The Black Bouquet

by Richard Lee Byers

  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 i
nstant. 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 tro
uble? 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.

  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.