Crimson Shadow, The - R. A. Salvatore Page 0,187

rebellion will end, one way or the other, and so might I. But then again, I might not die, and what will Siobhan think of Luthien Bedwyr then, when the Crimson Shadow is needed no more?”

Even in the quiet light, Luthien could see that Siobhan’s shoulders, indeed her whole body, slumped. He knew that he had wounded her, but he realized, too, that he had made her think.

“Never doubt that I love you, Luthien Bedwyr,” the half-elf whispered.

“But . . .” Luthien prompted.

Siobhan turned away, looked at the glowing embers in the hearth. “I never knew my father,” she said, and the abrupt subject change caught Luthien by surprise. “He was an elf, my mother human.”

“He died?”

Siobhan shook her head. “He left, before I was born.”

Luthien heard the pain in her voice, and his heart was near to breaking. “There were problems,” he reasoned. “The Fairborn—”

“Were free then,” Siobhan interjected. “For that was before Greensparrow, nearly three decades before Greensparrow.”

Luthien quieted, but then realized that Siobhan’s tale made her nearly sixty years old! Much came into perspective for the young man then, things he hadn’t even considered during the wild rush of the last few weeks.

“I am half-elven,” Siobhan stated. “I will live through three centuries, perhaps four, unless the blade of an enemy cuts me down.” She turned to face Luthien directly, and he could see her fair and angular features and intense green eyes clearly, despite the dim light. “My father left because he could not bear to watch his love and his child grow old and die,” she explained. “That is why there are so few of my mixed heritage. The Fairborn can love humans, but they know that to do so will leave them forlorn through the centuries.”

“I am a temporary companion,” Luthien remarked, and there was no bitterness in his voice.

“Who knows what will happen with war thick about us?” Siobhan put in. “I love you, Luthien Bedwyr.”

“But the rebellion is paramount,” Luthien stated.

It was a truth that Siobhan could not deny. She did indeed love Luthien, love the Crimson Shadow, but not with the intensity that a human might love another human. Elves and half-elves, longer living by far, could not afford to do that. And Luthien deserved more, Siobhan understood then.

She slipped out of the bed and began pulling on her clothes.

A part of Luthien wanted to cry out for her to stay. He had desired her since the moment he had first seen her as a simple slave girl.

But Luthien stayed quiet, understanding what she was saying and silently agreeing. He loved Siobhan, and she loved him, but their union was never truly meant to be.

And there was another woman that Luthien loved, as well. He knew it, and so did Siobhan.

“The cyclopians will not come into the city tomorrow,” Luthien repeated as Siobhan pulled her heavy cloak over her shoulders.

“Your reasoning calls for a tremendous gamble,” the half-elf replied.

Luthien nodded. “Trust in me,” was all that he said as she walked out the door.

CHAPTER 16

LUTHIEN’S GAMBLE

LUTHIEN BARELY SLEPT the rest of that night, just lay in his bed, staring at the shadows on the ceiling, thinking of Siobhan and Katerin, and the enemy. Mostly the enemy: his enemy, the hulking, ugly cyclopian, more cunning than any one-eye Luthien had ever known.

Siobhan returned to the apartment an hour before dawn to find Luthien fully awake, dressed, and sitting in a chair before the hearth, staring into the rekindled flames.

“He’s not going to come,” Luthien said to her, his voice even, certain. “He’s going to take his army across the river and catch Oliver’s force unawares.”

After a few moments of silence, with Siobhan making no move to reply, Luthien glanced over his shoulder to regard the half-elf. She stood by the door, holding his cloak.

Luthien pulled on his boots and went to her, taking the garment and following her out of the apartment.

The city was already awake, full of activity, and most of the bustle was nearby. Siobhan had gathered practically all of the army, ready to follow Luthien out of Caer MacDonald. The snow had turned into sleet and then to rain, but the wind had not abated. A thoroughly miserable morning, and yet, here they were, the thousands of Caer MacDonald’s makeshift militia, ready to march hard and fast to the west, ready to brave the elements and the cyclopians. Luthien knew who had prompted them.

He looked at the half-elf then, standing calmly by his side, and his eyes were moist