Crimson Shadow, The - R. A. Salvatore Page 0,96

scowling expressions.

Luthien pushed his way through the crowd and found, conveniently, an empty stool at the bar near Oliver.

“Oliver!” he said, overly excited. “So good to see you again! How long has it been? A month?”

Oliver turned a skeptical look upon the exuberant young man.

“You were both in here the night before last,” Tasman remarked dryly, walking past.

“Oops,” Luthien apologized, giving a weak smile and a shrug. He looked around at the throng. “The crowd is large again this night,” he remarked.

“Good gossip brings them in,” Tasman replied, walking past the other way and sliding an ale across the counter to Luthien as he went off to see to another thirsty customer.

Luthien hoisted the mug and took a hearty swig, then noticed Oliver’s profound silence, the halfling wearing an expression which showed him to be deep in contemplation.

“Good gossip—” Luthien started to say. He was going to ask what the patrons might be talking about, but in just deciphering the small patches of conversation he caught out of the general din about him, he knew the answer. They were talking about the Crimson Shadow—one scruffy-looking human even shuffled his drunken way near the cyclopians’ table and muttered, “The Shadow Lives!” and snapped his fingers under their noses. One of the brutes started up immediately to throttle the rogue, but its comrade grabbed it by the arm and held it firmly in place.

“There is sure to be a fight,” Luthien said.

“It will not be the first this week,” Oliver replied glumly.

They remained in the Dwelf for more than an hour, Luthien taking in all the excited chatter and Oliver sitting with a single ale, mulling over the situation. A general chorus of dissatisfaction sounded behind every story, and it seemed to Luthien as if the legend he had become had given the poor of Montfort a bit of hope, a rallying point for their deflated pride.

His step was light when Oliver left the Dwelf, signaling him to follow.

“Perhaps we should stay a while,” Luthien offered when they walked out into the crisp night air. “There may be a fight with the cyclopians, and the brutes are better armed than the Dwelf’s patrons.”

“Then let the patrons learn their folly,” Oliver retorted.

Luthien stopped and watched the halfling as Oliver continued on his way. He didn’t know exactly what was bothering Oliver, but he understood that it probably had something to do with the increased attention.

Oliver was indeed worried, fearful that this whole “Crimson Shadow” business was quickly getting out of control. It did not bother the halfling to hear the populace speaking out against the tyrannies of Morkney and his pompous merchant class—those wretches had it coming, the halfling figured. But Oliver did harbor a thief’s worst fear: that he and Luthien were attracting too much unwanted attention from powerful adversaries. The halfling loved being the center of attention, oftentimes went out of his way to be the center of attention, but there were reasonable limits.

Luthien caught up to him quickly. “Have you planned an excursion into the upper section this night?” the young man asked, and it was plain from his tone that he hoped Oliver had not.

The halfling turned his gaze upon Luthien and cocked an eyebrow as if to mock the question. They had not pulled any jobs since springing Shuglin, and Oliver had explained that they likely wouldn’t go into the upper section again for at least a month. He knew why Luthien was asking, though.

“You have plans,” he stated as much as asked. Oliver could guess the answer readily enough. Luthien was ready for another tryst with Siobhan.

“I will meet with the Cutters,” Luthien answered, “to check on Shuglin and his companion.”

“The dwarves fare well,” Oliver said. “Elves and dwarves get on well, since they share persecution at the hands of the humans.”

“I just want to check,” Luthien remarked.

“Of course,” Oliver said with a wry smile. “But perhaps you should come this night back to the apartment. The air is chill and the Dwelf will likely see trouble before the moon is set.”

The deflated look that washed over Luthien nearly pulled a burst of laughter from Oliver’s serious expression. Oliver didn’t harbor any intentions of keeping Luthien from his meeting, he just wanted to make the young man squirm a bit. In the halfling’s view, love should never be an easy thing: sweeter tasting is the forbidden fruit.

“Very well,” the halfling said after a long and uncomfortable moment. “But do not be out too late!”

Luthien was off and