Read Rise of the King Companions Codex Ii

  RISE OF THE KING

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Cover fine art by: Tyler Jacobson

Outset Printing: September 2014

ISBN: 978-0-7869-6515-ane

ISBN: 978-0-7869-6551-9 (ebook)

620A6634000001 EN

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v3.1

Contents

Cover

Championship Page

Copyright

Prologue

Role 1: Under Skies of Gloom Chapter 1: Summer of Discontent

Chapter 2: The Line Between Life and Death

Chapter three: The Tears of Tarsakh

Affiliate 4: Matron Mother Darthiir

Chapter five: Crossings of the Redrun

Chapter half-dozen: The Belching Horn

Function Ii: Under the Darkened Heaven Chapter 7: To the Edge of Gloom

Chapter eight: Optics to the East

Chapter ix: Welcome Home

Chapter 10: Inside Data

Chapter xi: Traveling Companions

Affiliate 12: Trickster

Chapter 13: The Long Game

Chapter xiv: The Lure

Chapter xv: Field of Claret and Burn down

Part Iii: Boil Chapter 16: Grim Tidings

Chapter 17: The Mockery

Chapter 18: A Dragon'southward Roar

Chapter 19: Undressed

Chapter 20: Best of Bad Choices

Chapter 21: The Ghost of Dwarf Kings Past

Chapter 22: The Grin Behind the Executioner's Hood

Chapter 23: My Friend, the Torturer

Chapter 24: On the Wings of Dragons

Epilogue

YE E'ER SEEN ANYTHING Like THAT?" Male monarch CONNERAD BRAWNANVIL asked the emissary from Citadel Felbarr. They stood on a small-scale guard tower along the rim of the valley called Keeper'due south Dale, staring up at the night sky. The sun barely penetrated the strange overcast. And then little light came through the roiling and angry black above, in fact, that no one in the N had seen more than a wisp of a shadow in several days.

"None've seen anything like that, skilful rex," the bearish old veteran warrior named Ragged Dain answered. "Simply we own't thinkin' it's a good thing."

"It'southward them orcs," King Connerad remarked. "Obould'southward ugly boys. It's them orcs, or the world's gone crazy and gnomes're wearing beards long enough to tickle a alpine human'due south toes."

Ragged Dain nodded his agreement. That'south why he'd been dispatched by King Emerus Warcrown, after all, because certainly the Kingdom of Many-Arrows had to exist the source of this unseemly event—or at least, the dwarves of the Silver Marches were all betting that the minions of King Obould knew the source, at least.

"Ye heared from Citadel Adbar?" King Connerad asked, referring to the third of the dwarf communities in the Silver Marches. "Are they seein' this?"

"Aye, the Twin Kings are seein' it and looking to the Underdark for answers."

"Ye think them boys're fix for it, any it might exist?" Connerad asked, for Citadel Adbar had just recently crowned a pair of kings, Bromm and Harnoth, the twin sons of old King Harbromm, who had ruled at that place for almost ii centuries until his contempo—past dwarf accounting—death. The twins had been raised well, only they hadn't seen much in the way of action or political intrigue in the quiet of the last decades.

"Who'southward for sayin'?" Ragged Dain replied, shaking his head solemnly. King Harbromm had been a dear friend to him and the others of Citadel Felbarr, virtually as a brother to King Emerus Warcrown. The loss of that bang-up leader, barely cold in the ground, could bear witness quite troublesome if this event, this darkening, turned as foul as information technology looked.

Ragged Dain dropped a hand affectionately to the shoulder of Connerad Brawnanvil. "Was yerself ready?" he asked. "When King Banak passed on and ye took the bridle o' Mithral Hall, did ye know what ye needed?"

Connerad snorted. "Still don't," he admitted. "Kinging looks piece of cake from distant."

"Not and so much from the throne, then," Ragged Dain agreed, and Connerad nodded. "Well, then, young King o' Mithral Hall, what're ye knowin' now after all?"

"I'yard knowin' that I ain't knowin'," Male monarch Connerad said resolutely. "And non knowing's likely to get me boys in trouble."

"Scouts, so."

"Aye, a bunch, and yerself's to go with 'em, that ye'll be going back to Felbarr with what ye seen with yer own optics."

Ragged Dain considered the words for a few moments, and then offered a salute to the immature King of Mithral Hall. "Ye're ready now," he said, and clapped Connerad difficult on the shoulder once more. "Here's to hoping that the twins o' Harbromm take hold of on as quick."

"Bah, but there's two o' them," said Connerad. "Sure to be."

He looked back up at the heaven, at the roiling clouds of smoke or some other foul substance that turned daylight into something less than moonlight and hid the stars entirely.

"Certain to be," he said once again, more to himself than to his guest.

"I am a priest of Gruumsh I-Middle," the tall orc protested.

"Aye, and I was hoping that your continuing would indicate some intelligence, at to the lowest degree," Tiago Baenre replied with a derisive cackle, and he walked off to the side.

"Nosotros have come to offering a great opportunity," Tos'un Armgo retorted. "Would not your Gruumsh be pleased?"

"Gruumsh …" the orc started, but Tos'united nations cut him short.

"Would non the god of orcs swim in the claret of humans, elves, and dwarves?"

The tall orc gave a crooked grinning every bit he looked over Tos'un, head to toe. "Uryuga knows you," the shaman said, and Tiago snorted again at the typically orc habit of referring to himself by his ain proper name.

"Y'all speak of elves," Uryuga went on. "You know elves. Yous alive with elves!"

"Lived," Tos'un corrected. "I was chased out, and by the same female person who killed many of your kin by the holy cave."

"That is not the tale my people tell."

Tos'united nations started to respond, but merely blew a sigh. His actions in that instance, with his wife Sinnafein by his side, certainly would work against him. He had abandoned her to the pursuing orcs in his quest to catch upwards to Doum'wielle and led her into the Underdark, but any of the orc survivors from that skirmish surely knew that he had not been fleeing from Sinnafein just traveling with her.

Uryuga chuckled and started to proceed, but now it was Tiago who cut him short. "Enough," the son of House Baenre demanded. "Expect above you, fool. Practice you see that? We have blocked out the sun itself. Exercise yous underst

and the power that has come upon these lands? If you or your stubborn King Obould will not listen our call, then we will simply replace you both and find another rex—and another priest—who will."

The orc priest straightened his shoulders and stood upward tall, towering over Tiago, but if the drow was intimidated, he certainly didn't evidence whatsoever signs of it.

"Ravel!" Tiago called, and turned to the side, guiding Uryuga's gaze that style, to see Uryuga—some other Uryuga—approaching.

"What is this?" the orc demanded.

"Do you actually believe we need you?" Tiago scoffed. "Do you lot hold yourself tall enough to believe that a program to conquer the Silverish Marches rests on the choices of a simple orc priest?"

"High shaman," Uryuga corrected.

"Dead shaman," Tiago corrected, his fine sword, a sliver of the starlit sky it seemed, flashing from its scabbard and rushing tip-in to remainder against Uryuga's throat.

"I serve Gruumsh!"

"Want to run into him? Now?" Tiago flicked his wrist a tiny bit and a spot of claret appeared on Uryuga's throat.

"Answer me," the vicious drow prompted. "Merely before you lot do, think of the glorious sights you will miss when a sea of orcs swarm the mounds and dales and curl over the great cities of Luruar. Recall of the slaughter of thousands of dwarves, and all without a swing of Uryuga's heavy mace. Because that is what we will do, with you alive or with y'all dead. Information technology matters not."

"If it matters not, then why am I alive?"

"Because we prefer the priests of Gruumsh to partake of the state of war. The Spider Queen is no enemy to the great and glorious One-Heart and would welcome him in this slap-up victory. Just now I abound weary of this. Will you lot bring together or will you die?"

Put that way, and with a sword confronting his throat, Uryuga gave a slight simply definitive nod.

"I'chiliad not certain," Tiago said anyhow, glancing back over his shoulder at the illusion of Uryuga worn past Ravel. "I recall you look ugly enough to handle this job." Every bit he spoke, he drove his sword forward, just a tiny flake, the fine bract easily cutting the orc's skin.

"Grab for it," Tiago said, turning back to confront the shaman. "I would so enjoy watching your fingers autumn to the ground."

Ravel began to express mirth, merely Tos'un shifted uncomfortably.

Tiago snapped his sword away in the blink of an eye, merely came forward and grabbed the orc by the neckband, yanking him low. "We offering you all yous always wanted," he growled in Uryuga'due south ugly face. "The claret of your enemies will stain the mountainsides, the dwarven halls volition be filled with your people. The bully cities of Luruar will grovel and tremble before the stamp of orc boots. And you dare to hesitate? Y'all should be on your knees, bowing to us in gratitude."

"Y'all speak as if this war you hunger for is already won."

"Practice you incertitude u.s.?"

"Information technology was drow elves who prompted the commencement Rex Obould to march upon Mithral Hall," Uryuga replied. "A modest band with large promises."

Tos'un shifted uncomfortably. He had been among that quartet of troublemakers, though, of course, Uryuga, who was no older than thirty winters, could hardly know that afar truth.

"Gruumsh was displeased with that state of war?" Tiago asked skeptically. "Truly? Your god was displeased with the outcome, which offered your people a kingdom among the Silver Marches?"

"A kingdom we hold stiff, simply ane that will exist destroyed if we neglect in our march."

"And so y'all are a coward."

"Uryuga is no coward," the orc said with a snarl.

"And so let us go along."

"They are seven kingdoms, we are one," Uryuga reminded him.

"You lot volition not be lonely," Tiago promised. He pointed back over Uryuga's shoulder, and the orc turned slowly, casting another suspicious glance the Baenre's way before daring to have his optics off the dangerous drow. As he turned, though, his legs evidently went weak beneath him, for there in the distance beyond this loftier, windswept bluff circled a pair of beasts to take his breath abroad.

A pair of white dragons, ridden past frost giants.

They only remained in sight for a few heartbeats, then swooped away forth a mountain valley between a pair of afar peaks.

Uryuga swung around, jaw hanging open up.

"You lot volition not be alone," Tiago promised. "This is no small band of dark elves stirring trouble. I am Tiago Baenre, noble son of the Showtime House of Menzoberranzan and weapons primary of House Practice'Urden. The daylight is stolen by our power, to facilitate our march, and we have already spread our tendrils far and wide, a net to catch and enlist the battle-hungry. Dragons are always hungry, and the frost giants of Shining White are eager to cease what their Dame Gerti began a hundred years ago."

Uryuga shook his caput, not catching the specifics of that century-one-time reference, plain. But it didn't matter. He wasn't so stupid as to miss the implications of the reference: The giants would help in the war, and with a pair of dragons, it seemed.

Dragons!

"Become to King Obould," Tiago ordered. "Tell him that the time has come to notice glory for Gruumsh 1-Heart."

Uryuga paused for a few heartbeats, but then nodded and started away.

"A convincing illusion," Tiago congratulated Ravel when the trio of drow were alone.

Ravel reverted to his proper drow form and nodded.

"I meant the dragons," Tiago explained. "And with frost giants riding them. Well done."

"It will need to exist more than than an illusion if we intend to conquer Luruar," Tos'un put in. "This is no small enemy, with three dwarf citadels, a forest full of elves, and three mighty cities."

"My sister volition not neglect in this, nor will Archmage Gromph," Ravel assured him, the wizard's tone showing slap-up disdain.

"Y'all have been here too long, son of Armgo," Tiago said dismissively to Tos'un. "You forget the power and accomplish of Menzoberranzan."

Tos'un nodded and allow information technology become at that. But Tiago was wrong in i thing, he knew. Tos'un hadn't forgotten anything, not from the war between Many-Arrows and Mithral Hall and not from the war earlier that, when the legendary and godlike Matron Mother Yvonnel Baenre, the keen-grandmother of this impudent peacock, had gotten her caput broken in one-half by the dwarf rex of Mithral Hall.

Saribel glanced nervously at Gromph Baenre. The priestess felt pocket-sized indeed, surrounded every bit she was by a trio of blue-skinned behemoths.

Certainly the archmage didn't seem intimidated, and Saribel drew some confidence from that—until she reminded herself that Gromph wasn't her friend. Her ally, perhaps, but she'd never trust this old one plenty to think of him equally anyone she could rely upon.

The priestess pulled her furred cloak tighter as the mountain winds howled, chilling her even through the magical wards against cold she had placed upon herself.

She glanced at Gromph once more.

He didn't even seem to notice the wind or the cold. He walked at ease—he ever walked at ease, she thought, supremely confident, never the slightest hesitation or self-doubt.

She hated him.

"Do y'all remember their names?" Gromph said and so, unexpectedly, shattering Saribel'southward contemplations.

He had done that on purpose, she knew, as if he was reading her every idea.

"Well?" Gromph added impatiently as the flustered priestess tried to collect herself.

The archmage snickered derisively and shook his head.

"They are the brothers of Thrym, then nosotros are to tell Jarl Fimmel Orelson," Saribel blurted.

"Iii of the ten brothers of the frost giant god," Gromph said.

"Aye."

"Do y'all remember their names?"

"Does it matter?"

Gromph stopped short and turned to stare hard at Saribel. "For tendays now, I accept been trying to effigy out why Matron Mother Baenre decided to bless Tiago's choice of married woman and thus bring you lot into the House proper. I take tried to justify it equally an act to stre

ngthen our ties to the new city of Q'Xorlarrin, to serve as nevertheless some other reminder to Matron Mother Zeerith that her globe survives at the suffrage of House Baenre." He paused and gave a look and a nod as if that should suffice, but so added, "Truly, immature priestess, even that pleasing reality does not seem worth the price of having to endure your dim-wittedness."

Saribel swallowed hard and worked to go along her lip from quivering, all as well keenly aware that Gromph could destroy her with just a thought, at whatever fourth dimension.

"Beorjan, Rugmark, and Rolloki," she recited.

"Which is Beorjan?" Gromph asked and Saribel felt her fright rising again. The giants were all the same size, fully 20 anxiety tall and with every bit impressive girth and musculature. They all wore their pilus the same, long and blond, all dressed in similar furs of the same cut, and all carried a gigantic double-bladed axe.

"Well?" Gromph prodded impatiently.

"I cannot tell them autonomously," a flustered Saribel blurted, and she thought she was uttering her last words with that admission.

And indeed, Gromph stared at her threateningly for a long heartbeat, until ane of the giants began to laugh.

"Neither can I," Gromph admitted. "And I grew them." He, too, began to express joy—something Saribel had never idea possible. He clapped her on the shoulder and started them on their style one time more.

"I am Rugmark, Fourth Brother of Thrym," the start in line recited.

"I am Beorjan, Seventh Brother of Thrym," said the one on the left behind the two dark elves.

"I am Rolloki, Eldest Brother of Thrym," said the one beside Beorjan.

And they believed their own words. The claims weren't truthful, of class. These were 3 giants Gromph had coerced to their cause at Matron Mother Baenre's request. A few spells of growth and permanency, a few sessions with Methil, the illithid imparting new identities to the trio that the slow-minded creatures couldn't help but believe, and the upshot: three living and walking doppelgangers of the fabled 10 brothers of the frost giant deity, Thrym.

And three supremely powerful tools for Matron Female parent Baenre to utilize.

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