Crimson Shadow - The Sword Of Bedwyr Part 12

"A murderer?" Oliver remarked, wondering if Brind'Amour thought the correction appropriate.

"He has killed cyclopians-who meant harm to him, or to you," Brind'Amour replied firmly. "A warrior." He looked back to the closed door of Luthien's room, and he seemed to Oliver a concerned parent.

"He has suffered many adventures all at once," Brind'Amour went on. "Has faced a dragon! That might not seem like much to the likes of Oliver deBurrows-"

"Of course not," the halfling interrupted, and since Brind'Amour was not looking at him, he rolled his eyes, nearly gagging on that claim.

"But no doubt it is traumatic to young Luthien," the wizard finished. "Watch over him, Oliver. I beg you. The very foundation of his world has become, or will likely soon become, as loose sand, s.h.i.+fting under his feet."

Oliver put a hand on his hip and leaned back, putting his weight on one foot, the other tapping impatiently on the floor. "You ask much," he remarked when the wizard turned to regard him. "Yet all the gifts you have offered have been to Luthien, not me."

"The pa.s.s into Montfort is more valuable to you than to Luthien," Brind'Amour was quick to point out, knowing Oliver's recent history in the city-and knowing the reputation the halfling thief left behind with some fairly influential merchants.

"I do not have to go into Montfort," the halfling replied casually, lifting one hand before his face to inspect his manicured fingernails.

Brind'Amour laughed at him. "So stubborn!" the wizard remarked jovially. "But would this buy the favor?" From a cupboard to the side of the room, the wizard produced a large leather harness. Oliver's eyes widened as he regarded the device. Among the thieves of any city's alleys, it was commonly called a "housebreaker." Links of leather strapping secured it to a burglar, and other straps-and small pouches, in the case of the more elaborate designs-held many of the tools of the trade.

"This one is special," Brind'Amour a.s.sured Oliver. He opened a pouch on one of the shoulder straps, and from it, though it was much too small to hold such an item, took out a curious-looking device: a black, puckered ball affixed to a fine cord. "A cord much finer than the one you were forced to leave in Balthazar's cave," the wizard explained. "And this grapnel will secure itself to the smoothest of walls." To demonstrate, Brind'Amour casually tossed the ball against the nearest wall and pulled the rope tightly. "It will hold three large men," the wizard a.s.sured Oliver.

"Three quick tugs," Brind'Amour went on, jerking the rope, "will release the hold." Sure enough, on the third pull, the grapnel popped free of the wall.

Brind'Amour replaced the item and opened another pouch, this one along the harness's belt strap. He held the housebreaker up close to Oliver's face so the halfling could look inside.

Oliver gawked and blinked. The area inside the open flap was much larger than it appeared from the outside-extradimensional, Oliver realized-and within was the most complete set of tools, files and lock picks, fine wire and even a gla.s.s cutter, that Oliver had ever seen.

"Just think about the item you desire," Brind'Amour explained. "It will come to your waiting grasp."

Oliver did not doubt the wizard's words, but he dearly wanted to see a demonstration. He held his hand near to the open pouch and silently mouthed, "Skeleton key," then nearly jumped out of his nights.h.i.+rt when a long-handled key appeared suddenly in his hand.

Recovered from the shock, Oliver turned a devious look on Brind'Amour.

"We have a deal?" the wizard asked, smiling widely.

"I never once thought to walk away from Luthien," Oliver a.s.sured the man.

The next morning, as promised, Brind'Amour produced the pa.s.ses into Montfort-valuable items, indeed. When the three entered the room where Riverdancer and Threadbare had been stabled, they found Brind'Amour's magic already at work. A glowing door swirled upon the wall, the tunnel that would place the friends on the road outside of Montfort.

The farewell was short and friendly, except from Luthien, who remained cautious and suspicious. Brind'Amour accepted the young man's light handshake and tossed a knowing wink at Oliver.

With his crystal ball, Brind'Amour watched the friends as they exited the magical tunnel and stepped onto the road to Montfort. The wizard would have liked to keep his protective gaze over them at all times. He had taken a great chance by giving the cape and bow to young Luthien, and honestly, he did not know whether faith or simple desperation had guided his actions.

Whatever the reason, Brind'Amour had to leave events to the friends now. He could not emerge from his secret cave, not even look out from it in the direction of Montfort, or anywhere that one of Greensparrow's wizard-dukes might sense his magical gaze and trace the energies to the outlaw wizard.

If King Greensparrow even suspected that Brind'Amour was alive, then doom would surely fall over the wizard, and over Luthien and Oliver as well.

Brind'Amour waved his hand and the crystal ball went dark. The hermit wizard walked slowly out of the chamber and to his bedroom, falling listlessly onto his soft bed. He had set the events into motion, perhaps, but now all that he could do was sit by and wait.

Chapter 13.

MONTFORT.

Riverdancer seemed truly glad to be back out on the open road. The s.h.a.ggy white stallion, coat glistening in the typical morning drizzle, strode powerfully under Luthien. Riverdancer wanted to run, but Luthien kept him in check. The terrain here was more broken than back in the northern fields. They were approaching the foothills of the Iron Cross, and even though they would have the better part of a day's ride to get into Montfort and the rockier mountains, the ground here was strewn with boulders.

"I wish that he had put us closer to the city," Luthien remarked, anxious to see the place. "Though I think Riverdancer could use the run." He patted the horse's muscled flank as he spoke and eased the reins a bit, allowing Riverdancer to spring ahead. Oliver and Threadbare were up beside them again in a moment.

"The wizard, he put us as close as he could," Oliver replied. He noticed Luthien's quizzical look, not unexpected since Oliver was beginning to understand just how sheltered the young Bedwyr truly was. Oliver remembered Brind'Amour's plea to him to watch over Luthien, and he nodded. "Whoever it is that keeps the wizard up in his secret cave is likely in Montfort," he explained.

Luthien thought about it for a moment. "Morkney," he reasoned. Brind'Amour had mentioned that Greensparrow's dukes had been corrupted by demonic powers, as had the king, so the reasoning seemed logical enough.

"Or one of his captains," Oliver agreed.

"Then I should not complain," Luthien said. "Brind' Amour proved a fine friend, and I forgive him his lie about the dragon cave in full-he did come to us in our time of need, after all."

Oliver shrugged in halfhearted agreement. "If he had come sooner, then we might have enjoyed the spoils of a dragon's treasure," the halfling said, and he sighed profoundly at that thought.

"We got our gifts," Luthien replied and patted his saddlebags. He chuckled as he said it, for a cape and folding bow, in truth, did not seem like much of a reward for invading a dragon's lair. But Oliver did not share the young man's mirth, and Luthien was surprised when he looked upon the halfling's cherubic face to see a most serious expression there.

"Do not underestimate that which you have been given," the halfling said solemnly.

"I have never seen such a bow," Luthien began.

"Not the bow," Oliver interjected. "It is valuable enough, do not doubt. But that which I speak of, that which was the greatest gift, was the crimson cape."

Luthien looked at him doubtfully, then looked at his saddlebags as though he expected the cape to slip out and rise up in defense of itself. Truly it was a beautiful cape, its crimson coloring so rich that it invited the eye into its depths and s.h.i.+mmered in the slightest light as though it was alive.

"You do not know, do you?" Oliver asked, and Luthien's expression went from doubtful to curious.

"Did you notice anything so very strange about the dragon's reaction toward you when we were in the treasure cave?" Oliver asked slyly. "And about my own reaction when you met me on the hasty flanking maneuver?"

Hasty flanking maneuver? Luthien pondered for just an instant, but then he realized that to be Oliver's way of saying "desperate retreat." Indeed, Luthien had given some thought to the matter of the halfling's question. In the treasure cave, the dragon had ignored him-even seemed as if it hadn't noticed that Oliver had a companion.

"A dragon's eyes, they are finer than an eagle's," Oliver remarked.

"He never noticed me," Luthien said, knowing that to be the answer Oliver was looking for, though Luthien didn't think as much of that fact as Oliver obviously did.

"Because of the cape," Oliver explained. Luthien was shaking his head before the expected response even came forth.

"But it is true!" Oliver told him. "I, too, did not see you, and almost ran over you."

"You were intent on the dragon behind you," Luthien rationalized. "And Balthazar was intent on you, especially since your pockets were so stuffed with his treasures!"

"But I did not see you even before we found the dragon," Oliver protested. Now Luthien looked at him with more concern.

"When I first found the staff, I turned about and called down to you," Oliver went on. "I thought you had left or gone behind one of the piles, and only when you pulled back your hood was I able to see you."

"A trick of the light," Luthien replied, but now it was Oliver who was shaking his head.

"The cape is red, but the floor behind you was gray stone and gold co-ins."

Luthien looked back at the saddlebags once more and rubbed his hand across his stubbly chin.

"I have heard of such items," Oliver said. "You will find the cape a handy tool in the streets of Montfort."

"It is the tool of a thief," Luthien said disdainfully.

"And you are a thief," Oliver reminded him.

Luthien held his next thoughts silent. Was he a thief? And if not, what exactly was he, and why was he riding along the road into Montfort beside Oliver deBurrows? The young Bedwyr laughed aloud, preferring that reaction to having to face up to his course thus far. Events had taken him, not the other way around; if Oliver deBurrows called him a thief, then who was he to argue?

Montfort came into sight around the next bend, nestled among the rocky cliffs and outcroppings of the northern slopes of the Iron Cross. The companions saw many buildings set in straight rows along the slopes of the foothills and spreading down into the valley, but most of all, they saw the Ministry.

It seemed more a part of the majestic mountains than a man-made creation, as though the hand of G.o.d had squared and shaped the stone. Two square-topped towers, each rising more than a hundred feet into the air, flanked the front of the building, and a much taller spire was centered on the back. Huge, arching b.u.t.tresses lined the sides from the peaked roof to the rows of smaller steeples, accepting the tremendous weight of the stone and channeling it to the ground. Stone gargoyles leaned out from every side of these smaller towers to leer at pa.s.sersby, and great colored windows depicted a myriad of scenes and free-flowing designs.

Even from this distance, Luthien was overwhelmed by it all, but his spirits never lifted from the ground as he recalled Brind'Amour's lament about the present purpose of the cathedrals. Again the young Bedwyr felt the foundation of his life s.h.i.+fting underneath him, and he almost expected the ground to crack open and drop him into a horrific abyss.

Like most towns near to the wild Iron Cross, Montfort was surrounded by two walls both manned by many grim-faced cyclopians. Two came down to the gate to meet Oliver and Luthien. At first, they seemed suspicious and clutched their weapons tightly, particularly when they glanced upon the outrageous halfling. Luthien expected to be turned away, at the very least, and honestly wouldn't have been surprised if the crossbowmen atop the wall opened fire.

One of the cyclopians moved toward Riverdancer's saddlebags, and Luthien held his breath.

"You have no cause!" Oliver protested firmly.

Luthien glanced at the halfling in disbelief. Certainly he and Oliver might find some trouble if the cyclopian found the folded bow, but that trouble could not compare to the potential repercussions of Oliver's boldness.

The other cyclopian eyed the halfling dangerously and took a step toward him, and was met by Oliver's hand thrusting forward the wizard-forged pa.s.ses. The cyclopian opened the parchment and looked at it carefully. (Luthien knew that the brute couldn't read it, though, particularly since the pa.s.s was upside down at the time.) Still, the cyclopian's expression brightened considerably, and it called its companion to its side.

This cyclopian was smarter, even turned the parchment right-side up after a moment's thought. But the cyclopian's expression, like that of its companion, was soon beaming. The brute looked up to the wall and waved the crossbowmen away, and seemed almost thrilled to let the two riders enter Montfort-the two cyclopians even bowed low as Luthien and Oliver rode past them!

"Oh, this wizard-type, he is very good!" Oliver laughed when they had put the gate behind them. "Very good!"

Luthien did not reply, too entranced by the sheer enormity of Montfort. The largest city the young Bedwyr had ever been in was Dun Varna, and he saw now that Dun Varna could fit into Montfort twenty times over.

"How many people?" he numbly asked Oliver.

"Twenty thousand, perhaps," the halfling replied, and from his tone, Luthien gathered that Oliver was not so impressed.

Twenty thousand people! All of Isle Bedwydrin, a place of five thousand square miles, boasted barely more than a quarter of that. The sheer enormity of Montfort, and the way people were jammed in so tightly together, stunned the young man, and made him more than a little uncomfortable.

"You will get used to it," Oliver a.s.sured him, apparently sensing his confusion.

From this vantage point, Luthien noticed an inner wall, anch.o.r.ed at one point by the Ministry, ringing the higher section of the city. Montfort, flanked by many mines rich in various ores, was a prosperous place, but Luthien could see now that, unlike the communities of Bedwydrin, where the wealth was pretty much evenly divided, Montfort was more like two separate cities. The lower areas consisted of many markets and modest houses and tenements, many no more than shacks. As they walked their mounts along the cobblestone streets, Luthien saw children at play with makes.h.i.+ft toys, swinging broken branches like swords or tying sticks together to roughly resemble a doll. The merchants and craftsmen he saw were a hard-working lot, their backs bent under the weight of toil, their hands sooty and calloused. They were friendly enough, though, and seemingly content, tossing a wave or a smile at the two rather unusual visitors.

Luthien didn't have to go up through the inner wall to imagine the types of people he would meet within its confines. Grand houses peeked over the wall, some with spires soaring up into the sky. He thought of Aubrey and Avonese, and suddenly he had no desire to go up into the higher section at all. What he did notice, though, and it touched him as more than a little curious, was that more guards walked the inner wall than both of the outer walls combined.

The young Bedwyr didn't understand it at that time, but what he was getting was his second taste of a society sharply divided by its economic cla.s.ses.

Oliver led the way into the shadow of a cliff, Montfort's southeastern section, and to a stable. He knew the hands well there, it seemed to Luthien, and tossed the stablemaster an ample pouch of coins. With no bartering and no exchange of instructions, just a friendly greeting and small conversation, Oliver handed over Threadbare's reins and bade Luthien do the same with Riverdancer. Luthien knew how much Oliver cared for his exceptional, if ugly, pony, and so he held no reservations. Oliver had obviously boarded the pony here before to his complete satisfaction.

"On to the Dwelf," the halfling announced when they departed, Luthien carrying the saddlebags over one shoulder.

"The Dwelf?"

Oliver didn't bother to explain. He led on to a seedier section of town, where the eyes of the waifs in the streets showed a hard edge, and where every door seemed to belong to a tavern, a p.a.w.n shop, or a brothel. When Oliver turned toward one of these doors, Luthien understood it to be their destination, and in looking at the sign over the place, he understood the name Oliver had given to it. The painting on the sign depicted a st.u.r.dy, muscular dwarf and a Fairborn elf, leaning back to b.u.t.t, each smiling widely and hoisting drinks-a mug of ale for the dwarf and a goblet, probably of wine, for the elf. "the dwelf, fine drink and talk for dwarf and elf," the words proclaimed, and underneath them someone had scribbled, "Cyclopians enter at your own risk!"

"Why the Dwelf?" Luthien asked, stopping Oliver short of the door.

Oliver nodded down the street. "What do you see at the other taverns?" he asked.

Luthien didn't understand the point of the question. All the places seemed equally busy. He was about to respond when he realized Oliver's intent: all the patrons at the doors to the other bars were either human or cyclopian.

"But you are neither dwarf nor elf," Luthien reasoned. "Nor am I."

"The Dwelf caters to men as well and, mostly, to all who are not men," Oliver explained.

Again, Luthien had a hard time comprehending that point. While there were few Fairborn and even fewer dwarves on Bedwydrin, they were in no way segregated from the general community. A tavern was a tavern, period.

But Oliver seemed determined, and the halfling certainly knew his way around Montfort better than Luthien, so the young Bedwyr offered no further protests and willingly followed Oliver into the tavern.

He nearly choked as he entered, overwhelmed by a variety of smells, ale and wine and exotic weeds the most prominent among them. Smoke hung thick in the air, making the crowd seem even more ominous to Luthien. He and Oliver picked their way through cl.u.s.ters of tables, most surrounded by groups of huddled men, or huddled dwarves, or huddled elves-there didn't seem to be much mingling between the races. Five cyclopians, silver-and-black uniforms showing them to be Praetorian Guards, sat at one table, laughing loudly and casually tossing out insults to anyone near to them, openly daring someone to make trouble.

All in all, it seemed to Luthien as if the whole place was on the verge of an explosion. He was glad he had his sword with him, and he clutched the saddlebags protectively as he b.u.mped and squeezed his way to the main bar.

Luthien began to better appreciate the allure of this place to some of the nonhumans when he saw that many of the bar stools were higher than normal, with steps leading up to them. Oliver perched himself comfortably on one, easily able to rest his elbows on the polished bar.

"So they have not yet hung you, eh, Tasman," the halfling remarked. The barkeep, a rough-looking, though slender character, turned around and shook his head as he looked upon Oliver, who returned the look with a huge smile and a tip of his great hat.

"Oliver deBurrows," Tasman said, moving over and wiping the bar in front of the halfling. "Back in Montfort so soon? I had thought your previous antics would have kept you away through the winter at least."

"You are forgetting my obvious charms," the halfling replied, none too worriedly.

"And you're forgetting the many enemies you left behind," Tasman retorted. He reached under the bar and produced a bottle of dark liquor and Oliver nodded. "Let's hope that they've also forgotten you," the barkeep said, pouring Oliver a drink.

"If not, then pity them," Oliver replied, lifting his gla.s.s as though the words were a toast. "For they will surely feel the sting of my rapier blade!"

Tasman didn't seem to take well to the halfling's cavalier att.i.tude. He shook his head again and stood a gla.s.s in front of Luthien, who had retrieved a normal-sized stool to put next to Oliver's.

Luthien put his hand over the mouth of the gla.s.s before Tasman could begin to pour. "Just some water, if you please," the young man said politely.

Tasman's steel gray eyes widened. "Water?" he echoed, and Luthien flushed.

"That is what they call light ale on Bedwydrin," Oliver lied, saving his friend some embarra.s.sment.

"Ah," Tasman agreed, though he didn't seem to believe a word of it. He replaced the gla.s.s with a flagon topped by the foam of strong ale. Luthien eyed it, and eyed Oliver, and thought the better of protesting.