The Black Bouquet

CHAPTER 11

The night was overcast and dark. Still, peering down from the Rainspan, Aeron could make out some detail inside the shadowy enclosure off Dead King's Walk. From the looks of her, Miri could, too. In fact, from the way she fingered her new longbow, he could tell she was thinking she could hit the guard who periodically emerged from his sentry box to amble around checking on the merchandise, and never mind that she'd complained of the poor quality of the weapon compared to the one she'd lost.

She was a dangerous woman for certain, one who'd already killed some of Aeron's friends, and he was trusting her simply because, when she'd promised to deal fairly with him, she'd seemed to be speaking honestly, and even if not, so long as she didn't know where he'd stashed The Black Bouquet, she might well hesitate to attack him. For what if matters went awry, and he either escaped her or wound up dead?

In any case, he had to run the risk of working with her, because she was right. For the time being, he did need her. His truest friends were dead, and Kesk had demonstrated his ability to turn the rest of Oeble against him.

"What do you think?" he asked.

"I can make the shot," Miri replied. A cool breeze, moist with the promise of rain before morning, shifted a lock of her close-cropped hair. "And I don't like slavers. But the trade is legal in Oeble, isn't it?"

"Thank Mask I'm just a 'miserable thief,' " he said. "Such concerns don't matter to me. Yes, a slave emporium is legal in and of itself, even if an outlaw like Kesk owns it. But if it makes you feel any better, I'd wager a wagon full of gold that he didn't come by all his stock in a lawful manner."

"That does make it better. Still, I'd rather not murder a man unnecessarily." She glowered and added, "If that makes me a squeamish fool in your eyes, so be it."

"It doesn't," he admitted. "If you remember, I tried to steal The Black Bouquet without anybody getting hurt. We'll use the other plan."

Keeping an eye out for those who were scouring the city hunting him, they stalked to the end of the bridge, entered a squat octagonal tower, and descended to ground level via the stairs inside. Aeron cracked open the match-boarded external door, peeked out, and frowned. Dead King's Walk was one of Oeble's primary thoroughfares, and despite the lateness of the hour, that particular section was both better lit and busier than he would have liked. He and Miri would just have to cope.

They sauntered to the slave market entrance. Aeron figured he had just a moment or two to make an assessment. If he took any longer, someone might conclude that he and his companion were loitering suspiciously.

The gate had a sturdy, well-made lock. Burgell could have opened it with a perfunctory mystical whisper, but it was likely to take Aeron a while. The high fence had long nails driven all the way through to catch and pierce a climber's flesh. He thought he could swarm over unscathed, but had no idea whether Miri could do as well.

All things considered, he felt the third option was the best. He positioned himself against the fence, where someone opening the gate wouldn't see him, then Miri took hold of the rope hanging from the brass bell and rang.

She had to clang it twice more before a surly voice replied from the other side, "We're closed. Come back tomorrow."

"I'm traveling at first light," she said, "and I need thralls to tend the pack animals. I'll pay well."

The guard opened the gate a notch to peer out at what appeared to be a lone woman in a non-threatening stance, no blade in her hand or arrow on her bowstring. Squeaking a little, the hinges in need of oil, the portal swung wider.

Aeron threw his shoulder against it and slammed it all the way open, staggering the half-orc watchman in the process. He lunged onward and hammered his new cudgel against the guard's temple. The half-breed collapsed, and Miri closed the gate. The whole thing had only taken a second, and with luck, no one outside the fence had observed it.

Miri gave Aeron a nod of approval, and a second attendant, a human, stepped onto the stoop of the shack at the rear of the fenced-in yard. He'd plainly heard the bell, too, and come to see what was going on. He goggled, then whirled to run back inside.

Aeron grabbed an Arthyn fang and threw it. The blade plunged into the target's back at the same instant as Miri's arrow. The man stumbled, made a ghastly little gargling sound, and fell on his face, the top half of him over the threshold and the rest still stretched across the little porch.

Aeron sighed. They'd hoped to do their job without killing, but it simply hadn't worked out that way. They couldn't let the wretch raise an alarm. Anyway, the dead man was a Red Axe, wasn't he, or as good as. Aeron shoved the matter out of his mind.

The slaves slept in what amounted to lean-tos in the middle of the yard, with buckets provided for sanitation. Evidently no one had emptied them in a while, and the stink made Aeron's eyes water. The thralls stared at him and Miri apprehensively.

"It's all right," the ranger said. "We're here to free you. Where do the overseers keep the tools?"

An underfed, half-naked hobgoblin, its back and shoulders striped with whip marks, pointed at the shack. Miri stepped over the corpse in the doorway, then reappeared with mallets and chisels. Some of the slaves clamored for them.

"Keep quiet!" she hissed.

Once they obeyed, she passed out the tools, and they started striking off their leg irons.

"Kesk will puke blood when he finds out all this coin has grown wings and flown away," Aeron said with a grin.

"Coin?" Miri repeated. "Is that all they are to you? I suppose if it was practical, you wouldn't free them, but simply steal them to sell yourself."

"You're wrong," Aeron said. He didn't know why he should care about her opinion of him, but her scorn was starting to rankle. "In my time I've stolen copper ingots, bales of silk, pots of jam, and as it turns out, a formulary. Why not? They're just things. What difference does it make whose pocket they wind up in? But I've never tried my hand at slaving-or kidnapping, or killing for hire. I don't have the stomach for any of that."

"But you do hurt people, in the course of committing your outrages. You and your accomplices killed some of my mercenaries."

"At least killing isn't the very heart of our trade. Unlike yours. A ranger's a warrior and manhunter, right? I don't suppose you would have joined your Red Hart Guild unless you liked shooting people."

"I like defending the innocent. Sometimes that re-"

"This is madness!" one of the thralls, a rather pretty blond woman with an upturned nose, suddenly wailed. "We can't escape! They'll only punish us, maybe kill us, if we try."

"Not if you're smart," Aeron said. "If you were enslaved illegally and can prove it, run to your families or the Gray Blades. The rest of you, sneak out of town before dawn, stay off the roads, and head for the Barony of the Great Oak. It's not far, and they don't traffic in slaves there. They won't send you back." He opened his belt pouch and handed one of the slaves a few coins. Miri probably suspected the funds he was spending were the same coins she'd been carrying before her fall, but so far, she hadn't made an issue of it. "This will buy food, or pay a bribe if need be."

"It won't help," the blond thrall said.

"You gutless bitch," snarled the hobgoblin with all the lash scars. "Always whining, or tattling on the rest of us."

The hobgoblin had already freed itself, and it lunged at her, swinging a length of broken chain like a morning star.

Aeron and Miri sprang forward and grabbed the goblin-kin, which, biting and thrashing, struggled madly to break free. It was surprisingly strong despite the mistreatment it had endured.

"Easy!" Aeron said. "Take it easy!"

So intent was he on restraining the creature that when the other thralls cried out, it took a split second for the warning to register.

When it did, Aeron looked over his shoulder, just in time to see the Red Axes pull the triggers of their crossbows. The weapons clacked, and he dived forward with all his strength, bulling Miri and the hobgoblin down to the ground.

The goblin-kin grunted as one of the bolts pierced its body. Aeron was unscathed. He hoped Miri was, too, but didn't have time to check on her. It was more important to assess the threat. He scrambled around to orient on the marksmen.

He saw five Red Axes, three human, one long-legged, hyena-faced gnoll, and an orc. Perhaps they'd been prowling around the city hunting him, or else some other business had called them forth from the mansion on the river. Either way, they must have heard the clank of the thralls breaking their fetters and come to investigate, entering through the gate Miri had closed but neglected to relock.

A couple ruffians reached for their quivers.

A big man with a boil on his neck shouted, "Don't shoot! That's him, Aeron sar Randal. Take him alive."

His companions obediently dropped the crossbows and readied their cudgels.

Aeron was glad of that, at least. Their reluctance to kill the one person who could lead them to The Black Bouquet was the only advantage he had. As he scrambled up, he plucked a throwing knife from his boot. He faked a cast at the gnoll, whose eyes widened in alarm, then he pivoted and flung the dagger at a human wearing a foppish slashed doublet and fancy sash instead. The knife plunged into the bravo's chest, and he reeled backward.

At the same moment, however, the orc lifted a tiny metal bottle, threw back its head, and gulped the contents. The man with the boil tossed what looked like a little brass toy to the ground. It scuttled forward under its own power, and as it advanced, it grew larger, swelling into a clattering metal preying mantis two heads taller than Aeron himself.

The slaves kept on screaming. He didn't blame them.

Aeron couldn't imagine a throwing blade damaging the enchanted apparatus, so retreating, he reached for his heavy fighting knife instead. That wasn't likely to do much good either, but if was the best weapon he had.

Miri shot the mantis twice. The first arrow glanced off its long, thin body. The second stuck for a second, then drooped and fell away, leaving a shallow pock mark in the brass. She nocked a third shaft, registered the foes of flesh and blood rushing in at her, pivoted, and let fly at them instead. The arrow plunged so deeply into the torso of a human Red Axe that half of it popped out of his back. The outlaw dropped.

Her next arrow flew at the orc, whose flesh emitted a sickly greenish light-a product, no doubt, of the potion it had consumed. The shaft hit the creature squarely in the neck, but simply snapped in two without even slowing its target.

The orc had figured out that the Red Axes didn't need to take anyone but Aeron alive. It still carried a long club in its left hand, but had drawn its scimitar with its right, and as it scrambled into the distance, it slashed at Miri's knee. She retreated, avoiding the cut, tossed the longbow away, and snatched for the hilt of her new broadsword.

Aeron watched it all from the corner of his eye, directing most of his attention to the metal insect mincing toward him, graceful despite its size and the clanking that attended its every move.

The mantis leaped, its long hind legs straightening explosively and hurling it through the air.

Even though Aeron had his eye on it, the move caught him by surprise. If the mechanism landed on him, the shock would break bone, and the sheer weight of it would pin him to the ground even if it didn't crush him outright. He sprang desperately backward.

Even so, the mantis crashed down right in front of him, the impact jolting the ground. Up close, it smelled of oil. Long serrated pincers opened to snatch him up.

He dodged one set of claws and riposted with a stab. The Arthyn fang grated along brass, merely scratching it. The other forelimb leaped at him, and a hand shoved him out of the way. The pincers snapped shut on empty air.

He glanced at his rescuer. It was the gaunt hobgoblin with the whip marks. The creature had a crossbow quarrel sticking in its left shoulder, but apparently wasn't too badly wounded to fight. It lashed the mantis with its chain. The construct twisted its head, evidently considering the thrall through its bulbous faceted eyes, then it returned its attention to Aeron.

It chased him across the yard, snatching for him relentlessly, occasionally dipping its head lower in an effort to seize him in its mandibles. The other slaves scurried to stay clear. Aeron thrust and hacked with the knife when he could, which wasn't often. It was hard enough just to stay out of the constructs clutches and keep it from cornering him against the fence. He supposed the lack of offense didn't much matter. As predicted, the blade wasn't doing the device any real damage, any more than was the hobgoblin still gamely flailing away at its flank.

When Aeron was facing in the right direction, he caught glimpses of Miri and her opponents, who'd spread out to attack her from two sides. The orc pressed her hard, trusting the magical elixir it had consumed to keep her blade from penetrating its flesh. For the most part, the gnoll fought more defensively, hanging back a little until it judged that its comrade had her distracted, then attacking furiously. So far, neither of them had succeeded in penetrating her guard, but her manifest skill notwithstanding, Aeron was sure she was in trouble.

She was in no more trouble than he was in himself, but the hobgoblin's attempts to save him weren't helping. It was possible the slave could aid Miri, however, so he gasped in the air to shout and tell it to go to her.

But before he could get the words out, the goblin-kin left off battering the mantis and grabbed one of its middle legs. The thrall was either trying to tear it off, use it to heave the mechanism onto its side, or simply immobilize the thing. Aeron couldn't tell which.

Whatever the hobgoblin intended, the maneuver finally served to distract the mantis. Pausing in its pursuit of Aeron, it jerked its leg, shook the slave loose, pivoted, and snatched it up in its pincers. It gave the thrall a shake, then flipped it across the yard to slam into the front of the shack, after which the hobgoblin sprawled motionless.

Though the goblin-kin's effort had failed, perhaps it had given Aeron a chance. While the mantis was concentrating on its other foe, he dashed around to the back of it, the end it typically carried so low it nearly brushed the ground. Without hesitation, he clambered straight up its narrow body, the years he'd spent scaling sheer walls and traversing treacherous ledges and rooftops allowing him to maintain balance and traction on the slippery, rounded surface.

He straddled its neck like a rider sitting a horse. While he stayed there, he hoped, it couldn't reach him with either its claws or mandibles. Looking down, he saw a gap where the head connected to the body. He jammed his knife into the crack, and when that had no appreciable effect, he threw his weight against the blade, prying as if it were a lever.

The mantis pitched sideways, and he realized that if he remained where he was, it was going to roll on him. He leaped clear, and landed hard. Metal crashed. Numb, half stunned, he forced himself to his feet, and the apparatus did, too.

Flinging itself to the ground had damaged it. One side was dented, and its left forelimb protruded at an angle. Still, it pounced at Aeron as agilely as before.

As once again he fled before it, he struggled not to give way to outright panic and despair. There had to be a way to stop it. Once Nicos had resigned himself to the fact that his son meant to follow in his footsteps, he'd taught him that if only a thief kept his head, he could think his way around any danger.

And so, dodging, panting, gasping for breath, his heart pounding, Aeron strained to think, and eventually something struck him. Two Red Axes were dead. The orc and gnoll were fighting Miri.

Where is the fifth one, Aeron thought, the heavyset man with the boil? Why isn't he battling alongside his comrades and the mantis?

Once Aeron looked, it was easy enough to spot the fellow, even though he was standing well back from the action. The ruffian was simply gazing fixedly at his quarry's struggle with the metal insect… because he was controlling the contraption with his mind? Aeron had spent enough time with Dal and Burgell to know it was possible.

It was a long dagger cast to the Red Axe, but he doubted the mantis would let him get much closer. He dodged its next attack and snatched out a throwing knife. The brass insect pivoted, cutting off Aeron's view of his target, so he sprinted to bring the man with the boil back into sight.

Thanks to the delay, the Red Axe had plainly spotted the new weapon, for he stood poised to duck or dodge. Aeron cocked his arm and flicked his wrist, faking a cast to make Kesk's henchman move. The bravo jumped to the left, and Aeron truly threw the blade, leading the target slightly. The man with the boil was committed to his useless evasive action. He couldn't arrest or change it, and the flat, leaf-shaped Arthyn fang plunged into his chest right up to the handle.

Aeron sensed motion above him. He looked up at a pair of grasping claws and jumped back just in time to avoid them. Pincers clashing and gnashing, the mantis lunged after him, and sick with terror and hopelessness, Aeron thought he'd guessed wrong. It didn't matter that he'd killed the outlaw with the blemish. The apparatus would keep attacking on its own.

Then, however, he saw that it was hesitating between advances and attacks-slowing down-until, after a few more seconds, it froze into immobility with a final metallic groan.

Aeron would have liked nothing better than to stand still and catch his breath, but when he glanced around, he saw that Miri's plight was as difficult as before. Accordingly, he transferred the big Arthyn fang back into his primary hand and charged across the yard. He bellowed to draw the attention of the orc and gnoll. Or rather, he tried. The sound came out as more of a bleat.

Still, it worked. The Red Axes faltered in their attack and glanced around. Miri tried to take advantage of the opportunity that afforded her. She lunged, her arm straight, the broadsword extended to pierce the towering gnoll's guts. She almost scored, too, but the canine-headed creature must have glimpsed the motion from the corner of its eye. It wrenched itself back around just in time to parry with the sturdy brass-headed cane in its off hand, then it chopped at her head with a falchion. She turned the stroke with her steel buckler. Metal rang.

Foam flying from its muzzle, the gnoll snarled something in its own yipping language. Aeron couldn't understand it, but the orc must have, because it immediately turned to face him. The sheen of its warty flesh made his eyes ache and his stomach queasy. It reminded him of the way he felt on those rare occasions when he drank enough to make the world spin around.

The orc feinted a cudgel jab at his face, and when he lifted his arm to block, it swung its scimitar at his leg. Evidently it trusted that it could cripple him without killing him outright Caught by surprise, Aeron still managed to recoil in time. Then, before the Red Axe could come back on guard, he sprang in close and thrust the Arthyn fang at its ribs.

The blade screeched and glanced away, tearing the orc's tunic and shirt, but not the skin underneath. The Red Axe threw its arms around him and clasped him in a bear hug, meanwhile gouging at his throat and face with the tusks jutting upward from its lower jaw. For some reason, it trusted that wouldn't kill him, either, or else in its excitement, it had forgotten the object was to take him alive.

Whatever it had in mind, Aeron was sure he had only seconds to break free before it blinded him or flensed the flesh off his skull. He wrestled frantically, holding its boar-like teeth away, trying to loosen its grip, grimly certain that most of the tricks he might ordinarily have tried in such a predicament-a head butt, biting, a knee to the groin-wouldn't deter the magically armored orc. It strained to fling him down beneath it onto the ground. Aeron could feel his balance going, and with a last frenzied effort, he tore himself away from it.

They both came back on guard at the same time. The orc whipped the club at his head. He ducked, stabbed the underside of its wrist, and failed to break the skin. As before, by committing to an attack, he'd merely opened himself up for the Red Axe's riposte. He had to snatch his foot back to keep the scimitar from chopping it in two.

Aeron groped for another idea. He wasn't confident of the one that came to him, but it was all he had. He ducked, dodged, parried, and gave ground while he waited for the chance to try it. He knew a few obscene taunts in the orc tongue, and gasped them out in hopes of further angering his adversary and so undermining the creature's judgment.

The Red Axe charged and swung the cudgel. Aeron lunged in close, avoiding the stroke in the process. He didn't bother to thrust out the knife in another futile attack. Instead, he dropped it to free up his hands. He shifted behind the orc and kicked it in the knee.

The assault likely would have lamed an ordinary foe. He was sure it hadn't hurt the Red Axe, but it did cost the creature its balance. The orc stumbled, and Aeron threw himself on its back and bore it to the ground.

Using his weight, Aeron fought to hold the orc down. He grabbed its neck and squeezed. It heaved and thrashed, trying to buck him off.

Once or twice, it nearly succeeded, but then its struggles grew weaker. As he'd hoped, though the potion's magic kept its flesh from being pierced or pulped, it couldn't stop Aeron from pressing its windpipe closed and cutting off its air.

Eventually the Red Axe stopped squirming. Aeron choked the orc for a few more seconds, just to be sure, then he let go. His hands ached.

"Are you all right?" Miri asked.

He turned. At some point in the last minute or so, she'd disposed of the gnoll, which lay on the ground behind her with a deep cut on the left side of its chest.

"Yes," Aeron replied, panting, "and from the looks of it, you are, too."

He rose and hurried to the fallen hobgoblin. Miri followed.

To Aeron's relief, the slave was still breathing, and though he was no healer, speaking to it and patting its hairy, big-nosed faced sufficed to restore it to consciousness.

"How are you?" Aeron asked.

The hobgoblin sat up and rubbed its head.

"I've had worse," it said. "My people are hard to kill."

"I reckon so," Aeron replied. He took out some gold and pressed it into the goblin-kin's hand. "Plainly, you have more grit than these others. Can you make sure they get to the Barony of the Great Oak before you strike out on your own?"

"I can if you get this crossbow bolt out of my shoulder."

"I'm no chirurgeon," Miri said, kneeling down beside it and drawing her knife, "but I've done this a time or two, when none was available. Let me."

It made Aeron wince to watch her cut the quarrel out. The hobgoblin, however, bore it stoically. Only its clenched jaw revealed how much it was hurting. Once Miri bandaged the puncture as best she could with strips of cloth, the former slave gave the two humans a nod, then hauled itself to its feet and appropriated the strangled orc's scimitar.

It glared at its fellow thralls and said, "What are you all standing around for? Loot the bodies and the shack. We want weapons, coin, and any clothes that aren't bloodstained. You've got three minutes. Move!"

Aeron turned to Miri and asked, "Do you feel up to wrecking another of Kesk's operations?"

"Why not?" She sniffed the breeze and said, "We've still got a while before it rains. Let's salvage my arrows, leave your mark on the wall, and move on."

Sometimes the Red Axes struck or spat on Nicos as they passed by the chair to which he was tied, but no one had made a serious, sustained effort to torture him since they'd decided he really didn't know where Aeron was hiding or where he'd stashed the strongbox. Still, it hardly mattered. His body screamed with the memory of the agony Sefris Uuthrakt had inflicted on him.

He'd thought he understood pain. It had, after all, been his constant companion since the night the master of a caravan from Innarlith caught him trying to steal a cartload of valuable rugs. Instead of turning him over to the Gray Blades, the merchant decided to mete out his own form of justice. His guards beat Nicos, then hanged him.

Miraculously, the noose didn't kill him. He dangled for hours, slowly strangling yet enduring, until friends found him and cut him down, to suffer, hobble, and silently curse his infirmities forever after. Or rather, until just then. Nicos thought that after the torment Sefris had inflicted on him, if he somehow managed to escape Kesk's mansion alive, he'd never, even in the privacy of his own thoughts, complain of his everyday afflictions again.

He must have passed out for a while, because suddenly, or so it seemed to him, the long row of windows shone with the soft silver light of a rainy morning. Despite the grime on the panes, to say nothing of his own distress, the cloudy sky and rippling river were lovely, and lifted his spirits for just a moment.

Then, her garments wet and dripping, Sefris stalked into the solar, and any semblance of peace or ease in Nicos's soul died in a spasm of terror. He hated himself for feeling so afraid, but after what she'd put him through, he couldn't help it. Toward the end, had it been possible, he might even have betrayed Aeron to make it stop.

To his relief, the monastic ignored him to focus on Kesk, slouched in his golden chair with his battle-axe across his knees and a half-eaten sausage in his fist.

"Well?" the tanarukk snapped through a mouthful of meat.

"I haven't found him yet," Sefris replied.

She ought to have been feeling a chill, but if so, Nicos saw no sign of it in her manner.

"Well, he found us," Kesk said. "He stole some of my slaves, and killed the Red Axes who tried to stop him. Hurt and robbed two more whose job it was to collect protection coin along the docks. Burned a wine shop I operated onboard a barge. Didn't even try to steal the till, just destroyed the place."

"He's sending you a message," Sefris said.

Kesk trembled, and his eyes shone red.

"That I have his father, but he can hurt me, too, by interfering with my business," said the tanarukk. "I understand. I'm not a fool. The question is what to do about it."

"The same thing we have been doing. Hunt."

"We've already seen how pitiful you are at that."

If the taunt nettled Sefris, Nicos couldn't tell that, either. She remained as calm as ever, as composed as she'd been throughout the torture and the amputation of his finger.

"Aeron only escaped me by a fluke," she said. "It won't happen again."

"So you say. I never should have trusted an outsider."

"I'm better able to handle this chore than are your underlings. You may recall that I proved that by defeating three of them at once. In any case, you still want the jewels, don't you? If so, let me break my fast and sleep for an hour or two, then I'll return to the search. I imagine we'll have Aeron in hand before we see another sunrise."

"I don't want you relaxing just yet. Have another go at the old man."

Nicos cringed, straining against his bonds. His chair rocked and bumped against the floor.

"If he had anything to tell us," Sefris said, "we would have heard it already. His only use is as bait."

Nicos prayed Kesk would believe her and relent. But everything he'd seen or heard about the outlaw chieftain suggested otherwise.

And sure enough: "I don't care if he's got nothing to say. I want to hear him squeal. I promised Aeron we'd make the father pay for the son's treachery, and so we will."

The monastic inclined her head.

"As you wish," she said as she advanced on Nicos.

Nicos fought the urge to squinch his eyes shut or twist his head away. Her fingertips wandered about his body, pressing here and there. She didn't seem to be straining or exerting any extraordinary force, yet the sensation was excruciating. Nicos prayed for her to ask some questions. That would stop the pain for at least a moment. When she didn't bother, he still cried out the lies he hoped would satisfy her. They didn't, though, and before long, he was screaming wordlessly instead.

He didn't know how long the torture continued. Long enough for him to shriek his throat raw and reduce his already ruined voice to the thinnest of whispers. In his disorientation, he didn't know precisely when it stopped, just eventually realized that at some point, for some reason, it had. He sucked in a ragged breath, blinked the tears from his eyes, and peered about Sefris was backing away from him. By the looks of it, she meant to take up a position with a couple of the Red Axes who were loitering around.

Nicos didn't understand it. Kesk didn't, either. He glowered at the slender monastic in her robe and hood, his stare demanding an explanation.

Sefris provided one, in an ambiguous sort of way. She touched a finger to her lips, then pointed at the door.

Kesk looked where she'd bade him. For a moment, there was nothing to see, and he almost seemed to swell with impatience, then a small figure sauntered into view. The newcomer wore a dark green camlet mantle, lightweight but voluminous, and a hood like the one Sefris used to shadow her features and cover her shaved scalp. He'd wrapped a knit lemister scarf around the lower part of his face.

A law-abiding person might have thought the stranger a menacing figure, but Nicos had spent his life among folk who wore masks of one sort or another. To his eye, the newcomer, who didn't carry himself like a warrior or bravo, was, except for himself, the least fearsome person in the room. But Kesk and Sefris eyed the stranger as if they knew something their prisoner didn't, as if leery of the gold-knobbed blackwood stick in his clean, soft-looking hand. Maybe it was just a long cane, but it might also be a magician's staff. Indeed, as Nicos peered closer, the fact that the small man was entirely dry argued for the latter.

"Shall I show my face," the newcomer said, "or do you know me?"

He spoke like an educated man. Nicos didn't recognize the voice.

"I know you," Kesk growled, "and I told you to stay away. I'll handle this."

"As I recall," the stranger said, "you didn't want me to look for your rebellious hireling all by myself, for fear I'd find him, then decide to cut you out of the profits. It occurred to me, however, that if we locate him together, you won't have cause for concern. So here I am."

"What if somebody saw you come?"

"I'm wearing a disguise, and I left home stealthily, through the exercise of my Art. The same way I entered here, without the bother of persuading your guards to admit me. It will all be fine, and even if it's not, it's my worry more than yours."

"If something happens to you," said Kesk, "you won't be able to pay me."

"Nor will I should we fail to recover the prize. In that case, there won't be anything to pay for."

Nicos was still in so much pain that it was difficult to follow the conversation. Yet even so, he gradually figured out that the stranger with the cane was the rich man who'd hired Kesk to steal the coffer.

"I told you," said Kesk, "I'll find it."

"Will you? My sources inform me you can't lay hands on our quarry even when he's robbing one of your own enterprises."

Having figured out who the small man was, Nicos could think of one reason why Kesk wanted to get rid of him, and why Sefris had concealed herself among the common ruffians: The two of them had conspired against the stranger, and didn't want to give him the chance to find out.

The tanarukk looked as if the newcomer's last observation had so irked him that he scarcely cared any longer. He shuddered, and chucked away the remains of the sausage to grip his axe with both fists.

"Are you mocking me?" he demanded.

"Of course not," the stranger said, his mild, cultured voice steady. He seemed almost as unflappable as Sefris. "I'm simply pointing out that now, even more than before, it's in your best interests to let me assist you. I can think of several reasons why you'd be reluctant, but…"

As the man with the cane nattered on, Nicos had a sudden horrifying inspiration. He could ruin Kesk and Sefris's deception simply by speaking up.

The idea terrified him. After what he'd already suffered at their hands, the last thing he wanted to do was attract their renewed attention, let alone infuriate them.

Yet he despised himself for his dread. He yearned to defy it.

Would it do any good, though? He didn't understand enough to foresee the consequences of such an action.

He did, however, have good reason to fear that if matters continued as they were, Aeron was doomed. Apparently his son had enjoyed remarkable success in evading the Red Axes, then taking the fight to them, but it wouldn't last. A lone thief, no matter how cunning or deft with a knife, couldn't oppose Oeble's most powerful gang for long. But maybe, if Nicos sabotaged relations among the boy's enemies, his chances would somehow improve.

If so, he had to try, not only because he loved Aeron, but because it was his fault the lad was in danger. Oh, conceivably, Aeron might have become an outlaw anyway. He'd always had a taste for excitement and the tawdry life of the gutter and the Underways. Still, Nicos thought he'd sealed his son's fate by getting himself crippled. From that point onward, Aeron had become his family's sole support, and there had been no honest way for a boy so young to earn as much coin as was required.

Nicos screwed up his courage, then cried out to the man with the cane. Or rather, he tried. His throat was still so dry and raw, his voice so feeble, that it was inaudible even to him.

He swallowed and tried again. This time, he heard the frail little croak, but no one else paid any attention. In desperation, he thrashed, and the legs of his chair, bumping and squeaking against the floor, finally made some significant noise.

The other people in the room regarded him with some surprise. He understood why. Once ruffians bound, tortured, and seemingly broke a man down, they didn't expect him to do anything to assert himself thereafter. Such mistreatment typically left a victim as cowed and passive as a piece of furniture.

"Who's this?" asked the small man.

"Just someone who crossed me," Kesk said.

He didn't seem too upset that Nicos had stirred. He must not have any notion of what his hostage intended to do.

"Wizard," Nicos rasped, "if that's what you are, you have to listen to me."

"Do I?" The small man shrugged and said, "Then I'd better move closer. As it is, I can barely hear you."

Kesk's smoldering eyes narrowed. Perhaps he felt a sudden uneasiness, an inkling that Nicos could cause him some actual inconvenience.

"Surely," the tanarukk growled, "you don't need to hear the wretch grovel for his life. I'll have somebody shut him up so we can palaver in peace."

"Don't be hasty," the stranger replied. The ferule of his walking stick clicked on the floor as he ambled in Nicos's direction. "Perhaps it would be worthwhile to hear what he has to say."

"It will be for you," Nicos said. "Kesk has sold you out I overheard the whole thing."

The tanarukk sprang up from his seat and brandished his battle-axe at his captive.

"By the War Maker," he said, "hold your lying tongue, or I'll split your skull here and now!"

"Is it a lie?" said the man with the cane.

"Of course it is!" Kesk snarled. "Who would I sell you out to? Your rival? Why? He couldn't afford to give me as much as you promised. He definitely wouldn't pledge to make the Red Axes supreme over all other gangs in Oeble and keep the Gray Blades from troubling us ever again."

Sefris shifted just inside Nicos's field of vision, stepping so stealthily that the small man probably hadn't even noticed. Her change of expression was just as subtle. Her calm, inscrutable expression was essentially just the same as ever, yet something in her steady gaze conveyed the promise of hideous retribution if he continued on his present course.

It nearly intimidated him, but not quite. It felt too good to strike back at his tormentors, no matter what the eventual cost.

"Kesk is conspiring with that woman there." Nicos indicated Sefris with a nod and continued, "She's a Shar worshiper, a monk… or nun… whatever you call the women… of the Dark Moon. I imagine you know your treasure was plunder taken from one of the cult's hidden temples. They sent her to get it back."

"Liar," said Kesk. "She's just another Red Axe."

"Fair enough," said the man in the green cloak. "I suppose, then, that she wears your brand?"

"She just joined," the tanarukk said. "We haven't gotten around to it."

The stranger reached into one of the pockets of his mantle, produced a copper piece, and made it vanish and reappear like a mountebank performing on a street corner. He murmured an incantation behind his scarf, and magic sighed through the air.

"Well, now," the wizard muttered.

"What?" Kesk asked.

"I'm listening to other people's thoughts. The prisoner's. Hers. Yours."

The tanarukk jerked, as did his axe, and he said, "How dare you…"

"Oh, calm down. I'm the one with a legitimate grievance, because it's all true. Dark Sister Sefris is an agent of the Dark Moon, and you and she have been plotting behind my back. The only reason I'm not more upset is that you haven't yet decided which of us you truly mean to betray. I'm afraid the time has come to choose. I can't continue our arrangement until I'm sure I can trust you."

"If I decide against you, merchant, you won't leave this house alive."

"I assumed as much. You could have killed me back in my study, and you were alone then. I'm certain you, your henchmen, and the Dark Sister working together can manage the job. But I'm still willing to press the issue to see it resolved."

"So be it," Sefris said. "Kesk, I've told you what I offer. A fortune in gems, and the guarantee of future aid from a secret society feared the world over for its power and guile."

"Show me the jewels," the tanarukk said. "Show me just one of them."

"I don't have any of them on my person," Sefris said, "but they're real enough, I assure you."

"She's lying," the wizard said. "I can see it in her mind."

Kesk snorted, a nasty, porcine sound. Slobber, brown from the sausage, dripped down his chin.

"What else would you say," the tanarukk challenged, "when you're trying to turn me against her?"

"Well," said the mage, "consider this, then. I may be a scoundrel by some people's standards, but I'm not lunatic enough to worship the Dark Goddess. She is. Which of us is likely to prove more dependable?"

"I sought power," Sefris said to Kesk, "and took it where I found it. I don't believe we're so different in that regard."

"Maybe not," the tanarukk admitted.

"You differ in at least one way," said the man with the cane. "She's an outlander. She came to Oeble for The Black Bouquet, and when she has it, she'll leave. At that point, what becomes of any promises she made you? Why should she keep them, or spare you another thought? I, on the other hand, am like you. I live in this city. I've built something here, and will bide here the rest of my days to enjoy and protect it. That means it's in my best interests to deal fairly with you. If I don't, you can always find me to retaliate."

"That makes sense," said Kesk. "But this is twice you've tried to muck around inside my head with magic. I didn't like it either time, and I do like emeralds and ghost stones."

Leering, he lifted his axe, then suddenly pivoted and struck at Sefris.

She skipped back out of range, and the weapon whizzed harmlessly passed her. Her foot snapped out and caught Kesk in the chest. Despite the squat massiveness of him, the attack slammed him staggering backward.

"Get her!" the tanarukk roared.

The Red Axes snatched out their knives and swords and rushed in.

Nicos wouldn't have imagined that anyone could survive such an onslaught, but Sefris dodged and sidestepped unpredictably. When the Red Axes veered to compensate, they stumbled into one another's way. Somehow her hands and forearms deflected sharp steel without being cut, while her punches, elbow strikes, and kicks thudded home to stun or injure one orc, bugbear, or human assailant after another. As she fought, she gradually retreated toward the row of windows. In her place, Nicos would have done the same. It was the best escape route available.

She was nearly there when the small man reached inside his mantle, produced a silver dirk, brandished it, and chanted words of power. Another knife, this one made of blue light, shimmered into existence, floating in the air before him. At first it was so vague and ghostly that Nicos could hardly make out what it was supposed to be, but it became more clearly defined, somehow more real, by the second. Nicos surmised that in another instant, when it was substantial enough, it would fly at Sefris and attack her.

The monastic simultaneously ducked the swing of a scimitar, rattled off a rhyme, and swirled her hand through a mystic pass. The floating knife blinked out of existence like a puffed-out candle flame.

She then shifted in close to the Red Axe with the scimitar, grabbed him by the sword arm, pivoted, and flung him at the row of windows. The outlaw crashed through one of the panes and plummeted out of sight

Kesk had been maneuvering frantically, trying to bull his way past his own men and get at Sefris. When she tossed the swordsman through the glass, she finally cleared a path. The tanarukk charged in and swung his axe. Nicos was sure that if the weapon connected, it would kill her, her sorcerous and combat skills notwithstanding. Even a warrior in plate armor couldn't have withstood that mighty chop.

Her expression as calm as ever, Sefris swayed backward like a reed in a breeze, and the stroke missed. She hooked Kesk's ankle with her foot and jerked his leg out from under him, staggering him for a moment. She used the time to scurry to the broken window, where a few triangular shards of glass still hung around the frame. She dived through the opening headfirst. Nicos assumed that, agile as she was, she managed a safe plunge into the river below.

For a second, the Red Axes and the wizard in green simply stared at the shattered window as if unable to believe Sefris had truly succeeded in escaping.

Kesk roared, "Useless! Useless, the lot of you!"

Spit flew from his mouth. His men quailed before his anger-or rather, most of them did. Sefris had kicked one skinny fellow in the head early on, after which he'd lain insensible on the floor. That one lifted himself up on one elbow and rubbed his temple.

"What?" he mumbled, drooling a little. "What happened?"

"You let her get away!" Kesk replied. "Just like Aeron! Just like everybody!”

He charged. The battle-axe hurtled down and split the human's pinched, petulant-looking face from scalp to chin.

The tanarukk wrenched the weapon free, spattering blood and brains in the process.

"Find them!" the tanarukk commanded. "Aeron sar Randal and that monk-bitch, too!"

Most of the Red Axes, even those still dazed or in pain from Sefris's attacks, hastily exited the room.

"It's unfortunate the monastic escaped," said the man in green, "but the important thing is that we kept our partnership from foundering."

Kesk spun around to face him and grumbled, "You miserable… You're supposed to be a wizard, but you were just as worthless as the rest of them."

"I'm sorry about that, but I'm not a battle mage. Just a dilettante, when you get right down to it I don't have any experience fighting other spellcasters, whereas Sefris manifestly does. She dispelled my sending before I could, ah, send it. If need be, I'll do better next time. Meanwhile, we mustn't lose sight of the fact that our objective is still to lay hands on the Bouquet, not chase a Shar worshiper around town."

"I wish I'd never heard of the cursed book. Or you."

"You won't say that when it makes you the richest, most powerful outlaw in the Border Kingdoms. Sefris's gems were just a fantasy, but the joyous tomorrow you and I are going to share is quite real."

"It had better be." Short and burly as he was, the tanarukk only had to stoop a little to stick his wild-boar face close to Nicos's. "Now, old man, you're going to learn a lesson about speaking out of turn. What Sefris put you through is nothing compared to what I'm going to do."

Nicos was pleasantly surprised to discover that, for whatever reason, he wasn't frightened.

He sneered back at his captor, "Go ahead. It's like the Shar cultist told you. I won't have to endure it for long. My heart will give out under the strain."

Kesk backhanded Nicos across the face. But only once, then he wrenched himself away.