Luthien smiled widely as he considered the half-elf, once again trying to picture her with Oliver.
Lines of soldiers cheered the approach at a wide and sheltered region where the ships could drop anchor and the Huegoths and some of the smaller Baranduine vessels could even put in to shore. The ropes came flying in to them, were caught and secured, and the forces were joined.
“Luthien!” The call, the familiar voice, sent the young Bedwyr’s heart fluttering. Throughout the weeks of fighting, Luthien had been forced to sublimate his pressing fears for his dear Katerin, had to trust in the woman’s ability. Now that trust was rewarded as Katerin O’Hale, her skin darker from the days under the sun, but otherwise none the worse for her journey, came bounding down the gangplank of the lead Baranduine vessel, Duke Ashannon McLenny’s flagship. The woman pushed her way through the crowd and threw herself into Luthien’s waiting embrace, planting a deep kiss on the young man’s lips.
Luthien blushed deeply at the coos and cheers that went up around him, but that only spurred Katerin on to give him an even more passionate kiss.
The cheering turned to laughter, drawing the couple from their embrace. They shifted to get a view of Oliver, still on Threadbare, coming onto the long gangplank.
“My horse, he so loves the water,” the halfling explained. That may have been true, but his horse, like everyone else coming off the ships after weeks at sea, had to find its land legs. Threadbare came down two steps, went one to the side, then two back the other way, nearly tumbling from the narrow plank. Then back the other way, and back and forth, all the while making slow progress toward the shore.
Oliver tried to appear calm and collected through it all, coaxing his pony and praying that he wouldn’t be thrown into the water—not in front of all these people! With some care, the halfling finally managed to get the pony onto the bank, to a chorus of cheers.
“Not a problem!” the halfling cried with a triumphant snap of his fingers, as he slid his leg over the saddle and dropped to the ground.
Unfortunately, Oliver’s legs were no less used to the swaying of shipboard than were Threadbare’s, and he immediately skittered to the left, then three steps back, then back to the right, then back again. He made a halfhearted grab at Threadbare’s tail, but the pony was so named because of that skinny appendage, and Oliver slipped off, falling to his seat in the water.
The cheers became howls of glee and two men ran down to Oliver and scooped him up.
“I meant to do that,” the halfling insisted.
That brought even louder howls, but they stopped abruptly, transforming into hushed whispers, when Siobhan moved near Oliver. Rumors about these two had been circulating and growing during the weeks and now everyone, Luthien and Katerin perhaps most of all (with the sole exception of wide-eyed Oliver!), wanted to see what Siobhan would do.
“Welcome back,” she said, taking Oliver’s hand, and she kissed him on the cheek and led him away.
The crowd seemed disappointed.
The time for greetings was necessarily short, with so many plans to be made and movements to be coordinated. Carlisle had not yet fallen, and the mere appearance of reinforcements did not change that situation!
The leaders met within the hour, Brind’Amour, Bellick, old Dozier, and Ashannon, along with Luthien, Siobhan, Katerin, and Oliver. Brind’Amour arranged for Ethan to keep King Asmund away for a short while, that he might first deal with his closest advisors, and with Duke Ashannon, who was still a bit of a mystery in all of this.
Ashannon and Katerin did most of the talking at first, with Oliver throwing in details of his own heroics.
“The Avonese fleet did not engage us south of Newcastle, as we expected,” Katerin reported.
Brind’Amour seemed concerned, but Katerin was quick to put his obvious fears to rest.
“They were badly outnumbered and had little heart for the fight, especially when the Huegoth longships came into the lead of our eastern fleet,” she explained. “They sailed south for Gascony, and there asked for refuge.”
“Which the Gascons granted,” Ashannon added. “But not without concessions.”
Oliver conspicuously cleared his throat, and Ashannon yielded the floor.
“I met with my countrymen,” the halfling explained. “The Avon-types were granted sanctuary, but only on condition that they declare neutrality. Greensparrow’s fleet is out of the war.”
“Most welcomed news,” Brind’Amour congratulated. “Most welcomed!”
There were smiles all around, except for Katerin. “I have heard word of a force of five thousand coming down from the north,” she said gravely.
“Duchess Deanna Wellworth and her garrison from Mannington,” Luthien explained, and the tone of his voice told Katerin that these were not enemies.
“Deanna is a friend,” Ashannon assured her. “And more important, she is a sworn enemy of King Greensparrow.”
It proved to be a fine meeting, a meeting full of optimism, and now that the prongs of the invasion were closing in on Carlisle, Luthien and all the others dared to hope for victory.
Those hopes brightened with the dawn, as Deanna Wellworth’s soldiers joined the line, and that same afternoon, the lead riders, Kayryn Kulthwain among them, came in from the northeast, heralding the approach of the second Eriadoran army, a force that was now larger than it had been when it left Malpuissant’s Wall.
By mid-morning of the next day, Brind’Amour would have fifty thousand on the field encircling Carlisle, with supply lines stretching the breadth of Avon and the fruitful southern coast open to his warships.
Among the Eriadoran allies, there remained only one voice of dissent, a certain Huegoth leader who could not be put off any longer.
Luthien was with Brind’Amour when the king went to Asmund’s longship. The younger Bedwyr hardly noticed the principals at the initial greeting, when he looked again upon his older brother. Ethan offered a hand to Luthien, but did not accompany it with a smile, nor a flicker of recognition in his cinnamon-colored eyes. Even after weeks moving in common cause, Ethan seemed as cold to Luthien as he had when the brothers had first found each other on the Isle of Colonsey.
Could it be that Ethan would never remember, or admit, who he truly was?
They had no time to discuss their personal situation, though, for Asmund descended on Brind’Amour like a great bear.
“We are warriors!” the Huegoth king roared. “And yet we have been sitting on the empty waves for weeks, our foodstuffs delivered by Eriadoran ships that have touched the shores of Avon!”
“We could not reveal—” Brind’Amour began, but Asmund cut him short.
“Warriors!” the barbarian roared again, looking for support from Torin Rogar, standing at his side. The huge Rogar nodded and grunted.
“I have not lifted my spear in many days,” Torin complained. “Even the Avon warships turned from us and would not fight.”
Brind’Amour tried to appear sympathetic, but in truth, after the beating his forces had taken all the way from Caer MacDonald, such eagerness for battle left a bitter taste in his mouth. The old wizard held little love for Huegoths, and for a moment seriously considered granting Asmund’s desires, throwing the king and all his brutal warriors against Carlisle’s high walls.
“I pain for battle,” Asmund said hungrily.
“That you might replenish your slave stocks?” Luthien said bluntly. He noted Brind’Amour’s scowl, and Ethan’s, and he understood. Prudence told the young Bedwyr that they should keep the alliance solid at this critical juncture, but Luthien could no longer hold back his ire—at the Huegoths and at Ethan.
Asmund grabbed at the handle of the great axe that was strapped to his back; Luthien likewise put a hand to the hilt of Blind-Striker.
“You dare?” Asmund began. He thrust his fist into the air, a signal to his sturdy men that the meeting was at its end. Brind’Amour sucked in his breath, but Luthien did not blink.