“I am too small to row,” Oliver replied. He was surprised to find that his greatest lament at that moment was that he had not found time to explore the intriguing possibilities with Siobhan.
“Quiet,” Luthien sharply bade them both. “There is no gain in giving the Huegoths ideas.”
“As if they do not already know!” said Oliver.
“They may think you a child,” Katerin put in. “Huegoths have been known to take in orphaned children and raise them as Isenlanders.”
“Such a comforting thought,” Oliver said sarcastically. “And tell me, what will become of me when I do not grow?”
“Enough!” Luthien commanded, sheer anger causing his voice to rise enough to get the attention of the nearest Huegoth guard. The huge man looked Luthien’s way and issued a low growl, and the young Bedwyr smiled meekly in reply.
“We should not have let them bind us,” Luthien lamented out of the side of his mouth.
“We could have stopped them?” Oliver asked.
The group quieted as a band of barbarians came toward them, led by Rennir, the Huegoth leader.
“I must protest!” Brother Jamesis called immediately to the large man.
Rennir’s white teeth showed clearly within the bushy blond hair that covered his face. His teasing expression revealed that he had heard similar words before, that he had watched “civilized” folk witness Huegoth justice on previous occasions. He stalked toward Jamesis so boldly that the monk shrank back against the rail and Luthien and the others thought for a moment that Rennir would simply heave Jamesis into the sea with the floundering slaves.
“We had an arrangement,” Jamesis said, much more humbly, when the Huegoth leader stopped right before him. “You guaranteed the safety . . .”
“Of your men,” Rennir was glad to finish. “I said nothing about the slaves already within my longships. Where would I put you all?” The Huegoth turned a wry smile over his shoulder, back to the chuckling group of his kinsmen standing near.
Brother Jamesis searched hard for some rational argument. Indeed, the Huegoth was holding true to the wording of their agreement, if not the spirit. “You do not have to execute those who have served you,” Jamesis stuttered. “The island of Colonsey is not so far away. You could drop them there . . .”
“Leave enemies in our wake?” Rennir thundered. “That they might wage war with us once more?”
“You would find fewer enemies if you possessed the soul of a human,” Luthien offered, drawing Rennir’s scowl his way. Rennir began a slow and ominous walk toward the young Bedwyr, but Luthien, unlike Jamesis, did not shrink back. Indeed Luthien stood tall, jaw firm and shoulders squared, and his cinnamon-colored eyes locked on the gray orbs of the giant Huegoth. Rennir came right up to him, but though he was taller by several inches, he did not seem to tower over Luthien.
The dangerous stares lasted for a long while, neither man speaking or even blinking. Then Rennir seemed to notice something—something about Luthien’s appearance—and the Huegoth leader visibly relaxed.
“You are not of Gybi,” Rennir stated.
“I ask you to retrieve those men in the sea,” Luthien replied.
Several barbarians began to chuckle, but Rennir held up his hand, no mirth crossing his deadly serious features. “You would show mercy if those in the sea were of Isenland blood?”
“I would.”
“Have you?”
The surprising question nearly knocked Luthien over. What in the world was Rennir talking about? Luthien searched frantically for some response, realizing that his answer now might save the lives of the poor slaves. In the end, he could only shake his head, though, not understanding the Huegoth’s intent.
“What is your name?” Rennir asked.
“Luthien Bedwyr.”
“Of Isle Bedwydrin?”
Luthien nodded and glanced over at Oliver and Katerin, who could only shrug in reply, as confused as he.
“Have you?” Rennir asked again.
It clicked in Luthien’s head. Garth Rogar! The man was referring to Garth Rogar, Luthien’s dearest friend, who had been pulled from the sea by Luthien and raised in the House of Bedwyr as a brother! But how could Rennir possibly know? Luthien wondered.
At that critical moment, it didn’t matter, and Luthien didn’t have the time to debate it. He squared his shoulders once more, looked sternly into Rennir’s gray eyes, and said with all conviction, “I have.”
Rennir turned to his fellows. “Drag the slaves from the water,” he commanded, “and pass word to the other boats that none are to be drowned.”
Rennir turned back to Luthien, the Huegoth’s face wild, frightening. “That is all I owe to you,” he stated and walked away. As he did, he put a lewd stare over Katerin, then chuckled.
“You owe me a place beside my men,” Luthien stated, stopping Rennir short. “If they are to row, then so am I!”
The Huegoth thought on that for a moment, then threw his head back and roared heartily. He didn’t bother to look back again as he joined his fellows.
The longships moved in a wide formation around the western shore of Colonsey. This somewhat surprised Luthien and his companions, who thought the barbarians would put out to the open sea. They learned the truth when they came into a sheltered bay, passing through a narrow opening, practically invisible from the sea, into a wide and calm lagoon.
A hundred longships were tied up along the rocky beach. Further inland, up the rocky incline, dozens of stone and wood huts dotted the stark landscape, and smoke wafted out of many cave openings.
“When did this happen?” a stunned Brother Jamesis muttered.
“And what of Land’s End?” Luthien asked, referring to the small Eriadoran settlement around to the eastern side of the island. If this many Huegoths had formed a base on Colonsey, it did not bode well for the hundred or so people in the rugged, windswept settlement. Luthien understood the trouble the barbarians had gone to, and realized then beyond any doubt that their attacks on Bae Colthwyn were not intended as minor raids. They had wood here, in large supply, though there was little on rocky Colonsey, and Luthien took note that there were many Huegoth women among those gathering at the shore to greet the returning longships. This was a full-scale invasion, and Luthien grimaced as he thought of the misery that would soon befall his dear Eriador.
Slaves were not normally taken off the longships when they were in harbor, and as the other boats put in, most of the Huegoths clambered over the side, splashing into shore, leaving just a few guards behind. Luthien’s thoughts immediately turned to the potential for escape, but he was surprised when Rennir’s boat put in and a group of Huegoths came and gathered him up with his three companions, ushering them roughly ashore.
Luthien never got the obvious questions out of his mouth when he stumbled onto the rocky beach, Rennir taking him by the collar and dragging him along to the largest hut of the settlement.
“Beg before Asmund, who is king!” was all the Huegoth said as he pulled Luthien past the guards and into the open single-roomed structure.
His hands still bound behind his back, Luthien stumbled down to one knee. He recovered quickly, forced himself not to look back as he heard Katerin, or Jamesis, perhaps, go down behind him. As calmly as he could manage, Luthien straightened himself on his knees, regaining a measure of dignity before he looked upon the Huegoth king.
Asmund was an impressive figure indeed, barrel-chested, with a huge gray beard, brown, weathered skin, and light blue eyes so intense that they seemed as if they could bore holes through hard wood.
But Luthien hardly noticed the king. He was more stricken by the sight of the man standing casually beside the great Asmund.
A man with cinnamon-colored eyes.
CHAPTER 9
THE ERIADORAN TIE
ETHAN,” Katerin muttered in disbelief.
Gasping for breath, Luthien started to rise and was promptly grabbed by Rennir. Luthien growled and pulled away from the huge m
an, determined to stand before Asmund, and especially before Asmund’s escort. It was Ethan, obviously, but how his brother had changed! A stubbly beard graced his fine Bedwydrin features and his hair had grown much longer. The most profound change, though, was the man’s eyes, intense and wild, perfectly dangerous.
“You know him?” Oliver whispered to Katerin.
“Ethan Bedwyr,” Katerin said loudly. “Luthien’s brother.”
“Ah, so I see,” said Oliver, taking note of the distinct resemblance between the men, particularly in the rare cinnamon coloring of their eyes. Then, as he realized the truth of this impossible situation, the halfling’s jaw dropped in speechless astonishment.
Asmund, seeming quite amused, turned Ethan’s way, giving the floor to the Eriadoran.
Luthien’s heart and hopes soared. “My brother,” he said breathlessly as Ethan walked over to him.
The older Bedwyr pushed Luthien down to the floor. “No more,” he said.
“What are you doing?” Katerin cried out, rushing to intervene.
“A woman of spirit!” howled huge Asmund as Rennir grabbed the thrashing Katerin in his massive arms.
“What is wrong with you?” Luthien demanded of Ethan, rolling up to one knee and staring hard at his brother. He looked to Rennir, then back to Ethan, pleading, “Stop him!”
Ethan shook his head slowly. “No more,” he said again to Luthien, but he did indeed turn to Rennir and bade the man to let go of Katerin O’Hale.
“If you’re thinking that I’m to be grateful, then you’re thinking wrong!” Katerin roared at him, moving up to face him squarely. “You are on the wrong side of the ropes, son of Gahris!”
Ethan tilted his head back, his features taking on a look that seemed both distant and superior. He never blinked, but neither did he lash out at Katerin.
“You are with them,” Luthien stated.
Ethan looked at him incredulously, as though that much should have been obvious.
“Traitor!” Katerin growled.
Ethan’s hand came up and Katerin turned away, fully expecting that she would be slapped.
The blow never came, though, as Ethan quickly regained his composure. “Traitor to whom?” he asked. “To Gahris, who banished me, who sent me away to die?”
“I searched for you,” Luthien put in.
“You found me,” Ethan said grimly.
“With Huegoths,” Luthien added, his tone derisive. More than a few barbarians around him growled.
“With brave men,” Ethan retorted. “With men who would not be ruled by an unlawful king from another land!”
That gave Luthien some hope concerning the greater situation at least. Perhaps this Huegoth invasion wasn’t in any way connected to Greensparrow.
“You are Eriadoran!” Katerin yelled.
“I am not!” Ethan screamed back at her. “Count me not among the cowards who cringe in fear of Greensparrow. Count me not among those who have accepted the death of Garth Rogar!” He looked Luthien right in the eye as he finished the thought. “Count me not among those who would wear the colors of Lady Avonese, the painted whore!”
Luthien breathed hard, trying to sort out his thoughts. Ethan here! It was too crazy, too unexpected. But Ethan did not know of all that had transpired, Luthien reminded himself. Ethan likely thought that things were as he had left them in Eriador, with Greensparrow as king and Gahris as one of his many pawns. But where did that leave Luthien? Even if he convinced Ethan of the truth, could he forgive his brother for allying with savage Huegoths against Eriador?
“How dare you?” Luthien roared, struggling to his feet.
“Greensparrow—” Ethan began to counter.
“Damn Greensparrow!” Luthien interrupted. “Those ships that your newfound friends attacked were Eriadoran, not Avonese. The blood of fellow Eriadorans is on your hands!”
“Damn you!” Ethan yelled back, slamming into Luthien so forcefully that he nearly knocked his younger brother over once more. “I am Huegoth now, and not Eriadoran. And all ships of Avonsea serve Greensparrow.”
“You murdered—”
“We wage war!” Ethan snapped ferociously. “Let Greensparrow come north with his fleet, that we might sink them, and if Eriadorans also die in the battle, then so be it!”
Luthien looked from Ethan to Asmund, the Huegoth king smiling widely, and smugly, as though he was thoroughly enjoying this little play. It struck Luthien that his brother might be more of a pawn than an advisor, and he found at that moment that he wanted nothing more than to rush over and throttle Asmund.
But in looking back to Ethan, Luthien had to admit that his brother didn’t seem to need any champion. Ethan’s demeanor had changed dramatically, had become wild to match the raging fires in his eyes. Gahris’s actions in banishing Ethan had come near to breaking the man, Luthien realized, and in that despair, Ethan had found a new strength: the strength of purest anger. Ethan seemed at home with the Huegoths, so much so that the realization sent a shudder coursing through Luthien’s spine. He had to wonder if this really was his brother, or if the brother he had known in Dun Varna was truly dead.
“Greensparrow will not come north,” Luthien said quietly, trying to restore some sense of calm to the increasingly explosive discussion.
“But he will,” Ethan insisted. “He will send his warships north, one by one or in a pack. Either way, we will destroy them, send them to the bottom, and then let the weakling wizard who claims an unlawful throne be damned!”
He would have gone on, but Luthien’s sudden burst of hysterical laughter gave him pause. Ethan tilted his head, tried to get some sense of why his brother was laughing so, but Luthien threw his head back, roaring wildly, and would not look him in the eye. Ethan turned to Katerin instead, and to Luthien’s other companions, but they offered no explanation.
“Are you mad, then?” Ethan said calmly, but Luthien seemed not to hear.
“Enough!” roared Asmund, and Luthien stopped abruptly and stared hard at his brother and the Huegoth king.
“You do not know,” the younger Bedwyr brother stated more than asked.
Ethan’s wild eyes calmed with curiosity and he cocked his head, his unkempt hair, even lighter now than Luthien remembered it, hanging to his shoulder.
“Greensparrow no longer rules in Eriador,” Luthien said bluntly. “And his lackeys have been dispatched. Montfort is no more, for the name of Caer MacDonald has been restored.”
Ethan tried to seem unimpressed, but how his cinnamon-colored eyes widened!
“’Twas Luthien who killed Duke Morkney,” Katerin put in.
“With help from my friends,” Luthien was quick to add.
“You?” Ethan stammered.
“So silly barbarian pretender-type,” Oliver piped in with a snap of his green-gauntleted fingers, “have you never heard of the Crimson Shadow?”
That name brought a flicker of recognition to Ethan; it seemed as if the legend had spread wider than the general political news. “You?” Ethan said again, pointing and advancing a step toward Luthien.
“It was a title earned by accident,” Luthien insisted.
“But of course you have heard of Oliver’s Bluff,” the halfling interrupted, skipping forward and stepping in front of Luthien, so that his head was practically in Ethan’s belly, and puffing his little chest with pride.
Ethan looked down at Oliver and shook his head.
“It was designed for Malpuissant’s Wall,” the halfling began, “but since the wall was taken before we ever arrived, we executed this most magnificent of strategies on Princetown itself. That is right!” Oliver brought his hand up right in Ethan’s face and snapped his fingers again. “The very jew-wel of Avon taken by the forces of cunning Oliver deBurrows!”
“And you are Oliver deBurrows?” Ethan surmised dryly.
“If I had my so fine rapier blade, I would show you!”
A dangerous scowl crossed Ethan’s features, one that Asmund did not miss. “That c
an be arranged, and quickly!” the Huegoth king said with a snort, and all the barbarians in the tent began to laugh and murmur, apparently pleased at the prospect of a duel.
Luthien’s arm swept around the dramatically posing Oliver and pushed the halfling back. Luthien knew well his brother’s battle prowess and he wasn’t keen on the idea of losing his little halfling friend, however annoying Oliver might sometimes be.
“It is all true,” Luthien insisted to Ethan. “Eriador is free, under King Brind’Amour.”
Ethan turned back to find Asmund staring hard at him, searching for some confirmation or explanation of the unknown name. Ethan could only shrug, for he had never heard of this man Luthien claimed was now ruling the northern kingdom of Avonsea.
“He was of the ancient brotherhood,” Luthien explained, seeing their skepticism. “A very mighty . . .” Luthien paused, realizing that it might not be a good thing to reveal Brind’Amour’s true profession to the Huegoths, who distrusted magic. “A very mighty and wise man,” Luthien finished, but he had already said too much.
“The ancient brotherhood,” Ethan said to Asmund, “thus, the king of Eriador, too, is a wizard.”
Asmund snorted derisively.
The fact that Ethan betrayed that secret so matter-of-factly gave Luthien some idea of how far lost his brother truly was. Luthien needed something to divert the conversation, he realized, and he only had one card to play. “Gahris is dead,” he said calmly.
Ethan winced, but then nodded his acceptance of the news.
“He died peacefully,” Luthien said, but again, Ethan didn’t seem very concerned.
“Gahris died many years ago,” Ethan remarked. “He died when our mother died, when the plague that was Greensparrow swept across Eriador.”
“You are wrong!” Katerin O’Hale said boldly. “Gahris made certain that no cyclopians remain alive on Bedwydrin, and Lady Avonese—”
“The whore,” Ethan sneered.
Katerin snorted, not disagreeing in the least. “She died in the dungeon of House Bedwyr.”
“There are no dungeons in House Bedwyr,” Ethan said doubtfully.
The Crimson Shadow Page 69
