The Dragon King

11 Politics

Incredibly, less than two weeks after leaving the Huegoth encampment in Colonsey, Luthien and Oliver had the great Ministry of Caer MacDonald in sight. They had covered hundreds of miles, by sea and by land, and Riverdancer and Threadbare were haggard. Katerin had not returned with them; rather, she had gone south from Gybi by longship, with Ethan and Brother Jamesis, headed for the Eriadoran port city of Chalmbers.

“The journey back should be easier,” Luthien remarked to his exhausted companion. “We shall use Brind’Amour’s magics to cross the land. Perhaps our king will accompany us, wishing to sign the treaty personally with Asmund of Isenland.”

Oliver grimaced at the young Bedwyr’s continued optimism. All along the journey, the halfling had tried to calm Luthien down, had tried to temper that bubbly optimism with some very real obstacles that Luthien apparently was not counting on. So far, Oliver had tried to be subtle, and apparently it wasn’t working.

He pulled Threadbare up short, and Luthien did likewise with Riverdancer, sidling up to the halfling, following Oliver’s gaze to the great cathedral. He figured that Oliver just wanted a moment with the spectacular view of this city that had become their home.

“Brind’Amour will not agree,” Oliver said bluntly.

Luthien nearly toppled from his mount, sat staring open-mouthed at his diminutive companion.

“My bumpkin-type friend,” the halfling explained, “there is a little matter of a treaty.”

Luthien thought Oliver was referring to the pending treaty with Asmund. Was the halfling saying that Brind’Amour would never agree to terms with the Huegoths? The young Bedwyr moved to argue the logic, but Oliver merely rolled his eyes and gave Threadbare a kick, and the skinny yellow pony trotted on.

The two friends stood before Brind’Amour in the audience room at the Ministry within the hour, with Luthien happily spilling the details of the Huegoth advance, and the potential for a truce. The old wizard who was Eriador’s king beamed at the news that the Huegoths were not in league with Greensparrow, but that wide smile gradually diminished, and Brind’Amour spent more time looking at worldly Oliver than at Luthien, as the young Bedwyr’s full tale began to unfold.

“And all we need do is deliver the treaty within the month to King Asmund,” Luthien finished, oblivious to the grim mood about him. “And Greensparrow be damned!”

If the young Bedwyr expected Brind’Amour to turn cartwheels in joy, he was sorely disappointed. The king of Eriador eased back in his great chair, rubbing his white beard, his eyes staring into empty air.

“Should I pen a draft for you?” Luthien asked hopefully, though he was beginning to catch on that something was surely amiss here.

Brind’Amour looked at him directly. “If you do, you must also pen a fitting explanation to our Gascon allies,” he replied.

Luthien didn’t seem to understand. He looked to Oliver, who only shrugged and reminded him again that there was a treaty that might get in the way.

Suddenly Luthien understood that Oliver hadn’t been doubting the potential treaty between Brind’Amour and Asmund, but about a treaty that had already been signed.

“Nothing is ever as easy as a bumpkin-type would think,” the halfling said dryly.

Luthien decided that he would have to speak to Oliver about that bumpkin reference, but this was neither the time nor the place.

“There is a matter of a treaty signed by myself and the duchess of Mannington, acting on King Greensparrow’s behalf,” Brind’Amour clarified, taking up the halfling’s argument. “We are not at war with Avon, and our truce does not include a provision for acceptable invasions.”

The sarcasm stung Luthien profoundly. He understood the pragmatism of it all, of course, but in his mind Greensparrow had already broken the treaty many times over. “Sougles’s Glen,” he said grimly. “And Menster. Have you forgotten?”

Brind’Amour came forward at once, eyes gleaming. “I have not!” he yelled, the sheer strength of his voice forcing Luthien back a step. The old wizard calmed at once and eased himself to a straight posture. “Cyclopian raids, both,” Brind’Amour said.

“But we know that Greensparrow was behind them,” Luthien replied, full of determination, full of frustrated rage.

“What is known and what can be proven are oft two very different things,” Oliver remarked.

“True enough,” agreed the king. “And on strictly moral grounds, I agree with you,” he said to Luthien. “I have no discomfort with the morality of launching a war, with Huegoth allies, against the king of Avon. Politically, though, we would be inviting complete disaster. Any attack on Avon would not rest well with the lords of Gascony, for it would disrupt their trade with both our kingdoms and make a mockery of their aid to us, playing the role of victims, in the previous war. They would not help us this time, I fear. They might even offer some warships to Greensparrow, that the war, and particularly the Huegoth threat, be quickly ended.”

Luthien clenched his fists at his sides. He looked to Oliver, who only shrugged, and then back to Brind’Amour, though he was so angry that he was viewing a wall of red more than any distinct forms. “If we do not ally with Asmund,” he said slowly, emphasizing each word, “then we will be forced into a war with the Huegoths.”

Brind’Amour agreed with the assessment, nodding and then giving a small chuckle. “The ultimate irony,” he replied. “Might it be that Eriador will join in common cause with Avon against the Huegoths?”

Luthien rocked back on his heels.

“Oh, yes,” Brind’Amour assured him. “While you were on the road, King Greensparrow’s emissary reached out to me, begging alliance against the troublesome barbarians of Isenland.”

“But what of Menster?” Luthien protested. “And what of Sougles’s Glen, and all the other massacres perpetrated by—”

“By the one-eyes,” Oliver interrupted. “My pardon,” he quickly added, seeing Luthien’s dangerous glower, “I am but playing the role of the Gascon ambassador.”

“Cyclopians prompted by Greensparrow!” Luthien growled back at him.

“You know that and I know that,” Oliver replied, “but the Gascons, they are another matter.”

“Oliver plays the role well,” Brind’Amour remarked.

Luthien sighed deeply, trying to calm his rising ire.

“Greensparrow has prompted the raids,” the Eriadoran king said to soothe him.

“Greensparrow will never accept Eriador free,” Luthien replied.

“So be it,” said Brind’Amour. “We will deal with him as we can. While you were gone, our forces were not idle. Siobhan and the Cutters have been working with King Bellick dan Burso’s dwarfs, and have discovered the whereabouts of a large cyclopian encampment.”

“So we ally with Greensparrow against the Huegoths at sea, while we fight against his allies in the mountains,” Luthien said distastefully.

“I told you that you would not so much enjoy politics,” Oliver remarked.

“As of now, I don’t know what we shall do,” Brind’Amour answered. “But there are many considerations to every action when one speaks for an entire kingdom.”

“Surely we will attack the cyclopians,” Luthien said.

“That we shall,” Brind’Amour was glad to assure him. “I do not believe that our Gascon allies would protest any war between Eriador and the cyclopians.”

“One-eyes, ptooey!” spat Oliver. “In Gascony, we consider a cyclopian eye an archery target.”

Luthien was far from satisfied, but he realized that he was involved in something much bigger than his personal desires. He would have to be satisfied; at least he might soon get the chance to exact revenge for the folk of Menster.

But there was something deeper tugging at his sensibilities as he and Oliver exited the audience room in search of Siobhan. He had just over two weeks remaining to deliver the treaty or Eriador would be at war once more with the Huegoths—and Luthien would be at war with his own brother.

Oliver kept beside his sullen friend for the rest of the day, from a long quiet stay at the Dwelf to a walk along the city’s outer wall. Luthien wasn’t speaking much and Oliver didn’t press him, figuring that the young man had to get through all the shocks—Ethan siding with the Huegoths and the reality of political intrigue—on his own.

Shortly before sunset, with news that Siobhan would be back in the city that night, Luthien’s face brightened suddenly. In looking at him, Oliver understood that the young man had come up with yet another plan. Hopefully a better-informed course of action than his previous ideas, Oliver prayed.

“Do you think that Brind’Amour would ally with the Huegoths if Greensparrow was first to break the treaty?” Luthien asked.

Oliver shrugged noncommittaly. “I can think of better allies than slavers,” he said. “But if the gain was the potential downfall of King Greensparrow, then I think he might be convinced.” Oliver eyed Luthien, and particularly, Luthien’s wry smile, suspiciously for a short while. “You have an idea to entice Greensparrow into action against Eriador?” the halfling asked. “You think you can get him to break the treaty?”

Luthien shook his head. “Greensparrow already has broken the treaty,” he insisted, “merely by inciting the cyclopians against us. All we need to do is get proof of that conspiracy—and quickly.”

“And how do you mean to accomplish such a task?” Oliver wanted to know.

“We will go to the source,” Luthien explained. “Siobhan will return this night with information about the cyclopian encampment. No doubt Brind’Amour will order action against that band immediately. All we have to do is get there first and get our proof.”

Oliver was too surprised to find any immediate response. Vividly, though, the halfling didn’t miss Luthien’s reference to “we.”