The doors bucked in the frame, and something crunched. Sefris rebounded and fell onto the porch. She scrambled to her feet and kicked a second time. The two leaves flew apart.
As she sprinted on, she heard the clamor that had been inaudible from outside. Sure enough, it was coming from upstairs. She smiled slightly to know she’d guessed correctly, and two ruffians scrambled out of a doorway up ahead. Evidently they were rushing toward the noise as well, but faltered when they spotted her.
While a tolerated guest, Sefris had taken the trouble to learn the floor plan of the mansion. Thus, she knew the bravos were blocking the shortest route to the solar, and likewise knew she needed to clear them from her path. Considering that they were still several yards away, magic might have been the safest way to go about it, but she’d already wasted a measure of her power creating the alarms her quarry had somehow bypassed, and she wanted to save the rest to address more serious threats. So she simply charged.
One Red Axe threw a dagger at her. He had a good eye, and it would have plunged into her heart if she hadn’t slapped it spinning off course. She responded in kind with a backhand flip of a chakram. The razor-edged ring sheared into his neck, and he fell. Blood spurted from the wound to spatter his companion.
The second outlaw winced but stood his ground, a slim needle of a thrusting sword cocked back in one hand and a parrying dagger extended in the other. Maybe he fancied himself a duelist, for his stance, spine straight and knees flexed, bespoke some formal training in the fencer’s science. Sefris kept on charging, one cestus-wrapped fist raised and threatening a punch. Confident that proper timing and the length of his blade would protect him, he’d almost certainly respond to her seemingly reckless advance with a stop hit.
He did. He stepped backward, and his point leaped at her breast. She dropped underneath it, smacked down on the floor, and still carried along by her momentum, slid at him feet first. She kicked at the proper moment, bone cracked, and the duelist went down with a shattered ankle.
It was unlikely he’d give her any more trouble, but Sefris saw no reason to chance it, not when it would take only a split second to finish him off. She scrambled onto his chest, crushed his windpipe with a jab of her stiffened fingers, leaped up, retrieved her chakram, and ran onward.
Nobody was on the marble staircase. Judging from the muddled racket issuing from the top, all the other Red Axes who’d remained in the house had already reached the solar. When she charged up the steps and peered into the hall, she saw that the situation was just about as inconvenient as it could be.
Along with Miri and Nicos, Aeron was at the far end of the room, up by Kesk’s chair. The only way to keep him out of the Red Axes’ hands and wring the location of The Black Bouquet out of him herself was to kill her way through a dozen or so gang members and the wizard in the green cloak, too.
So be it, then. At least Kesk’s henchmen were all facing away from the door. That would give her a brief initial advantage. She sprang into the solar and punched, breaking a hobgoblin’s spine. The tall, hairy creature needed to fall first to give her a clear toss at the small man. She’d already concluded he was no seasoned combat wizard—he was too hesitant and miserly with his magic in a fight—but he was still the most dangerous opponent in the room.
She was just about to fling a chakram when she glimpsed movement at the edge of her vision. She pivoted. Sewer Rat rushed her, clawed hands extended to rake. After the trouncing she’d already given it, the stunted, green-skinned savage should have known better, but maybe it ached to avenge its earlier humiliation.
She sidestepped out of the meazel’s way, cracked its skull with an elbow strike as it blundered past, and returned her attention to the wizard. He’d spotted her and was jabbering a spell at her. Futilely. He wouldn’t finish in time.
She hurled the chakram. It hit the mage in the forehead and bounced away. He bore an enchantment to shield him from missiles.
Even so, the mere fact of a blow to the face would have startled many a spellcaster into botching his conjuration. The small man, however, maintained his focus. He spoke the final word, and a ragged fan-shaped distortion, like hot air rippling over pavement on a torrid summer day, shot from the head of his cane.
Sefris tried to dodge, and nearly made it. The edge of the magic grazed her, however.
It didn’t make her feel any different, and for a second imagined it hadn’t affected her at all. Then she perceived that the wizard was backing away with an implausible quickness. In fact, everything—Aeron’s battle with a gigantic bugbear, Miri’s clash with an orc, the other Red Axes maneuvering to close with one foe or another—was scuttling and jerking around more rapidly than before.
Sefris realized that wasn’t actually so. It just looked that way to her. The man with the cane hadn’t sped the rest of the world up. He’d slowed her down.
Had the enemy allowed her a moment, she probably could have dissolved the enchantment with a counterspell, but suddenly, or so it seemed to her, other Red Axes were rushing her. A dagger slashed at her eyes. From her perspective, the blade came in as fast as if one of her teachers was wielding it, and she nearly failed to duck. She riposted with a punch to the jaw, and the outlaw jerked out of the way.
She flowed into one of the combinations her instructors had drilled into her, following up with a blow to the ribs. The Red Axe didn’t dodge that one. Her knuckles smashed bone. He stumbled backward and fell on his rump.
But already two more Red Axes, one human, the other a slavering, hyena-headed gnoll, were spreading out to flank her. She realized that, in her present condition, she could no longer count on simple trained reflex to snatch her out of harm’s way. She had to read their stances and predict how and where each attack would come.
It looked like the gnoll would cut to the head and the human would try a low-line thrust, and when they pounced at her, it was so. She evaded both attacks and retaliated with a snap kick to the knee that crippled the goblin-kin. Unfortunately, that gave the remaining cutthroat time for a second stab, and she couldn’t pivot fast enough for a clean, fully effective block. She kept the dagger out of her lung, but it pierced her forearm, grating on bone before ripping free.
It didn’t hurt, not yet, and wouldn’t until she allowed it to. Mere force of will, however, wouldn’t stop the bleeding or the weakness it would eventually produce. She realized she was genuinely in trouble.
Aeron crouched before Tharag, and when the enormous bugbear swung its club, the rogue lunged forward, safely inside the arc of the blow, and swept his Arthyn fang in an overhand stab at the creature’s stomach. The point plunged through magically thickened layers of tanned horsehide armor and clothing to pierce the Red Axe’s flesh.
Tharag roared in rage and snatched at Aeron with his off hand. Aeron ducked and stabbed a second time. The bugbear lunged forward, trying, apparently, to knock his foe down and trample him. Aeron sprang aside, and Tharag lurched past.
In the instant it took the Red Axe to spin back around, Aeron had his first chance to survey the entire room in … he realized he had no idea how long. He’d lost all track of time trying to contend with Tharag.
Miri was still alive. Indeed, she was faring better than the last time he’d taken note of her situation. She looked as if she’d shaken off the shock of the snowballs, and at some point had managed to chop through the coil of pink flesh that had bound her legs to the chair. She stood facing both the orc and the bravo with the matted beard, who’d already finished with Nicos. Aeron felt a pang of fear and rage to see his father sprawled motionless on the floor.
A second tongue-rope lay twitching on the floor. Evidently the wizard’s elixir enabled the orc to spit more than one. But the second such attack had failed to take its target by surprise, and Miri managed to dodge.
Aeron was surprised to see that Sefris Uuthrakt had appeared at the far end of the room. Something was wrong with the way she was moving, though he couldn’t make out precisely what. Still, the wizard a
nd the rest of the Red Axes had turned to engage her. Apparently they weren’t all on the same side anymore.
Aeron realized that could be his salvation. It was possible that he, Nicos, and Miri could make their escape while the gang was busy battling the agent of the Dark Moon. First, however, they’d have to dispose of their current opponents, and that wouldn’t be easy. It was plain from the way Tharag turned, quick and surefooted as before, that the Arthyn fang might have jabbed his skin, but hadn’t reached his guts. Aeron felt as if he might as well have pricked the towering brute with a pin.
Then he thought of a ploy that might enable him to do some actual damage. Another idiot idea, perhaps, but the only one he had. He retreated toward Miri, and Tharag lumbered after him.
The problem was that he couldn’t simply tell the scout what he had in mind, or Tharag would hear, too. He could only hint at it, praying she’d understand and the bugbear wouldn’t.
Aeron said, “If we could trip him….”
“Right,” Miri panted.
A few heartbeats later, the man with the tangled whiskers feinted a cut to the leg, then lunged at Miri in earnest. She caught the true attack—a head cut—on her buckler, but to all appearances, the impact staggered her.
Aeron could only assume she was faking. He hopped backward, and Tharag compensated by taking a stride forward, into what ought to be the proper position.
Hoping to take advantage of Miri’s seeming incapacity, the orc spat a third extending tendril of flesh. The guide wrenched herself out of the way. The wet, meaty strand flew past her and lashed itself around Tharag’s ankles. The bugbear pitched off balance, but didn’t fall.
Aeron threw his shoulder against Tharag’s leg. That brought the giant crashing to the floor, and he scrambled toward its neck, where no armor protected it, and a major artery throbbed just beneath the skin.
Tharag flailed at him but missed, then was in position. He slashed, a torrent of blood sprayed, and the bugbear thrashed in its death throes.
Aeron jumped up and rushed in on the orc’s flank. The pig-faced creature pivoted and parried his knife with its short sword, but in the instant it was distracted, Miri cut into its chest. It whimpered, and its legs gave way.
That left Aeron and Miri confronting the man with the beard. Aeron just had time for an instant of savage satisfaction that for once, it was the foe who found himself outnumbered.
Miri said, “Deal with him.”
She turned, and dashed away.
Aeron and the Red Axe shifted in and out of the distance, feinting, striking, and parrying, neither, in those first moments, able to score. Something shattered, then warmth and a wavering yellow light flowered at Aeron’s back. He surmised that Miri had smashed an oil lamp to set something on fire. The blaze alarmed his opponent, who started shouting for help.
If the Red Axe kept on yelling, some of his comrades just might heed him, too, even though, so far, Sefris was holding her own against them. Desperate to shut him up, Aeron lunged forward, inviting a stop cut. When it came, he blocked with the knife in his off hand and simultaneously drove his largest Arthyn fang into the Red Axe’s chest.
It took the ruffian a moment to drop, and by that time, Aeron could feel the hot pain burning in his shoulder. His knife had been too light a weapon, or his defense not deft enough, to stop the heavy sword entirely. His parry had robbed the stroke of some of its force, but the blade still gashed his flesh.
Aeron knew he had no time to stop and examine the wound. Instead, he pivoted toward Miri and the fire. She’d set the mesh sealing off the servants’ stairs alight, and the gluey cables were burning away.
“I learned to clear spider web in the Thornwood,” she said, flashing him a grin. “Help me with your father.”
As they dashed toward Nicos, a couple more Red Axes started in their direction.
Fine, Aeron thought. If it was a race, he and Miri would just have to win it.
He caught sight of the wizard. Standing by the windows at a reasonably safe distance from any of the intruders, the mage had also oriented on the thief and the ranger. Holding a spell focus—Aeron couldn’t make out precisely what the small object was—high above his head, he recited a rhyme.
A dark blue vapor billowed up around Aeron’s feet, so thickly that he could no longer see any farther than his hand could reach. Even worse, the fumes had a vile, rotten smell that instantly turned his stomach. Stricken with a nausea as intense as any he’d ever experienced, Aeron swallowed to keep from puking.
“Run!” cried Miri from somewhere in the mist.
The strain in her tone made it obvious that she too was struggling not to be sick.
“My father!” Aeron called back.
“We can’t … find him … in this murk,” Miri replied between coughs, “and we’re too ill … to carry him off … if we could. It’s over … for tonight.”
He hated her for it, but she was right. Silently vowing that he’d come back for Nicos somehow, he tried to turn around toward the servants’ stairs, only to realize he no longer knew where they were. He was so sick it made him dizzy.
He nearly panicked, then spotted a smudge of brightness that could only be the firelight. He staggered forward into the center of it. Curling wisps of burning web seared him as he brushed by.
At the moment, it didn’t matter. The fog hadn’t penetrated far beyond the doorway, and as soon as he clambered down out of it, his nausea abated. The relief of that rendered the sting of his blisters insignificant.
Miri stood below him on the steps. She beckoned impatiently, and they ran on down to the first floor, then onward through the house. When they reached the stairs leading down to the cellars, he swiped some blood from his shoulder wound and smeared it on the banister.
Sefris had suffered a second wound, a gash just above the knee, by the time the fire started and the ruffian at the far end of the hall started bawling for help. A couple of the other Red Axes left off attacking her to answer the call.
She dodged a dagger thrust, grabbed her assailant, and spun him at a goblin armed with a spiky-headed mace. The outlaws fell in a tangle, and finally, for the first time since the man with the cane had snared her in his enchantment, she had time to rattle off a spell of her own.
She snatched a handful of black ribbons from one of her pockets, recited the words of power, and snapped the lengths of silk as if they were a cat-o’-nine-tails. Tatters of shadow exploded from a point on the floor to engulf the nearest Red Axes, who cried out at the insubstantial but somehow repulsive contact. They stood dazed and shaken for a few moments, and their incapacity bought Sefris even more time.
Time to dissolve the unnatural sluggishness with which the wizard had afflicted her. Crooking her fingers through the proper signs, she began the counterspell. Gloom crawled around her, the Shadow Weave responding to her call.
At the same time, she took note of the blue fog filling the opposite end of the room. Thanks to her own magical expertise, she knew what the conjured mist was. No doubt it was intended to drop Aeron and Miri in their tracks, make them too nauseated to do anything but retch, but it evidently hadn’t. Sefris could hear them calling to one another inside the cloud. If they could resist the vapor long enough, they were going to flee through the far doorway.
Sefris wouldn’t be able to follow without fighting her way past more Red Axes and subjecting herself to the debilitating queasiness engendered by the fog. She thought she’d be better off trying something else instead.
She spoke the final word of power. The air around her sizzled like meat frying in a pan as her own magic burned the small man’s hindering spell away. She whirled, dashed out the door, and bounded down the wide marble steps.
As she ran, her wounded leg throbbed, the pain begging her to favor it. She blocked the discomfort from her mind. If she allowed herself to limp, she might not be fast enough to intercept Aeron on the ground floor.
It turned out that she wasn’t anyway. When she saw the bloody mark o
n the banister of the cellar stairs, she realized he and Miri had scurried down them to escape through the Underways. She continued the chase through the labyrinth of storerooms and piled crates until she found her way to the exit.
It was still locked. And bolted. Even if Aeron knew a burglar’s trick that would allow him to secure it fully from the other side, it was unlikely he would have taken the time. He and Miri had actually fled the house at ground level.
Which was to say the handprint had been a trick to make a pursuer believe the fugitives had gone that way. It had worked well, too. It would be futile to race back upstairs and try to pick up Aeron’s trail. Even if it didn’t result in another useless encounter with the Red Axes, and further delay, he’d gained too long a lead.
Sefris simply opened the inner door, then the outer one, and departed via the tunnels herself. She felt herself seething with anger, and worked to quash the feeling. Her frustration and injured pride in her own competence didn’t matter, nor the pain of her wounds—only patience, resolution, and the success they would bring did.
Yet deep down, she hoped with a bitter fervor that, in the course of accomplishing her mission, she’d have the chance to slaughter Aeron, Miri, Kesk, the wizard with the blackwood cane, and everyone else who’d gotten in her way. Perhaps it was a prayer that even a deity as cold and unyielding as the Lady of Loss would grant.
A couple blocks from Kesk’s mansion, Miri and Aeron climbed a rusty wrought iron ladder, the rungs tangled in ivy, that ran up a tower wall. At the top was a Rainspan. From there, they could watch for signs of pursuit. Thus far, she hadn’t seen any.
She and the outlaw leaned on the railing and panted for a time, catching their breaths and waiting for their stomachs to settle. The night breeze was mild, but her clothes were so sweat-soaked that it chilled her even so.
The Black Bouquet Page 22
