The fugitives scrambled on for what felt like a long time, until Aeron was all but certain he'd lost his way. The trunk of an elm tree swam out of the fog. The bottommost branches hung low to the ground, and despite the season, still clung to most of their leaves.
"Can you climb?" he asked.
"A little, if I have to," Nicos said.
Aeron grabbed him by the belt and lifted him upward.
"And hide?" the rogue asked.
Nicos gripped a limb, and grunting with effort, dragged himself higher, relieving Aeron of his weight.
The old man said, "That should be no problem."
"Then get above eye level and stay still until the Red Axes go home, no matter how long that takes. I don't think they'll find you as long as I draw their attention elsewhere, and without you slowing me down, I can get away."
"Mask protect you," Nicos said.
Aeron strode away. After a few moments, he stumbled on the spot where a tinker in a patched cloak had set up shop. The thief snatched up a copper pot awaiting repair and banged it with the pommel of his fighting knife.
"We're here, you bastards!" he yelled. "Catch us if you can!"
He dropped his makeshift gong and rushed onward.
He wondered how Sefris was faring. Plainly, she'd still been alive when she finally conjured the fog as planned. Having performed that final service, the Red Axes were more than welcome to kill her. But actually, Aeron was sure it wasn't going to be that easy for him, just as he was certain that he and Nicos couldn't evade her for long. He had to dispose of her. He just hoped the last phase of his plan, the part she presumably knew nothing about, would do the job.
He felt more than saw the imposing mass of Griffingate House before him. He stalked along the side of the inn, heading for the alleyway where he was supposed to rendezvous with Sefris, and his luck deserted him again.
Unable to see it in the blinding fog, the small wizard tripped over the guy line of a vendor's tent and fell heavily to the ground. Perhaps the impact knocked the panic out of him, for when he raised his head, he felt better able to think.
Frightened or not, he still had no intention of letting half of Oeble witness him fighting in concert with the city's most infamous outlaws. He had to slip away, but before he did, perhaps he could cast a final spell to help his accomplices deal with Aeron sar Randal.
He hoped that despite the disorienting turmoil of the past couple minutes, including the alarming discovery that Aeron and Sefris were working together, the Red Axes still meant to capture the lone-wolf thief, not kill him. Otherwise, they'd likely lose The Black Bouquet forever. Yet even if they did, it would be better than if it somehow reached its rightful owner, and the magician found that, rattled and frustrated as he was, he'd actually come around to Kesk's point of view. It was time to put an end to the business, and to the redheaded nuisance who'd so complicated it, in whatever way it could be accomplished.
Plainly, Aeron and Nicos hoped to sneak away from the square under cover of the mist. If the small man could wash the muck from the air, perhaps Kesk's men could still catch them.
He didn't know whether it was possible. Sefris had dispelled two of his enchantments, whereas he'd never tried to cancel one of hers. It was entirely possible she was the superior spellcaster, for after all, he was primarily a merchant. He simply studied thaumaturgy in private when he could find the time, to give himself a secret edge.
Yet one of his teachers had told him that any wizard had a chance of unmaking the mystical creation of any other, so long as he performed the banishment perfectly. Accordingly, the trader picked himself up, took a deep breath, and gave it his best effort, enunciating the words of power as clearly and sweeping his cane through the passes as crisply as possible.
It worked. Power groaned around him like a note from a giant's cello, until the air suddenly cleared. The small man felt a pang of delight in his own prowess, cut short by the realization that, with the fog gone, he was once more in danger of being recognized. He shielded his face with his cloak and scurried on toward the edge of the square and safety.
It was too late to block the battle-axe. Not even the Dark Father Abbott of Sefris's monastery could have managed it. She flung herself backward, and it saved her life. The mighty cut, which would otherwise have cleaved her shoulder and plunged on deep into her vitals, simply ripped flesh and tore free in a shower of blood.
It was a bad wound anyway, and Kesk realized it. Grunting like a maddened boar through his broken fangs, pressing the advantage, he drove in hard. The axe leaped at her again and again.
For a moment or two, as shock threatened to overwhelm her, it was difficult for Sefris to parry or dodge and almost impossible to strike back. Her training braced her, carried her to a place beyond pain, weakness, or fear, into a cold, clear state of mind vaguely suggestive of the perfect peace that would endure forever once all vile created things passed into nothingness. Strength and agility surged back into her limbs, and she hooked a punch into Kesk's side. A rib cracked. She was in too close for him to chop at her, so he lifted the axe high and rammed the end of the handle down at the top of her skull. She slipped the blow and whipped an elbow strike into his jaw.
The way the tanarukk's head sat atop his massive shoulders, he scarcely seemed to have a neck. Otherwise, the blow would probably have snapped it. As it was, the fire in his scarlet eyes seemed to dim, and when he tried to retreat and give himself room for another axe stroke, he stumbled. She leaped into the air and thrust-kicked him in the center of the chest. He fell on his back and lay motionless while she stamped on him.
That ought to have killed him, even as tough as he was. In other circumstances, she would have paused to make sure, but she wanted to start after Aeron without further delay. She didn't think he'd tried to lose her, not with his father still up a tree in the middle of the square, readily available for recapture, but she wasn't certain. The rogue was too tricky for her to feel confident of predicting his every move.
When she turned, her fog was gone. Though the wizard was nowhere to be seen, he'd evidently dispelled it before fleeing. A good many of the Red Axes had disappeared as well. They must have groped their way out of the square. Maybe they'd been afraid the mist would make them sick, like the poison vapor the magician had conjured back in the mansion, or perhaps they'd seen little point in stumbling around in the murk until the Gray Blades arrived in force, an event which was sure to happen eventually. In any case, even though Sefris would have taken a certain satisfaction in striking them out of her path, their departure ought to make life easier.
She sprinted toward the mouth of the alley where Aeron had promised to meet her. Up ahead in the darkness, a man cried out.
CHAPTER 18
Bow in hand and an arrow on the string, Miri crouched in the shadowy gap between two snarling gargoyles on the gabled roof of Griffingate House. She peered at the thick white fog in Laskalar's Square and the folk who periodically stumbled out of it and fled down the alley. She strained her ears in an essentially futile effort to interpret the confusion of shouts and other noises emanating from the midst of the cloud.
Where was Aeron? Her nerves were taut with waiting, and it seemed to her that it was taking him forever to appear. True, the mist had materialized as he'd said it would, which indicated a part of the plan had gone off properly, but it didn't necessarily mean he hadn't come to grief.
The vapor disappeared. She scowled in dismay until Aeron dashed down the passage. For a moment she imagined everything was all right, then a man and a limping orc came chasing after him. They'd apparently spotted him when the fog vanished, just scant seconds too soon.