Part 21 (1/2)
Then rough hands grabbed his shoulders and he was hauled over the ledge, and on the group ran. They pa.s.sed several dead cyclopians, including the two Luthien and Oliver had killed, and came out of the tunnel, hearing that the cyclopians had gained the ledge behind them and were once again in pursuit.
”Our horses are there!” Luthien explained to Siobhan, and she nodded and kissed him quickly, then pushed him along to catch up with Oliver. She and her Cutter companions, along with Shuglin and the other dwarf, went the other way, disappearing into the brush.
”I cannot believe they came for us,” Luthien remarked as he caught up to the halfling, Oliver with one foot already in Threadbare's stirrup.
”You must be a good kisser,” the halfling answered. Then Threadbare leaped away, Riverdancer pounding right behind, back out onto the road.
The cyclopian horde exited the mine, howling with outrage, but all they heard was the pounding of hooves as Luthien and Oliver charged away.
Chapter 21.
UNWANTED ATTENTION.
Luthien casually walked into the Dwelf sometime after Oliver, as the halfling had instructed. Oliver had grown very cautious in the week since the escape at the mines and had gone out of his way so that he and Luthien were not viewed as an inseparable team. Luthien didn't really understand the point; there were enough halfling rogues in this area of Montfort to more than cover their tracks. If the Praetorian Guard was searching for a human and his halfling sidekick, they would have dozens of possibilities to sift through.
Luthien didn't argue, though, thinking the halfling's demands were prudent.
The Dwelf was packed, as it had been every night that week. Elves and dwarves, halflings and humans filled every table-except one. There in the corner sat a group of cyclopians, Praetorian Guards, br.i.m.m.i.n.g with fine weapons and wearing grim, 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 cla.s.s-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 c.o.c.ked 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 running, and Oliver did chuckle. He smiled all the way back to the apartment, his worries brushed aside by his romantic nature.
Candles burned long into the night in the private chambers of Duke Morkney's palace. A group of merchants had demanded an audience, and the duke, so busy with the approaching end of the trading season, could find no time to accommodate them earlier in the day.
Morkney could easily guess the topic of this meeting-all of Montfort was buzzing about the break at the mines. Morkney was not so concerned with the news-this wasn't the first time a prisoner had escaped, after all, and it wouldn't likely be the last. But these merchants, standing before the duke's fabulous desk, their grim features set with worry, obviously were more than a little concerned.
The duke sat back in his chair and listened attentively as the merchants complained and whined, their stories always connected to this mysterious Crimson Shadow figure.
”They're painting red shadows all over my store!” one man grumbled.
”And mine,” two others said at the same time.
”And nearly every street in Montfort bears the words 'The Shadow Lives!' ” offered another.
Morkney nodded his understanding; he, too, had seen the annoying graffiti. He understood, too, that this Crimson Shadow wasn't doing the painting. Rather, others were taking up the call of this mysterious figurehead; and that, Morkney was wise enough to realize, was more dangerous indeed.
He listened to the rambling merchants for another hour, politely, though he heard the same stories over and over again. He promised to take the matter under serious consideration, but secretly, Morkney was hoping that this minor annoyance would simply go away.
King Greensparrow was complaining again about the size of Montfort's t.i.the, and by all the words of the local seers, the winter would be a cold one.
And so the duke of Montfort was more than a little relieved when the captain of his Praetorian Guard interrupted his breakfast the next morning to inform him that the wagon caravan which had set out for Avon-the caravan carrying the four men who had been sentenced the same day as the dwarf, Shuglin-had been attacked on the road.
The captain of the guard produced a tattered red cloak, its material taking on the darker hue of dried blood in many places.
”We got the bloke,” the cyclopian said. ”No more Crimson Shadow. And we got the halfling 'twas said to be traveling in the shadow's shadow! And seven others”-he held up six fingers-”that were with them.”