Crimson Shadow, The - R. A. Salvatore Page 0,212

folk of Eradoch had wanted to join all along, but had been bound otherwise by the Dark Knight.

Now the two friends, the knight, and the riders were camped south of Bronegan, along with hundreds of farmers who had taken up arms for the cause, eager to join once they learned that Eradoch had come into the alliance.

Luthien sat with Oliver long into the night, the halfling wrapped in blankets and working furiously to clean his marvelous clothing, and to polish his belt buckle and his rapier. Oliver had put his purple breeches too close to the fire to dry, and Luthien watched in silent amusement as the foppish trousers began to smolder.

The halfling shrieked when he noticed, yanking the breeches away and putting a nasty stare on his content friend.

“I meant to tell you,” Luthien offered innocently.

“But you did not!” Oliver stated.

Luthien shrugged, much as Oliver had shrugged earlier that same day, after Luthien’s painful encounter with the Dark Knight. “I changed my mind,” the young Bedwyr said, imitating his diminutive friend’s Gascon accent.

Oliver picked up a stick and heaved it at him, but Luthien got his arm up in time to deflect it—though the movement pained his injured shoulder. He laughed and groaned at the same time.

As if on cue, Estabrooke, seeming only half the size of the imposing Dark Knight without his full suit of armor, walked into the light of their fire, carrying a small bowl. “A salve,” he explained, moving near to Luthien. “Should take the sting out of your wounds and clean them. Allow them to heal properly, you see.” Like a protective mother, the older man bent over Luthien, scooping up a handful of the smelly gray salve.

Luthien tilted his head so that his thick hair shifted away from the shoulder, giving the older man the opportunity to apply the stuff. All the while Luthien and Oliver watched the man closely, still not quite understanding why Estabrooke, First of the Sixth Cavaliers, was even in Eriador at that time. Luthien hadn’t broached the subject up to now, for the day had been one of rushed travel and impromptu alliances. The young man could not wait any longer.

“Why are you here?” he asked bluntly.

Estabrooke’s look was incredulous. His lips pursed, sending his huge mustache out so far as to tickle the tip of his nose. “I am a Lord Protector,” he answered, as though that should explain everything.

“But King Greensparrow, he is in Gascony,” Oliver reasoned. “Why would he think to send you so far to the north?”

“Greensparrow?” Estabrooke echoed. “Oh, no, not that one! Duke Paragor, it was, Duke of Princetown and all that.”

“When?” Luthien interrupted.

“I was visiting—fine city, that Princetown. The best of zoos, and the gardens!”

Oliver wanted to hear about the zoos, but Luthien kept his priorities. “The duke?” the young Bedwyr reminded.

Estabrooke looked at him curiously, seeming for a moment as though he did not understand. “Yes, of course, Paragor, skinny fellow,” the Dark Knight said finally, recollecting his original train of thought. “Should get his face out of those books and into some pie, I say!

“Two weeks,” he added quickly to defeat Luthien’s mounting scowl. “Called me in for a grand banquet, then asked me to come north, to Era . . . Eradoy. I say, what was the name you gave to this place?”

“Eradoch,” Oliver answered.

“Yes, Eradoch,” Estabrooke continued. “‘Go to Eradoch,’ so said Paragor. Put the ruffians in line. Long live the king, and all that, of course. It was necessary to oblige, being a Lord Protector of the First of the Sixth, of course, and Paragor being an emissary of the rightful king of Avon.”

It made perfect sense to Luthien and Oliver. Duke Paragor saw the trouble brewing in Eriador and was close enough to the northern land to understand the value of the riders. The duke would not have impressed the fierce highlanders, and neither would his most usual cohorts, wizards and cyclopians. But then Estabrooke, a knight of the old school, a man of the sword and of indisputable honor, arrives in Princetown and the emissary is found.

“But why did you turn sides?” Oliver had to ask.

“I have not!” Estabrooke insisted as soon as be figured out what the halfling was implying. “Your friend beat me in fair challenge, and thus I am indebted to him for one hundred days.” He looked to Luthien. “Of course you understand that you cannot use me as a weapon against my king. My sword is silent.”

Luthien nodded and