"They have perhaps fifty of our ships remaining," Greensparrow went on, accounting for the twenty the Huegoths had reportedly sent to the bottom. "The mere fact that so many of our fine warships were lost to those savages only confirms that the Eriadoran fisherfolk can hardly sail the great galleons." Greensparrow flashed Cresis a wild, maniacal look. "Yet we have more than a hundred, crewed by experienced sailors and cyclopian warriors. Half the Eriadoran fleet will soon enter the Straits of Mann. I have a like number of warships waiting to scuttle them."

"It could be a costly battle," pragmatic Cresis dared to interrupt.

"Not so!" yelled Greensparrow. "When the ships of Baranduine join in, another hundred strong, then that threat is ended."

The eager king grew more excited with every word, savoring the anticipation of complete victory. "Brind'Amour will then think himself vulnerable on his western shore and he will have to turn his forces about for Montfort before he ever gets out of the mountains."

It seemed perfectly easy and logical, and so Cresis again allowed himself to relax. Greensparrow came right up to him, put a hand on his shoulder.

"That is assuming that the old wizard is even alive at that time," he whispered in the cyclopian's ear. Then he leaped away, taking care to avoid the gore that had been his ambassador to Caer MacDonald.

"Do not underestimate Deanna Wellworth, my one-eyed friend," Greensparrow explained. "With the powers of my dukes and their demons at her bidding, Deanna will catch the old wizard and show him that the time of his magics are long past."

Greensparrow stopped suddenly and went silent. He had to find a way to contact Taknapotin once more. Or to get Deanna another demon, if that was his only choice.

"Easy enough!" he shouted, though Cresis had no idea what he was talking about.

The cyclopian was comforted anyway. Cresis had been with Greensparrow all the score-and-two years of the king's reign. In fact, Cresis, once an ambassador from the cyclopian tribes to Avon's rightful king, had been an instrument of Greensparrow's rise. The brute had personally murdered four of the five sons of the king, Deanna Wellworth's brothers. His reward had been a position as Carlisle's duke, and in the years of his service, Cresis had learned to trust in Greensparrow's merciless power. Well-advised were those who feared the king of Avon.

DeJulienne was yet another testament to that truth.

The next time Luthien saw Brind'Amour, the wizard was again at work evoking a magical tunnel. This time the destination was due west, not east, to Port Charley.

This parting would be no less difficult for Luthien than the last. Oliver and Katerin stood patiently by as the gray wall transformed into a bluish fog and gradually began to swirl. To Luthien's surprise, Oliver held Threadbare's reins in hand, the ugly yellow pony standing quietly.

Oliver's gaze kept drifting to the back of the room, where stood Siobhan, the half-elf seeming cool and impassive. It took Oliver a long while to even get her attention. Then, he merely offered her a resigned look, and lifted his hand, in which he held both of his green gauntlets, to the tip of his wide brim in salute.

Siobhan nodded slightly, and Oliver's heart skipped a beat as he caught a glimpse of the true pain in Siobhan's green eyes. She was sad that he was leaving!

Bolstered by that thought, the romantic halfling stood tall-relatively speaking-and stared resolutely at the widening passageway.

Katerin caught it all, and managed a slight, confused smile. She moved away from Oliver and over to Luthien, sweeping him up in her wake and going to the furthest corner from the others.

"Oliver and Siobhan?" she whispered incredulously.

"I know nothing," Luthien answered truthfully.

"The way she looked at him," Katerin remarked.

"The way I look at you," Luthien added.

That gave Katerin pause. She had been so caught up in the tumultuous events preceding the war, she hadn't even realized the pain her lover was feeling. Studying Luthien's expression now, she finally understood. He had found Ethan, only to lose Ethan again, and now she, too, was going from his side-and all of them were walking into danger.

"You needn't go," Luthien pleaded. "Oliver could serve as Brind'Amour's eyes."

"Then all that our king will see is a ship's rail and the water below it," Katerin quipped, a not-so-subtle reminder that the halfling wasn't the most seasoned of sailors.

A long moment of silence passed between them as they stood, staring deeply at one another. They could find another emissary for Brind'Amour, they both knew that, and Katerin could remain at Luthien's side. But it was not to be. Among Brind'Amour's tight court, Katerin was best suited for this most-important mission. These few had been the leaders of the revolution, and now were taking their rightful places as the generals of the war. Their duty was to Eriador, and personal feelings would have to wait.

Both Luthien and Katerin came to this complete understanding together, silently and separately.

"Perhaps I could go with you, then," Luthien offered on a sudden impulse. "I, too, am of Isle Bedwydrin, and familiar with the ways of the sea."

"And then again I would have a Bedwyr son by my side, protecting me," Katerin remarked, a bit of sarcasm creeping into her soft tone. "Perhaps Brind'Amour could recall Ethan, for he, too, is of our island home."

A twang of jealousy came over Luthien, showing clearly on his face.

"And Ethan's surely the cuter," Katerin continued.

Luthien's eyes widened; he didn't even realize that he had been taken until Katerin burst out in laughter and kissed him hard on the cheek.

Her face grew serious once more as she moved back from the man, though. "Your place is with our king," she explained firmly. "You are the Crimson Shadow, the symbol of Eriador free. In truth, I believe that Oliver, your most-noted sidekick, should remain with you and Brind'Amour as well, but perhaps his absence will not detract from your presence, and his presence on the ships should help me keep the coastal folk from forgetting their king."

Her words ended the debate once and for all, clearly spelling out to Luthien the duty before him, and before Katerin. As she went on, though, Katerin's face grew grim, and she offered more than one glance at Siobhan, standing still by the door at the back of the room.

"You will march across the land in the company of Siobhan," Katerin said.

Luthien sighed and tried to empathize with the emotions he knew Katerin must be feeling. Siobhan was his old lover, after all, and Katerin knew that all too well. But Luthien had thought that painful situation a thing of the past, had thought that he and Katerin had resolved Siobhan's rightful place as their common friend.

He started to protest, gently, but again Katerin burst out in laughter and kissed him hard, this time staying close and moving her lips to his.

"Let us hope you are not so gullible when facing an emissary of Greensparrow's," the woman whispered.

Luthien held her all the tighter, squeezed her close until Brind'Amour announced that the tunnel was complete, that it was time for Oliver and Katerin to go.

"You mean to take the pony?" Brind'Amour asked Oliver, and from his weary tone it seemed to Luthien that he had asked that question many times already.

"My Threadbare likes boats," Oliver replied. He looked to Luthien and snapped his fingers in the air. "And you did not believe me when I said that I rode my horse all the way from Gascony!" he declared. Then he motioned and whispered to the yellow pony, and Threadbare knelt down so that little Oliver could climb up into the saddle. With one last look to Siobhan, Oliver entered the tunnel, and with one last look to Luthien, Katerin followed.

And so it began, that same day, the gathering clouds, moving into their respective positions east of the Five Sentinels, along Malpuissant's Wall, outside of Caer MacDonald's southern gate, and along the docks of Port Charley.

The proper declarations had been sent; the invasion of Avon began.

CHAPTER 18.

FRONT-RUNNERS.

OF ALL THE PATHS to be taken by Eriador's forces, the one looming before Luthien's group was by far the most uncertain. In the east and the west, the army moved by sea, along routes often traveled and well-defined. From Malpuissant's Wall, the Riders of Eradoch and Proctor Byllewyn's militia swept across open, easy terrain. But within the hour of departing Caer MacDonald's southern gate, the forerunners of Luthien's group, including Luthien, Siobhan, and the other Cutters, were picking their careful way among boulder tumbles and treacherous trails, often with a sheer cliff on one side, rising high and perfectly straight, and a drop, just as sheer, on the other. to be taken by Eriador's forces, the one looming before Luthien's group was by far the most uncertain. In the east and the west, the army moved by sea, along routes often traveled and well-defined. From Malpuissant's Wall, the Riders of Eradoch and Proctor Byllewyn's militia swept across open, easy terrain. But within the hour of departing Caer MacDonald's southern gate, the forerunners of Luthien's group, including Luthien, Siobhan, and the other Cutters, were picking their careful way among boulder tumbles and treacherous trails, often with a sheer cliff on one side, rising high and perfectly straight, and a drop, just as sheer, on the other.

The force, nearly six thousand strong, could not move as a whole in the narrow and difficult terrain, but rather, as a plodding mass flanked by a series of coordinated patrols. Organization was critical here; if the scouting patrols were not thorough, if they missed even one unremarkable trail in the crisscrossing mountains, disaster could come swiftly. The main group, nearly a third of the soldiers with their king among them, all of the supply carts and horses, including Luthien's shining stallion, Riverdancer, would be vulnerable indeed to ambush. Most of the soldiers were more concerned with getting their supplies and horses through the impossible trails and with building impromptu bridges and shoring up the crumbling trails than with watching for enemies. Most of them carried shovels and hammers, not swords, and if some of the cyclopian enemies, particularly the highly trained Praetorian Guards, managed to slip through the front groups unopposed, the march of the entire force might be suddenly stalled.

It was Luthien's job to make sure that didn't happen. He had dispersed the remaining four thousand into groups of varying sizes. Five hundred spearheaded the main group's march, marking the trails Brind'Amour would follow; five hundred others followed the plodding force, leaving open no back door. In the rougher terrain off the main trail, things were less structured. Patrol groups ranged from single scouts (mostly reclusive men who had lived for many years in these parts of the Iron Cross) to supporting groups of a hundred warriors, sweeping designated areas, improvising as they learned each section of these rarely traveled mountains. Luthien and Siobhan moved together, along with a dozen elven Cutters. Sometimes the pair were in sight of all their twelve companions, other times they felt so completely alone in the vast and majestic mountains.

"I will feel all the better when we have met with Bellick's folk," Luthien remarked as they traveled along one open area, picking their way across the curving sides of great slabs of stone. Looking above him, a hundred feet higher on the face of the mountain, Luthien saw two elves emerge from a small copse of trees, nimbly running along the steep stone. He marveled at their grace and wished, as he stumbled for the hundredth time, that he had a bit of the elvish blood in him!

Siobhan, following the young Bedwyr's steps, didn't disagree, but her response was halfhearted at best, and made Luthien turn about to regard her. She, too, stopped, matching his stare.

The nearly two hundred elves accompanying Caer MacDonald's army had made no secret of their trepidations concerning the route that might come before them when they linked with the dwarvish army. King Bellick had explained that his dwarfs were hard at work in trying to open tunnels to get the force more easily through the Iron Cross. While elves and dwarfs got along well, the Fairborn had little desire to stalk through deep and dark tunnels. That simply was not their nature.

Siobhan had argued that point during the final preparations-successfully, Luthien had thought. Even if Bellick's folk could open a tunnel, it was decided that only the main group, laden as they were with carts and supplies, would go underground, while the rest continued their overland sweep to the south. So it confused Luthien now, for just a moment, that Siobhan appeared so glum.

"Oliver?" the young Bedwyr reasoned.

Siobhan didn't answer, just motioned with her delicate chin that Luthien should move along. He complied, satisfied that he had hit the mark. He knew the pain that he was feeling at his separation from Katerin, especially since he understood that his love was sailing into great danger. Might it be that Siobhan was feeling much the same about her separation from Oliver?

The notion brought a giggle to Luthien's lips. He cleared his throat, even faked a stumble to help cover the laughter, not wanting to deride the half-elf.

Siobhan understood the ruse, though, understood that Luthien's giggle was a fair indication of what she might expect from others. She took it stoically and continued on without a word.

Shadows came fast and deep with the setting sun, and though the month of August was not yet gone, the night air was much cooler, a chilling reminder to all the soldiers that they could not afford to get bogged down in the mountains, or get chased back into the Iron Cross once they broke free into the northern fields of Avon.

Luthien and Siobhan made contact with the other Cutters in their area, determining how they might set a perimeter to ensure that every passable trail in this region was well watched. Just a few hundred yards behind their line, a group of nearly seventy warriors was setting camp.

Siobhan found a hollow for her and Luthien, surrounded by high stones on three sides and partially capped by an earthen overhang. Within it they were sheltered from the wind. Luthien even dared to set a small fire in one deep nook, knowing that any light which spilled out of the deep hollow would be meager indeed.

It was a bit awkward for the young Bedwyr-and for his companion, too, he realized-to be so alone together on this quiet summer's eve. They had been lovers, passionate lovers, and there remained an undeniable attraction between them.

Luthien sat against the wall near to the opening, pulling his crimson cape tight about him to shield him from the nipping wind. He tried to lock his gaze on the dark line of the trail below, but kept glancing back at beautiful Siobhan as she reclined near to the glowing logs. He remembered some of the times he and Siobhan had shared in Caer MacDonald, back when the city had been called Montfort, when Morkney had been duke and life had been simpler. A smile widened on Luthien's face as he thought of his initial meeting with Siobhan. He had gone to rescue her, thinking her a poor, battered slave girl, only to find out that she was one of the leaders of the most notorious thieving band in all of Montfort! The mere recollection of his image of Siobhan as a helpless creature made Luthien feel the fool; never in his life had he met a person less in need of rescuing!

She was his friend now, as dear to him as anyone could ever be.

Just his friend.

"They'll not come out this late," Siobhan remarked, drawing him from his thoughts.

Luthien agreed. "The mountain trails are too dangerous at night, unless the one-eyes carried such a blaze of torches that would alert all the soldiers of Eriador. We can consider our watch at its end."

Siobhan nodded and turned away.

Sitting against that cold stone, Luthien Bedwyr realized how fortunate he truly was. Katerin knew that he and Siobhan would travel together, and yet she had gone out to Port Charley willingly, saddened to be separated from Luthien, but with not a word to him concerning his relationship with his traveling companion. Katerin trusted him fully, and Luthien understood in his heart that her trust was not misplaced. Feelings for Siobhan remained strong within him; he could not deny her beauty, or that his love for her had, in many ways, been real. But Siobhan was a friend, a dear and trusted companion, and nothing more. For Katerin O'Hale was the only woman for Luthien Bedwyr.

He knew that, felt that, without any regrets, and Katerin knew him well enough to trust him completely.

Indeed, sitting there that night, with only the occasional crackle from the fire and the groaning of the wind through the stones, with the beauty of the stars and Siobhan to keep him company, Luthien Bedwyr fully appreciated the good fortune that had come into his life. With warm thoughts of his Katerin filling his mind, he drifted off to sleep.

Siobhan was not as comfortable. She kept a quiet watch over Luthien and when she was certain that he was asleep, she drew out a folded parchment from a pocket. Still watching Luthien, the half-elf eased it open and leaned near to the fire, that she might read it once more.

To my dearest half-elven-type Siobhan, From this halfling so gallant and true, The wind blows of war, thus I must be gone, The fairest rose no more in my view.

But fear not, for not miles nor sea, Not mountains nor rivers nor one-eyes, Can block our thoughts, me for you, you for me, Or blanket our hearts with disguise.

With summer-type breezes tickling my hairy chin, Upon my palm rested to gaze at your beauty.

Would that I were not so needed now Alas for hero-bound duty!

I go, but not for long!

Oliver

The half-elf closed the letter carefully and replaced it in her pocket. "Foolish Oliver," she whispered with a shake of her head, wondering what she was getting herself into. She took up a stick and prodded the embers, managing to stir forth a small flicker of fire from the nearly consumed logs.

What might Oliver be thinking, she wondered, and she sighed deeply, realizing that the halfling's amorous advances might make her seem quite ridiculous. Oliver carried a well-earned reputation as a charmer among the scullery maids and other less-worldly women, but those who better understood the ways of the wide world, who recognized the truth of the halfling's boasts and stolen finery, saw that side of Oliver as more than a bit of a joke. His fractured poems, like the one in the letter, could make quite an impression on a young girl, or a woman locked in drudgery, who did not read the works of the accomplished bards, but Siobhan was no tittering schoolgirl. She saw the halfling clearly.

Why, then, did she miss Oliver so damned much?

The half-elf looked across the way to Luthien and managed a chuckle at his mounting snores. The flame was gone now, the fire nothing more than a pile of orange-glowing embers, but its heat was considerable, and comfortable, and so Siobhan settled back and, with a final look to make sure the trail remained clear, let sleep overtake her.

A sleep filled with thoughts of a certain highwayhalfling.

The next day was dreary and cold, threatening rain. A heavy fog enshrouded the mountains, rising up from the river valleys to meet with the low-hanging clouds so that all the world seemed gray. Sound was muffled almost as much as sight, and it took Luthien and Siobhan some time to locate those Cutters camped nearby.

One of the elves suggested a delay, waiting until the fog had lifted, but Luthien couldn't agree to that.

"The ships are sailing," he reminded. "And the riders have gone out from Malpuissant's Wall. Even as we sit here talking they are likely closing in on Princetown."

There came no further arguments, and so the group carefully plotted their lines of probing forays, and split apart, with two elves waiting at the spot on the main trail for the lead runners of the rear supporting force.

Luthien and Siobhan moved steadily, their fellow scouts lost to them almost as soon as they had set out. They felt alone, so very alone, and yet, they knew they were not. They were deep into the Iron Cross now, many miles farther than they had been on the occasion of Luthien's capture of Duke Resmore. The other scouting bands were near, they knew, and so, likely, were cyclopians.

It wasn't long before the pair's fears were confirmed. Luthien led the way up a rocky bluff, creeping to its ridge and peering over.

Below him, down a short and steep decline, in a clearing edged by rocks, lay a cyclopian camp. A handful of the brutes milled about the blackened remains of the previous night's fire, gathering together their supplies. One of them polished a huge sword, another sharpened the tip of its heavy spear, while a pair of the brutes off to the side pulled on their heavily padded silver and black uniforms-regalia that Luthien and Siobhan knew all too well.