The Black Bouquet

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 co

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 stu

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.