Brind’Amour looked at him skeptically and began to chuckle.
“Oh, you have so wounded me!” Oliver cried.
“No, but the merchant’s cyclopians surely would have!” the wizard replied with a hearty laugh, and Oliver, after a moment’s thought, nodded and replaced his weapon in its sheath, trying futilely to hide his own chuckles.
Brind’Amour’s demeanor changed again, suddenly, as he looked at Luthien. “Do not openly wear that cape,” he said seriously.
Luthien looked at the shimmering, crimson material cascading down from his broad shoulders. What was the man talking about? he wondered. He wondered, too, what use a cape would be if it could not be worn.
“It belonged to a thief of some renown,” Brind’Amour explained. “The bow, too, was his, and those folding bows are outlawed in Avon, since they are the weapons of underground bands, threats to the throne.”
Luthien looked at the cape and the bow and continued to ponder the value of such items. Were these gifts Brind’Amour had given to him, or burdens?
“Just keep them away and keep them safe,” Brind’Amour said, as if reading Luthien’s thoughts. “You might find a use for them, and then again, you might not. Consider them, then, trinkets to spur your memories of your encounter with a dragon. Few in all the world can claim to have seen such a beast, for those that have are likely dead. And that encounter, too, must remain a secret,” Brind’Amour said almost as an afterthought, though he seemed deadly serious.
Luthien nearly choked on the request and turned his continuing incredulous look upon Oliver. The halfling put a finger over his pursed lips, though, and shot Luthien a sly wink. The young Bedwyr got the message that worldly Oliver understood this better than he and would explain it to him later.
They said nothing more about the dragon, the gifts, or even about Brind’Amour’s history lesson for the rest of that evening. Again, the wizard set a fabulous table before the companions and offered them another comfortable night on the soft beds, which they eagerly accepted.
Brind’Amour came to Oliver later that night, woke him and motioned for him to exit the room. “Watch over him,” the wizard explained to the sleepy-eyed halfling.
“You expect great things from Luthien Bedwyr,” Oliver reasoned.
“I fear for him,” Brind’Amour replied, dodging the question. “Just two weeks ago, he fought friendly jousts in the secure arena of his father’s protective home. Now he has become an outlaw, a thief and a warrior . . .”
“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, shifting 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 pass 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 assured 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 assured 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 glass 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 nightshirt 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 assured the man.
The next morning, as promised, Brind’Amour produced the passes 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.
13
Montfort