was nothing but complimentary to that most remarkable king, and expressing the hopes of her people that King Banak would be equally wise and well-tempered, and that Mithral Hall would prosper under his leadership. Truly there was nothing controversial, or anything but correct, in the young orc’s words, but still, more than a few of the thousands of dwarves listening to her grumbled and spat, a poignant reminder to Banak and all the other leaders that Bruenor’s work healing the orc-dwarf divide was far from completed.
    Exhausted, worn out, drained emotionally and physically, Drizzt, Nanfoodle, Cordio, Pwent, and Connerad fell into chairs around the hearth that had been Bruenor’s favorite spot. They offered a few more toasts to their friend and launched into private discussions of the many good and heroic memories they had shared with the remarkable dwarf.
    Pwent had the most stories to tell, all exaggerated, of course, but surprisingly, Drizzt Do’Urden said little.
    “I must apologize to your father,” Nanfoodle