R. Salvatore - Luthien's Gamble

“Freedom,” Katerin corrected. “Freedom for every man and woman.” She looked to Siobhan and to Shuglin. “For every elf and every dwarf. And every halfling, Oliver,” she said, her intent gaze locking with his. “Freedom for Eriador, and for every person who would live here.”

“We talk of halting what we cannot halt,” Luthien put in. “How many merchants and their cyclopian guards have been killed? How many Praetorian Guards? And what of Duke Morkney? Do you believe that Greensparrow will so easily forgive?”

Luthien slipped off his stool, standing tall. “We have begun something here, something too important to be stopped by mere fear. We have begun the freeing of Eriador.”

“Let us not get carried away,” Oliver interjected. “Or we might get carried away . . . in boxes.”

Luthien looked at his diminutive friend and realized how far Oliver—and many others, as well, given the whispers that had reached Luthien’s ears—were sliding backward on this issue. “You are the one who told me to reveal myself in the Minisiry that day,” he reminded the halfling. “You are the one who wanted me to start the riot.”

“I?” Oliver balked. “I just wanted to get us out of there alive after you so foolishly jumped up and shot an arrow at the Duke!”

“I was there to save Siobhan!” Luthien declared.

“And I was there to save you!” Oliver roared right back at him. The halfling sighed and calmed, patted his hand on Luthien’s shoulder. “But let us not get carried away,” Oliver said. “In boxes or any other way.”

Luthien didn’t calm a bit. His thoughts were on destiny, on Bruce MacDonald and the ideals the man represented. Katerin was with him, so was Shuglin, and so was his father, back on Isle Bedwydrin. He looked toward Siobhan, but could not read the feelings behind the sparkle of her green eyes. He would have liked something from her, some indication, for over the past few weeks she had quietly become one of his closest advisors.

“It cannot be stopped,” Luthien declared loudly enough so that every person in the Dwelf heard him. “We have started a war that we must win.”

“The boats will sail from Avon,” Oliver warned.

“And so they will be stopped,” Luthien countered, cinnamon eyes flashing. “In Port Charley.” He looked back out at the crowd, back to Siobhan, and it seemed to him as if the sparkle in her eyes had intensified, as if he had just passed some secret test. “Because the folk of that town will join with us,” Luthien went on, gathering strength, “and so will all of Eriador.” Luthien paused, but his wicked smile spoke volumes.

“They will join us once the flag of Caer MacDonald flies over Montfort,” he continued. “Once they know that we are in this to the end.”

Oliver thought of remarking on just how bitter that end might become, but he held the thought. He had never been afraid of death, had lived his life as an ultimate adventure, and now Luthien, this young and naive boy he had found on the road, had opened his eyes once more.

Shuglin thrust his fist into the air. “Get me to the mines!” he growled. “I’ll give you an army!”

Luthien considered his bearded friend. Shuglin had long been lobbying for an attack on the Montfort mines, outside of town, where most of his kin were imprisoned. Siobhan had whispered that course into Luthien’s ear many times, as well. Now, with the decision that this was more than a riot, with the open declaration of war against Greensparrow, Luthien recognized that action must be taken swiftly.

He eyed the dwarf directly. “To the mines,” he agreed, and Shuglin whooped and hopped away, punching his fist into the air.

Many left the Dwelf then, to spread the word. It occurred to Oliver that some might be spies for Aubrey and were even now running to tell the viscount of the plan.

It didn’t matter, the halfling decided. Since the beginning of the revolt in the city’s lower section, Aubrey and his forces had been bottled up within the walls of the inner section and could not get word to those cyclopians guarding the Montfort mines.

“You are crazy,” Siobhan said to Luthien, but in a teasing, not derisive, manner. She moved near to the man and put her lips against his ear. “And so exciting,” she whispered, but loud enough so that those closest could hear. She bit his earlobe and gave a soft growl.

Looking over her shoulder, glimpsing Katerin’s scowl, Luthien recognized again that Siobhan’s nuzzle, like her earlier display of affection, was for the other woman’s sake. Luthien felt no power, no pride, with that understanding. The last thing the young Bedwyr wanted to do was bring pain to Katerin O’Hale, who had been his lover—and more than that, his best friend—those years on Isle Bedwydrin.

Siobhan and her elvish companion left then, but not before the half-elf threw a wink back at Luthien that changed to a superior look as she passed Katerin.

Katerin didn’t blink, showed no expression whatsoever.

That alone made Luthien nervous.

Not so long afterward, Luthien, Oliver, and Katerin stood alone just inside the door of the Dwelf. It was snowing again, heavily, so many of the patrons had departed to stoke the fires in their own homes.

The talk between the three was light, but obviously strained, with Oliver pointedly keeping the subject on planning the coming assault on the Montfort mines.

The tension between Luthien and Katerin did not diminish, though, and finally Luthien decided that he had to say something.

“It is not what it seems,” he stammered, interrupting the rambling Oliver in midsentence.

Katerin looked at him curiously.

“With Siobhan, I mean,” the young man explained. “We have been friends for some time. I mean . . .”

Luthien found no words to continue. He realized how stupid he must sound; of course Katerin—and everyone else!—knew that he and Siobhan were lovers.

“You were not here,” he stuttered. “I mean . . .”

Oliver groaned, and Luthien realized that he was failing miserably and was probably making the situation much worse. Still, he could not bring himself to stop, could not accept things as they were between him and Katerin.

“It’s not what you think,” he said again, and Oliver, recognizing the scowl crossing Katerin’s face, groaned again.

“Siobhan and I . . . we have this friendship,” Luthien said. He knew that he was being ultimately condescending, especially considering the importance of the previous discussion. But Luthien’s emotion overruled his wisdom and he couldn’t stop himself. “No, it is more than that. We have this . . .”

“Do you believe that you are more important to me than the freedom of Eriador?” Katerin asked him bluntly.

“I know you are hurt,” Luthien replied before he realized the stupidity of his words.

Katerin took a quick step forward, grabbed Luthien by the shoulders and lifted her knee into his groin, bending him low. She moved as if to say something, but only trembled and turned away.

Oliver noted the glisten of tears rimming her green eyes and knew how profoundly the young man’s words had stung her.

“Never make that mistake about me again,” Katerin said evenly, through gritted teeth, and she left without turning back.

Luthien gradually straightened, face white with pain, his gaze locked on the departing woman. When she disappeared into the night, he looked helplessly at Oliver.

The halfling shook his head, trying not to laugh.

“I think I’m falling in love with her,” Luthien said breathlessly, grimacing with the effort of talking.

“With her?” Oliver asked, pointing to the doorway.

“With her,” Luthien confirmed.

Oliver stroked his goatee. “Let me understand,” he began slowly, thoughtfully. “One woman puts her knee into your cabarachees and the other puts her tongue into your ear, and you prefer the one with the knee?”