Crimson Shadow, The - R. A. Salvatore Page 0,195

halfling’s point (and Oliver had timed things that way), a shining white stallion, long coat glistening with wetness, thundered right behind the cyclopian, slamming the huge brute across the shoulders and launching him headlong, face-first into the mud.

Belsen’Krieg came up sputtering to find himself surrounded by Luthien and Oliver, and now Katerin O’Hale, magnificent atop Riverdancer, her red hair darkened with wetness and snow gathering on her shoulders. Her smile was wide and bright, her green eyes sparkling more than the ice crystals forming at the ends of her thick hair, as she considered the situation, the victory that was won this day.

Belsen’Krieg looked about for support. He saw his last undercommander lurch over and slide slowly off a ponypig, its falling bulk revealing the victorious horseman behind it, sword red with blood. More than a dozen of Luthien’s cavalry remained, along with the few Katerin had brought with her, including one slight woman riding a yellow pony that had little hair in its tail.

Oliver grinned at the sight of his beloved Threadbare, but turned serious at once when he faced the cyclopian leader.

“I think you should surrender,” he remarked.

Belsen’Krieg looked around for a long while. Luthien could practically hear the creature’s thoughts—the caged animal looking for an escape. There was none to be found. Luthien wasn’t sure what Belsen’Krieg would do, which way the brute would turn, but then, unexpectedly, the one-eye threw his huge sword to the ground.

As one, the group relaxed, Luthien taking a stride toward the cyclopian leader. His sword arm still ached, but not so much that he could not take up Blind-Striker, flexing his muscles and grimacing through the pain.

Out came a knife, and daring, wild Belsen’Krieg charged ahead.

“Luthien!” Katerin and Oliver yelled together. Before the word had even left their mouths, Luthien’s free left hand whipped across, catching the cyclopian by the wrist. Luthien could hardly move Belsen’Krieg’s massive arm, but he used the support to shift himself instead, inside the angle of the rushing dagger. And as he moved, his own sword jabbed ahead, creasing Belsen’Krieg’s breastplate, cutting through the armor, into the brute’s lungs.

They held the macabre pose for a long moment, then Belsen’Krieg growled—and the mouths of those witnessing the event dropped open in disbelief—and began forcing his knife hand toward the young Bedwyr.

Luthien tucked his shoulder down against his sword hand and jerked at the blade, and Belsen’Krieg’s movement came to an abrupt halt. Again they held the pose, unblinking, their faces barely a few inches apart.

“One up,” Luthien growled, and the dying Belsen’Krieg had no response, for indeed the young Bedwyr had been one step ahead of him throughout the battle.

Luthien jerked his blade again, then felt it sinking down as Belsen’Krieg’s legs slowly buckled, bringing the brute to his knees. Luthien felt the strength go out of Belsen’Krieg’s massive arm; the knife dropped to the ground.

Luthien pulled Blind-Striker free, but even without the support, Belsen’Krieg fell no farther. The dead cyclopian leader knelt on the field.

Already the snow began to gather about him.

CHAPTER 17

IMPLICATIONS

THE BATTLE—the rout—ended swiftly, with half of Belsen’Krieg’s force killed and the other half running off blindly into the open fields. Losses to the Eriadorans were remarkably light; the folk of Port Charley could count their dead on the fingers of six hands, though Luthien’s group, which had thrown itself into the cyclopian throng, was more battered.

Both Eriadoran armies gathered back together on the field near to where the Port Charley encampment had been. They tended their wounded, finished off any cyclopians who were sorely hurt, and put all the one-eye prisoners in line. Fortunately there weren’t many prisoners, less than a hundred altogether, and these, having seen their proud Praetorian Guards routed so horribly, were little trouble.

The storm grew around them all, the day darkening, though it was near to noon. Brind’Amour organized the march with all of his archers in front. They fought a small skirmish as they crossed Felling Run, a couple of volleys of arrows mostly. The cyclopians responded by hurling heavy spears, but, with typical cyclopian accuracy, not a single Eriadoran was hit.

There wasn’t much fight left in those entrenched Avon soldiers—they were beginning to break and flee before the Eriadorans ever got to the river. For the rest of that day, the biggest obstacle facing the army of Eriador was in getting back to the shelter of Caer MacDonald as the blizzard came on in full about them.

Back on Riverdancer, Luthien heard the cheers as he approached the