Brind’Amour thought on that a moment, considered Ethan’s work in the discussions, and nodded his agreement. Ethan’s actions on behalf of Eriador had been considerable in the sessions; on several occasions he had openly disagreed with Asmund, and had even managed to change the Huegoth’s mind once or twice.
Brind’Amour’s nod set Luthien moving again. He caught up to his king, and even swept Brind’Amour up in his wake, taking the lead the rest of the way to the war room, where Siobhan, Katerin, Oliver, and Shuglin waited anxiously.
“It will be finished and signed this night,” Brind’Amour confided.
Smiles were exchanged all about the oval table, on which was set a map of Avonsea. The mirth fell away when it reached Oliver, though, the halfling standing solemnly atop a stool.
“What is your pain?” Luthien asked bluntly. “An alliance with the Huegoths gives us a chance.”
“Do you know how many innocent Avon people-types the Huegoth barbarians will destroy?” the halfling asked, reminding them of the reality of their newfound friends. “How many now work the oars of their longships? How many would they have thrown into the sea when we were captured, had not the one called Rennir recognized Luthien as one owed a debt?”
True enough, they all had to admit. They were about to get into bed with the devil, it seemed.
“We cannot change the Huegoth ways,” Brind’Amour said at length. “We must remember that Greensparrow is the most immediate threat to our independence.”
“To Eriador whole,” Oliver replied, not backing down. “But do not be so quick to tell that to the next man sent bob-bobbing in the deep waters because his life with Asmund’s people has taken his strength.”
Katerin slammed her fist on the table in frustration; Shuglin, who had no experience with Huegoths and considered their slaves as unfortunate people too far removed for consideration at that point, glared at Oliver.
Luthien, though, nodded at his little friend, somewhat surprised by Oliver’s enlightened view of things. Oliver had never been one to hesitate from separating a wealthy merchant from his purse, but Oliver, Luthien silently reminded himself, was the one who used to buy many winter coats, then find some minuscule complaint with them that he might justify throwing them out in the street—where the homeless orphans promptly found them and gathered them up.
Siobhan, too, saw the truth in Oliver’s words and she walked up beside him, and, in front of everyone, kissed him.
Oliver blushed and swayed, nearly toppling from the stool. As was his way, the halfling quickly regained his dignity.
“The Huegoths are not the best moral choice as allies,” Katerin agreed, “but we can trust them to keep their part in the alliance.”
“But should we accept them at all?” Siobhan asked.
“Yes,” Brind’Amour replied immediately, in a tone that showed no room for debate. “I, too, despise many of the Huegoth customs, slavery highest among them. Perhaps we might do something about that at another time. But for now, the foremost problem is Greensparrow and his cyclopians, who, even Oliver must agree, are far worse than the Huegoths.”
Everyone looked to Oliver, and, feeling important, he nodded for Brind’Amour to continue.
“We cannot defeat Greensparrow without Huegoth aid,” the Eriadoran king went on. Even with that aid, Brind’Amour doubted the outcome, but he kept that unsettling thought private. “Once Eriador is truly free, once Greensparrow is thrown down, then our power and influence will increase many times over.”
“We war for freedom, not power,” Luthien had to say.
“True freedom will grant us power beyond our borders,” Brind’Amour explained. “Then we might properly deal with the Huegoths.”
“You cannot go to war with an ally,” Oliver retorted.
“No,” Brind’Amour agreed, “but as allies, our influence upon Asmund will be much greater. We’ll not change the Huegoth ways, any way short of complete war, and I do not think that any of us has the heart to take battle all the way to Isenland.” He paused to watch the shaking heads, confirming his proclamation.
“I, too, would choose differently than the Huegoths as allies if any choice was to be made,” Brind’Amour went on. “Your own Gascony, Oliver, cannot be counted on for any overt aid, though Lord de Gilbert has promised Eriador a lenient credit line should war come.”
“A promise he probably has also extended to Avon,” a snickering Oliver admitted, and the tension broke apart.
“Then we are agreed?” Brind’Amour asked when the nervous laughter subsided. “Asmund is our ally.”
Luthien seconded the call, just beating Shuglin to the mark. Katerin came next, followed by Siobhan and finally, with a great and dramatic sigh, Oliver. There was one other voice to be heard in this debate, Brind’Amour knew, but he would have to deal with that problem later.
Brind’Amour moved up to the table’s edge and took up a pointer. “Ethan has helped,” remarked the wizard, who suddenly did not seem so old to Luthien. “He, too, understands the benefit of keeping the Huegoths as far from land as possible.”
“Ethan knows the truth of Eriador now,” Luthien put in.
“Thus, and Asmund has tentatively agreed, the Huegoth ships will sail in formation east of the Eriadoran Dorsal fleet, which itself will sail east of the Five Sentinels.” Brind’Amour ran the pointer down the eastern shores of the island line.
“What of Bangor, Lemmingburg, and Corbin?” Katerin wanted to know, referring to three Avon coastal towns, clearly marked on the wizard’s detailed map. “And what of Evenshorn, on the northern fringes of the Saltwash? If the ships are to sail outside the Five Sentinels, how are we to wage war with all the eastern towns of Avon?”
“We are not,” Brind’Amour replied without hesitation. “Avon is Greensparrow. Avon is Carlisle. When Carlisle falls, so shall Avon!” He banged the pointer’s tip on the point where the twin rivers both known as Stratton joined, in the southwestern section of the southern kingdom.
“The Five Sentinels are a long way from Carlisle,” Siobhan remarked. “A roundabout route, and certainly longer and more dangerous than simply sailing along the Avon coast.”
“But this course will keep the Huegoths offshore,” Oliver piped in.
“And,” said Brind’Amour slyly, “it will lessen the chance of an engagement with Avon’s fleet.”
“I thought that was the point,” Shuglin said, looking confused.
Brind’Amour shook his head and waved his free hand, running the pointer down the wide channel between the Five Sentinels and the eastern shore of Avonsea. “If we battle with Avon’s fleet here,” he explained, “and they are victorious, they will still have time to sail all the way around to the south, to do battle with our second fleet before it enters the River Stratton.”
All the others moved closer to the table as the wizard spoke, his tone making it clear that he had thought this out completely and carefully.
“Also,” the king explained, “let us keep our alliance with Asmund secret from Greensparrow. Surely the presence of Huegoth longships so close will make him nervous. And nervous leaders make mistakes!”
Brind’Amour again paused to consider the affirming nods, drawing strength from the others. It was clear that the wizard was doing a bit of gambling here, and a bit of praying.
“The attack will be four-pronged,” he explained. “Half our fleet and the Huegoths will sail outside the Five Sentinels, securing the outer islands, and then swinging to the west for the mouth of the Stratton. A second fleet, already on its way to Port Charley from Diamondgate, will go south, through the Straits of Mann, and come into the Stratton from the east.”
Luthien and Katerin exchanged nervous glances at that. Both understood the danger of this second move, for the fleet would be caught in narrow waters between the two strongholds of Mannington and Eornfast.
“The largest land force,” Brind’Amour went on, moving the pointer appropriately, “will strike out from Malpuissant’s Wall, s
ecuring Princetown, then sweeping down the open farmlands between Deverwood and the southern spurs of the Iron Cross, a straight run for Carlisle.”
“Might they be held up at Princetown?” Oliver asked.
“By all reports, the city remains virtually defenseless,” Brind’Amour said with confidence. “Neither the wizard-duke nor the garrison has been replaced.”
“And the fourth prong?” Luthien asked impatiently, guessing that this last, and perhaps most important, move would likely be his to lead.
“Straight south from Caer MacDonald,” Brind’Amour answered. “Collecting King Bellick’s dwarfs and pressing straight through the mountains.”
Luthien eyed that intended line. The Iron Cross was no easy traverse, even with a dwarvish army leading the way, and worse, it was widely accepted that the bulk of Greensparrow’s cyclopian allies, including the highly trained and well-armed Praetorian Guards, were encamped along that same route. Even if those obstacles were overcome, it wouldn’t get much easier for the Eriadoran army once the mountains were crossed, for that pocket of Avon, tucked into the nook between the Straits of Mann and the southern and western reaches of the Iron Cross, was the most populous and fortified region in all of Avonsea. Towns dotted the banks of all three rivers that ran from the mountains into Speythenfergus Lake, culminating with mighty Warchester, the second city of Avon, with walls as high as those of Carlisle itself!
Finally, a resigned Luthien looked to Katerin and shrugged, managing a smile.
The woman only shook her head; now that the true scope of their undertaking had been laid out before them, it seemed a desperate, almost impossible attempt.
THE DECLARATION
The group was back in the war room later that afternoon, this time joined by Proctor Byllewyn and Brother Jamesis. The two men of Gybi talked excitedly about the prospects of war with Avon, but both of them, particularly Proctor Byllewyn, seemed to Luthien to be holding some serious reservations. The young Bedwyr didn’t know how much Brind’Amour had told them of the previous meetings, but he could guess what was troubling them.
All eyes went to the door as Brind’Amour entered, his features locked. “This will be our last meeting,” he said with all confidence, “until we rejoin at Carlisle’s gates.”
Murmurs of approval rolled about the table. Luthien kept his eyes on the men of Gybi—Proctor Byllewyn’s wide smile showed that he was more than a little intrigued.
“I will entertain the ambassadors from Gascony and Avon presently,” Brind’Amour explained. “The charges will be openly declared.”
“War should not be declared until our armies are ready to march,” Byllewyn interjected.
“But they are,” Brind’Amour insisted. “Even the force from Gybi.”
Byllewyn’s expression turned dour. “You and I still have much to discuss,” he protested quietly, calmly.
“Not so,” replied Brind’Amour. “With all deference to your position, good proctor, and with all understanding that I am in desperate need of your influential cooperation, I cannot undo what has been done.”
“You have signed a treaty with Asmund?” Byllewyn asked, his tone growing sharp.
There it was, Luthien realized. The men of Gybi, so recently under siege by the Huegoths, were not thrilled at the prosect of an alliance with King Asmund.
Brind’Amour shook his head fiercely, his huge white beard flopping from shoulder to shoulder. “Of course not,” he replied. “My signature will not be penned until that of Proctor Byllewyn is in place on the document.”
“You presume—” the proctor began.
“That you have the best intent of Eriador in mind,” Brind’Amour interrupted.
Byllewyn rested back in his chair, not knowing how to respond.
Brind’Amour turned and whistled and the door opened immediately. In strode a tall, powerful-looking woman, handsome but fierce, with black hair and black eyes and the assured gait of a true warrior.
“Kayryn Kulthwain, the leader of the Riders of Eradoch,” Brind’Amour explained, though she needed no introduction. She was well-known to the people in the room, particularly to the two men of Gybi.
“My greetings,” Byllewyn extended, standing in salute to this warrior, a close ally of the folk of Bae Colthwyn. Byllewyn had met with Kayryn many times in Mennichen Dee for the great trading carnivals, and the two shared great respect and great friendship.
“Kayryn Kulthwain,” Brind’Amour said again, “the duchess of Eradoch.”
The title brought a moment of stunned silence.
“Duchess?” Katerin echoed incredulously.
“It is time for us to put our kingdom in line,” Brind’Amour explained. “Wouldn’t you agree, Duke Byllewyn, who is second in line to the throne of Eriador?”
Byllewyn slumped back down in his seat, overwhelmed. Brother Jamesis, beaming from ear to ear, put a comforting hand on his shoulder. All about the oval table, expressions shifted from ecstatic to confused, encompassing every emotion in between.
“A logical choice, would you not agree?” Brind’Amour asked them all. “Who in the land is more experienced in matters of state than our dear Proctor Byllewyn of Gybi?”
“False flattery to seal a necessary alliance?” Byllewyn asked slyly.
“Well-earned respect,” Brind’Amour assured him, “though I admit that the alliance is necessary.”
“None in this room, none in all of Eriador, would dispute the choice,” Luthien piped in, and those words were indeed important from this man, the Crimson Shadow, perhaps the only man in all of Eriador whose claim as second in line for the throne of Eriador was greater than Byllewyn’s. Luthien understood the importance of this as did Brind’Amour, for Gybi was viewed by most of northern Eriador as the spiritual center of the kingdom.
“I demand that the Huegoths be kept in close check,” the proctor said at length. “I’ll not have them slaughtering and enslaving innocents, Eriadoran or Avonese!”
“We have formulated our plans with exactly that in mind,” assured Brind’Amour, who was happy to have Gybi serve as his moral conscience. “They will be kept offshore as much as is possible, and when they do come to land, they will be escorted by an Eriadoran force of at least equal strength.”
Byllewyn chewed on that information for many seconds. “We will meet with Asmund when this is concluded,” he finally agreed. “My folk will not sail beside the Huegoths, though!”
Brind’Amour was already nodding. “My hope is that the militia of Gybi will run with the Riders of Eradoch to lead the charge from Malpuissant’s Wall,” Brind’Amour explained. “With both Byllewyn and Kayryn Kulthwain to guide them, the march to Carlisle will go smoothly.”
Byllewyn nodded his approval, and both Brind’Amour and Luthien sighed, realizing that the major obstacle in properly launching this war had just been overcome. Without the support of Gybi, the support from Eradoch would have been tentative indeed. Now, with Proctor Byllewyn and Kayryn Kulthwain in agreement and fully in the fold, northeastern Eriador’s proud and independent folk would take part in the campaign with all their hearts.
“Ethan will be my link to the Huegoths,” Brind’Amour explained, “and to the eastern Eriadoran fleet.”
“I am thinking that you put much stock in a man who has proclaimed his allegiance to King Astound,” Oliver interjected.
Brind’Amour conceded the point. “He is Bedwyr,” the Eriadoran king replied, as though that alone should suffice.
“I will go with the Huegoths,” Brother Jamesis unexpectedly volunteered. “I understand their ways,” he said in the face of the doubting expressions. “And their honor.”
Brind’Amour looked to Byllewyn, who nodded his agreement.
“Very well, then,” the king said. “My two eastern arms are thus secured.” He paused, his gaze settling on Katerin. The woman understood what he was asking of her. In the previous war, Katerin had served well as emissary to Port Charley. She among them best understood the seafolk of weste
rn Eriador. Katerin was of that same stock.
“I will ride out for Port Charley this day,” she agreed, ignoring the crestfallen expression that came over Luthien at the proclamation.
“I will get you there more quickly than any horse,” Brind’Amour said with a smile.
“I will go with her,” came Luthien’s not-unexpected call.
Brind’Amour smiled and did well to hide his chuckle. “You will strike due south,” the king replied. “At my side, with Shuglin and Bellick and the dwarfs, with Siobhan and the Fairborn, and with the militia of Caer MacDonald. Praetorian Guards await us, my young friend, and their hearts will surely sink at the knowledge that the Crimson Shadow, the man who outmaneuvered legendary Belsen’Krieg, has come against them.”
Luthien couldn’t deny the logic, or dismiss the call of his country. “Then Oliver will go with Katerin,” he decided, and it made sense, for the halfling had been with Katerin during her first mission as ambassador to Port Charley.
Oliver started to protest, but Siobhan, sitting beside him, kicked him in the ankle. He looked to her and went silent, realizing that this one’s heart was for Eriador first, for him second.
“I hate boats,” was all the complaint the halfling offered, though his blue eyes, so obviously full of longing, locked on to the fair Siobhan as he spoke.
“Then it is settled,” Brind’Amour said. “Now let us turn our discussion to the meeting I must soon hold with the ambassadors. We each will have a role to play.”
Felese Raymaris de Gilbert was a tall and slender man with soft gray eyes and dark hair, neatly coiffed, and a clean-shaven, unblemished face. His posture was perfect, but he did not appear rigid; his dress was fashionable and rich, but he did not appear foppish. And unlike many Gascon (and Avonese) lords, he did not reek from an overabundance of perfume. His hands, though manicured, were not soft from luxury.
Felese had been chosen by the Gascon lords to represent them to the tough Eriadorans for just these reasons. The man had a lord’s appearance, but a workingman’s sensibilities, a rare combination that had set him in good standard in the court of Brind’Amour.
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