Crimson Shadow, The - R. A. Salvatore Page 0,73

near Tiny Alcove hinted that many of Montfort’s thieves had cut back on activities for a while, at least until the merchants’ panic over this Crimson Shadow character died away.

But Oliver knew that it was neither confusion nor fear that held Luthien back. The man was smitten—it was written all over his somber face. Oliver was not coldhearted, considered himself a romantic, even, but business was business. He skittered up beside Luthien.

“If I looked into your ear, I would see an image of a half-elven slave girl,” he said, “with hair the color of wheat and the greenest of eyes.”

“You aren’t big enough to look into my ear,” Luthien coldly reminded him.

“I am smart enough so that I do not have to,” Oliver quipped in reply. The halfling recognized that this conversation was seriously degenerating, something he did not want with a potentially dangerous job ahead of them, so he jumped out in front again and brought the impatient Luthien to a stop.

“I am not cold to the ways of the heart,” the halfling asserted. “I know you are in pain.”

Luthien’s defenses melted away. “In pain,” he whispered, thinking those words a perfect description. Luthien had never known love before, not like this. He could not eat, could not sleep, and all the time his mind was filled, as Oliver had said, with that image of the half-elven woman. A vivid image; Luthien felt as if he had looked into her soul and seen the perfect complement of his own. He was normally a pragmatic sort, and he knew that this was all completely irrational. But for being irrational, it hurt all the more.

“How beautiful is the wildflower from across the field,” Oliver said quietly, “peeking at you from the shadows of the tree line. Out of reach. More beautiful than any flower you have held in your hand, it seems.”

“And what happens if you cross the field and gather that wildflower into your hand?” Luthien asked.

Oliver shrugged. “As a gentlehalfling, I would not,” he replied. “I would appreciate the glimpse of such beauty and hold the ideal in my heart forevermore.”

“Coward,” Luthien said flatly, and for perhaps the first time since the children had gathered around Oliver’s discarded coats, the young Bedwyr flashed a sincere smile.

“Coward?” Oliver replied, feigning a deep wound in his chest. “I, Oliver deBurrows, who am about to go over that wall into the most dangerous section of Montfort to take whatever I please?”

Luthien did not miss Oliver’s not-so-subtle reminder that they had more on their agenda this night than a discussion of Luthien’s stolen heart. He nodded determinedly to the halfling and the two moved on.

An hour later, the friends managed to find enough of a break in the patrol routes of the plentiful cyclopian guards to get over the wall and up onto a roof in the inner section, along the southern wall under the shadows of great cliffs. They had barely scampered over the lip when yet another patrol came marching into view. Oliver scrambled under Luthien’s crimson cape and the young man ducked his face low under the hood.

“So fine a cape,” Oliver remarked as the cyclopians moved away, oblivious to the intruders.

Luthien looked about doubtfully. “We should have waited,” he whispered, honestly amazed by the number of guards.

“We should be flattered,” Oliver corrected. “The merchant-types show us—show the Crimson Shadow—true respect. We cannot leave now and let them down.”

Oliver crept along the rooftop. Luthien watched him, thinking perhaps that the impetuous halfling was playing this whole thing too much like a game.

Oliver swung his grapnel across an alley to another roof and secured the line with a slipknot. He waited for Luthien to catch up, looked around to make certain that no other cyclopians were in the area, then crawled across to the other roof. Luthien came next, and Oliver, after some effort, managed to work the rope free.

“There are arrows that bite into stone,” the halfling explained as they made their way across another alley. “We must get you some for that bow of yours.”

“Do you have any idea of where we are going?” Luthien asked.

Oliver pointed north to a cluster of houses with slanting rooftops. Luthien looked from the halfling to the houses, then back to the halfling, blinking curiously. Always before, the two had hit the southern section. With its flat roofs and the darkness offered by the sheltering mountain walls, it was ideal for burglars. He understood the halfling’s reasoning, though; with so many cyclopians in