They skulked on, keeping to the shadows, cracking open doors to check the rooms on the other side. The damp river air had warped some of them, making them stick in their frames, and the intruders had to force them open. The resulting squeaks and rasps jangled Aeron’s nerves.
They didn’t raise an alarm, however, and as the minutes passed without calamity, Aeron started to feel the old familiar thrill. He was still frightened for Nicos, and for himself, come to that, but it was nonetheless a delight to outwit his opponents in the game a burglar played, to trespass where he wasn’t allowed and do what wasn’t permitted.
In time, he and Miri found a staircase leading down to the cellars.
“Maybe the Red Axes have their own little dungeon,” the scout suggested.
Aeron thought about it for a second, listening to the same instincts that had led him to many a hidden cubbyhole or closet filled with valuables.
“It’s possible,” he said, “but they wouldn’t need to lock my father in a cell to keep him under control. Feeble as he is, a bit of rope would do the job, and I reckon Kesk would prefer to keep him close by. That way, he could hurt him whenever he felt the urge, without the bother of tramping up and down stairs.”
“So we need to find where Kesk spends the majority of his time.”
“Which will be the most lavish part of the house.”
They prowled on, and in time caught sight of a wide marble staircase sweeping upward. Partway up, a bravo sat on one of the steps picking something out of his shaggy, tangled beard. At the top, tall double doors, inlaid with a stylized scene of a river, boats, leaping fish, and spindly-legged wading birds, stood open.
Aeron and Miri retreated back into the shadows before the Red Axe could spot them.
“That looks like it could be it,” the ranger said. “If you’d let me keep my bow….”
Perhaps he should have, but it was too uncommon a weapon in Oeble. It had marked her almost as well as her green leather armor.
“You still couldn’t count on picking that fellow off without him making some noise,” Aeron said. “Maybe we can find a back way in. A big room in a rich man’s house is likely to have at least two doors, one for the masters and one for the flunkies.”
She gave him a nod and said, “Lead on.”
It didn’t take long to find the servants’ stairs, spiraling up and down in a claustrophobic shaft. The risers were narrow, the way all but lightless, and the trapped air was stale. Aeron wondered how many maids and valets had taken a nasty tumble back when the house was young. He caught his first glimpse of the chamber at the top, and it drove such casual speculations from his mind.
The long hall was a solar, one wall a continuous row of windows intended to admit sunlight and provide a panoramic view of the Scelptar. Nicos sat tied in a chair, his eyes closed and his head lolling. His chest rose and fell, reassuring proof that he was only unconscious, not dead. In fact, apart from the mutilation of his hand, he didn’t look as badly injured as Aeron had expected.
Unfortunately, the prisoner wasn’t alone. The big gilded chair in which Kesk no doubt liked to sit was currently vacant, but Tharag, the orc who’d accompanied the bugbear to Imrys’s warehouse, and a human outlaw were hanging around. Moreover, one of the glass panes had shattered, and a small man with a wool scarf masking the lower portion of his face stood before the breach, evidently because it afforded a clearer view than the cracked, filthy windows that remained intact. Gazing through a brass astrolabe, he alternately scrutinized the night sky and scratched his observations on a slate. A green mantle and gold-knobbed blackwood cane rested on a little table beside him.
Aeron wondered if the astrologer was also a magician, and had supplied the Red Axes with the metal mantis and potion of invulnerability that had nearly cost him and Miri their lives. If so, he was likely to prove more clever and dangerous than the common ruffians.
Miri tugged on Aeron’s arm, and they sneaked back down the steps a little way, where they could whisper without fear of being overheard.
“How fast can you throw your knives?” she asked.
“Not fast enough to kill four men before one of them yells for help. I think it’s time to test these disguises.”
She stared at him as if he’d gone mad. Maybe he had.
“I figured that at best, they’d only work at a distance,” the ranger said. “I mean, I’ve seen half-orcs. We don’t look right.”
“Close enough, maybe, if no one peers too closely,” Aeron replied. “A disguise is half attitude and the way you carry yourself. We have the advantage that the Red Axes never expected us to sneak in here. I’m sure of that much. Besides, if they recognize us, and we wind up having to fight, it won’t be any worse than if we started out that way.”
“Yes, it will. We’ll have lost the advantage of surprise.” She frowned and continued, “Still, Nicos is your father, and it was your tactics that got us this far. If you’re sure you want to try it this way, I’ll follow your lead.”
“Thanks. Let me do the talking.”
They climbed back up the stairs, making no particular effort to do so quietly. The risers creaked.
When the Red Axes glanced in his direction, Aeron felt a split second of panic, of certainty that the greenish pigment on his skin, the black dye in his hair, and the absence of his goatee wouldn’t fool anyone. He slouched on into the room anyway, praying that his cowl cast his features into shadow. Kesk’s operation was large and varied enough to make it unlikely that all his minions knew one another well, but it was possible they’d all laid eyes on one another at least a time or two.
Aeron grunted one of the orc greetings he’d picked up over the years then ambled to Nicos with Miri following along behind. He crouched beside his father’s chair and started untying him. The old man came awake with a start.
“Hey!” Tharag said. “What are you doing?”
“What’s it look like?” Aeron replied in his best imitation of a surly goblin-kin voice.
He kept his head bowed over his work.
“It looks like you’re undoing the rope,” Tharag said.
“I knew you could figure it out if you strained hard enough,” Aeron replied. “Look, Kesk’s sick of having the old man up here all the time. He wants us to stick him somewhere else. You don’t think we’re going to carry him and the chair, too, do you? Not as long as he can walk.”
The hulking bugbear blinked its green, red-pupiled eyes and asked, “Kesk’s back?”
“He couldn’t give orders if he wasn’t, now could be? He said he’ll be up here in a minute, soon as he checks something that came in through the Underways.”
The last knot yielded, and Aeron jerked Nicos to his feet. Miri grabbed hold of the hostage’s forearm, and they wrenched him around toward the servants’ door.
For a couple of steps, no one protested, and Aeron felt a surge of exultation that he and Miri were actually getting away with it.
Then a mild baritone voice said, “Please, hold on for just a moment.”
It had to be the astrologer. No one else in the room would speak in that educated accent. For want of a better idea, Aeron and Miri ignored him and kept on moving.
“Excuse me,” said the man in the scarf, raising his voice a little.
Brilliant white light blazed through the room. Startled, the Red Axes shouted and cursed. The intruders spun around, only to discover they didn’t need to defend themselves. The flare of light had been simply that, not a sign they were under mystical assault. Not yet. It had been a warning the wizard could attack them if they refused to heed him.
“What?” Aeron growled.
“Do any of you fellows know these two?” the small man asked. “Look closely.”
At some point over the course of the past couple minutes, he’d tossed his cloak over his shoulders and picked up his cane.
“We rob travelers along the river,” Miri said, making her voice coarse. “We don’t get into town much.”
“That may
be,” said the magician, “but I’m going to ask the same thing of you that I did of Dark Sister Sefris. Show me your brands.”
Aeron pulled back his sleeve to display the false scar he’d shaped from crimson candle wax.
“Nice,” the wizard chuckled through his lemister scarf, “but not quite convincing enough. You’re the man himself, aren’t you? Aeron sar Randal, even bolder than your reputation led me to believe. I thi—”
Aeron whipped an Arthyn fang from its sheath and hurled it at the arcanist’s chest. The knife hit the target, but clanked and rebounded. The small man had some magical protection in place that kept it from penetrating.
A crossbow bolt streaked at Miri. She shielded herself with her buckler, then turned to face the human Red Axe, who was charging her with a dagger in either hand. He drew her broadsword and cut in a single motion, ripping open the outlaw’s belly. His knees buckled, and he dropped.
“If you Red Axes have any of my talismans or elixirs,” the astrologer shouted, “use them!”
He backed away, putting distance between himself and the intruders.
It was evidence the whoreson wasn’t entirely impervious to harm, but Aeron was more interested in getting away than in trying to hurt him. He considered a leap out the broken window, but feared Nicos wouldn’t survive the fall into the river, and that even if he did, he couldn’t manage the frantic swim for safety afterward.
He shouted, “Down the stairs, Father! We’ll follow.”
Nicos spat an obscenity. Plainly, frail as he was, it still irked him to flee while other folk risked their lives to cover his retreat. But he tottered backward as quickly as his weakness allowed.
No doubt drawn by the commotion, the Red Axe with the long, matted beard appeared in the doorway at the far end of the hall. Half concealed behind Tharag, the wizard chanted, and swept whatever it was he held between thumb and forefinger through a mystic pass. Standing closest to Aeron, Miri, and Nicos, the bugbear and orc gulped the contents of tiny bottles.
Aeron threw a knife at Tharag. The creature wrenched himself sideways, and the blade pierced his forearm instead of his chest. A painful wound, perhaps, but it wouldn’t stop the creature. An instant later, Tharag’s body swelled, becoming bigger and likely stronger than an ogre’s. His clothing and gear grew with him, though for some reason, Aeron’s dagger didn’t. The process of enlargement shoved it out of the wound to fall and clank on the floor. Tharag raised his cudgel, bellowed a battle cry, and rushed the human who’d hurt him.
Huge as the bugbear was, his head nearly brushing the high ceiling, he seemed as terrible an opponent as the brass mantis. Aeron was sure he lacked the strength to parry a blow from the heavy club, so he dodged the first vicious stroke instead. He told himself it was just possible that, by drinking the potion, Tharag had outsmarted himself. At his present size, the Red Axe wouldn’t be able to pursue his foes down the servants’ stairs.
Nicos cried out in dismay. Hard-pressed though he was, Aeron risked a glance over his shoulder. A mesh of slimy gray cables, sticky enough to adhere to the walls, floor, and ceiling, sealed the entrance to the narrow steps, as if a gigantic spider had spun a web there. Obviously, the man with the blackwood cane had conjured the strands to cut off the intruders’ retreat.
Miri and the orc circled one another near Kesk’s throne. The Red Axe opened its mouth wide and seemingly spat out its own tongue. The pink flesh flew through the air, meanwhile stretching into a cord a dozen feet long. It slapped and whirled around the startled ranger’s legs, yanking her off balance and binding her to the heavy chair. The orc sprang at her with its short sword leveled to pierce her belly.
Aeron wanted to rush to her aid, but it was impossible. He didn’t dare ignore his own opponent. He hastily faced forward, and Tharag swung the cudgel down like a man splitting wood. Aeron dodged. The weapon clashed against the floor.
Maybe Aeron could hamstring the goblin-kin before he could lift the stick for another stroke. He sprang in close, only to find that Tharag had anticipated the move. The bugbear’s boot lashed out at him.
Aeron tried to dodge, but the brutal kick still struck him a glancing blow. That was enough to smash the breath from his lungs and send him staggering. As he did, he caught a glimpse of Miri, still alive but still bound as well. The orc was trying to stab her from behind, and she was only barely able to twist around far enough to fend him off.
Snowballs pelted her. Plainly, it was another conjuration, one that looked almost comical, though it was evident from the way she jerked that the white barrage inflicted actual pain. The orc lunged, and once again she managed to turn its blade with her buckler. Her riposte, however, was a feeble, fumbling action easily avoided. In fact, it looked like she almost lost her grip on her broadsword.
Nicos had picked up a bronze cuspidor to use as a makeshift bludgeon, then limped to intercept the Red Axe with the unkempt whiskers. The old man had been a formidable brawler in his day, but it was obvious from the way Nicos moved that, without sufficient strength or agility to back them up, his rusty skills no longer posed a threat. The Red Axe thought so, too. Leering, he advanced with his guard lowered, daring Nicos to strike at him.
Two more ruffians appeared in the far doorway.
Tharag rushed in. Aeron flailed his arms and recovered his balance just in time to dodge the next sweep of the bugbear’s cudgel. It was hard to imagine it mattered. He, his father, and Miri might last a little while longer, but the Red Axes were inevitably going to prevail.
Perched atop a gabled slate roof overlooking Kesk’s mansion, Sefris peered down, watching for Aeron and Miri while munching on a cold toasted roll with a greasy sausage-and-apple filling. She’d brought food and a canteen because she’d known she might have to remain at her post for hours before the red-bearded thief made his play. Indeed, it was possible that Aeron wouldn’t try to rescue Nicos at all, but Sefris considered that unlikely. He’d be eager to retrieve the old man before the Red Axes snipped off any more pieces.
She was certain that, after confusing the gang with raids throughout the city, Aeron meant to invade their stronghold. No other plan would give Miri a reason to work with him. The difficulty was predicting how the pair would try to enter a building theoretically accessible from the Scelptar, at ground level, and via the Underways.
After some thought, Sefris had ruled out the river. Kesk had found and patched the breach in the portcullis defending the water gate, and anyway, it was unlikely that Aeron would attempt the same approach twice. The Underways also seemed an implausible choice. She’d seen that the passage connecting the cellars to the lawless tunnels was well fortified, and Aeron surely had some inkling of that. That left advancing up the street and across the yard. Kesk undoubtedly had a sentry on watch, and kept his doors and windows locked. But Aeron would trust in his ability to avoid detection by the former and tease open the latter, for after all, it was his trade.
The lawns and gardens surrounding the mansion were overgrown and weed infested. Slinking about just after sunset, Sefris had cast spells of warning on the best hiding places. If a second intruder used those choice bits of cover to sneak up on the house, she’d sense it. Then she climbed up on top of a neighboring building to wait.
In time, another watcher’s attention might have wandered, but her teachers had trained her to suppress boredom as efficiently as any other emotion. She gazed down at Kesk’s residence as patiently as a python hanging in a tree waiting for prey to happen along beneath.
Yet even so, she almost missed the light, for it was just a momentary flicker at the periphery of her vision. By the time her head snapped around toward the north and the river, it was already gone.
She wondered what the pale radiance had been. The moon, peeking momentarily from behind a cloud? No. The sky was clear that night, and Selûne, her Tears, and the stars had shone brightly right along. It must have been magical, then. Firelight wouldn’t be so white, nor could it blaze and die so quickly.
Maybe
a priest or sorcerer out sailing, or on the far shore, had cast a spell that kindled a momentary glow. But she wondered about Kesk’s employer. The last time she’d seen the wretch, it had been in the solar on the opposite side of the house. Suppose he lingered there still, and his magic had produced the flare. The light could have pulsed out the long row of windows and reflected off the surface of the river.
Maybe, but even if the masked wizard had used his art, it didn’t have to be because he was engaged in a confrontation with Aeron sar Randal. Sefris strained, listening for shouting, the clash of blades against shields, or some other sign of strife. All she heard was the constant murmur of the city around her.
Still, over the course of the next minute or so, she felt a growing certainty that somehow Aeron and Miri had slipped past her and into the house. Either they’d free Nicos and make their escape, or more likely, the Red Axes would kill the scout and take their fellow outlaw prisoner. However it worked out, it could result in The Black Bouquet passing beyond Sefris’s grasp forever.
That was unacceptable. She’d hoped to capture Aeron before he had a chance to enter the mansion, not make another foray into a place she’d fled with some difficulty the night before, but she saw no alternative. She sprang off the edge of the roof, snatching and releasing the irregularities in the wall to slow her plummeting descent.
When she hit the ground, the impact jolted her but did no real harm. She rolled to her feet and charged the house. Given a choice, she would once again have skulked up in hopes of remaining undetected, but she felt speed was more important.
Nobody shouted or sent a quarrel or sling stone flying in her direction. She was certain Kesk routinely posted a sentry, but if she was right, if something was happening inside the house, perhaps it had already diverted the guard’s attention.
The primary entrance was a pair of massive double doors. Neither their solid weight nor the intricacy of the lock would have hindered her spell of opening, but she begrudged even the moment it would take to stop and recite the incantation. She raced up the wide steps, leaped into the air, and thrust-kicked at the juncture of the panels, attacking it as if her entire body was a battering ram.
The Black Bouquet Page 21
