Crimson Shadow, The - R. A. Salvatore Page 0,82

turn of events faded quickly as he began to understand that even though this slave was apparently not what she appeared to be, this might be a long and difficult evening.

The halfling hit the ground, gave three tugs to retrieve his grapnel, and ran off after Luthien, catching the man two blocks away.

Luthien stood at a corner, peeking around the stone into an alley. Oliver slipped in between his legs and peeked around from a lower vantage point.

There stood the half-elven slave—there could be no doubt now, for she had removed the cap and was shaking out her wheat-colored tresses. With her were two others, one as tall as Luthien but much more slender, the other the woman’s size.

Luthien looked down at Oliver at the same time the halfling turned his head to look up at Luthien.

“Fairborn,” the halfling mouthed silently, and Luthien, though he had little experience with elves, nodded his agreement.

Luthien let Oliver, more versed in the ways of trailing, lead as they followed the group to the richer section of Montfort. The young Bedwyr could not deny the obvious, but still he was surprised when the three elves slipped into a dark alley, set a rope and quietly entered the second-story window of a dark house.

“She does not need your help,” Oliver remarked in Luthien’s ear. “Leave this alone, I beg.”

Luthien could not find the words to argue against Oliver’s solid logic. The woman did not need his help, so it appeared, but he would not, could not, leave this alone. He pushed Oliver away and kept his gaze locked on the window.

The three came back out in a short time—they were efficient at their craft—one of them carrying a sack. Down to the alley they went, and the slave woman gave a deft snap of the rope that dislodged the conventional grappling hook.

Oliver dove into the fold of Luthien’s cape, and Luthien fell back motionless against the wall as the three came rushing out, passing barely five feet from the friends. Luthien wanted to reach out and grab the half-elf, confront her there and then. He resisted the urge with help from Oliver, who apparently sensing his companion’s weakness, had prudently grabbed a tight hold on both of Luthien’s hands. As soon as the three elven thieves were safely away, Oliver and Luthien took up the chase all the way back to the northwestern section.

The three parted company in the same place they had met the other two taking the sack and the slave heading back for her master’s house.

“Leave this alone, I beg,” Oliver whispered to Luthien, though the halfling knew beyond doubt that his plea was falling on deaf ears. Luthien didn’t have to trail the woman now, knowing her destination, so he slipped ahead instead. He ducked behind the last corner before the merchant’s house, melted under the folds of his cape and waited.

The woman came by, perfectly silent, walking with the practiced footsteps of a seasoned thief. She moved right past the camouflaged Luthien, glanced both ways along the street and started across.

“Not so much a slave,” Luthien remarked, lifting his head to regard her.

He nearly jumped out of his boots at the sheer speed of the half-elf’s movements. She whipped about, a short sword coming out of nowhere, and Luthien shrieked and ducked the metal blade clicking off the stone above his head. Luthien tried to move to the side, but the woman paced him easily, her sword flashing deftly.

In the blink of an eye, Luthien was standing straight again, his back to the wall, the tip of a sword at his throat.

“That would not be so wise,” came Oliver’s comment from behind the woman.

“Perhaps not,” came a melodic, elven voice from behind the halfling.

Oliver sighed again and managed a glance over his shoulder. There stood one of the woman’s companions, grim-faced, sword in hand and its tip not so far from the halfling’s back. A bit to the side, further down the alley, stood the other female, bow in hand, an arrow trained upon Oliver’s head.

“I could be wrong,” the halfling admitted. He slowly slid his rapier back into its sheath, then even more slowly, allowing the elf to watch his every move, reached for a pouch and produced his hat, fluffing it and plopping it on his head.

The woman’s green eyes bored into Luthien’s stunned expression. “Who are you to follow me so?” she demanded, her jaw firm, her expression grave.

“Oliver,” Luthien prompted, not knowing what he should say.

“He