R. Salvatore - Luthien's Gamble

Siobhan didn’t doubt what he was saying, but the last thing she wanted now for Luthien was added guilt. “Oliver knows the area as well as you,” she reminded Luthien. “If the folk of Port Charley wanted to get into Caer MacDonald, they would have.”

Luthien wasn’t so certain of that, but the argument was moot now, for it was well past midnight and he couldn’t do anything about the camp’s location.

“Shuglin informs me that he and his kin have some new traps ready for the cyclopians,” the half-elf said, trying to shift the subject to a more positive note. “When our enemies come on again, they’ll find the wall harder to breach, and if they’re caught out in the open for any length of time, Oliver and his force will squeeze them from behind.”

“Oliver hasn’t enough soldiers to do that.”

Siobhan shook her head and chuckled. “Our allies will strike from a distance!” she insisted. “Hit with their bows at the back of the cyclopians, and run off across the fields.”

Luthien wasn’t so certain, but again he did not wish to press the argument. He continued to stare up at the ceiling, at the flickering shadows cast by the wind-dancing flames of the hearth. Soon he felt the rhythmic breathing of the sleeping Siobhan beside him, and then he, too, drifted off to sleep.

He dreamed of his adversary, the huge and ugly cyclopian. All the tactics of the day filtered through his thoughts, all the moves the brute had executed: the first powerful probe at the city; the second assault, the feint, where many cyclopian arsonists slipped in; and the tactic when the new army appeared on the field, the sudden and organized turn of the skilled Praetorian Guard. They would have been destroyed on the field then and there, would have been squeezed and in disarray, caught defenseless. But their leader had reacted quickly and decisively, had swung about and chased the folk from Port Charley all the way back across Felling Run.

Luthien’s eyes popped open wide, though he had been asleep for only a little more than an hour. Beside him, Siobhan opened a sleepy eye, then buried her cheek against his muscular chest.

“He is not coming back,” Luthien said, his voice sounding loud above the background murmur of the wind.

Siobhan lifted her head, her long hair cascading across Luthien’s shoulder.

“The cyclopians,” Luthien explained, and he slipped out from Siobhan’s grasp and propped himself up on his elbows, staring at the red glow of the hearth. “They are not coming back!”

“What are you saying?” Siobhan asked, shaking her head and brushing her hair back from her face. She sat up, the blankets falling away.

“Their leader is too smart,” Luthien went on, speaking as much to himself as to his companion. “He knows that the arrival of the new force will cost him dearly if he goes against our walls again.”

“He has come to take back the city,” Siobhan reminded.

Luthien pointed a finger up in the air, signaling a revelation. “But with everything that has happened, and with the storm, he knows that he may lose.”

Siobhan’s expression revealed her doubts more clearly than any question ever could. Cyclopians were a stubborn, single-minded race for the most part, and both she and Luthien had heard many tales of one-eye tribes charging in against overwhelming odds and fighting to the last living cyclopian.

Luthien shook his head against her obvious reasoning. “These are Praetorian Guards,” he said. “And their leader is a cunning one. He will not come against the city tomorrow.”

“Today,” Siobhan corrected, for it was after midnight. “And how do you know?”

Luthien had an answer waiting for her. “Because I would not attack the city tomor—today,” he replied.

Siobhan looked at him long and hard, but did not openly question his rationale. “What do you expect of him?” she asked.

Until that very moment, Luthien had no idea of what his adversary might be up to. It came to him suddenly, crystal clear. “He’s going across the river,” the young Bedwyr asserted, and by the end of this sentence, he was finding breath hard to come by.

Siobhan shook her head, doubting.

“He will go over the river and catch the folk of Port Charley out in the open,” Luthien pressed, growing more anxious.

“His goal is the city,” Siobhan insisted.

“No!” Luthien replied sharply, more forcefully than he had intended. “He will catch them in the open field, and when they are destroyed, he can come back at us.”

“If he has enough of a force left to come back at us,” Siobhan argued. “And by that time, we will have many more defenses in place.” She shook her head again, doubting the reasoning, but could see by Luthien’s stern visage that he was not convinced.

“Time works against our enemy,” Siobhan reasoned. “By all accounts, they are practically without food, and they are far from home, weary and wounded.”

Luthien wanted to remind her again that these were not ordinary cyclopians, were Praetorian Guard, but she kept going with her reasoning.

“And if you are right,” she said, “then what are we to do? Oliver and the others are not fools. They will see the brutes coming, and then the way will be clear for them to get into Caer MacDonald.”

“Our enemy will not leave an open path,” Luthien said grimly.

“You have to trust in our allies,” Siobhan said. “Our responsibilities are in defending Caer MacDonald.” She paused and took note of Luthien’s hard breathing. Clearly, the man was upset, confused, and worried.

“There is nothing for us to do,” Siobhan said, and she bent low and kissed Luthien, then sat back up, making no move to cover her nakedness. “Trust in them,” she said. Her hand moved along Luthien’s cheek and down his neck, and his muscles relaxed under her gentle touch.

“But there is something,” he said suddenly, sitting up and looking directly into Siobhan’s eyes. “We can go out before dawn, along those trails in the north. If we circle . . .”

Luthien stopped, seeing the look of sheer incredulity on the half-elf’s face.

“Go out from the city?” she asked, dumbfounded.

“Our enemy will catch them in the open,” Luthien pleaded. “And then, if he decides that he hasn’t enough of a force remaining to capture the city, he’ll turn about and march for Port Charley, now wide open to him. The cyclopians will slaughter that town and dig in, and with the season moving toward spring, Greensparrow will have an open port in Eriador and will send a second, larger force across the mountains.”

“How many are you thinking to send out?” the half-elf asked, concerned by Luthien’s reasoning.

“Most,” Luthien replied without hesitation.

Siobhan’s expression turned grim. “If you send most out, and our enemy comes back against Caer MacDonald, he will be entrenched within the city before we can strike back at him. We will be defeated and without shelter, scattering across Eriador’s fields.”

Luthien expected that criticism, of course, and there was indeed much truth in what Siobhan was arguing. But he didn’t think that his adversary would come back at the city right away. Luthien’s gut told him that the cyclopians would cross the river.

“Is this because of her?” Siobhan asked suddenly, unexpectedly.

Luthien’s jaw dropped open. The reference to Katerin in such a way pained him, even more because for just a moment, he wondered if it might be true.

Siobhan saw his wounded reaction. “I am sorry,” she said sincerely. “That was a terrible thing to say.” She leaned close and kissed Luthien again.

“I know that your heart is for Caer MacDonald,” Siobhan whispered. “I know that your decisions are based on what is best for all. I never doubt that.” She kissed him again, and again, deeply, and he put his arms about her and hugged her close, feeling her warmth, needing her warmth.