Crimson Shadow, The - R. A. Salvatore Page 0,145

the buzzards with the cyclopians!” Shuglin growled.

“They stink,” Katerin replied. “And their bloated corpses breed vermin.” She eyed Luthien squarely for the first time in several days. “You must see to the details. . . .”

She rambled on, but Luthien fell back into a chair beside the small table and drifted out of the conversation. He must see to it. He must see to it. How many times an hour did he hear those words? Oliver, Siobhan, Katerin, Shuglin, and a handful of others were a great help to him, but ultimately the last say in every decision fell upon Luthien’s increasingly weary shoulders.

“Well?” Katerin huffed, drawing him back to the present conversation. Luthien stared at her blankly.

“If we do not do it now, we may find no time later,” Oliver said in Katerin’s defense. Luthien had no idea what they were talking about.

“We believe that they are sympathetic to our cause,” Katerin added, and the way she spoke the words made Luthien believe that she had just said them a minute ago.

“What do you suggest?” the young Bedwyr bluffed.

Katerin paused and studied the young man, as though she realized that he hadn’t a clue of where the discussion had led. “Have Tasman assemble a group and go out to them,” Katerin said. “He’s knowing the farmers better than any. If there’s one among us who can make certain that food flows into Caer MacDonald, it is Tasman.”

Luthien brightened, glad to be back in on the conversation and that this was one decision he didn’t have to make alone. “See to it,” he said to Katerin.

She started to turn, but her green eyes lingered on Luthien for a long while. She seemed to be sizing him up, and . . .

And what? Luthien wondered. There was something else in those orbs he thought he knew so well. Pain? Anger? He suspected that his continuing relationship with Siobhan did hurt Katerin, though she said differently to any who would listen.

The red-haired woman turned and walked out of the room, back up the stairs past the elven guards.

Of course, the proud Katerin O’Hale would never admit her pain, Luthien reasoned. Not about anything as trivial as love.

“We’ll find no volunteers to bury one-eyes,” Oliver remarked after a moment.

Shuglin snorted. “My kin will do it, and me with them,” the dwarf said, and with a quick bow to Luthien, he, too, turned to leave. “There is pleasure to be found in putting dirt on top of cyclopians.”

“More pleasure if they are alive when you do,” Oliver snickered.

“Think on dropping that building,” the dwarf called over his shoulder, and he seemed quite eager for that task “By the gods, if we do it, then the cyclopians inside will already be buried! Save us the trouble!”

Shuglin stopped at the door and spun about, his face beaming with an idea. “If we can get the one-eyed brutes to take their dead inside, and then we drop the building . . .”

Luthien waved at him impatiently and he shrugged and left.

“What are we to do about the Ministry?” Oliver asked after moving to the door and closing it.

“We have people distributing weapons,” Luthien replied. “And we have others training the former slaves and the commoners to use them. Shuglin’s folk have devised some defenses for the city, and I must meet with them to approve the plans. Now we have dead men to bury and food to gather. Alliances to secure with neighboring farm villages. Then there is the matter of Port Charley and the fleet that is supposedly sailing north along the coast. And, of course, the dead cyclopians must be removed.”

“I get the point,” Oliver said dryly, his Gascon accent making the last word into two syllables, “po-went.”

“And the Ministry,” exasperated Luthien went on. “I understand how important it is that we clear that building before Greensparrow’s army arrives. We may have to use it ourselves, as a last defense.”

“Let us hope the Avon soldiers do not get that far inside the city,” Oliver put in.

“Their chances of getting in will be much greater if we have to keep a quarter of our forces standing guard around the cathedral,” Luthien replied. “I know it, and know that I must come up with some plan to take the place.”

“But . . .” Oliver prompted.

“Too many tasks,” Luthien answered. He looked up at Oliver, needing support. “Am I to be the general, or the mayor?”

“Which would you prefer?” Oliver asked, but he already knew the answer: Luthien