R. Salvatore - The Sword of Bedwyr

Still, Luthien could not get rid of a nagging sensation of danger. The less accessible houses were the domains of the richest merchants, even the members of Duke Morkney’s extended family. Luthien figured that Oliver knew what he was doing, and so he kept quiet and followed, saying nothing even when the cocky halfling led the way back down to the streets.

The avenues were wide and cobblestoned, but up above them the second stories of the houses were built tightly together. No building fronts were flat, rather they were curving and decorated, with jutting rooms and many alcoves. Teenagers milled about, along with a smattering of cyclopian guards, but between Luthien’s cape and the many nooks, the companions had little trouble in avoiding detection.

Oliver paused when they came to one intersection, the side lane marked by a sign that proclaimed it the Avenue of the Artisans. Oliver motioned to Luthien, leading the young man’s gaze to a group of cyclopians milling about a block from the intersection and calmly approaching them, apparently in no hurry.

“I’m thinking that tonight we do not go down from a roof,” the halfling whispered with a wistful smile, rubbing his eager hands together.

Luthien caught on quickly and eyed the halfling doubtfully. One of the first rules that Oliver had taught him about cat-burglary in Montfort was that the wealthy shops of the inner section were best left alone. The proprietors up here often employed wizards to put up magical wards to watch over their stores. The obvious disinterest of the patrolling cyclopians did lend some hope, but again, that nagging sensation of danger tugged at Luthien.

Oliver grabbed him by the arm and slithered into the avenue. Luthien followed, again trusting the judgment of his more experienced companion. A short while later, the two were standing in the shadows of an alcove between two shops, Oliver admiring the goods displayed in the side panels of their large front windows.

“This one has the more valuable items,” the halfling said, speaking more to himself than to Luthien and eyeing the fine china and crystal goblets on display. “But these,” he turned about to regard the many pewter figurines and art in the other window, “will be the easier to be rid of.

“And I do so like the statue of the halfling warrior,” he remarked. It was obvious that Oliver’s mind was made up. He looked all about to make sure that no cyclopians were in the immediate area, then reached under his gray cloak to a pouch on the housebreaker and brought forth the glass cutter.

Luthien stared at the figurine Oliver had noted. It was a fine representation of a halfling in pewter, standing boldly, cape billowing out behind him and sword drawn, its tip to the ground beside bare, hair-topped feet. A fine work indeed, but Luthien couldn’t help but notice how it paled compared with the larger, gem-studded statues in the window beside it.

Luthien grabbed Oliver by the arm, just as the halfling placed the glass cutter on the window.

“Who put it there?” Luthien asked.

Oliver looked at him blankly.

“The statue,” Luthien explained. “Who put it on such prominent display?”

Oliver looked at him doubtfully, then turned to regard the statue. “The proprietor?” he asked more than stated, wondering why the answer didn’t seem obvious to his companion.

“Why?”

“What are you whispering about?” the halfling demanded.

“Bait for a halfling thief?” Luthien asked.

Again Oliver looked at him doubtfully.

“You must learn to smell such things,” Luthien replied with a smile, perfectly mimicking Oliver’s accent.

Oliver looked back to the statue, and for the first time noticed how out of place it truly seemed. He turned and nodded grimly to Luthien. “We should be leaving.”

Luthien felt the hairs standing up on the back of his neck. He leaned out of the alcove, looking one way and then the other, and his expression was grave when he slipped back in beside Oliver.

“Cyclopians at both ends of the lane,” he explained.

“Of course,” Oliver replied. “They were there all alo—” The halfling stopped in mid-sentence, suddenly viewing things with the same suspicion as Luthien.

“They were indeed,” the young Bedwyr remarked dryly.

“Have we been baited?” Oliver asked.

In answer, Luthien pointed upwards. “The rooftops?”

Oliver replaced his tools and had the grapnel out in an instant, twirling it about and letting fly. Once secured, he handed the rope to Luthien and said politely, “After you.”

Luthien took the rope and glared at Oliver, knowing that the reason the halfling wanted him to go first was so that Oliver could be hauled up and wouldn’t have to climb.

“And do look about before you bring me up,” the halfling remarked.

With a resigned sigh, the young man began the arduous task of climbing hand over hand. Oliver snickered when Luthien was out of the way, noticing that the young man’s crimson-hued shadow had been left behind on the pewter store’s window.

Luthien did not take note of Oliver’s movements as he went up, reminding himself that he shouldn’t be surprised when he pulled the halfling up a few minutes later to find Oliver carrying a sack filled with china plates and crystal goblets.

“I could not let all our work this night go to waste,” the sly halfling explained.

They set off among the steeply pitched rooftops, often walking in gullies between two separate roofs. Unlike the city section near the dividing wall, all the buildings here were joined together, making the whole block one big mountainlike landscape of wooden shingles and poking chimneys. Scrambling along, Luthien and Oliver were often separated, and only luck prevented Luthien from whispering to a shadowy form that appeared in a gully ahead of him.

The form moved before Luthien could speak, and that movement showed it to be several times the size of the halfling.

Cyclopians were on the roofs.

Luthien fell flat on his belly, thanking God once more for his crimson cape. He glanced about, hoping that Oliver would amble up beside him, but had a feeling that the halfling had gone beyond this point along the other side of the angled roof to Luthien’s left. He could only hope that Oliver was as wary, and as lucky, as he.

Faced with a dangerous decision, Luthien took out his bow and unfolded it, popping the pin into place. The cyclopian in the gully ahead continued to mill about, apparently not yet sensing that it was not alone. Luthien knew he could hit it, but feared that if the shot was not a clean and swift kill, the brute would bring half the Praetorian Guards in Montfort down upon him.

His decision was made for him a moment later when he heard a cry and a crash, accompanied by the unmistakable sound of a certain halfling’s taunts.

Oliver had not been caught unawares. Moving along the gutter overlooking the avenue, the halfling had noted a movement near the peak of the high roof. For a fleeting instant, he thought it to be Luthien, but he realized that his companion was not so stupid as to be up high where he might be spotted a block away.

Oliver then pressed on, looking for a more defensible position. If those were indeed cyclopians up there, they could dislodge him from his precarious perch simply by sliding down the steep roof into him. The halfling came to a break and started to turn right, but stopped, noticing the same cyclopian Luthien was watching. Fortunately, the dull-witted cyclopian hadn’t noticed Oliver, and so the halfling ran on along the gutter, taking some consolation in the fact that this next roof was not nearly as steep.

He was hoping that he could get around this roof, too. Then he could swing back around to come at the cyclopian in the gully from the opposite side of Luthien.