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

the cluster of duergar they attracted—without incident, then waited patiently as a small caravan of ore-filled wheelbarrows were carted by. Bruenor, trying to keep the easy, cordial atmosphere, noddedto the passing band, but bile rose in his throat as he saw the mithral load in the carts—and at the thought of the gray scum extracting the precious metals from the walls of his hallowed homeland.
    “Ye’ll be paid for yer troubles,” he mumbled under his breath. He rubbed a sleeve over his brow. He had forgotten how very hot the bottom area of the undercity became when the furnaces were burning. As with everyone else there, streaks of sweat began to make their way down his face.
    Bruenor thought nothing of the discomfort at first, but then the last of the passing miners gave him a curious side-long glance.
    Bruenor hunched even lower and quickly stepped away, realizing the effect his sweating would have on his feeble disguise. By the time he reached the first stair on the other side of the chasm, his face was fully streaked and parts of his whiskers were showing their true hue.
    Still, he thought he might make it. But halfway up the stair, disaster struck. Concentrating more on hiding his face, Bruenor stumbled and bumped into a duergar soldier standing two steps above him. Reflexively Bruenor looked up, and his eyes met with the duergar’s.
    The dumbfounded stare of the gray dwarf told Bruenor beyond any doubt that the ploy was over. The gray dwarf went for his sword, but Bruenor didn’t have time for a pitched battle. He drove his head between the duergar’s knees—shattering one kneecap with the remaining horn of his helmet—and heaved the duergar behind him and down the stairs
    Bruenor glanced around. Few had noticed, and fights were commonplace among the duergar ranks. Casually he started again up the stairs.
    But the soldier was still conscious after he crashed to the floorand still coherent enough to point a finger up to the tier and shout, “Stop ’im!”
    Bruenor lost all hope of remaining inconspicuous. He pulled out his mithral axe and tore along the tier toward the next stair. Cries of alarm sprang up throughout the chasm. A general commotion of spilled wheelbarrows, the clanging of weapons being drawn, and the thumping of booted feet closed in around Bruenor. Just as he was about to turn onto the next stairway, two guards leaped down in front of him.
    “What’s the trouble?” one of them cried, confused and not understanding that the dwarf they now faced had been the cause of the commotion. In horror, the two guards recognized Bruenor for what he was just as his axe tore the face off one and he shoulder-blocked the other off the tier.
    Then up the stairs he sprinted, only to reverse his tracks as a patrol appeared at the top. Hundreds of gray dwarves rushed all about the undercity, their focus increasing on Bruenor.
    Bruenor found another stair and got to the second tier.
    But he stopped there, trapped. A dozen duergar soldiers came at him from both directions, their weapons drawn.
    Bruenor scanned the area desperately. The tumult had brought more than a hundred of the gray dwarves on the floor rushing over to, and up, the original stair he had climbed.
    A broad smile found the dwarf’s face as he considered a desperate plan. He looked again at the charging soldiers and knew that he had no choice. He saluted the groups, adjusted his helmet and dropped suddenly from the tier, crashing down into the crowd that had assembled on the tier below him. Without losing his momentum, Bruenor continued his roll to the ledge, dropping along with several unfortunate gray dwarves onto another group on the floor.
    Bruenor was up in a flash, chopping his way through. Thesurprised duergar in the crowd climbed over each other to get out of the way of the wild dwarf and his deadly axe, and in seconds, Bruenor was sprinting unhindered across the floor.
    Bruenor stopped and looked all around. Where could he go now?