He judged he had time for one more throw, so he grabbed a stone and faked a cast at the young Red Axe, who flinched. Aeron pivoted and flung the missile at the man in blue instead. The rock clipped his temple, and he stumbled to a halt. Looking shocked, his scimitar dangling at his side, he fingered the bloody graze.
The blond youth must have realized his comrade had stopped running, because he, too, balked. It gave Aeron a chance to put his hand on yet another stone. When he grabbed it, though, the Red Axe started rushing in again. He must have decided that even a fair fight, one against one and knife against knife, was preferable to standing off and letting a foe pelt him with rocks.
Aeron threw the stone. It smacked the youth in the chest but didn't stop him. He pounced, slashed, and Aeron, his hands empty, could only defend by springing frantically backward.
The Red Axe pursued him. Aeron had to dodge two more attacks before he could ready his own weapons, his largest Arthyn fang in one hand and his cudgel in the other.
He feinted a stab to the stomach with the knife, then lashed the club at the blond youth's face. Undeceived, the Red Axe simultaneously ducked the true attack and slashed at Aeron's wrist. The knife tore the underside of his forearm.
Aeron thought, hoped, the wound was shallow. He couldn't stop and check. He retreated to a safe distance, fought defensively for a few heartbeats, then flowed into the same combination he'd tried before, a low feint with the knife and a strike to the head with the cudgel. He made the actions just big and slow enough that his opponent was sure to understand them.
Naturally, the youth responded with the same counterattack as before. Why not, it had worked the first time. When his dagger flashed at Aeron's arm, the redheaded outlaw spun the club, trapped the blade, and carried it safely aside. At once he stepped in and hammered the heavy pommel of his own knife into the center of the Red Axe's forehead. The lad's eyes rolled up in his head, and his knees buckled.
Aeron felt a momentary satisfaction, cut short when he sensed a presence at his back. He leaped aside, and a scimitar whizzed through the space he'd just vacated. One profile smeared with blood, the cutthroat in blue had shaken off the shock of his superficial injury and crept up on the person responsible.
Aeron parried the next cut with his cudgel. It worked, it kept the blade out of his guts, but the force of the stroke knocked the club from his grip, leaving only his own blades with which to defend himself.
The Red Axe hacked at him repeatedly, and whenever Aeron could, he used a variation of the blond boy's counter. He ducked or dodged his opponent's blade and slashed or thrust at his extended arm. Before long, the man in blue became accustomed to the pattern, to an adversary who fought as he did, with a single weapon, and that was when Aeron surreptitiously slipped a second knife into his off hand.
He flourished the big Arthyn fang, locking the Red Axe's attention on it, then threw the smaller dagger. The knife plunged into the older man's throat. He made a gargling sound, pawed at the hilt for a second, and collapsed.
The Red Axe's death left Aeron feeling vaguely disgusted, but it was not the time to dwell on it. He inspected the gash on his forearm. He'd guessed right, it wasn't bad enough to require expert attention, not immediately, anyway. Employing his fingers and teeth, he knotted a kerchief into a makeshift bandage, then crouched to check the yellow-haired lad.
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
