The Black Bouquet

Tharag roared in rage and snatched at Aeron with his offhand. 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 and 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.