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〃I taught you how to use the fire pots；〃 the orator continued； 〃and my friends and I have brought plenty of them。〃 He gestured toward several
hovering floatchests。 〃Take them and hide them until the day of reckoning。
The bright notes of a brazen glaur horn blared through the air。 For a moment； confused； Ryld thought 〃the Call〃—whatever that was—had arrived； then a thrill of panic； or at least the memory of it； reminded him what the trumpet truly portended。 Judging by the goblins' babbling and frantic peering about； they knew； too。
〃What is it？〃 Pharaun asked。
〃You're nobly born；〃 said Ryld； hearing a trace of an old bitterness in his voice。 〃Didn't you ever go hunting through the Braeryn； slaying every wretch you could catch？〃
The wizard smiled and said； 〃Now that you mention it； but it's been a long time。 It occurs to me that this is probably Greyanna's doing。 Not a bad tactic； really； even though it involves a lot of waste motion。 Once I shielded us our hunters couldn't pinpoint our location； but they knew our mission would bring us to the Braeryn so they anized a hunt for a party of nobles。 The idea is that all the turmoil is likely to flush us out and send us scrambling frantically through the streets； at which point they'll have a better chance of spotting us。〃
〃What's more；〃 said Ryld； making sure his swords were loose in their scabbards； 〃your sister gives us the choice of retaining our veils of illusion and being harried by our own kind； or casting them off and facing the wrath of the undercreatures。 Either way； someone might do her killing for her。〃
The Prophet raised his hands for calm； and the undercreatures quieted a little。
〃My friends； in a moment we will scatter as we must； for a little while longer； but before you go； take the fire pots。 Once the danger is past； share the weapons and news of our gathering with all those who were unable to attend。 Remember your part in the plan and wait for the Call。 Now； go〃
Some of the rebels bolted without further delay； but at least half lingered long enough to take a jug or two from the hovering boxes。 One ore lost his footing in the press； then screamed as other goblinoids trampled him in their haste。 Meanwhile； the Prophet and his bodyguards slipped out a door in the back wall。
〃Shall we？〃 said Pharaun； striding after them。
〃What of Greyanna and all the hunters？〃 asked Ryld。
〃We'll contend with them as necessary； but I'll be damned if I hide in a hole while two of the boys we worked so hard to find vanish into the night。〃
The masters stalked out onto the street。 The Braeryn already echoed with more trumpeting； the sporting cries of dark elves； and the screams of undercreatures。
The teachers shadowed the Prophet and the rogues for half a block。 The trio moved briskly but without any trace of panic。 Evidently they were confident of their ability to elude the hunters。 Ryld wondered why。
Then the night gave him other things to think about。
He and Pharaun skulked by a house where several shouting goblins pounded on the granite front door。 As was the mon practice during a hunt； the inhabitants refused to admit them。 They wouldn't let in anyone but folk who actually lived there。 Otherwise； a rush of terrified refugees flooding into the already crowded warren might trample or crush some of the residents—or the influx might make the house a more provocative target。 It had happened before。
Finally Ryld heard the small； longarmed creatures turn away from the structure。 They cried out； then broke into a run； their rapid footsteps drumming on the ground。
Ryld had no idea why1 the goblins were charging him and Pharaun。 Perhaps the creatures had mistaken them for tenants of the house that had denied them entry and thus appropriate targets for revenge。 Maybe they simply wanted to take their frustrations out on someone。
Not that it mattered。 The brutes were no match for masters of Tier Breche。 The dark elves would kill them in a trice。
Ryld drew Splitter from its scabbard and came on guard； meanwhile taking in his assailants' pitiful makeshift weaponry and lack of armor。 It was pathetic； really； so much so that the next few seconds would almost be a bore。
Two goblins spread out； trying to flank him。 He stepped in and swung Splitter left； then right。 The undercreatures fell； one dropping its crowbar to clang against the ground and the other keeping hold of its mallet。
The next two bateared creatures hesitated。 They should have turned and run； because Ryld couldn't stand and wait for them to ponder whether they still wanted to fight。 The Prophet and the rogues were getting farther away by the second。
He stepped in and cut downward。 A goblin； this one possessed of a short sword—a proper warrior's weapon； and some martial training to go with it—lifted the weapon to parry。 It didn't matter。 Splitter sheared right through its blade and streaked on into its torso。
Knife in hand； the fourth goblin dodged behind its foe。 Sensing its location； Ryld kicked backward。 His boot connected solidly； snapping bone； and when he turned the creature lay motionless on the ground； likely dead of a broken back。
Ryld turned to survey the battlefield。 His eyes widened in shock and dismay。
Pharaun too was on the ground。 Three goblins crouched over him on their bandy legs。 One scabrous creature had blood on the iron spike that served it as a poniard。
Ryld bellowed a war cry； sprang at them； and struck them down before they could do any more damage。 He kneeled beside his friend。 Beneath the elegant piwafwi； Pharaun's equally geous robe had two punctures in it； and was dark and wet from breastbone to thighs。
〃I heard them ing a moment after you did；〃 the wizard wheezed。 〃I didn't turn around fast enough。〃
〃Don't worry；〃 said Ryld。 〃It's going to be all right。〃
In reality； he wasn't at all sure of that。
〃The goblin thrust through the gap between the wings of my cloak。 The little bastard hurt me when Greyanna and her followers couldn't。 Isn't that silly？〃
C h a p t e r
T W E L V E
When Quenthel had decided she must don armor； she had performed the task as methodically as she did everything else。 She'd put on a cunningly crafted adamantine get； a Baenre heirloom； beneath her chain mail and piwafwi； and it was likely that protective collar that saved her life。
Still； the unexpected impact on the nape of her neck knocked her forward and down onto one knee； and the edge of her enchanted buckler clanked against the floor。
For a moment； she was dazed。 The whip vipers hissed and clamored to rouse her； their outburst clashing with the jumbled howling of the advancing chaos demon。
She felt something hanging down her back and bade the serpents pull it off。 Hsiv reared over her shoulder； tugged the article out of the mail links and cloth with his jaws； and displayed it for her inspection。 She recognized it from the armory。 It was an enchanted quarrel sized for a twohand arbalest； and if it； or one like it； so much as pricked a dark elf's skin； it would almost certainly kill。
Quenthel thought her assailant had had just about enough time to reload。 If so； the Baenre obviously couldn't trust her cloak and mail to protect her—the first bolt had pierced them easily enough。
Though it meant turning her back on the demon； she wrenched herself around； remaining on one knee to make a smaller target； and did her best to cover herself with her tiny shield。
Just in time。 A second quarrel cracked against the armor。 A shadowy but recognizably female figure ducked back into an arched doorway； no doubt to ready her weapon again。
Trapped between two foes； Quenthel thought that if she didn't eliminate one of them quickly； they were almost certainly going to kill her。 Judging her sister dark elf the easier mark； she leveled a long； thin rod at her。
A glob of seething green vitriol materialized in the air before her； then shot toward her enemy。 Quenthel could just see the edge of her opponent's body in the recessed space； and that was what she aimed for。 Even if she missed； the magic ought to slow the assassin down。
The green mass clipped her foe's shoulder。 It exploded； and the dark figure jumped。 The stonework around her was covered in a sticky mass of something like glue。 Quenthel smiled； but her foe； apparently unhindered by the entrapping magic； returned to the task of cocking the crossbow。 Something； her innate drow resistance to hostile magic； perhaps； had shielded her from harm。
Quenthel glanced over her shoulder as she slipped the rod back into her belt。 Though moving at a leisurely pace； the chaos demon had already traversed more than half of the lengthy gallery； and of course its speed could increase at any moment； just as every other aspect of its being altered unpredictably from one second to the next。
But if the Spider Queen favored Quenthel and the entity didn't accelerate； she might have time for another strike at her foe of flesh and blood。 Silently directing the vipers to keep an eye on the demon； she turned back； and read from a precious scroll。
When Quenthel pronounced the last syllable； the scroll disappeared in a puff of dust and a brilliant light filled the chamber。 The dark elf in the doorway reeled and clutched blindly at the door frame。 She touched the slowlydripping ma