R. Salvatore - Luthien's Gamble

Implications

The battle—the rout—ended swiftly, with half of Belsen’Krieg’s force killed and the other half running off blindly into the open fields. Losses to the Eriadorans were remarkably light; the folk of Port Charley could count their dead on the fingers of six hands, though Luthien’s group, which had thrown itself into the cyclopian throng, was more battered.

Both Eriadoran armies gathered back together on the field near to where the Port Charley encampment had been. They tended their wounded, finished off any cyclopians who were sorely hurt, and put all the one-eye prisoners in line. Fortunately there weren’t many prisoners, less than a hundred altogether, and these, having seen their proud Praetorian Guards routed so horribly, were little trouble.

The storm grew around them all, the day darkening, though it was near to noon. Brind’Amour organized the march with all of his archers in front. They fought a small skirmish as they crossed Felling Run, a couple of volleys of arrows mostly. The cyclopians responded by hurling heavy spears, but, with typical cyclopian accuracy, not a single Eriadoran was hit.

There wasn’t much fight left in those entrenched Avon soldiers—they were beginning to break and flee before the Eriadorans ever got to the river. For the rest of that day, the biggest obstacle facing the army of Eriador was in getting back to the shelter of Caer MacDonald as the blizzard came on in full about them.

Back on Riverdancer, Luthien heard the cheers as he approached the walled city, for news of the rout had preceded the returning army. The young Bedwyr had lost a couple of friends this day, a woman and two men who frequented the Dwelf, but his sadness was tempered in the belief that his friends had not died in vain. They had won the day; Eriador had won the day! The victorious army along with their allies of Port Charley poured into the city, scattering among the streets, breaking up into small groups that they might recount the day’s glorious events.

Luthien, Katerin, and Oliver went back to the apartment in Tiny Alcove to catch up on the events of the last few weeks. The young Bedwyr was thrilled to see his dearest friends again, particularly Katerin. He hadn’t realized how much he had missed the woman. Of course he thought of Siobhan and their encounter the previous evening, but he hadn’t really yet figured out what it all meant.

All that Luthien knew at the time was that he was glad, so glad, to see Katerin O’Hale once more.

Some time later, they were joined at the apartment by Brind’Amour, Siobhan, and Shuglin, who had also been quite busy that day.

“We killed every cyclopian running the streets of Caer MacDonald,” the dwarf assured them. “No more fires.”

Brind’Amour, reclining in the most comfortable of the three chairs in the small sitting room, hoisted a cup of wine in toast to that welcome news. Siobhan and Oliver, likewise seated and sipping wine, joined in, as did the other three, hoisting mugs of golden honey mead.

Seated on the stone hearth, Luthien looked across the open fireplace at Katerin, and they were warmed by more than the flames that burned between them.

“Well,” Shuglin corrected himself, shifting closer to the hearth, “no more unwanted fires!”

That brought a slight chuckle from the group.

“We still have several thousand cyclopians running free across the countryside,” Oliver remarked.

“Out in the blizzard,” Katerin snorted.

“We will catch those who survive the storm,” Siobhan said grimly.

Luthien nodded; on the way back into Caer MacDonald, pursuit groups had been arranged. The fleeing cyclopians would be hunted down.

“There are no towns nearby, except for Felling Downs,” Siobhan went on. “And the brutes will find no shelter there, for the houses have all been razed. Likely, they will turn for Port Charley.”

Luthien was hardly listening, more concerned with the half-elf’s serious tone. The hard day’s battle had been won, but Siobhan would not allow herself a break in the intensity. Yes, for Siobhan the rebellion was paramount, all-consuming. She would do whatever it took to free Eriador and free her people from Greensparrow.

Whatever it took, like bedding the Crimson Shadow? Luthien shook the notion away the moment he thought of it, scolding himself for thinking so little of Siobhan. There was something real between himself and the half-elf, something wonderful and warm, and though they both knew that it would never be more than it was now, Luthien vowed then and there that he would not look back on his lost relationship with Siobhan with doubt or remorse. He was a better man for knowing her; his life was happier because she remained a part of it. And in looking at her now, Luthien believed with all his heart that she felt the same way.

He turned his gaze from Siobhan, who continued talking of the duties still before them, across the hearth to Katerin. She had been staring at him, he realized, for she blushed (something rarely seen on Katerin’s tanned cheeks) and turned her green eyes away.

Luthien gave a small smile to hide the pain and closed his eyes, holding fast his image of the woman from Hale as he rested his head back. He dozed then, as the conversation continued, even intensified, about him.

“Our fearless leader,” Oliver remarked dryly, noticing Luthien’s pose and rhythmic breathing.

All five had a laugh at Luthien’s expense. Katerin reached across to shake him.

“Let him sleep,” Siobhan bade her. Immediate tension filled the air between the two women as Katerin turned to regard the half-elf.

“He has labored day and night,” Siobhan went on, ignoring the woman’s visage, an expression that revealed the rivalry between the two.

Katerin straightened and dropped her arm to her side.

“Well, of course those cyclopians who fled this day will be of little consequence,” Brind’Amour interjected, somewhat loudly and importantly, forcing all eyes to turn to him. “Many will die in the storm and those who do not will be in little condition to fight back when we catch up with them. They’ll make to the west, of course, to their fleet, which is no longer their fleet!”

“Can Port Charley resist them?” Oliver asked in all seriousness, for most of that town’s hardy souls were in Caer MacDonald.

“Few cyclopians will ever get there,” Siobhan promised.

“And we’ll get enough fighters there before the brutes arrive,” Brind’Amour was quick to add. “They will be dogged every step, and we know the faster ways. No, they’ll be little trouble. The army of Avon that came to our shores is defeated.”

“But what does that mean?” Shuglin asked the question that was on everyone’s mind.

Dead silence. In considering the long-term implications of this day’s victory, each of them realized that it might, after all, be only a small thing, a flickering reprieve in the darkness that was Greensparrow.

“It means that we have won a battle,” Brind’Amour said at length. “And now we have a fleet to hinder any further invasion through Port Charley.

“But Greensparrow will take us more seriously now,” the wizard warned. “The snow is deep, and that favors us and awards us some time, but the days are warmer now and it will not last for long. We can expect an army marching out from Malpuissant’s Wall soon after the melt, and likely another force coming through the passes of the Iron Cross, both of them greater than the force we just defeated on the field.”

What had been a celebration quickly dissolved, stolen by the grim dwarf’s necessary question and the obvious truth of the wizard’s reminder.

Brind’Amour scrutinized each of his companions. These five, he knew, were representative of the Eriadorans. There was Katerin, proud Katerin, desperate for a return to the days of Eriador’s freedom, Eriador’s glory. Most of the islanders were like her—on Bedwydrin, Marvis, and Caryth—as were the folk of Port Charley and the tribes north of Eradoch, in the area of Bae Colthwyn.