Crimson Shadow, The - R. A. Salvatore Page 0,275

possible. Despite those desires, Luthien could not expect the men and women who crewed The Stratton Weaver to leave themselves defenseless in the face of four longships. Wallach and his crew had been brave beyond the call of duty in merely agreeing to come out here alone.

“We could be in for a fight,” Luthien said to Katerin and Oliver when he returned to their side at the forward rail.

Oliver looked out at the longships, white froth at their sides from the hard pull of oars. Then he looked about the galleon, particularly at the catapult crew astern. “I do so hope they are good shots,” the halfling remarked.

With the odds suddenly turning against them, both Luthien and Katerin hoped so as well.

A call from above told them that a fifth longship had been spotted, and then a sixth, both following in the wake of the ship to starboard.

“Perhaps it was not so good an idea for the king’s closest advisor to personally come out this far,” Oliver remarked.

“I had to come out,” replied Luthien.

“I was talking about myself,” Oliver explained dryly.

“We’ve never run from a fight,” Katerin said with as much resolve as she could muster.

Luthien looked into her green eyes and saw trepidation there. The young man understood completely. Katerin was not afraid of battle, never that, but this time, unlike all of the battles of Eriador’s revolution, unlike all of the real battles that either she, or he, had ever fought, the enemy would not be cyclopian, but human. Katerin was as worried about killing as she was about being killed.

Captain Wallach verily raced the length of the deck, readying his crew. “Point her to the forward ship,” he instructed the catapult gunners, for the longship coming straight at the galleon was the closest, and the fastest closing.

“Damn you, put up your flag of parley,” the captain muttered, finally coming to the forward rail alongside the three companions.

As if on cue, the approaching longship’s banks of oars lifted out of the water, the long and slender craft quickly losing momentum in the rough seas. Then a horn blew, a note clear and loud, careening across the water to the ears of The Stratton Weaver’s anxious crew.

“War horn,” Katerin said to Wallach. “They’re not up for parley.”

Horns rang out from the other five longships, followed soon after by howls and yells. On came the vessels, save the first, which sat in the water, as if waiting for the galleon to make the first move.

“We cannot wait,” Wallach said to an obviously disappointed Luthien.

“Three more to port!” came a cry from above.

“We’ll not run out of here,” remarked Katerin, studying the situation, seeing the noose of the trap drawing tight about the galleon.

Wallach turned back to the main deck, ordering the sails dropped to battle-sail, tying them down so that the ship could still maneuver without presenting too large a target for the Huegoth archers and their flaming arrows.

Luthien turned with him, and noticed Brother Jamesis approaching, his expression as grim as ever. Luthien matched the man’s stare for a short while, but in truth it had been Luthien’s decision to parley, it had been Luthien’s doing that had put the crew in jeopardy. The young Bedwyr turned back to the water, then felt Jamesis’s hand on his shoulder.

“We tried as we had to try,” the monk said unexpectedly, “else we would have been no better than those we now, it would seem, must fight. But fear not, my Lord Bedwyr, and know that every longship we sink this day . . .”

“And there will be many,” Wallach put in determinedly.

“. . . will be one less to terrorize the coast of Bae Colthwyn,” Jamesis finished.

Wallach looked to Luthien then, and motioned to the nearest longship, as if seeking the young man’s approval.

It was not an easy choice for a man of conscience such as Luthien Bedwyr, but the Huegoths had made it clear that they were up for a battle. On the waters all about The Stratton Weaver horns were blowing wildly and calls to the Huegoth god of war drifted across the waves.

“They view battle as an honorable thing,” Katerin remarked.

“And that is what damns them,” said Luthien.

The ball of flaming pitch soared majestically through the afternoon sky, arcing delicately and then diving like a hunting bird that has spotted its quarry. The longship tried to respond—one bank of oars fell into the water and began to churn the ship about.

Too late. The gunners aboard the galleon had