CHAPTER 16
Aeron noticed a patch of fresh blood staining the skirt of his new ally's robe.
"You're bleeding," he said.
"It's nothing."
Leaning against the weather-beaten railing with its flaking paint, Sefris peered down from the Rainspan at the street fifteen feet below. Aeron hoped that to a casual observer they looked like two innocent loiterers idly chatting and watching the traffic pass under the bridge. He knew, however, that no one who took a close look at Sefris would dismiss her so lightly. In her eyes he discerned a terrifying contradiction, calmness and calculation overlying a deeper madness. Or maybe he only thought he saw it because she made him nervous.
Which in turn made him want to engage her in conversation, perhaps in hopes of uncovering human feeling in someone who superficially seemed as cold as the brass mantis, and he supposed he might as well indulge the impulse. Maybe he'd find out something useful.
"I'm surprised your cult even cares about The Black Bouquet. I mean, if it was a grimoire full of evil magic, I could see it, but it's just a tool for making perfume."
She glanced over at him and replied, "It's not my place to question the tasks my Dark Father sets me."
"But you must at least think about them. I can tell you're not stupid."
It took her a moment to decide if she wanted to answer.
"It takes wealth to wage war," she said finally, "and we're the Dark Goddess's army in the struggle against everyone and everything."
"So you need a lot of wealth."
"Also, when Quwen sacked our temple in Ormath, it was a defeat and an affront to our Lady. We couldn't let it stand. In time, we'll erase it fully. Wash it away with his lordship's blood."
Aeron was sure Sefris wouldn't have divulged such a thing if she thought he might live to repeat it. That simply confirmed what he'd already concluded, but he felt a chill nonetheless.
"In that case," he said, "I'm glad I'm not him."
"It has occurred to me," Sefris said, her unblinking stare becoming a shade less piercing, her tone a bit more introspective, "that it's fitting for my order to lay claim to this particular treasure. Because of the title."
Aeron cocked his head and replied, "I don't follow."
"The Lady of Loss teaches that the whole world is like a black bouquet. Parts of it are pretty, to lure the foolish, but all the flowers are poison."
Though her statement was unsettling, he forced a grin.
He said, "That's a cheery point of view."
"You of all people should see the truth of it. You live in Oeble, where the folk prey on one another like starving rats, and friend betrays friend for a copper bit."
He snorted and said, "I guess we must be pretty bad at that, if our habits make a Shar worshiper squeamish."
"My point is, the rest of the world is no different. It's just that in Oeble, no one tries to cover up the essential foulness."
"Does that mean that in the big bouquet, we're stems as opposed to blossoms?"
"Mock Shar's wisdom if you want," she said. "Your opinion means nothing."
"I wasn't mocking, exactly..."
She pointed and said, "Look."
A few steps below street level, the door to the mordayn den opened, and three Red Axes, a pair of humans and a gnoll, emerged blinking into the sunlight. Aeron was disappointed, but not surprised. He'd assumed that none of Kesk's henchmen would roam around the city alone. The Lynxes had probably stopped raiding their competition—Ombert was shrewd enough to know he couldn't continue the harassment for long without his rivals discovering who was responsible—but the Axes couldn't be certain it was over.
"Loan me a couple of your knives," Sefris said.
"That's not the plan," Aeron answered as he started toward the end of the bridge.
She followed, saying, "If I hide, and throw daggers instead of chakrams, no one will realize I'm helping you. They'll think you made the kills."
"Just do it my way, all right?" Aeron said. "Stay well back unless I need you."
He almost wondered himself why he didn't take her up on her offer. Those past few days, his hands had run red with blood. It was probably stupid to scruple at spilling any more, particularly if it belonged to the cutthroats who were holding his father prisoner. Mask knew, Aeron had come to hate the bastards. Yet even so, given the choice, he'd manage the last part of his scheme without murder.
He slipped down the stairs that connected the Rainspan to the street, then started to shadow Kesk's men. Fortunately, the street was busy enough that he had a fair chance of going unnoticed. As he skulked along, he took inventory of his enemies' weapons. The gnoll bore a crossbow that was already cocked and loaded. Since it could strike fast and at a distance, Aeron needed to be particularly wary of it.
Alas, he had no way of telling what the Axes might be carrying in the way of potions, figurines that grew and came to life, or other magical creations. He'd just have to try to incapacitate them so quickly that they wouldn't have time to use such tricks even if they possessed them.
The Red Axes cut across the avenue toward the mouth of an alley. One of the human cutthroats, a beefy youth with a florid complexion and blond hair that stuck up in unruly tufts, kicked a beggar child who was too slow scurrying out of the way.
When he reached the start of it, Aeron saw that the alleyway wasn't nearly as busy as the street. Without dozens of pedestrians wandering every which way, he had a clear throw at his targets. He stooped, picked up a pair of round, heavy stones, and hurled them one after the other.
He wasn't as accurate with rocks as he was with daggers. He hadn't practiced as much. Still, the first stone cracked against the back of the gnoll's canine head, and the creature pitched forward. The second one hurtled past the blond lad's skull, missing by an inch.
The human Red Axes cried out in surprise and lurched around. By then, Aeron had another rock in his hand. He threw that one at the yellow-haired cutthroat's face, but his target jerked up his arm to shield himself. The resulting impact must have stung, maybe even chipped bone, but wasn't enough to put him down.
"That's Aeron sar Randal!" said the remaining bravo.
Stocky and middle-aged, he dressed all in blue, wore an abundance of cheap silver ornaments, and possessed a shrill, almost girlish voice. He and the blond youth snatched out their blades and charged.
Aeron was at least pleased that they hadn't pulled out any obviously enchanted weapons, and the gnoll appeared to be entirely unconscious. Still, the confrontation had become considerably riskier than Aeron wanted it to be.
He judged he had time for one more throw, so he grabbed a stone and faked a cast at the young Red Axe, who flinched. Aeron pivoted and flung the missile at the man in blue instead. The rock clipped his temple, and he stumbled to a halt. Looking shocked, his scimitar dangling at his side, he fingered the bloody graze.
The blond youth must have realized his comrade had stopped running, because he, too, balked. It gave Aeron a chance to put his hand on yet another stone. When he grabbed it, though, the Red Axe started rushing in again. He must have decided that even a fair fight, one against one and knife against knife, was preferable to standing off and letting a foe pelt him with rocks.
Aeron threw the stone. It smacked the youth in the chest but didn't stop him. He pounced, slashed, and Aeron, his hands empty, could only defend by springing frantically backward.
The Red Axe pursued him. Aeron had to dodge two more attacks before he could ready his own weapons, his largest Arthyn fang in one hand and his cudgel in the other.
He feinted a stab to the stomach with the knife, then lashed the club at the blond youth's face. Undeceived, the Red Axe simultaneously ducked the true attack and slashed at Aeron's wrist. The knife tore the underside of his forearm.
Aeron thought, hoped, the wound was shallow. He couldn't stop and check. He retreated to a safe distance, fought defensively for a few heartbeats, then flowed into the same combination he'd tried before, a low feint with the knife and a strike to the head with the cudgel. He made the actions just big and slow enough that his opponent was sure to understand them.
Naturally, the youth responded with the same counterattack as before. Why not, it had worked the first time. When his dagger flashed at Aeron's arm, the redheaded outlaw spun the club, trapped the blade, and carried it safely aside. At once he stepped in and hammered the heavy pommel of his own knife into the center of the Red Axe's forehead. The lad's eyes rolled up in his head, and his knees buckled.
Aeron felt a momentary satisfaction, cut short when he sensed a presence at his back. He leaped aside, and a scimitar whizzed through the space he'd just vacated. One profile smeared with blood, the cutthroat in blue had shaken off the shock of his superficial injury and crept up on the person responsible.
Aeron parried the next cut with his cudgel. It worked, it kept the blade out of his guts, but the force of the stroke knocked the club from his grip, leaving only his own blades with which to defend himself.
The Red Axe hacked at him repeatedly, and whenever Aeron could, he used a variation of the blond boy's counter. He ducked or dodged his opponent's blade and slashed or thrust at his extended arm. Before long, the man in blue became accustomed to the pattern, to an adversary who fought as he did, with a single weapon, and that was when Aeron surreptitiously slipped a second knife into his off hand.
He flourished the big Arthyn fang, locking the Red Axe's attention on it, then threw the smaller dagger. The knife plunged into the older man's throat. He made a gargling sound, pawed at the hilt for a second, and collapsed.
The Red Axe's death left Aeron feeling vaguely disgusted, but it was not the time to dwell on it. He inspected the gash on his forearm. He'd guessed right, it wasn't bad enough to require expert attention, not immediately, anyway. Employing his fingers and teeth, he knotted a kerchief into a makeshift bandage, then crouched to check the yellow-haired lad.
It occurred to him that it would be just his luck if he'd accidentally killed all three Red Axes, but in fact, the boy was breathing. He gripped him under the arms and dragged him into a recessed doorway, which might at least hide them from the casual notice of passersby. He kneeled down in front of his prisoner, then slapped and pinched him, trying to rouse him.
It took a while—long enough for a couple of garishly painted whores to wander down the alley, discover the corpse of the man in blue and the still-unconscious gnoll, and steal their purses and other valuables. Finally, though, the blond lad moaned, and his eyes fluttered open. Aeron poised an Arthyn fang at his throat, and he cringed.
"Don't fight, stay quiet, and I won't hurt you," Aeron said. "Otherwise, I'll stick you and talk to somebody else."
"You're crazy," said the youth, sounding more indignant than frightened. "Attacking us in broad daylight in the middle of the street? What if the Gray Blades had come along?"
"In case you haven't noticed, recently the law has been the least of my problems. At the moment, it's the least of yours, too."
"I'm not giving you any trouble, am I? What do you want?"
"For you to carry a message to Kesk. We're going to make the exchange, the treasure for my father."
"Good, let me walk you to the house. That will stop any other Red Axes trying to kill you."
Aeron grinned and said, "How kind. But I'm not going back into your stronghold. We'll make the trade in Laskalar's Square an hour after sunset."
"Out in the open, with people wandering all around?"
"You just said yourself, witnesses tend to discourage us outlaws from slaughtering one another. Not always, but some of the time."
"Kesk won't like it."
"Or my next requirement, either. He's to bring my father by himself. If I spot any other Red Axes—or magicians in scarves—you won't see me."
The blond lad sneered, "If you don't show up, your father dies."
"Better him than the both of us," Aeron replied. "And we both die if I let Kesk make the rules."
"Well, he won't let you make them."
"Deliver the message," Aeron said, "and we'll see."
Aeron rose and edged away. The Red Axe clambered to his feet and hurried off with many a wary backward glance. He hesitated over the gnoll as if pondering the advisability of trying to help the long-legged creature, then left it where it lay.
"That was sloppy," Sefris murmured, "letting him cut you."
Startled, Aeron jerked around. The willowy monastic in her cowl and robe was standing right beside him.
"I told you to hang back," he said.
"The Red Axes didn't see me," she replied, "and I didn't want you to think you had the option of slipping away from me. If I had to chase you down again, it would only be a waste of our time and energy."
"Why would I run when I need you? When I went to so much trouble to make contact with you in the first place?"
"Now that you've seen me close up, spoken with me, maybe you have second thoughts."
"No."
He'd finished those long ago—he supposed he'd reached his tenth or eleventh thoughts. But with only a few hours left before Kesk carried out his threat, he didn't have time to slip away from her, go into hiding, and hatch a more sensible plan.
Sefris asked, "Do you think Kesk will follow your instructions?"
"He'll come to Laskalar's Square, but not alone," Aeron replied with a grin. "His underlings will be lurking around, waiting to move in on my father and me as soon as the trade is done. Fortunately, they won't know you're sneaking around, too."
"You realize the tanarukk won't want to free Nicos until he has The Black Bouquet in his hands. But I can't allow you to give it to him."
"Don't worry, I won't even carry it to the meeting. If I did, you might be tempted to forget our bargain and take it away from me on the spot."
"Then how will you get Nicos out of Kesk's clutches, and even if you do, how can a lame old man hobble away quickly enough to keep the Red Axes from capturing him again?"
"Trickery," Aeron answered. "Tell me all the spells you can cast, and we'll figure it out from there."

Hulm had presumably finished his rounds before nightfall, but when Aeron passed from the Rolling Shields into Laskalar's Square, the Dead Cart was parked in front of Griffingate House. The gnarlbones presumably had personal business somewhere in the vicinity. The utilitarian wagon stood out in obscurely ominous contrast to the opulent gargoyle-encrusted facade of Oeble's most expensive inn. Aeron supposed a priest or philosopher of the proper persuasion could draw some sort of moral lesson from the scene. For his part, he only hoped it wasn't an omen of his own impending demise.
Dotted with trees and the occasional pigeon-spattered bit of statuary, the square itself was as busy as he'd expected. The shops and kiosks were doing a brisk business. Storytellers, minstrels, jugglers, and tumblers vied for the attention of the crowd, and the aromas of frying sausage and fresh-baked sweet buns scented the air. Aeron knew that under other circumstances, the smells would have made his mouth water. He hadn't eaten since leaving Melder's Door that morning. But at the moment, he was too edgy to think about food.
As he drifted around, he tried to spot Kesk's minions without their realizing he was looking. He marked one hobgoblin reaver pretending to watch a lewd puppet show and a human ruffian seemingly examining a leather-worker's wares, but not the rest, not yet. It didn't bother him too much that he couldn't pick out all the Red Axes. It was more troubling that he couldn't find the wizard, who was surely hanging around as well.
Oh, well, he thought, if everything goes as planned, I'll flush the whoreson out of hiding.
If not, the magician was still likely to make his presence obvious soon enough, in one inconvenient fashion or another.
It was on the north side of the grassy rectangle that Aeron finally caught sight of Nicos and Kesk. The Red Axes had cleaned the old man up, probably so it wouldn't be obvious to any casual observer that he was in distress. Thus, he wasn't bound or leashed, and of course didn't need to be. The tanarukk could fell him in an instant if he tried to make any trouble.
Like Aeron himself, Kesk wore a cowl to obscure his identity, and in the dark, some folk could have mistaken him for an unusually short and burly orc if they failed to notice the crimson smolder of his devilish eyes. No doubt he carried his battle-axe concealed beneath his cloak. As he stalked along, the set of his enormous shoulders hinted at his anger and impatience.
Aeron took a deep, steadying breath and called, "I'm here."
Kesk and Nicos turned. The hostage gave his head an almost imperceptible shake. Aeron knew it was his father's way of warning him to flee while he still could. He wished he could somehow make Nicos understand that he realized Kesk intended to cheat, and had planned a ploy of his own. But if he attempted any sort of signal, the tanarukk might see it, too.
"Let's do this," said Kesk.
"Not quite yet," Aeron answered. "Follow me, but don't try to catch up until I stop."
He led Kesk and Nicos back in the general direction of the two Red Axes he'd already spotted. They'd likely remain where they were, but others might skulk after him so they'd be close enough to strike as soon as the trade was finished. That would give him a final chance to pick them out.
He noticed one outlaw trailing him with a javelin clutched in either grubby, tattooed hand, and marked something else, two Gray Blades buying battered tin tankards of ale from a rawboned woman who ladled the brew out of an open keg. A few more mugs lay in the wheelbarrow behind her. Probably she'd used the conveyance to haul the cask to the patch of ground she rented from whatever gang currently controlled that portion of the square.
Aeron hesitated for an instant. He hadn't included any Gray Blades in his scheme, and supposed that when trouble erupted, they were just about as likely to interfere with him as they were with the Red Axes. Yet they certainly had the potential to add to the general chaos, and he thought he might as well trust his hunches and his luck. If they failed him, he and Nicos were doomed anyway.
So he stopped just a few feet away from the officers, beneath the boughs of a chestnut tree. His feet rustled the dry fallen leaves on the ground. He held up his hand to halt Kesk when the gang chieftain and Nicos were still a couple paces away, which was to say, while Aeron was still beyond the reach of his enemy's axe. The tanarukk glowered at the Blades, then spat. They didn't notice.
"I'm not fond of them, either," Aeron said, "but maybe having them close by will help you remember to behave yourself."
"Give me the book," said Kesk.
"First set my father free."
The tanarukk laughed and said, "Don't be stupid. Hand it over before I lose my patience, butcher you and the old man, too, and simply take it. I don't know why I haven't done that already."
Aeron grinned and replied, "I imagine because you gave your solemn promise. Also, you'd hate to send me to the Lord of Shadows prematurely, then find out you haven't really gotten your hands on The Black Bouquet after all."
Kesk's snout twitched, and saliva trickled around one of his tusks. It made Aeron want to take a step back, but he controlled himself.
"Show me the cursed book," the half-demon growled. "We'll start with that."
"That, I'm willing to do."
Aeron brought Miri's scuffed old saddlebag out from beneath his cape, unbuckled it, and pulled the steel strongbox out.
Kesk stared. For a second, he seemed less wrathful than perplexed.
"You locked it back in the coffer?" the tanarukk asked.
Aeron shrugged and said, "I was worried the Gray Blades were looking for a thief in possession of an old black tome full of perfumer's formulae. The box is less distinctive. Merchants and couriers use similar ones all the time."
"Well, open it."
"I can't," Aeron replied. "Not without my tools. Not without hunkering down over it for several minutes and making it obvious to anybody walking by that I'm having to crack it. At that, I'd be leery of triggering the wards again. One makes a boom so loud the entire square would hear it. I assumed you could open it without any problem, seeing as how I was supposed to give it to you in the first place."
"Set it on the ground," Kesk growled.
Aeron obeyed, and Kesk brought his axe out from under his mantle. The edges glowed red as he activated the same enchantment that had enabled him to chop through the heavy chain so easily. Aeron caught an acrid whiff of hot metal, reminiscent of a forge.
"Are you just going to bash it open?" he asked. "You might spoil the book, it's crumbling as it is, and the box truly is liable to thunder and break your arm. Maybe you should send for Burgell Whitehorn, now that he's on your side."
"Just shut your hole."
Kesk waved his massive gray hand with its coarse nails and patches of bristle. After a moment's hesitation, a slender figure approached. To all appearances, he was an elf, short as Kesk, ivory-skinned, green-eyed, and clad in sturdy traveler's attire. When he spoke, however, it was in the cultured tones of the anonymous wizard. He'd masked himself with illusion instead of a scarf. Aeron suspected the yew bow in his hand was actually the blackwood cane.
"I thought we agreed," the magician said, "that I'd keep my distance."
"I'm settling this business now," Kesk said, "without another second of delay, and that means I need you to open this." He gave the strongbox a little kick. "Get to it."
"Very well," the wizard said. He dropped to one knee, inspected the coffer, and muttered a charm under his breath. "The wards are gone."
Kesk gave Aeron a suspicious scowl. The human outlaw shrugged.
"I'm no arcanist," the rogue said. "How could I be sure of that?"
"I suppose the important thing," said the wizard, "is what's inside."
He removed a silver key from his pocket. The metal shimmered subtly in a manner that made Aeron suspect it was enchanted, like Burgell's skeleton key. He slipped it in the lock, twisted it, and the box popped open. The magician raised the lid completely and lifted out the musty black volume inside.
It wasn't The Black Bouquet, just another old, similarly colored volume Aeron had pilfered from the shop of a used book dealer. But neither Kesk nor his employer had ever laid eyes on the original, and shouldn't be able to tell until they looked inside. For the moment, they gazed raptly at what they took to be the prize they'd worked so hard to win. Anyone would have done the same.
Excitement, however, didn't turn Kesk completely stupid. He never could have schemed and murdered his way to ascendancy in Oeble's underworld if he was that easy a mark. He still kept a wary eye on Aeron, but unfortunately for the tanarukk, Aeron wasn't the one who was about to attack him. The redheaded outlaw simply eased a step backward, out of what was supposed to be the area of effect of Sefris's spell. Her timing was perfect. A split second later, tatters of shadow exploded from a central point in the air like the petals of some hellish flower blooming all in an instant. Caught in the silent blast, Kesk and his employer thrashed as if some fierce beast had seized them in its jaws.
It was possible that Aeron could have killed them both in that moment of near paralysis, but he still would have had to contend with the other outlaws, and the two Gray Blades who, alarmed by the murky burst of magic, were pivoting in his direction. All things considered, he deemed it best to get Nicos moving away while everyone was still startled. The spell had stunned the old man, too. When, taking care not to touch the rippling corona of shadow, Aeron grabbed him by the arm and hustled him away from his captors, reflex kept him shuffling along until his senses cleared.
Aeron peered desperately around, looking for all the Red Axes who were no doubt rushing to attack him. The plan called for Sefris to throw at least one follow-up spell at Kesk and the wizard, Aeron's two closest and most dangerous enemies, to keep them from chasing right after him, which meant that for a second at least, he was on his own when it came to dealing with the common ruffians.
The man with the tattooed hands threw a javelin. Either he didn't guess Aeron still hadn't surrendered the Bouquet, he was too excited and full of bloodlust to care, or maybe Kesk had ordered his henchmen to kill the pest and be done with it no matter how the meeting turned out. Aeron jerked his father out of the way. The second spear flew wild, almost striking a curly-headed goodwife carrying a wicker shopping basket on her arm. She squealed. Other people started shouting and shrieking, too.
A bugbear charged with a mace in either hand. Aeron lifted a throwing knife, but then one of the Gray Blades scrambled into the creature's path. He almost certainly had no clear idea of what was really going on, but recognized murderous intent when he saw it. The Red Axe tried to smash him out of its way, and he parried the first blow with his broadsword.
A crossbow bolt streaked past Aeron's head. He didn't know precisely where it had come from, and was simply glad it would take the marksman a few moments to reload. He glimpsed motion and pivoted. A Red Axe was drawing his bow. Aeron poised himself to spring aside and pull Nicos out of harm's way as well. He would have succeeded, too, except that the arrow must have been another enchanted weapon, for in flight, it multiplied into three.
One of them struck Aeron in the forearm. Denying the shock that might otherwise have made him slow and stupid, he snapped the shaft off short so it wouldn't hinder his movements.
"Are you hit?" he asked his father.
"No," Nicos panted, "but you are. You have to leave me. I'm slowing you down too much."
"After I went to all this trouble? To the Nine Hells with that. Just watch my back."
A Red Axe armed with a short sword charged them. Aeron threw an Arthyn fang, and the snapping motion triggered the first flare of pain from the arrowhead still embedded in his muscle. Still, the knife flew straight, and caught the bravo in the chest.
An orc wearing leather gloves studded with copper rivets thrust out its hands like a wizard casting a spell. Aeron didn't know what to expect, but instinct prompted him to hurl Nicos and himself to the ground. A dazzling white flare of lightning crackled over their heads. He rolled to one knee and tossed a dagger. His aim was too low, and the blade only pierced the orc's thigh. Still, the Red Axe faltered, gaping at the protruding hilt in seeming disbelief, as folk sometimes did when they took a wound.
Maybe the orc would retire from the fight and take its magical gloves with it, but even if so, would it matter?
Aeron was hurt, and it seemed as if Kesk had brought his entire band of cutthroats to the square.
What was Sefris doing?
If she was dead, or simply too busy with Kesk and the wizard to cast the spell Aeron was awaiting, he and Nicos were as good as dead.

CHAPTER 17
Following the burst of shadow, Sefris regarded Kesk and the wizard with cold satisfaction. Her ambuscade had taken them entirely by surprise, and they stood dazed and all but helpless. Only for a moment, but that gave her time for another spell, one with an excellent chance of killing them outright, or failing that, so crippling them that she'd have no trouble finishing them off with her hands. Then she'd help Aeron and Nicos escape the rest of the Red Axes, which would probably provide her the chance to slaughter a goodly number of them. Afterward, the lone-wolf thief would give her The Black Bouquet, and as soon as she had it, she'd complete her work by butchering him and the old man, too. In a world where everything was dung, and all prospect of pleasure bitter and hollow, it would nonetheless be about as rewarding an evening as a servant of Shar could wish for.
She plucked a pellet of guano and sulfur from one of her pockets and swept it through a cabalistic pass, meanwhile whispering a rhyme. Ordinarily she much preferred spells of shadow and darkness to any that conjured fire, but she was pragmatist enough to use the most effective tool for the task at hand.
A male voice, shrill with excitement, shouted, "Stop that!"
She turned her head. One of the Gray Blades, a muscular young man who'd tried with scant success to grow a beard, had spotted her and pointed a crossbow in her direction. She'd thought Aeron an imbecile to conduct his business in the lawmen's vicinity, and there was the proof.
As soon as he saw her face, the Gray Blade shot his quarrel. Something in her expression must have panicked him. She slapped the missile aside, but in so doing, spoiled her mystical gesturing and thus her spell.
The young man's eyes widened in amazement when she deflected the bolt, but he was game. With a rasp of metal on metal, he pulled his broadsword from its scabbard and charged. She spun a chakram at him and caught him in the throat. He staggered two more steps, then fell.
It had only taken a moment to deal with him. Yet she suspected it was a moment too long, and when she wheeled back around, it was clear that she was right. Kesk and the wizard had shaken off the effect of the shadow blast and scrambled out of the ragged bulb of darkness. The edges of his battle-axe shining red as magma, the tanarukk charged her. The magician wasn't doing much of anything yet. He didn't react as quickly as his partner, but given a chance, he'd start conjuring soon enough.
She sidestepped, thus interposing Kesk between the wizard and herself, and snap-kicked at the gang chieftain's massive knob of a knee. To her surprise, he managed to jerk his leg aside, and the ball of her foot only grazed him. The axe plunged at her, a powerful yet subtle stroke she had to spring backward to avoid.
Kesk leered at her and said, "Did you think you were better than me, bitch? You surprised me the first time, but now I understand how you fight."
Sefris did think she was his superior. She was confident she could defeat him and the wizard, too, but that alone wouldn't be good enough. She needed to do it fast, so she could proceed to the next part of the plan before Aeron and Nicos were overwhelmed. She launched herself at Kesk, attacking furiously, whirling, leaping, punching, and kicking.
Despite his bravado, Kesk gave ground, chopping at her as he backed away. He was fighting defensively, playing for time. She landed her share of strikes even so, but his thick hide seemed to blunt the force of her blows. Meanwhile the wizard maneuvered at a safe distance from the melee, obviously trying to reach a position from which he could target her without fear of accidentally hitting the half-demon with his magic.
She risked dividing her attention to rattle off an incantation and thrust her arm at the arcanist in his elf disguise. Jagged lances of darkness leaped from her palm to plunge into his chest without tearing his garments or breaking the skin. He reeled, but didn't fall, and his riposte came a moment later. Darts of blue light hurtled from his fingertips to pierce her own body in that same bloodless but still injurious manner. The cold pain was intense. Perhaps hoping the shock of the attack had paralyzed her, Kesk drove in hard, swinging the axe at her chest. She knocked it aside with both forearms, then followed up with a backhand strike that snapped one of his tusks and knocked him staggering backward.
At that moment, he was vulnerable. She could have lunged after him and delivered the death blow, except that she felt a sort of charge in the air that could only be the wizard's power enfolding her. Her sorceress's intuition told her it was the same spell of sluggishness that had so hindered her before. She focused her will, resisting the magic, and felt it dissolve without catching hold of her. Unfortunately, that gave Kesk time to come back on guard.
Precious seconds were racing by, and she still hadn't found the moment she needed to save Aeron. Her foes were pressing her too hard. She had to dispose of at least one of them without further delay, and unfortunately, she wasn't certain that any single attack at her disposal would suffice to cripple or kill.
But maybe she could rid herself of the wizard another way. He didn't want folk to know who Kesk's partner was, and with luck, his nerves were still shaky from the shadow burst. It generally had such a lingering effect. Once again seeking to cast a spell and evade the relentless axe at the same time, dodging the deadly strokes by inches, she recited the incantation and swept her cestus-wrapped hand through the proper pattern.
Just as when she'd negated the sluggishness, her magic broke the wizard's enchantment of disguise. The appearance of an elf wayfarer melted away, revealing a small man with a round-cheeked, boyish face, elegant silk and velvet clothes, and a long blackwood cane. He stared down at himself in astonishment, then pulled up a fold of his cloak to shield his face. He turned and ran. As Sefris had hoped, he truly was a wizard, which was to say, the kind of arcanist who needed to prepare his spells in advance. He didn't have another charm of illusion ready for the casting, and thus had no choice but to flee if he didn't want scores of onlookers to witness him fighting in concert with the Red Axes.
"Curse you!" Kesk bellowed. "Come back!" He glared at Sefris. "It doesn't matter. I'll still ki—"
She smashed a roundhouse kick into the side of his head, shattering some of his fangs and knocking him stumbling off balance. As she whirled with the attack, she spotted Nicos and Aeron. They hadn't made it very far toward the perimeter of the square, the idiot son had a bloody wound in his forearm, and the Red Axes were closing in. If she was to save them, it had to be right away.
She spoke the words of power and made the proper gesture. As before, it only took an instant, yet once again, that was all the time Kesk needed to recover. When she pivoted back in his direction, the axe was already flashing at her body.

Aeron hurled his last throwing knife and pierced a bugbear's chest. That left him only the largest Arthyn fang, the cudgel, and plenty of Red Axes still eager to spill his and Nicos's blood.
His arm throbbing, he offered his father the club. The weapon wouldn't save Nicos, but Aeron knew he'd prefer to go down fighting. The old man reached for it, and the air around them swam and thickened, giving birth to dank coils of thick white mist. In a moment, Aeron could scarcely see past the end of his nose. Elsewhere in the vapor, the Red Axes called out in dismay.
Ever since Nicos and Aeron had broken away from Kesk and the wizard, and despite the distracting business of struggling to stay alive, the younger thief had kept track of his position and orientation in the square, and the location of the objects in his vicinity. Thus he was still able to hurry his father along toward where he wanted him to go.
The Red Axe with the filthy, tattooed hands appeared in the mist, almost seeming to materialize like a phantom. His javelins expended, he clutched a short sword.
Lunging, he shouted, "They're here!"
Aeron parried and thrust in his turn. The bravo hopped backward, out of range. Aeron knew he couldn't afford to linger and fence with the Red Axe, for fear that the wretch's initial outcry would draw other foes to the spot. He threw himself forward, risking a counterattack in order to close the distance.
The reckless dive caught the tattooed man by surprise. Though he did attempt a stab, by then Aeron's Arthyn fang had already pierced his chest. The short sword slipped from spastic fingers, leaving the red-haired thief unscathed.
Aeron had only sprinted two long strides, but when he turned back around, he was, to all appearances, alone.
"Father!" he whispered.
"Here," Nicos answered.
Guided by the sound, Aeron scurried to the old man's side. He had to hope that, despite the interruption of having to fight the Red Axe, he hadn't lost his bearings. He led his father onward.
Elsewhere in the mist, lightning crackled, the vapor diffusing the glare into a softer glow. Somebody screamed. Aeron hoped the victim was a Red Axe and not a non-combatant.
The fugitives scrambled on for what felt like a long time, until Aeron was all but certain he'd lost his way. The trunk of an elm tree swam out of the fog. The bottommost branches hung low to the ground, and despite the season, still clung to most of their leaves.
"Can you climb?" he asked.
"A little, if I have to," Nicos said.
Aeron grabbed him by the belt and lifted him upward.
"And hide?" the rogue asked.
Nicos gripped a limb, and grunting with effort, dragged himself higher, relieving Aeron of his weight.
The old man said, "That should be no problem."
"Then get above eye level and stay still until the Red Axes go home, no matter how long that takes. I don't think they'll find you as long as I draw their attention elsewhere, and without you slowing me down, I can get away."
"Mask protect you," Nicos said.
Aeron strode away. After a few moments, he stumbled on the spot where a tinker in a patched cloak had set up shop. The thief snatched up a copper pot awaiting repair and banged it with the pommel of his fighting knife.
"We're here, you bastards!" he yelled. "Catch us if you can!"
He dropped his makeshift gong and rushed onward.
He wondered how Sefris was faring. Plainly, she'd still been alive when she finally conjured the fog as planned. Having performed that final service, the Red Axes were more than welcome to kill her. But actually, Aeron was sure it wasn't going to be that easy for him, just as he was certain that he and Nicos couldn't evade her for long. He had to dispose of her. He just hoped the last phase of his plan, the part she presumably knew nothing about, would do the job.
He felt more than saw the imposing mass of Griffingate House before him. He stalked along the side of the inn, heading for the alleyway where he was supposed to rendezvous with Sefris, and his luck deserted him again.

Unable to see it in the blinding fog, the small wizard tripped over the guy line of a vendor's tent and fell heavily to the ground. Perhaps the impact knocked the panic out of him, for when he raised his head, he felt better able to think.
Frightened or not, he still had no intention of letting half of Oeble witness him fighting in concert with the city's most infamous outlaws. He had to slip away, but before he did, perhaps he could cast a final spell to help his accomplices deal with Aeron sar Randal.
He hoped that despite the disorienting turmoil of the past couple minutes, including the alarming discovery that Aeron and Sefris were working together, the Red Axes still meant to capture the lone-wolf thief, not kill him. Otherwise, they'd likely lose The Black Bouquet forever. Yet even if they did, it would be better than if it somehow reached its rightful owner, and the magician found that, rattled and frustrated as he was, he'd actually come around to Kesk's point of view. It was time to put an end to the business, and to the redheaded nuisance who'd so complicated it, in whatever way it could be accomplished.
Plainly, Aeron and Nicos hoped to sneak away from the square under cover of the mist. If the small man could wash the muck from the air, perhaps Kesk's men could still catch them.
He didn't know whether it was possible. Sefris had dispelled two of his enchantments, whereas he'd never tried to cancel one of hers. It was entirely possible she was the superior spellcaster, for after all, he was primarily a merchant. He simply studied thaumaturgy in private when he could find the time, to give himself a secret edge.
Yet one of his teachers had told him that any wizard had a chance of unmaking the mystical creation of any other, so long as he performed the banishment perfectly. Accordingly, the trader picked himself up, took a deep breath, and gave it his best effort, enunciating the words of power as clearly and sweeping his cane through the passes as crisply as possible.
It worked. Power groaned around him like a note from a giant's cello, until the air suddenly cleared. The small man felt a pang of delight in his own prowess, cut short by the realization that, with the fog gone, he was once more in danger of being recognized. He shielded his face with his cloak and scurried on toward the edge of the square and safety.

It was too late to block the battle-axe. Not even the Dark Father Abbott of Sefris's monastery could have managed it. She flung herself backward, and it saved her life. The mighty cut, which would otherwise have cleaved her shoulder and plunged on deep into her vitals, simply ripped flesh and tore free in a shower of blood.
It was a bad wound anyway, and Kesk realized it. Grunting like a maddened boar through his broken fangs, pressing the advantage, he drove in hard. The axe leaped at her again and again.
For a moment or two, as shock threatened to overwhelm her, it was difficult for Sefris to parry or dodge and almost impossible to strike back. Her training braced her, carried her to a place beyond pain, weakness, or fear, into a cold, clear state of mind vaguely suggestive of the perfect peace that would endure forever once all vile created things passed into nothingness. Strength and agility surged back into her limbs, and she hooked a punch into Kesk's side. A rib cracked. She was in too close for him to chop at her, so he lifted the axe high and rammed the end of the handle down at the top of her skull. She slipped the blow and whipped an elbow strike into his jaw.
The way the tanarukk's head sat atop his massive shoulders, he scarcely seemed to have a neck. Otherwise, the blow would probably have snapped it. As it was, the fire in his scarlet eyes seemed to dim, and when he tried to retreat and give himself room for another axe stroke, he stumbled. She leaped into the air and thrust-kicked him in the center of the chest. He fell on his back and lay motionless while she stamped on him.
That ought to have killed him, even as tough as he was. In other circumstances, she would have paused to make sure, but she wanted to start after Aeron without further delay. She didn't think he'd tried to lose her, not with his father still up a tree in the middle of the square, readily available for recapture, but she wasn't certain. The rogue was too tricky for her to feel confident of predicting his every move.
When she turned, her fog was gone. Though the wizard was nowhere to be seen, he'd evidently dispelled it before fleeing. A good many of the Red Axes had disappeared as well. They must have groped their way out of the square. Maybe they'd been afraid the mist would make them sick, like the poison vapor the magician had conjured back in the mansion, or perhaps they'd seen little point in stumbling around in the murk until the Gray Blades arrived in force, an event which was sure to happen eventually. In any case, even though Sefris would have taken a certain satisfaction in striking them out of her path, their departure ought to make life easier.
She sprinted toward the mouth of the alley where Aeron had promised to meet her. Up ahead in the darkness, a man cried out.

CHAPTER 18
Bow in hand and an arrow on the string, Miri crouched in the shadowy gap between two snarling gargoyles on the gabled roof of Griffingate House. She peered at the thick white fog in Laskalar's Square and the folk who periodically stumbled out of it and fled down the alley. She strained her ears in an essentially futile effort to interpret the confusion of shouts and other noises emanating from the midst of the cloud.
Where was Aeron? Her nerves were taut with waiting, and it seemed to her that it was taking him forever to appear. True, the mist had materialized as he'd said it would, which indicated a part of the plan had gone off properly, but it didn't necessarily mean he hadn't come to grief.
The vapor disappeared. She scowled in dismay until Aeron dashed down the passage. For a moment she imagined everything was all right, then a man and a limping orc came chasing after him. They'd apparently spotted him when the fog vanished, just scant seconds too soon.
Miri's fingers fairly itched with the urge to draw her bow, but Aeron had told her that no matter what happened, she wasn't to do anything that would reveal her presence prematurely. She was still hesitating when the human Red Axe whirled a sling and let the bullet fly. Aeron didn't duck or dodge, maybe hadn't even realized that the cutthroats were behind him. The lead pellet slammed into the back of his head with a thud audible even high above the ground, and he pitched forward onto his hands and knees.
When Aeron had first hatched the scheme of using Sefris to rescue his father, Miri had thought him insane, but gradually he'd talked her around. She still wasn't quite sure how, except that he was right about one thing. As a sorceress and expert practitioner of the Dark Moon's esoteric style of combat, Sefris possessed capabilities they lacked. Moreover, Kesk and his wizard partner wouldn't expect the monastic to join forces with Aeron, which gave her a good chance of taking them by surprise.
One difficulty with recruiting Sefris, however, was Aeron's alliance with Miri. It was inconceivable that the Shar worshiper would take anything the rogue said at face value if she believed the partnership was still in effect. An even bigger problem was what to do with her once she'd outlived her usefulness. Aeron and Miri were both able combatants with their respective weapons, but even so, they doubted they could defeat Sefris in anything even vaguely resembling a fair fight. The monastic simply outclassed them.
Aeron conceived a single ploy to solve both dilemmas. He contacted Melder, with whom he'd had some sort of shady dealings in the past, and bribed him to take part in the charade of Miri's capture and imprisonment. Despite her partner's assurances, she herself participated with considerable suspicion and reluctance, for after all, the innkeeper actually had sent the yuan-ti slavers after her. But Melder kept his part of the bargain, making no effort to molest her or detain her when it was time for her to go.
That left her free to climb to the top of Griffingate House and lie in wait for Sefris to appear. For all the Dark Moon agent's prowess, surely a well-aimed arrow could kill her if she never even saw it coming. Miri didn't much like the idea of striking down a sister human being in such a fashion, but she accepted that it was necessary. Sefris deserved extermination as much as any goblin or troll Miri had ever battled in the wild.
But Aeron was down, not quite unconscious but plainly stunned. The Red Axes were hurrying toward him, the human in the lead and the orc hobbling behind. They were going to capture or kill him unless Miri deviated from the plan and intervened.
She didn't see she had a choice. She loosed an arrow, which drove through the human Red Axe's torso. He cried out and collapsed.
The orc whirled, peered upward, and oriented on her. The night could do little to hamper its dark-adapted eyes. It thrust out its leather-gloved hands like a wizard throwing a spell.
She recoiled, and a spear of lightning sizzled past her. The magic didn't burn her, but the glare made her squinch her eyes shut.
It also shrank her pupils and carved a streak of afterimage across her vision, leaving her partly blind. She couldn't let that stop her. She had to kill the orc before it hurled any more lightning, either at Aeron or at her. She stared down, believed she glimpsed her adversary, and shot by instinct as much as sight.
It was good enough. The shaft took the orc in its upturned face, and it fell down on its back.
Miri sighed with relief—and something lashed around her, pinning her arms against her body. Blinking, thrashing uselessly, she perceived that the moon-cast shadow of one of the gargoyles had warped into a tentacle, reared up, and grabbed her.
In the mouth of the alley, Sefris looked up at the result of her spell. She'd evidently arrived while Miri was fighting the Red Axes, and waited to pick off the victor.
The monastic swirled her hand through a mystic pass. Almost invisible in the night, jagged black blades hurtled upward. Immobilized, Miri couldn't dodge. The magic pierced her flesh without breaking the skin, yet even so, the flare of pain was ghastly.

Dazed, Aeron noticed a curious thing. His wounded forearm and the back of his head were throbbing to the same beat. For a moment, he lingered on his hands and knees, hypnotized by that tempo of shock and pain, then remembered he was in danger. He dragged himself to his feet and lurched around—
—just in time to see Sefris savage Miri with bolts of darkness. The scout flailed, then dangled motionless in the coil of shadow that had caught her.
Smiling almost imperceptibly, Sefris stalked forward. Something had cut deep into her shoulder and soaked her robe with blood. Yet her movements flowed with the same sure grace as ever, and try as he might, Aeron could draw no hope from the fact of her injury. Somehow, it just made her seem all the more unstoppable and inhuman, as if she was Death itself come to claim him.
"Think about it," he panted. "Nothing's really changed. I still have The Black Bouquet. It will still be destroyed at sunrise if I don't retrieve it."
"My perspective has changed," Sefris replied, still gliding forward past the corpses of the Red Axes. "I'm done playing your games. You claimed you could hold up under torture for a long while, but now I'm going to put it to the test. We'll see if you can keep your secret while I mangle you one small piece at a time. Rest assured that if you do, after I finish with you, I'll hunt down Nicos and make him pay for your stubbornness."
Aeron backed away from her. He could feel the blood from his torn scalp on the nape of his neck.
"All right," he said, "you win. I'll take you to the book."
"It isn't that easy," Sefris said. "You've played too many tricks. I need to pluck an eye or cripple a limb, so you'll understand what truly lies in store for you. I need to hear you scream and beg. Maybe after that, I'll find it possible to believe what you say."
He lifted his weapons. For no reason, really, except mat he preferred to go down fighting. He knew he had no chance, or at least that was what he assumed until he glimpsed a stirring at the uppermost edge of his vision.
Terrified as he was, he nearly jerked his head higher for a better look. If he had, Sefris would naturally have turned and peered, also. Fortunately, at the last possible instant, his instinct for stealth asserted itself, and he managed to glance surreptitiously upward without alerting her.
Miri was squirming inside the shadow tentacle. She must have played dead so Sefris wouldn't blast her with yet another spell. The monastic had turned her attention elsewhere, so the ranger was trying to free herself. If she succeeded, and Aeron stayed alive until she did, perhaps the plan could still work.
He retreated farther. Every second he could keep away from his pursuer was another moment for Miri to struggle free. Sefris broke into a sprint to close the distance. He wished he could think her reckless for rushing his long, sharp fighting knife that way, but knew she had no reason to fear it.
She leaped high, spun, and kicked at his head. Aeron jumped back, and the attack fell short by inches. He slashed at her foot as it whizzed by, but he was too slow.
She touched down, and instantly, her stiffened hands chopped at him. He hopped back once more, faked a thrust with the Arthyn fang when she followed, and lashed the cudgel at her head in a true attack. She ignored the knife, blocked the club with her forearm, and smashed her leather-wrapped fist into his solar plexus.
All the strength went out of him. He would have collapsed if she hadn't caught him. Her fingertips dug into each of his wrists in turn. His hands spasmed, and he dropped his weapons. Still holding him upright, she manhandled him down the alley, no doubt seeking a dark spot where she could torture him undisturbed.
Sefris threw herself to the side, carrying him with her. An arrow from on high streaked past them. He didn't think she'd been looking upward, but somehow she'd sensed it coming.
A second shaft flew at once. Heedless of the danger to the man Sefris still clutched against her, Miri was shooting as fast as she could. Ironically, at that moment, it was the daughter of the Dark Moon who had the greater care for his safety. She flung him aside to smack down on the ground.
Unencumbered, Sefris shifted back and forth, her spinning arms a blur, either dodging the arrows or batting them aside. In a few moments at best, the wounded ranger's barrage must inevitably slow down, giving the sorceress the chance to cast another spell.
Which was to say that Sefris was still going to win the fight, and hurt as he was, Aeron had no idea how to change that. Even if he could muster the strength to find his fallen knife and attack, the monastic would just swat him down like a fly.
Unless...
He couldn't seem to catch his breath but forced himself to crawl. It was easier than walking and less likely to attract Sefris's notice.
As he neared the dead orc, Sefris lashed lengths of black ribbon through the air. Up on the roof, a ragged bulb of shadow exploded into being. Caught in the dark flare, Miri wailed, lost her footing on the slanted tiles, fell on her rump, and slid. She plunged partway off the edge, then managed to snatch hold of something and catch herself. Her bow and most of the remaining arrows from her quiver tumbled toward the ground.
Aeron had to find the strength to rise. Otherwise, in just another second, Sefris would surely finish off the helplessly dangling ranger. He staggered up and charged the agent of the Dark Moon, shouting—or croaking... making noise, anyway—to divert her attention. She pivoted like a demonic dancer and lunged to meet him.
If the leather-and-copper gloves he'd removed from the orc's body had needed him to speak a trigger word or make some special mystic gesture to activate them, he couldn't have done it, but it turned out that the mere intent was enough. And if Sefris had been standing just a couple yards away, he was certain she could have dodged the magic. Fortunately, however, she herself was pouncing to close the distance, and the blaze of lightning caught her square in the middle of the chest. She shuddered and twitched, then fell. Aeron thought she clutched at him as she went down, but maybe it was just his imagination, for she didn't stir after she hit the ground. She simply lay inert, a contorted husk giving off a sickening stink of burned meat.
It certainly looked like death. But Aeron found the Arthyn fang and drove it into her heart anyway, just to make sure.
Only then did he look up. Miri had hauled herself back from the brink.
"Are you all right?" she wheezed.
"Better than I expected to be, certainly. What about you?"
"The same."
She knotted a rope around a gargoyle and used it to clamber to the ground, where she stood peering at Sefris's smoking body as if she too couldn't quite believe the Shar worshiper was dead.
"I think that if she hadn't already been wounded," Miri said, "we never could have beaten her, not even with the magic gloves."
"I think you're right."
"Thank the Forest Queen it's over."
He took a deep breath, preparing himself for further exertion, and said, "Not yet it isn't"

When Kesk staggered around the bend, he met three halflings slinking in the other direction. Lynxes, beyond a doubt. He would have known even if he hadn't encountered them in the Underways, where honest people had no business. It was obvious from their abundance of weapons and the hardness in their wary eyes.
He knew the small outlaws could tell plenty about him as well. They could scarcely miss his broken tusk and fangs, his pulped, bloody features, or the anguished way he hobbled along bent half double. Accordingly, he knew what they must be thinking. There was their chieftain's hated rival, alone, wounded, and ripe for the murdering at last.
Kesk had regained consciousness on the ground surprised to find himself still alive. Sefris must have rushed off somewhere in a hurry. Maybe she'd felt a need to chase after Aeron without further delay.
Thanks to her sneak attack, Kesk had lost the redheaded thief and Nicos, too. He was grievously hurt, as the agony in his vitals attested. The wizard had deserted him. Apparently off battling Sefris, pursuing the sar Randals, or simply blundering around lost in the conjured fog, none of his underlings were at hand to help him, either.
Still, he told himself, he was going to be all right. A priest of Mask could restore him to health. He just needed to return to the safety of his stronghold before the Gray Blades or any of his other countless ill-wishers found him in his current vulnerable condition. Accordingly, he rose and groped his way through the mist to the nearest entry to the tunnels.
To no avail, perhaps, for thanks to pure foul luck, the three Lynxes had discovered him anyway. He glared at them as ferociously as he'd ever glared in his life, and brandished his battle-axe, still wet with Sefris's gore, for good measure. The haft almost slipped through his numb fingers. He certainly didn't have the strength to swing the weapon.
"Do you think you can take me?" he snarled. "Me, Kesk Turnskull? Come on and try."
The halflings gazed back at him for what seemed like a long while.
Finally, when he was sure they were going to call his bluff, the one in the lead said, "Why dirty our hands? You're dead already, or so it looks to me."
The Lynxes edged around Kesk, giving him as wide a berth as possible, and prowled on.
Kesk started to laugh, but it hurt his chest like the jabbing of a knife, so he choked it off. Once the halflings disappeared around the turn, he too trudged onward.
The mansion is close ... the mansion is close, he told himself over and over again, to keep one foot shuffling in front of the other.
Finally he spied a glowing scarlet lantern and realized the encouraging words had become true. He felt a swelling of relief, and naturally, as if some malicious god was having a joke at his expense, it was at that moment that a familiar voice spoke his name.
Kesk stumbled around. Aeron and the female archer had crept up behind him. Apparently the lone-wolf robber hadn't sold her to Melder after all. The report to the contrary must have been another trick.
It was immediately apparent from their level stares that Kesk had no hope of intimidating that pair of enemies. The woman was aiming an arrow. Aeron had his arms extended. After a moment—his eyes kept wavering in and out of focus—Kesk realized the red-haired rogue was wearing the lightning gloves that he himself had extorted from the wizard. It was quite possible that that same magic was going to kill him. The thought gave rise to a bitter mirth, and once again, he had to stifle a laugh.
"Track me, did you?" he asked.
"More or less," Aeron replied. "It was obvious where you'd try to go."
"Where's the other bitch?"
"We killed her." The human outlaw hesitated, then said, "If it was your axe that cut her shoulder, I guess the three of us did it together."
"I'm glad of that, anyway. Now I suppose it's my turn to die. Do it, then. But if you do, you'll never know who my partner was."
"I don't care who he was," Aeron replied. "You're the one I want."
Kesk centered his attention on the ranger. He knew she was his only hope.
"The wizard told me Dorn Heldeion wants to change how we live in Oeble," said the tanarukk, "by bringing in a new and lawful way to make coin."
She frowned at the mention of the name of her employer, a prominent member of the Council of Nine Merchants, chief deputies to the Faceless Master. Kesk realized that she must have kept the secret of the rich man's identity from Aeron, and he'd given it away. If the lanky thief was even interested, he didn't show it
"I don't want to change Oeble," said Aeron, "except for erasing you from the middle of it."
"If you do want to make things different," said Kesk, still directing his words to the ranger, "you can't do it by killing me. Every city has somebody like me, and if you dispose of him, another just as bad pops up to take his place. The only chance to put Oeble on another path is for Master Heldeion's scheme to succeed."
"I told you," Aeron said, "I like Oeble fine the way it is."
"So does the wizard," Kesk replied. "He just wants to run it is all. In time, he will. He's clever and patient. He makes plans that take years to work themselves out. He's the one who sabotaged Master Heldeion's trading ventures and ran him into debt without Heldeion even understanding why everything was going wrong."
"Why did he bother?" the ranger asked.
"Dorn Heldeion has too much influence," said Kesk, clenching himself against another surge of pain. "When the magician has the Faceless Master assassinated, he wants to look like the only reasonable candidate to take over the job. That means ruining any potential rivals in advance. Though if Heldeion's gamble pays off, if he gets his hands on The Black Bouquet, he won't really be ruined. The coin-lenders will be happy to keep him afloat, knowing that in a couple years, the secrets in the book will rebuild his fortune many times over. So the wizard had to try to keep it away from him."
"He failed," Aeron said.
"At that scheme, yes," said Kesk, "but if you let him go free, he'll simply start over with a new one."
"He must be a prominent member of the Council of Nine himself," said the guide. "It would be useless to accuse him without evidence, or at least a witness more reputable than the leader of the Red Axes."
"I can tell you where to look for proof," said Kesk. "I can give you the name of the spy in Heldeion's house. Squeeze him, and he's bound to sell out the wizard to save his own skin."
Aeron sneered and said, "Just like you."
"The coward betrayed me first," said Kesk, glaring back at the thief. "He ran out on me."
"As you betrayed Kerridi, Gavath, Dal, and me," Aeron replied. "And you know what, Pigface? I'm tired of hearing you oink."
Aeron extended his arms straighter. A blue spark popped on one of his knuckles, and the smell of ozone filled the air. Kesk held himself steady. They could kill him, but they'd never see him cringe.
"Aeron," the ranger said, her voice troubled.
"No," he said.
"If he's right, if we do need his help to give this sordid place a chance at a decent way of living..."
"Are you both deaf?" Aeron spat "I said, I don't care about that. He tortured my father. He killed my friends."
"I killed your friends," said the ranger.
"I blame him, not you. Anyway, I don't dare let the vengeful bastard live. Father and I would never be safe."
"I vow by the War Maker," said Kesk, "that I won't come after either of you."
"Liar," Aeron said.
The ranger reached as if to take her companion by the arm, then, to Kesk's disgust, thought better of it.
"All right," she sighed, "I won't argue any further. It's your right to kill him if you want. In your place, I'd probably do the same thing."
"Of course you would." Aeron glared down the length of his leveled arms until Kesk's nerves positively screamed with the waiting, then made a sour face, lowered his hands, and said, "Damn you, Miri, why did you have to prattle at me? Now I can't do it, and I don't even know why. Maybe I'm just sick of killing."
Kesk felt lightheaded with relief. With nothing to lose by trying, he'd argued for his life, but had never actually expected his foes to heed him.
Most likely the scout would never have cause to regret it. She'd vanish into the wilderness, never to return. Aeron, however, was a different matter. When the time was right, Kesk would avenge this humiliation on the lone-wolf rogue and his father, too. Surely offering up a pair of human hearts would appease the War Maker for a false oath sworn in his name.

CHAPTER 19
Miri was aching and bone-weary by the time she and Aeron reached the riverfront. Despite her rudimentary training in the mystic arts, she didn't truly understand how Sefris's bolts of darkness could cause genuine harm without breaking the skin, but it was obvious they had. Otherwise, she wouldn't feel so punchy and weak.
It didn't matter. The fighting was over, and the long search, nearly so. In another hour, she'd deliver The Black Bouquet to Master Heldeion, then she could return to Ilmater's house for healing and the use of a bed.
With his wounded arm and head, Aeron would benefit from the priests' attentions as well. She turned to tell him so, then gaped in horror. The rogue was no longer walking at her side.
She spun around. Except for herself, the narrow, trash-choked alley, foul with the stink of rotting fish and produce, was deserted. Aeron hadn't simply lagged a step or two behind. Somehow, he'd slipped away.
She cursed herself for a dunce. Once Nicos was safe, and Sefris dead, she should have known better than to take her eyes off Aeron for so much as an instant. But it was her nature to trust a comrade with whom she'd faced so much peril, and thanks to that gullibility, she'd probably lost the formulary forever.
She snatched an arrow from her quiver to hold ready in her hand, then started to run back the way they'd come. She knew how unlikely it was that she'd spot the liar skulking through the dark, but she had to try.
He called out to her, "Hold on."
She whirled back around, and Aeron stepped from the shadows.
"I'm right here," he said, "and so is this." He hefted a heavy, black-bound volume. "I kept it behind some loose bricks in a wall down thataway."
She peered at him quizzically and asked, "If you meant to give it to me, why did you disappear?"
"I don't know," he said with a smile. "A joke? Maybe I wanted you to know I'm turning it over because I want to, not because I'm afraid of your bow and sword. That I do keep my promises to the right people."
He placed the book in her hands.
When she opened the cover, a sweet scent wafted up. Holding the book close to her face, squinting against the gloom, she was just able to make out Courynn Dulsaer's handwriting. It was the real Bouquet, not simply another decoy. Aeron chuckled to see her check the book.
"I said you were learning to think like one of us Oeblar," he said.
"Thank you," she replied. "For the Bouquet, not that remark. It's still an insult."
He smiled a crooked smile and said, "From that retort, I take it you're still eager to go back to the woods. I'll miss you ... at least a little."
It seemed the perfect opening for Miri to propose the notion she'd been mulling over.
"You don't have to," she said. "You could come along. I'd sponsor you for membership in the Red Hart Guild, and train you, too."
"Now you're playing a joke on me."
"No. I've seen the better side of your nature, and you're too good a man to live out your days as a sneak thief in this wretched place."
"This wretched place is about to reform, or so I'm told."
"Over the course of years, maybe, if everything goes according to Master Heldeion's plan," Miri replied. "I'm offering you the certainty of a new life, a useful, honorable one, right here and now."
"I can't abandon my father."
"He can come, too. The guild provides a home for those of our kin who can't take care of themselves."
He stood mute for several heartbeats, seemingly pondering the offer.
At last he said, "Thank you. I'm flattered you asked, but no. I just don't see myself sleeping on the ground."
Though it was the response she'd expected, it disappointed her nonetheless.
"So be it, then," said the ranger. "I guess you'll have to settle for a bag of Master Heldeion's gold as a reward."
"For recovering The Black Bouquet?" Aeron said with a snort. "Not likely. Remember who lifted it in the first place, triggering disturbances across the city that even left some Gray Blades dead. You may have a high opinion of Heldeion, but I don't know him, and I don't trust him not to string me up. He's a merchant and one of the city fathers, in other words, an outlaw's natural enemy."
"Well, as you pointed out yourself, he doesn't ever have to see you or know your name. I promised you gold when we sealed our pact, and I'll fetch it to you."
"Again, thanks, but no. I only asked for a reward to persuade you to trust me. I took the same tack when I talked to Kesk in Slarvyn's Sword. People are usually inclined to believe you're speaking honestly when you say you want coin.
"The truth is, I don't take rewards from fat burghers for returning what's rightfully theirs. That's not my trade. If Heldeion gives you a bonus, keep it for yourself."
"Then you come out of this with nothing."
"I've got my father back, that's what matters, and these lightning gloves are worth having as well. Come on, I'll walk you to Heldeion's house before we go our separate ways. You may find it difficult to believe, but some people think the streets of Oeble are unsafe."

When the servant opened the door for him, Oriseus Forar stepped out onto the porch of his mansion, took a breath of crisp morning air, and tried to take pleasure in the start of a new day.
The gods knew, he had sufficient excuse for a glum mood. After his panicky flight from Laskalar's Square, his alliance with the Red Axes was surely at an end even if Kesk had survived his confrontation with Dark Sister Sefris. Oriseus still didn't have The Black Bouquet in his possession, and he doubted he ever would.
Yet the situation wasn't entirely bleak. As far as Oriseus knew, Dorn Heldeion didn't have the book, either, which meant the fool still faced ruin. Oriseus simply had to call in the debts his proxies had bought up. Even more importantly, neither Dorn nor anyone else of importance knew of Oriseus's criminal and treasonous designs. He'd emerged from the Bouquet debacle with his reputation unblemished, free to continue enjoying all the wealth and luxuries his station afforded while pursuing his clandestine efforts to bring the entire city under his sway.
Or so he assumed. But as he descended the marble steps toward his litter, a handsome, crimson-lacquered conveyance with appointments of real gold, he spied the Gray Blades. They'd apparently been waiting in the street, inconspicuous among the scurrying crowds, for Oriseus to emerge. Their expressions hard, they advanced on him, and Miri Buckman strode along with them.
Oriseus didn't know how it had happened, but he had no doubt the Faceless Master had ordered his arrest. He was equally certain of the grim fate awaiting him if he allowed himself to be taken. Struggling against terror, he told himself it needn't come to that. His magic would enable him to escape.
He began reciting a spell, lifted a hand to sketch an arcane symbol in the air, and a fierce pain stabbed into his palm. His arm jerked, spoiling the pass. Amazed, he turned his head to discover the source of his distress. He had an arrow sticking through his flesh, the bloody, razor-edged head protruding several inches beyond his knuckles. If only he'd worn his green cloak with its enchantment against missiles! Unfortunately, he'd been worried that people had noticed a suspicious character clad in such a garment fleeing the scene of the battle the night before, and accordingly had left it in his armoire.
He started conjuring with the other hand. Smiling, Miri shot an arrow through that one, too. He tried to finish the magic anyway, but fumbled. The Gray Blades grabbed him.

Once the lawmen laid hands on Oriseus Forar, Aeron decided he and Nicos had seen enough. Muffled in their cloaks and hoods, they turned away, then squirmed and dodged their way through the mass of gawkers who had, as if by magic, assembled to watch the wealthy and prominent—and accordingly, envied and despised—merchant's downfall.
Aeron's belly felt as hollow as a whore's flattery, and he was sure that after his ordeal, Nicos could use a hearty breakfast to rebuild his strength. He led the old man to an open-air food stand under a sagging, dilapidated awning. Behind the bar, eggs, battered bread, trout, and perch smoked and sizzled in cast iron frying pans, filling the air with appetizing aromas.
"I don't know why Miri didn't just shoot Forar in the vitals," Aeron said as they claimed a pair of stools. "I doubt either the Faceless Master or Dorn Heldeion would have minded."
Nicos smirked and replied, "She figured you were watching from somewhere close at hand, so she was showing off for you."
"I knew it had to happen sooner or later," said Aeron, shaking his head. "You're finally going senile."
"You could do worse than a lass like that."
"Right, a woman who likes to sleep out in the rain and snow and thinks the point of life is to risk your neck serving others. Plainly, she and I are a match decreed by the Morninglord himself."
"Well, when you put it that way...."
A serving maid came to take their orders. After she finished, Aeron turned the conversation to more practical matters.
"What items do you need," he asked, "to undertake a journey?"
"A fresh supply of my medicines would be nice. Why, are we going somewhere?"
"Away. I don't care how many oaths Kesk swears. I've twisted his snout too many times, and if I linger within his reach, eventually he'll put an end to me."
"You don't seem too upset about needing to flee."
Aeron shrugged and asked, "What is there to hold me here? All my best friends have either died or betrayed me, and anyway, this whole town is nothing more than a black bouquet."
"What in the name of Baator does that mean?"
"I don't know, but I'm looking forward to finding out. Lately it's occurred to me that the world's a lot bigger than this one town. I've never even seen the Lake of Steam, and it's just over the next hill. Well, so to speak."
"Do we have the funds to pay for a journey?"
"We will once I lift a few purses. Afterward, we'll wander until we find a city that suits us. Someplace I can go back to thieving as a regular thing if I take a mind to."
"If you take a mind to ..." Nicos chuckled. "If we want to eat, you may not have a choice."
"Well, as to that..."
Aeron stealthily opened his tunic just long enough for his father to glimpse the old, brown sheets of parchment he carried inside, then fastened it up again.
Nicos lowered his rasping voice to a whisper and asked, "Pages from the formulary?"
"Slit neatly from the center. Dorn Heldeion has plenty of recipes left. He'll never miss these few. But if the whole book is worth a vast fortune, then even a piece of it should sell for a small one, once we get it authenticated. So you see, unless we develop a yen for golden ruby-studded chamber pots and similar extravagances, we're set for a long time to come."
Nicos grinned and said, "I always hoped to steer you toward an honest, upright manner of living. I'm starting to be glad it didn't work."