The Sword Of Bedwyr by R. A. Salvatore

Author:R. A. Salvatore
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Fantasy - Epic, Fantasy - General, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Fantasy fiction, 20th Century, Fiction - Fantasy, Fiction, Fantasy, General, American fiction, Epic
ISBN: 9780446602723
Publisher: Aspect
Published: 2010-09-11T03:23:51.058000+00:00

Luthien sat back in his comfortable chair, bare feet nestled in the thick fur of an expensive rug. He squirmed his shoul�ders, crinkled his toes in the soft fur and yawned pro�foundly. He and Oliver had come in just before dawn from their third excursion into the merchant section this week, and the young man hadn't slept very well, awakened soon after the dawn by the thunderous snoring of his diminutive companion. Luthien had gotten even, though, by putting Oliver's bare foot into a bucket of cold water. His next yawn turned into a smile as he remembered Oliver's profane shouts. Now Luthien was alone in the apartment; Oliver had gone out this day to find a buyer for a vase they had appropriated three days before. The vase was beautiful, dark blue in color with flecks of gold, and Oliver had wanted to keep it. But Luthien had talked him out of it, reminding him that winter was fast approaching and they would need many supplies to get through comfortably. Comfortably. The word rang strangely in Luthien's thoughts. He had been in Montfort for just over three weeks, arriving with little besides Riverdancer to call his own. He had come into a burned-out hole in the street that Oliver called an apartment, and truly, after the first day or two of smelling the soot, Luthien had seriously considered leaving the place, and Montfort, altogether. Now looking around at the tapestries on the walls, the thick rugs scattered about the floor, and the oaken desk and other fine furnishings, Luthien could hardly believe that this was the same apartment. They had done well and had hit at the wealthy merchants in a frenzy of activity. Here were the spoils of their con�quests, taken directly or appropriated in trades with the many fences who frequented Tiny Alcove. Luthien's smile sank into a frown. As long as he looked at things in the immediate present, or in the recent past, he could maintain that smile, but inevitably, the young and noble Bedwyr had to look farther behind, or farther ahead. He could be happy in the comforts he and Oliver had found, but could not be proud of the way he had come into them. He was Luthien Bedwyr, son of the eorl of Bedwydrin and champion arena warrior. No, he decided. He was just Luthien, now, the thief in the crimson cape. Luthien sighed and thought back to the days of his inno�cence. He longed now for the blindness of sheltered youth, for those days when his biggest worry was a rip in his fishing net. His future had seemed certain then. Luthien couldn't even bear to look into his future now. Would he be killed in the house of a merchant? Would the thieves guild across the lane grow tired of the antics, or jeal�ous of the reputations, of the two independent rogues? Would he and Oliver be chased out of Montfort, suffering the perils of the road in harsh

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