Crimson Shadow, The - R. A. Salvatore Page 0,86

away the secret conversation and not understanding much of what the half-elf and Oliver were talking about. If the brutish cyclopians suspected him and Oliver, then why didn’t they simply walk over and arrest them? Luthien had been in Montfort long enough to know that the law here required little evidence to haul someone away—gangs of Praetorian Guards were commonplace in the area near to Tiny Alcove and usually left with at least one unfortunate rogue in tow.

“There is news,” the half-elf continued.

“Do tell,” Oliver started to say, but he quieted and looked away as a group of cyclopians ambled past.

“Not now,” came the half-elf’s whisper as soon as the cyclopians had moved off a short distance. “Siobhan will be behind the Dwelf at the rise of the moon.”

“We will be there,” Oliver assured him.

“Just him,” came the reply, and Oliver looked over at Luthien. When Oliver turned his curious glance back the half-elf’s way, he found that the thief had moved along.

With a sigh, the halfling turned back again, toward Luthien and the open plaza, and then he understood the half-elf’s sudden departure. The cyclopian group was returning, this time showing more interest in the pair.

“My papa halfling, he always say,” Oliver whispered to Luthien, “a smart thief can make his way, a smarter thief can get away.” He started off, taking Luthien’s arm, but was forced to stop as the cyclopians rushed in suddenly, encircling the pair.

“Cold day,” one of them remarked.

“Buying the last things for winter?” asked another.

Oliver started to respond, but bit back his retort as Luthien broke in suddenly, looking at the cyclopian directly.

“That we are,” he replied. “Montfort’s winter is colder for some than for others.”

The cyclopian didn’t seem to understand that remark—Oliver wasn’t sure that he did, either. Though Oliver didn’t know it, his last remarks at the apartment had put a spark into the young Bedwyr, had touched a chord in Luthien’s heart. He was feeling quite puffed at this moment—feeling the part of the Crimson Shadow, the silent speaker for the underprivileged, the purveyor of coats for cold children, the thorn in the rich man’s side.

“How long’ve you been in Montfort?” the brute eyeing Luthien asked slyly, fishing for clues.

Now Oliver stepped forward and wrapped his arm about Luthien’s waist forcefully. “Since the day my son was born,” the halfling proclaimed, to the wide-eyed stare of Luthien. “Alas, for his poor mother. She could not accept the size of this one.”

The cyclopians looked at each other in confusion and disbelief. “He’s your father?” the one addressing Luthien asked.

Luthien draped his arm about Oliver’s shoulders. “My papa halfling,” he answered, imitating Oliver’s thick accent.

“And what business—” the cyclopian began to ask, but a comrade of his grabbed his arm and interrupted, motioning for him to drop the matter.

The cyclopian’s fierce scowl diminished as he glanced around the marketplace. Dozens of men, a couple of dwarves, and a handful of elves were watching intently—too intently—their faces grim and more than one of them wearing a dirk or short sword at his belt.

The cyclopian group was soon on its way.

“What happened?” Luthien asked.

“The cyclopians just met people who have found their hearts,” Oliver answered. “Come along and be quick. The Cutter was right—we should not be about this day.”

“Kiss me.” Her melodic tones caught the young man off guard, and the unexpected request nearly buckled his knees.

Luthien froze in place, staring blankly at Siobhan, having no idea of what to do next.

“You want to.” She stated the obvious.

“I came because I was told that there was some news,” Luthien informed her. He wished that he hadn’t said that as soon as the words left his mouth; what a stupid time to be changing the subject!

The half-elf seemed even more alluring to poor Luthien as she stood in the silver moonlight in the shadowy alley behind the Dwelf. She gave a coy smile and pushed her long tresses back from her fair face. Luthien glanced back over his shoulder, as though he expected Oliver to be standing nearby watching him. The halfling had gone into the Dwelf and told Luthien to meet him there when he finished his business with Siobhan.

Luthien looked back to see that Siobhan’s smile had already disappeared without a trace.

“The dwarf—” she began grimly, but she stopped suddenly as Luthien leaped up to her and kissed her full on the lips. The embarrassed young man hopped back immediately, searching Siobhan’s expression for some hint of a reaction.

But it was Luthien, and