Flint the King

Epilogue

Hillhome became a ghost town in less than a week

What the battle had left standing had been leveled by the earthquake. Not a single family had escaped losing at least one member in the Battle of Hillhome, and most of them wanted to start anew elsewhere in the hillcountry, where the memories would fade more easily with time.

Diehards, like the Fireforges, whose families had been in the village since before the Cataclysm and whose homes had been at least partially spared from the devastation, chose to stay around and rebuild their town as best they could.

Though her brewery was destroyed, Hildy stayed behind with Basalt and the promise of a life together.

And so with much dignity and tears the Fireforge family buried its dead, among them brother Bernhard, the valiant Aghar Garf. And Perian.

After the short service offering their souls to Reorx, Flint had wandered alone with his thoughts to a small crest over looking Stonehammer Lake to the west and the remains of

Hillhome to the east. The sky seemed too blue, the early winter air too crisp and… ordinary for a day when his heart was near to bursting, His memories of Perian were few but sweet; he prayed they would not fade with time. Sud denly he became aware of shuffling behind him.

"Old queen gone," Cainker said sadly, coming up behind the gray-haired dwarf, a tear dripping down his filthy cheek. In his grief Flint had lost track of his subjects and was now reminded that they were likely waiting upon him for the direction of their lives.

"Yes," Flint said softly. He looked with affection at the gully dwarf, but then he thought of something. "Old queen?" he asked.

"Sure. New queen Fester, she just fine!" Cainker bobbed his head enthusiastically.

"Hi, kingly guy." said Nomscul as he joined them. "Good fight!"

"Thanks," Flint muttered, growing more confused.

"What's this about Fester being queen?"

"Yup. She my queen! Me new king, you know."

"New king?" Flint was too surprised to immediately do the sensible thing, which was to heartily endorse the idea.

"Sure. Now that you got no queen, it good idea." Noms cul sighed, apparently with real regret. "You one nice guy, though," he amended. "But just not work out as king. Real nice guy, all right!"

Flint chuckled, feeling a lump growing in his throat. He wanted to laugh aloud, and he wanted to cry, so he just stared in bemused wonder at the new king of Mudhole.

"Just not work out," Nomscul said with a shrug.

The general stood high upon the temple platform, look ing over the still-smoldering city. Sanction was not so empty as before, as thousands of ogres and human mercenaries gathered. Legions of hobgoblins formed vast camps on the ashen slopes around the city.

Across the valley, beneath the seething Temple of

Luerkhisis, the rest of the general's army was born — draconians, hatched by a corrupting process from the se cretly hoarded eggs of good dragonkind.

The draconians pleased the general greatly, gathering as they did in well-disciplined companies of savage warriors, eager for bloodshed and war.

Indeed, his army grew daily, and this made the matter of armaments all the more vexing. One day, the shipments to the hidden cove had simply stopped, and they had never re sumed. All of his attempts to contact the grotesque Theiwar, Pitrick, had failed, and the general disliked fail ure. He would not fail his Dark Queen, the five-headed dragon-goddess, Takhisis.

Yet the preparations would go on. He had enough good steel to arm many of his troops, and the rest would find other sources for blades, and shields, and armor. Still, the general knew, his army would be strong.

And soon, it would be ready.