Free The Halfling’s Gem by R. A. Salvatore Page B

one asked. “Not o’ Clan McUduck, an’ not belongin’ in these tunnels!”
    “Tooktook o’ Clan Trilk,” the dwarf lied, using the name of a gray dwarf he had chopped down just the morning before. “Been patrollin’, and been lost! Glad I be to find a room with a hearth!”
    The two gray dwarves looked at each other, and then back to the stranger suspiciously. They had heard the reports over the last few tendays—since Shimmergloom, the shadow dragon that had been their god-figure, had fallen—tales of slaughtered duergar, often beheaded, found in the outer tunnels. And why was this one alone? Where was the rest of his patrol? Surely Clan Trilk knew enough to keep out of the tunnels of Clan McUduck.
    And, why, one of them noticed, was there a patch of red on this one’s beard?
    The dwarf realized their suspicion immediately and knew that he could not keep this charade going for long. “Lost two o’ me kin,” he said. “To a drow.” He smiled when he saw the duergar’s eyes go wide. The mere mention of a drow elf always sent gray dwarves rocking back on their heels—and bought the dwarf a few extra seconds. “But worth it, it were!” he proclaimed, holding the mithral axe up beside his head. “Found me a wicked blade! See?”
    Even as one of the duergar leaned forward, awed by the shining weapon, the red-bearded dwarf gave him a closer look, putting the cruel blade deep into his face. The other duergar just managed to get a hand to his sword hilt when he got hit with a backhand blow that drove the butt of the axe handle into his eyeHe stumbled back, reeling, but knew through the blur of pain that he was finished a full second before the mithral axe sliced the side of his neck.
    Two more duergar burst in from the anteroom, their weapons drawn. “Get help!” one of them screamed, leaping into the fight. The other bolted for the door.
    Again, luck was with the red-bearded dwarf. He kicked hard at an object on the floor, launching it toward the fleeing duergar, while parrying the first blow of his newest opponent with his golden shield.
    The fleeing duergar was only a couple of strides from the corridor when something rolled between his feet, tripping him up and sending him sprawling to the floor, He got back to his knees quickly but hesitated, fighting back a gush of bile, when he saw what he had stumbled over.
    The head of his kin.
    The red-bearded dwarf danced away from another strike, rushing across the room to shield-slam the now-kneeling duergar, smashing the unfortunate creature into the stone wall.
    But the dwarf, overbalanced in the fury of his rush, was down on one knee when the remaining duergar caught up to him. The intruder swung his shield back above him to block a downward thrust of the duergar’s sword, and countered with a low sweep of his axe, aiming for the knees.
    The duergar sprang back just in time, taking a nick on one leg, and before he could fully recover and come back with a counter, the red-bearded dwarf was up and at the ready.
    “Yer bones are for carrion-eaters!” the dwarf growled.
    “Who ye be?” the duergar demanded. “Not o’ me kin, fer sure!”
    A white smile spread across the dwarf’s ash-covered face. “Battlehammer’s me name,” he growled, displaying the standardemblazoned upon his shield—the foaming mug emblem of Clan Battlehammer. “Bruenor Battlehammer, rightful king of Mithral Hall!”
    Bruenor chuckled softly to see the gray dwarf’s face blanch to white. The duergar stumbled back toward the door of the anteroom, understanding now that he was no match for this mighty foe. In desperation, he spun and fled, trying to slam the door shut behind him.
    But Bruenor guessed what the duergar had in mind, and he got his heavy boot through the door before it could close. The mighty dwarf slammed his shoulder into the hard wood, sending the duergar flying back into the small room and knocking aside a table and chair.
    Bruenor strode in confidently, never