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‘Marry? Heart’s delight?’ Riv chuckled. ‘Good one, brother!’ He looked toward Orin, gauging his uncle’s reaction. ‘Not quite sure you’ve sold him, though!’ He narrowed his eyes as if he were considering it more seriously. ‘However, since that may take a good number . . . no, make that a very great number . . . of years to accomplish, we just might have to make sure that our dear Uncle lives til his beard reaches the toes of his boots!’
Riv poured himself another cup of ale and offered the skin round again. ‘Little brother’s got a good idea. We should make sure we take a good supply of food with us. We’ll hit the supply room in the level below us. We can use one or two of their hand carts. Some we can carry out with us; some we can cache near the East-gate. There are any number of rocky outcroppings we can hunker down in for defense if need be.’
He looked at Skald and Bror. ‘What if we send the two of you ahead early tomorrow morning? We’re going to need more Dwarves to stand with us. No use in bringing food if we’re dead and can’t be eating it. Uncle Orin and I can bring your armor along with us; pile it on the food cart if need be – you can put it on just before we leave the East-gate. You’ll be able to go more quickly that way, raising call for more to go with us. Stop at your friends’ forges, ten or so more fighters would be good. Uncle Orin and I can raise the hue and cry here in the west halls.’
‘What say you?’
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