Not good for Highbulp. Steal his thunder.”
The Lady Drule pondered, trying to understand. “Okay,”
she said finally. “What do about it, then?”
“Maybe Highbulp make Krog a knight,” Hunch
said simply, “like Tall kings do. Heroes real nuisance to
kings, but if king make hero a knight, alla glory belong
to king again.”
“Oh,” Drule concurred. “Okay” With renewed
purpose, she strode to where the Highbulp was sulking
and 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