He took heart, too, in his companion. Every day that passed, Luthien found that he liked Oliver’s company more and more. This halfling, admittedly a thief, was not an evil person. Far from it. From his actions and the tales of his past (those parts that Luthien decided might have a ring of truth), Luthien could see that Oliver held himself up to some very high principles. The halfling would only steal from merchants and nobles, for example, and despite his suggestions when they had the merchant and his wife helpless on the road, from what Luthien could discern, Oliver was reluctant to kill anything except cyclopians.
And so Luthien, with no idea of how to locate his brother, decided to simply ride along the course beside the highwayhalfling, wherever it might lead, and let the fates guide him.
They moved south for several days, then veered to the east, crossing fields of tall, blowing wheat and high stone walls. “We will go between the mountains,” Oliver explained one afternoon, pointing to a wide gap between the main bulk of the Iron Cross and a northern string of peaks. “My boat left me off on the road to Montfort and I have not been this way.”
“Bruce MacDonald’s Swath,” Luthien replied, offering the name given to that particular gap.
Oliver slowed Threadbare and spent a moment in thought. “And will this Bruce MacDonald expect from us a toll?” he asked, putting a protective hand on his jingling pouch.
“Only if he comes from the grave,” Luthien replied with a laugh. He went on to explain the legend of Bruce MacDonald, Eriador’s greatest hero of old, who drove the attacking cyclopians back into their mountain holes. According to the tales, Bruce MacDonald cut the swath through the mountains, thus crossing more easily and gaining a surprise on the main cyclopian force, who did not expect his army before the spring cleared the mountain passes.
“And now the one-eyes are your friends?” Oliver asked. “We have no cyclopians in Gascony,” he bragged. “At the least, we have none who dare to stick their ugly noses out of their dirty mountain holes!” The halfling went on, taking the tale from Luthien, and explained how Gascons dealt with the one-eyed brutes, telling of great battles—far greater, of course, than any Bruce MacDonald might have fought.
Luthien let the halfling ramble and, in fact, faded out of the conversation altogether, considering instead his own retelling of the MacDonald tale and how his blood stirred whenever he spoke of the legendary hero. Suddenly, the young Bedwyr was beginning to understand his own actions and feelings. He knew then why he was not so badly bothered by killing in his father’s house. He thought of his feelings for the first cyclopian who had been tossed overboard on the ferry. Luthien had not gone to his aid, but he had rushed to help the man who had similarly been thrown.
Luthien had never realized before how deeply his hatred of cyclopians ran. In realizing the truth, he came to understand Ethan better. He knew then why his brother had quit the arena as soon as the cyclopian guards had been given to Gahris by the duke of Montfort, several years before. A rush of other memories came over the young man as he explored these new emotions: childhood tales he had been told by his father and others detailing the atrocities of the cyclopians before Bruce MacDonald had put them down. Other vicious raids had occurred even more recently, usually against helpless farm families.
Luthien was still deep in his contemplations when Oliver stopped Threadbare and looked all about. The young Bedwyr and his horse continued on, oblivious to the halfling, and would have kept going had not Oliver whistled.
Luthien turned around, eyeing the halfling curiously. Seeing the sincere concern on Oliver’s face, he waited until he had walked Riverdancer back beside the yellow pony before he quietly asked, “What is it?”
“You have to learn to smell these things,” Oliver whispered in reply.
As if on cue, an arrow cut through the air, well above the companions’ heads.
“Cyclopians,” Oliver muttered, noting the terrible shot.
Again, as if on cue, the wheat to either side of the road behind them began to shake and whip about and cyclopians crashed out onto the road, riding fierce ponypigs, ugly but muscular beasts that looked like a cross between a shaggy horse and a wild boar.
Luthien and Oliver swung about and kicked their mounts ahead, but out of the wheat came two more cyclopians, one appearing right next to Oliver, and one further down the road.
Oliver reared Threadbare and turned the pony to the side as the cyclopian mount bore down upon him. The intelligent yellow pony kicked out with its forelegs, smacking the cyclopian’s arms and sword. Threadbare did no real damage, but did distract the brute, and Oliver, lying low in the saddle, slipped his rapier in under the pony’s kicking feet.
The engaged cyclopian never saw the blade coming. It squealed and tried to move away, but the rapier had already done its business. The ponypig continued past Oliver and Threadbare, and Oliver, just to make sure, caught the cyclopian’s sword with his main gauche and tossed it away.
The cyclopian was oblivious to that move, though, slumping forward in its saddle, darkness filling its eye.
Further down the road, Luthien angled Riverdancer for a close pass at the charging ponypig. Luthien lifted his sword; the cyclopian leveled a spear.
The one-eye seemed to have the advantage with its longer weapon, and thought it would score a solid hit as the two began their pass.
But Luthien’s sword came down, around and inside the tip of the spear. The rolling motion brought the spear out wide, and then high, leaving Luthien’s sword across the neck of the snorting ponypig. The young warrior reversed his grip suddenly, turning the blade in line, and its fine edge gashed the cyclopian’s forearms and forced the brute to fall back as the two passed.
Luthien kept the pressure firm, forcing the cyclopian right over backward, to land heavily on the dirt road. The brute looked up just in time to see Oliver bearing down on it, and it dropped its face and covered its head with its wounded arms, expecting to be trampled.
Oliver had no time to finish the job, though. With a score of cyclopians bearing down from behind, the halfling could not risk getting tangled in this one’s breaking limbs. With a bit of urging, Threadbare cleared the prone cyclopian and thundered on down the road in Riverdancer’s wake.
The chase was on, with arrows flying everywhere, and though Oliver’s claims about a cyclopian’s ability to judge distance were certainly true, the simple rules of chance told both the halfling and Luthien that they were in trouble.
Luthien felt Riverdancer stumble for just a moment and knew that the horse had taken an arrow in the rump. Another bolt came dangerously close, nicking the young man’s shoulder.
“Off the road?” Luthien cried out, wondering if he and Oliver should take to the high wheat stalks for cover. Oliver shook his head, though. Horses, even a pony such as Threadbare, could outrun ponypigs on clear ground, but the grunting cyclopian mounts could plow through brush faster than any creature. Besides, the halfling pointed out to Luthien, wheat stalks on both sides of the road were already whipping violently as more cyclopians joined in the chase.
“This merchant-type,” Oliver called out, “he really cannot take a joke!”
Luthien had no time to respond, seeing a cyclopian coming out of the tall wheat ahead on his side of the road. He ducked low along Riverdancer’s muscled neck and urged the horse forward. Riverdancer lowered his head, too, and gave a short burst of speed. Luthien felt the wind of a waving sword, but he was by the cyclopian too fast for the brute to score a hit.
Then the young man let up a bit and allowed Oliver to catch up beside him. They were in this together, Luthien decided, but he didn’t see how either one of them was going to get out of it. More cyclopians were coming out onto the road ahead, and any delay at all would allow those behind the companions to overtake them.