Crimson Shadow, The - R. A. Salvatore Page 0,62

halfling heart.”

Tasman chuckled at that one, and Luthien thought the whole scene perfectly ridiculous. Luthien was amazed, though, to find that the woman, nearly twice Oliver’s size, seemed sincerely flattered and interested.

“Any woman for that one,” Tasman explained, and Luthien noticed sincere admiration in the gruff barkeep’s voice. He looked at the man skeptically, to which Tasman only replied, “The challenge, you see.”

Luthien did not “see,” did not understand at all as he turned back to observe Oliver and the woman talking comfortably. The young Bedwyr had never looked at women in such an objectified way. He thought of Katerin O’Hale and imagined her turning Oliver upside down by his ankles and bouncing his head off the ground a few times for good measure if he had ever approached her in such a bold manner.

But this woman seemed to be enjoying the attention, however shallow, however edged by ulterior motives. Never had Luthien felt so out of place in all his young life. He continued to think of Katerin and all his friends. He wished that he was back in Dun Varna (and not for the first or the last time), beside his friends and his brother—the brother that Luthien was resigning himself to believe he would never see again. He wished that Viscount Aubrey had never come to his world and changed everything.

Luthien turned back to the bar, staring at nothing in particular, and drank down the ale in a single swig. Sensing his discomfort, Tasman, who was not a bad sort, filled the flagon once more and slid it in front of Luthien, then walked away before the man could either decline the drink or offer payment.

Luthien accepted the gift with an appreciative nod. He swung about on the stool, looking back at the crowd: the thugs and rogues, the cyclopians, itching for a fight, and the sturdy dwarfs, who appeared to be more than ready to give them one. Luthien didn’t even realize his own movements as his hand slipped to the pommel of his sword.

He felt a slight touch on that arm, and jerked alert to find that a woman had come over and was half sitting, half standing on the stool Oliver had vacated.

“Just into Montfort?” she asked.

Luthien gulped and nodded. Looking at her, he could only think of a cheaper version of Avonese. She was heavily painted and perfumed, her dress cut alluringly low in the front.

“With lots of money, I would bet,” she purred, rubbing Luthien’s arm, and then the young man began to catch on. He felt suddenly trapped, but he had no idea of how he might get out of this without looking like a fool and insulting the woman.

A yell cut through the din of the crowd, then, silencing all and turning their heads to the side. Luthien didn’t even have to look to know that Oliver was somehow involved.

Luthien leaped from his seat and rushed past the lady before she could even turn back to him. He pushed his way through the mob to find Oliver standing tall (for a halfling) before a huge rogue with a dirty face and threadbare clothing, an alley-fighter sporting a metal plate across his knuckles. A couple of friends flanked the man, urging him on. The woman Oliver had been wooing also stood behind the man, inspecting her fingernails and seeming insulted by the whole incident.

“The lady cannot make up her own mind?” Oliver asked casually. Luthien was surprised that the halfling’s rapier and main gauche were still tucked securely in their sheaths; if this large and muscular human leaped at him, what defense could the little halfling offer?

“She’s mine,” the big man declared, and he spat a wad of some chewing weed to the floor between Oliver’s widespread feet. Oliver looked down at the mess, then back at the man.

“You do know that if you had hit my shoe, you would have to clean it,” Oliver remarked.

Luthien rubbed a hand across his face, stunned by the halfling’s stupidity, stunned that Oliver, outnumbered at least three to one, and outweighed at least ten to one, would invite such a lopsided fight.

“You speak as if she was your horse,” Oliver went on calmly. To Luthien’s amazement, the halfling then spoke past the man to the woman who had been the subject of the whole argument. “Surely you deserve better than this oaf, dear lady,” the halfling said, sweeping off his hat as he spoke.

On came the growling man, predictably, but Oliver moved first, stepping