Crimson Shadow, The - R. A. Salvatore Page 0,237

seemed as confused as Luthien and Oliver.

The three did as the wizard bade them, and none of them were comfortable when their skin paled, when more blood suddenly covered Katerin and Oliver, who had not been splattered and beaten, as had Luthien.

Their startlement turned to blank amazement when they regarded the wizard, his familiar form melting away, his white hair turning gray and thinning to wild wings over his ears and his head disappearing altogether. As soon as his blue robes turned brownish-yellow, the three understood, and as one, they looked down the hallway to see the dead duke now wearing the form of Brind’Amour.

The wizard clapped his hands together and the door, swollen by Praehotec’s magic, shrunk and fell open before the blows of the cyclopians, led by Paragor’s lacky, Thowattle. The brutes skidded to a stop, overwhelmed by the grisly scene, two dead cyclopians, three mutilated humans and one halfling, and a mess of bubbling green and gray slime.

“Master?” Thowattle asked, regarding Brind’Amour.

“It is over,” Brind’Amour replied, his voice sounding like Paragor’s.

“I will clean it at once, my master!” Thowattle promised, turning to leave.

“No time!” Brind’Amour snapped, stopping the one-armed brute in its tracks. “Assemble the militia! At once! These spies wagged their tongues before I finished with them and told me that a force has indeed gathered at Malpuissant’s Wall.”

The three friends, lying still on the floor, had no idea of what the old wizard was doing.

“At once!” Thowattle agreed. “I will have servants come in to clean . . .”

“They stay with me!” Brind’Amour roared, and he waggled his fingers at the three prone friends and began a soft chant. Luthien, Oliver, and Katerin soon felt a compulsion in their muscles, and heard a telepathic plea from their wizard friend asking them to follow along and trust. Up they stood, one by one, appearing as zombies.

“What better torment for the doomed fools of Eriador than to see their heroes as undead slaves of their enemy?” the fake duke asked, and Thowattle, always a lover of the macabre, smiled wickedly. The brute gave a curt bow and its cyclopian companions followed suit. Then they were gone, and Brind’Amour, with a wave of his hand, closed the door behind them and swelled it shut once more.

“What was that about?” Oliver asked incredulously, for a moment, even wondering if this was really Brind’Amour, and not Paragor, standing in the hall.

“Glen Durritch,” Brind’Amour explained. “Even as we sit here and banter, our army, under Siobhan’s direction, has taken the high ground all about Glen Durritch. My excited cyclopian fool will give orders to double-time to Malpuissant’s Wall, to meet with the Eriadorans there.”

“And the Princetown garrison will be slaughtered in the glen,” Luthien reasoned.

“Better than fighting them when they’re behind city walls,” the devious wizard added. Brind’Amour looked back at Oliver. “You and I once spoke of your value to Eriador beyond the battles,” he said, and Oliver nodded, though Luthien and Katerin had no idea of what the two were talking about.

“The time has come,” Brind’Amour insisted, “though I will need the rest of the night to recuperate and regain any measure of my magical powers.”

Brind’Amour looked closely at Estabrooke then, and sighed deeply, truly pained by the sight. He had spoken with the cavalier at length over the last couple of days, and was not surprised when Estabrooke had insisted on sitting beside him, waiting in case the magical tunnel should open. Brind’Amour hadn’t hesitated in the least about letting the knight accompany him, fully trusting the man, realizing the goodness that guided the knight’s every action. Estabrooke’s death was a huge loss to Eriador and to all the world, but Brind’Amour took heart that the man had redeemed his actions on behalf of the evil Paragor, had seen the truth and acted accordingly.

“Come,” Brind’Amour said at length, “let us see what niceties Paragor’s palace has to offer to four weary travelers.”

CHAPTER 27

DIPLOMACY

LUTHIEN DIDN’T KNOW how to approach her. She sat quiet and very still on the bed in the room she had commandeered, across the hall and down one door from Duke Paragor’s bedchamber. She had let him in without argument, but also without enthusiasm.

So now the young Bedwyr stood by the closed door, studying Katerin O’Hale, this woman he had known since he was a boy, and yet whom he had never really seen before. She had cleaned up from the fight and wore only a light satin shift now, black and lacy, that she had