faced him. 'Highbulp better knight Krog,' she told him.
He frowned a puzzled frown. 'What?'
'Knight Krog, then Highbulp be like a king, get glorious.'
'Highbulp already glorious,' he pointed out, then squinted at her. 'Knight Krog good idea, huh?'
'Real good idea.'
'Right,' he decided. 'Jus' what I was thinkin 'bout.'
Gorge strode to the middle of the camp and raised his arms. 'All pay attention! Highbulp got announ… proclam… somethin' to say!'
When he had their attention, he pointed at Krog. 'Highbulp gonna… Ever'body! Stop lookin' at Krog! Look at Highbulp!'
When he had their attention again, he said, 'Highbulp deci… conclu… make up mind to do Krog big honor, for — ' he turned to Drule ' — for what?'
'For be hero' she whispered. 'For valor an' service. For be brave an'… an' bashful.'
It was a bit complicated for the Highbulp. Turning back to his assembled subjects, he said, 'For bein' a good guy, make Krog be Sir Krog. Krog!' he ordered. 'Go over by big rock an' prost… recumb… hunker down real low.'
With a nod from Drule, the big creature did as he was told. Kneeling before a boulder, he bent low enough that it was almost as tall as himself. Gorge walked around him, trying to remember what he had heard about knighting. He glanced at the huge club in Krog's hand and pointed at it. 'What that?'
'Bashin' tool,' the Lady Drule said. 'Krog made it.'
'Good,' Gorge said. 'Krog, give bashin' tool to Highbulp'
Hunkered low before the boulder, Krog turned his head, saw Mama's nod of approval and extended his club. The Highbulp took it and, when Krog released it, sat down hard with the club across his lap. It weighed almost as much as he did.
'Gonna need volunteers,' the Highbulp muttered. He pushed the club away, stood and called, 'You, Chuff. An' Bipp. An' Skitt, all come help.'
Three sturdy young gully dwarves stepped forward. Gorge climbed to the top of the boulder and beckoned. 'Bring bashin' tool up here.'
Between them, the three managed to hoist the club and themselves onto the boulder, scattering dust from its top. Beside it, Krog wrinkled his nose, shook his head, and began to fidget.
'Hol' still, Krog,' the Lady Drule told him.
With the Highbulp supervising, the three volunteers positioned the club above Krog's left shoulder.
Gorge drew himself up regally. 'Krog, 'cause of exce.. unusu… for doin' good stuff, I dub you SIR KROG.' To the volunteers, he said, 'Dub Krog on shoulder now.'
Falling dust tickled Krog's nose. He sneezed. A cloud of dust blew up around the boulder, blinding the dubbers. Bipp sneezed and lost his grip on the club, Chuff fell over backward, and Skitt, suddenly lifting the full weight of the thing, lost control of it. With a resounding thud, the club descended on the back of Krog's head.
For a moment there was a stunned silence, then Krog shook himself like an angry bear, raised his head… and the Highbulp found himself staring into a huge face that was no longer amiable. A growl like approaching thunder shook the slopes. Krog's once-innocent eyes brightened with a flood of returning memory — brightened and glittered with a killing rage.
'Uh-oh!' the Highbulp gulped. He turned, leapt from the stone, and shouted, 'Ever'body run like crazy!'
Gully dwarves scattered in all directions, disappearing into the shattered landscape. Behind them, a mighty roar sent echoes up the mountainsides — the roar of an ogre unleashed.
Krog stood, picked up his club, and brandished it, roaring again. 'Krog!' he thundered. 'I am Krog! Not Krog Aghar! Krog Ogre! Krog!'
Seeing movement, he sped after it, his feet pounding. Beyond a shoulder of stone, he skidded to a stop. A female gully dwarf lay there, staring up at him in horror. 'Krog?' she said.
Her voice — the remembered voice and the remembered face of the little creature — made him hesitate, and his hesitation angered him. For an instant he felt… soft. 'Shut up!' he thundered. 'I am Krog! Krog ogre!'
She blinked, and a tear glistened in her eye. 'Krog… not want Mama anymore?'
'I am ogre!' he roared. 'You… nothing to me!' Furious, he raised his club high, then hesitated as another small figure darted out of a shadowed cleft to face him, a little gully dwarf male with curly whiskers, the one they called Highbulp. The gully dwarf faced him with terror in its eyes and an elk tine in its hand, and again Krog hesitated.
The absurd little thing was challenging him! A snarl tugged at Krog's cheek, but still he hesitated, looking from one to the other of the puny creatures. They meant nothing to him, nothing at all, and yet, there was something about the pair…
For a moment Krog stood, his dub lifted high to strike, then he shook his head and lowered it. Wrinkling his nose in disgust — mostly at himself — he turned and stalked away.
Behind him, the Highbulp Gorge III lifted the Lady Drule to her feet with trembling hands. They clung together, staring at the monster's receding back.
''Bye, Krog,' Drule whispered.
THE COBBLER'S SON
The Authentic Field Reports of Walnut Arskin
To Astinus of Palanthas,
As Set Down by Me, Walnut,
Foster Son of Jeraim Arskin,
Famed Amanuensis, Scribe of Astinus, and Licensed Cobbler
(Open All Week Long)
Newshore-Near-Gwynned, North Island, Ergoth
Report Number One
Year 22, New Reckoning
Spring day 12 or maybe 13 (I forget), dawn
Hi, Astinus! It's just after dawn and I'm now your newest field recorder, and I'm making my very first official field report to you on official Palanthas paper with my brand-new steel pen while wearing my once-holy symbol of Gilean and my official gray recorder's robes and my best walking boots. I've even put on clean underwear. I just want you to know, Astinus, that I will be your best field recorder ever, and someday I might even become a great amanuensis like Ark!
It's pretty cold outside for springtime right now, so my handwriting is sorta wiggly, but I can still read it. Can you? I'm a little hungry, as I would have had breakfast by now only I lost it after Ark sent me out of the shoe shop right after he made me his official field recorder, which is an interesting story, and I should write it down in case it's important, and anyway there's not much else to do in this alley at this hour of the morning.
Ark — known to you as your loyal scribe and amanuensis Jeraim Arskin from Newshore, but known to me as Ark and sometimes Dad, and known to everyone else in New-shore as Arkie — woke me up early and told me to get ready for the ceremony. I'd been begging him to let me be a scribe for ages, and Ark said he was going deaf from hearing me beg, but then something happened last night and he said he had something important for me to do today, but I'd have to be out on my own and out of his way. He was awfully nervous, and when he got me up he looked like he hadn't slept much, and he wanted to hurry through everything, and when I asked him what was wrong, he just said, 'Don't be a kender right now,' which I can't help, since I am one.
Ark first gave me a set of gray scribe's robes that he had hemmed up, which I put on, and then he gave me some official paper from Palanthas, where you live, and this new steel pen and this once-holy symbol that used to belong to a real cleric of Gilean until he disappeared (the cleric, that is) when the gods lowered the boom on Istar
