R. Salvatore - The Dragon King

Luthien and Katerin stared open-mouthed at each other, then at the tiny spot on the horizon.

“Oh, and who is that big fellow standing tall on the prow?” Oliver asked, and shuddered visibly. The exaggerated movement tipped Luthien off, and he sighed and turned a doubting expression upon Katerin.

“I would not want to fight with that one,” the halfling went on. “His yellow beard alone seems as if it might scrape the tender skin from my halfling bones!”

“Indeed,” Luthien agreed. “But it is the ring upon his finger that I most fear. See how it resembles the lion’s paw?” Now it was Luthien’s turn to feign a shudder. “Knowing Huegoth savagery and cunning, it is likely that the claws can be extended to tear the face from an adversary.” He shuddered again, and with a grinning Katerin beside him, began to walk away.

Katerin gave him a congratulatory wink, thinking that he had properly called Oliver’s bluff.

“Silly boy,” the irrepressible halfling shouted after them. “Can you not see that the ring has no more than jew-wels where the retracted claws should be? Ah, but the earring . . .” he said, holding a finger up in the air.

Luthien turned, meaning to respond, but saw Katerin shaking her head and realized that he could not win.

“Fine eyes,” remarked Wallach, the captain of The Stratton Weaver . He aimed his sarcasm squarely at Oliver as he and Brother Jamesis of Gybi walked over to join Luthien and Katerin.

“Fine wit,” Katerin corrected.

“How long until we close?” Luthien asked.

Wallach looked out to the horizon, then shrugged noncommittally. “Could be half an hour, could be the rest of the day,” he said. “Our friends in the longship are not running straight for us. They travel to the southeast.”

“Do they fear us?” Luthien asked.

“We would overmatch them,” replied Wallach confidently. “But I’ve never known Huegoths to run from any fight. More likely, they’re wanting to take us near to Colonsey, into shallower waters where they might beach us, or at least outmaneuver us.”

Luthien smiled knowingly at Wallach. This captain had been chosen to lead The Stratton Weaver out of Gybi because he, more than any other commanding one of the warships, was familiar with these waters. Wallach had lived in the settlement of Land’s End on Colonsey for more than a dozen of his fifty years, and had spent nearly every day of that decade-and-two upon the waters of the Dorsal.

“They will think they have the advantage as we near the island,” Katerin remarked slyly.

Wallach chuckled.

“We do not wish to fight them,” Luthien reminded them both. “We have come out alone to parley, if that is possible.” That was indeed the plan, for The Stratton Weaver had left her support fleet of thirty galleons in Bae Colthwyn.

“Huegoths aren’t much for talking,” Katerin remarked.

“And they respect only force,” added Wallach.

“If we have to cripple the longship, then so be it,” said Luthien. “We’ll take them as bloodlessly as possible, but on no account will we let them slip from our grasp.”

“Never that,” said Jamesis, whose face had become perpetually grim since the arrival of the fierce Huegoths in the bay, since his peaceful existence in the quiet monastery had been turned upside down.

Luthien carefully studied the monk. He thought the folk of Gybi quite impressive for allowing him to execute his plan of parley. With thirty galleons at their disposal, the folk wanted nothing more than to exact revenge on the Huegoths for the loss of so many good men in Bae Colthwyn. But whatever their desires, the bell tower in Gybi had tolled wildly when Luthien and his companions had arrived, answering the call from Gybi to the new king. And the celebration had exploded yet again when the Eriadoran fleet had come into view north of the bay, rushing hard under full sail. Thus, Proctor Byllewyn had gone along with Luthien’s desires and The Stratton Weaver had put out to sea, an armed and capable emissary, a diplomat first, a warship second.

“Run up the flag of parley,” Luthien instructed Wallach. The young Bedwyr’s gaze never left Jamesis as he spoke, searching for the monk’s approval. Jamesis had argued against Luthien coming out here, and had found much support in the debate, even from Katerin and Oliver.

“The white flag edged in blue is known even to the Huegoths,” Jamesis said grimly. “An international signal of parley, though Huegoths have been known to use it to get advantageously near to their opponent.”

“The man’s eyes, they are so blue!” exclaimed Oliver from the rail, the perfect timing to break the tension. Jamesis and Wallach cast the halfling a sidelong glance, but Luthien and Katerin only chuckled knowingly. Oliver couldn’t see the Huegoth’s eyes, they knew, couldn’t see the oars of the longship, could hardly make out the vessel at all within the gray haze. But how wonderfully the halfling could play the game! Luthien had come to calling Oliver “the perfection of bluff” for good reason indeed.

A few minutes later, the flag of parley went up high on the mainmast of The Stratton Weaver . Wallach and the others watched carefully as more minutes slipped by, but, though the lookouts assured the captain that the Huegoths were close enough to discern the flag, the longship didn’t alter her course or slow in the least.

“Running for Colonsey,” Wallach repeated.

“Follow her in, then,” Luthien instructed.

The captain cocked an eyebrow the young Bedwyr’s way.

“You fear to give chase?” Luthien asked him.

“I would feel better about it if my king’s second wasn’t aboard,” Wallach replied.

Luthien glanced nervously about.

Wallach knew that his simple logic had stung the young man, but that didn’t stop him from ramming home his point. “If the Huegoths are in league with Greensparrow, as we fear, then wouldn’t Luthien Bedwyr be a prize to give to the man? I’ll not want to see Greensparrow’s expression when the Crimson Shadow is handed over to him.”

The argument was growing tedious to Luthien, one he had been waging since the meeting at Gybi when it was decided that the first course would be an attempt of parley with the Huegoths. Luthien had insisted that he be on the lone ship running out of the harbor. Even Katerin, so loyal to the young Bedwyr, had argued against that course, insisting that Luthien was too valuable to the kingdom to take such risks.

“The Crimson Shadow was a prize that Morkney of Montfort wanted to give to Greensparrow,” Luthien replied. “The Crimson Shadow was a prize that General Belsen’Krieg promised to the evil king of Avon. The Crimson Shadow was a prize that Duke Paragor of Princetown coveted above all else.”

“And they are all dead for their efforts,” Brother Jamesis finished for him. “And thus you feel that you are immortal.”

Luthien started to protest, but Oliver beat him to it.

“Can you not see?” the halfling asked, scrambling down to Luthien’s side. “You say that my sometimes so unwise friend here is too valuable, but his value is exactly that which you wish to protect him from!”

“Oliver is right,” added Katerin, another unexpected ally. “If Luthien hides behind the robes of Brind’Amour, if the cape is not seen where it is needed most, then the value of the Crimson Shadow is no more.”

Wallach looked to Jamesis and threw up his hands in defeat. “Your fate is not ours to decide,” the monk admitted.

“To Colonsey, then,” said Wallach and he turned for the helm.

“Only if you think that the wisest course for your ship,” Luthien said abruptly, turning the captain about. “I would not have you sailing into danger by my words. The Stratton Weaver is yours, and yours alone, to command.”