Crimson Shadow, The - R. A. Salvatore Page 0,56

brought you to Oliver in his time of need? If not for that chance happening, would the halfling be alive?”

“I had my rapier blade,” Oliver protested, drawing out the weapon and holding it directly in front of his face, its side against his wide nose.

Brind’Amour looked at him skeptically and began to chuckle.

“Oh, you have so wounded me!” Oliver cried.

“No, but the merchant’s cyclopians surely would have!” the wizard replied with a hearty laugh, and Oliver, after a moment’s thought, nodded and replaced his weapon in its sheath, trying futilely to hide his own chuckles.

Brind’Amour’s demeanor changed again, suddenly, as he looked at Luthien. “Do not openly wear that cape,” he said seriously.

Luthien looked at the shimmering, crimson material cascading down from his broad shoulders. What was the man talking about? he wondered. He wondered, too, what use a cape would be if it could not be worn.

“It belonged to a thief of some renown,” Brind’Amour explained. “The bow, too, was his, and those folding bows are outlawed in Avon, since they are the weapons of underground bands, threats to the throne.”

Luthien looked at the cape and the bow and continued to ponder the value of such items. Were these gifts Brind’Amour had given to him, or burdens?

“Just keep them away and keep them safe,” Brind’Amour said, as if reading Luthien’s thoughts. “You might find a use for them, and then again, you might not. Consider them, then, trinkets to spur your memories of your encounter with a dragon. Few in all the world can claim to have seen such a beast, for those that have are likely dead. And that encounter, too, must remain a secret,” Brind’Amour said almost as an afterthought, though he seemed deadly serious.

Luthien nearly choked on the request and turned his continuing incredulous look upon Oliver. The halfling put a finger over his pursed lips, though, and shot Luthien a sly wink. The young Bedwyr got the message that worldly Oliver understood this better than he and would explain it to him later.

They said nothing more about the dragon, the gifts, or even about Brind’Amour’s history lesson for the rest of that evening. Again, the wizard set a fabulous table before the companions and offered them another comfortable night on the soft beds, which they eagerly accepted.

Brind’Amour came to Oliver later that night, woke him and motioned for him to exit the room. “Watch over him,” the wizard explained to the sleepy-eyed halfling.

“You expect great things from Luthien Bedwyr,” Oliver reasoned.

“I fear for him,” Brind’Amour replied, dodging the question. “Just two weeks ago, he fought friendly jousts in the secure arena of his father’s protective home. Now he has become an outlaw, a thief and a warrior . . .”

“A murderer?” Oliver remarked, wondering if Brind’Amour thought the correction appropriate.

“He has killed cyclopians—who meant harm to him, or to you,” Brind’Amour replied firmly. “A warrior.” He looked back to the closed door of Luthien’s room, and he seemed to Oliver a concerned parent.

“He has suffered many adventures all at once,” Brind’Amour went on. “Has faced a dragon! That might not seem like much to the likes of Oliver deBurrows—”

“Of course not,” the halfling interrupted, and since Brind’Amour was not looking at him, he rolled his eyes, nearly gagging on that claim.

“But no doubt it is traumatic to young Luthien,” the wizard finished. “Watch over him, Oliver. I beg you. The very foundation of his world has become, or will likely soon become, as loose sand, shifting under his feet.”

Oliver put a hand on his hip and leaned back, putting his weight on one foot, the other tapping impatiently on the floor. “You ask much,” he remarked when the wizard turned to regard him. “Yet all the gifts you have offered have been to Luthien, not me.”

“The pass into Montfort is more valuable to you than to Luthien,” Brind’Amour was quick to point out, knowing Oliver’s recent history in the city—and knowing the reputation the halfling thief left behind with some fairly influential merchants.

“I do not have to go into Montfort,” the halfling replied casually, lifting one hand before his face to inspect his manicured fingernails.

Brind’Amour laughed at him. “So stubborn!” the wizard remarked jovially. “But would this buy the favor?” From a cupboard to the side of the room, the wizard produced a large leather harness. Oliver’s eyes widened as he regarded the device. Among the thieves of any city’s alleys, it was commonly called a “housebreaker.” Links of leather strapping secured it to a