Crimson Shadow, The - R. A. Salvatore Page 0,188

with tears of gratitude. He understood the depth of his gamble—if he was wrong and his adversary struck again against Caer MacDonald, the city would be overrun. Siobhan knew that, too, and so did every man and woman, every elf and dwarf, who had come out here this morning. They would take the gamble; they would trust in Luthien.

The young Bedwyr felt a huge weight of responsibility upon his shoulders, but he allowed himself only a moment of doubt. He had played this out in his mind over and over throughout the night and was confident that he understood his adversary, that he was correctly anticipating the enemy’s move.

Siobhan and Shuglin pulled him to the side.

“I am not going with you,” the dwarf informed him.

Luthien looked at Shuglin curiously, not knowing what to make of the unexpected declaration.

“The dwarfs will comprise most of the defenders left in Caer MacDonald,” Siobhan explained. “They are best with the ballistae and catapults, and they have rigged traps that only they know how to spring.”

“And we are not much good in the deep snow,” Shuglin added with a chuckle. “Beards get all icy, you know.”

Luthien realized then that Shuglin’s hesitance to go out had nothing to do with any doubts the dwarf might harbor. Caer MacDonald had to remain at least moderately defended, for even if Luthien’s assessment proved correct, the cyclopians might send a token force at the city to keep the defenders within the walls distracted.

“You have all the horses,” Shuglin began, turning to the business at hand and unrolling a map of the region. “There are a few among you who know well the trails you’ll need—we have even dispatched scouts to report back as you go along, in case the weather forces you to take an alternate route.” As he spoke, the dwarf moved his stubby finger along the map, through the foothills beyond Caer MacDonald’s southern gate, out to the west, around the Port Charley encampment, and then circling back to the north, back to the fields where they would meet the cyclopians.

They set out without delay, a long stream of six thousand desperate, determined warriors. All of the elves were among the ranks, and all of the cavalry group, though fewer than two hundred fit horses could be found in the entire city. Like ghosts in the predawn dark, they went without lights, without any bustle. Quietly.

Many carried longbows, each archer weighed down by several quivers of arrows. One group carried packs of bandages and salves, and the two dozen dwarfs that did go along were broken into groups of four, each group supporting a huge log across their shoulders. The going was slow on the slick trails—Luthien and the other horsemen had to walk their mounts all the way through the foothills—but the rain had cut hard into the snow. Every now and then they encountered a deep drift, and they bored right through it, using swords and axes as ice picks and shovels.

As the sky lightened with the approach of dawn, the Port Charley encampment came into sight in the fields to the north, just across Felling Run. Luthien found a high perch and stared long and hard in that direction, looking for some sign of the cyclopians.

Beyond the Port Charley encampment, the field was empty.

Doubts fluttered about the young Bedwyr. What if he was wrong? What if the cyclopians went to Caer MacDonald instead?

Luthien fought them away, concentrated on the chosen course. The ground leveled out just a few hundred yards to the north; a rider could get into the Port Charley encampment within twenty minutes. Luthien dispatched three, with information for Oliver. He told them to pick their way through the remaining rough terrain, then split up as they crossed the field in case cyclopian assassins were about.

Luthien saw those same three riders milling about the still-moving column a short while later. He went to them, confused as to why they were still there, and found that Siobhan had overruled him.

“My scouts near the base of the foothills have spotted cyclopian spies in the field,” the half-elf explained.

Luthien looked again to the north, to the encampment. “Our friends should be informed of our position,” he reasoned.

“We have little enough cover where we are,” Siobhan replied. “If we are found out . . .” She let that notion hang heavily in the air, and Luthien didn’t have to press the point. If his adversary found out about the move before the army of Avon marched,