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Not bad； he thought。 Not as good as a flying carpet； but helpful nonetheless。
He took a few more strides； getting the feel of the boots； then headed out。 Just as he exited the shop； a howling； shrieking cacophony exploded out of the air。 An instant later； a horde of undercreatures—ores； mostly； with a sprinkling of longarmed goblins—came charging out of the stands of stalls and kiosks to the east。
Blundyth's neighbors gaped in utter astonishment。 For some； the instant of consternation was fatal。 The undercreatures swarmed over them like ants harvesting the carcass of a mouse。
Some of the remaining merchants bolted。 Others shot their hand crossbows； or conjured flashes of magic。 One optimist sought to cow the rebels with threats； invective； and mands until a scrofulous ore； slopping the liquid out of a tin bucket； threw some of Syrzan's liquid fire on him。 The incendiary ignited flesh as easily as stone。
His great blanket of zpiwafivi flapping around him； Pharaun ran。 Each amplified stride bounced him off the ground； but thanks to the virtues of the magic boots； he always landed softly。
A pair of ores glared at him and hefted their spears。 He whispered an incantation； and a ragged blackness； the essence of death itself； danced among the undercreatures。 They collapsed； already rotting。
For the moment at least； Pharaun was in the clear。 He raced on； while all around him； his city went down in blood and fire。
〃You must know some song； some magic； to track an enemy；〃 Houndaer said。
〃If I did； I'd be singing it；〃 Omraeth said curtly。 〃Now be quiet。 If the masters hear us ing； they'll do their best to evade us。〃
〃He's right；〃 said Tsabrak； scuttling along on his eight segmented legs。 〃Shut up； or we'll never get this done。〃
Houndaer was wearing Ryld Argith's greatsword strapped across his back； and for an instant he fairly quivered with the urge to try it out on his panions。 He wasn't used to such insolence； not from other males； and certainly not from a degraded creature like a drider。
Yet he restrained himself； because he needed them。 He prayed he'd be the one to catch up with the fugitives； who'd made him look a fool in the eyes of the other renegades； but he knew he couldn't kill both of them by himself。
Tsabrak raised his hand and whispered； 〃Wait〃
〃What is it？〃 Houndaer asked。
Instead of replying； the halfspider started taking deep breaths。 His nostrils flared。 He turned this way and that； then crouched down to sniff along the floor。 His front legs bent； and his arachnid lower body tilted like a tray to bring his dark elf head down。
〃Did you pick up the scent？〃 Houndaer asked。
He felt an upswelling of excitement； and made a conscious effort to quell it。 He didn't doubt that Tsabrak smelled something pertinent； but over the course of the last hour； the brute； whose metamorphosis had evidently altered his perceptions； had picked up the trail several times only to lose it again。
〃Follow me；〃 said Tsabrak； nocking an arrow。
The drider led his panions to the arched entrance to a training hall； where target mannequins stood in shrouds of spiderweb and a tally board hung on the lefthand wall。 Over the years； the chalk had lost most of its phosphorescence； but Houndaer could still read the score of a fencing bout in faintly gleaming ciphers。
Peer as he might； however； he could see no sign of Masters Argith and Mizzrym。 He gave Tsabrak a questioning and somewhat impatient glance。 The drider responded by pointing at the floor。
When a proud noble family had held the castle； a workman in their employ had painted the floor with pistes and dueling circles。 Like the chalk； the magical enamel still radiated a trace of light。 At one spot； a spatter of blood was occluding it。
Houndaer's pulse ticked faster。 He looked up at the drider and mouthed； 〃Where？〃
Tsabrak led them toward the tiers of seats on the right。 The noble noticed for the first time that a space separated the sculpted calcite risers and the wall。
Elsewhere in the castle； one hunter shouted to another。
Relax； thought Houndaer。 It's my kill。
He held his breath as he and his underlings—for that they were； even if they； by virtue of belonging to the conspiracy； imagined otherwise— peeked around the edge of the steps。 Master Argith was sitting crosslegged a few yards down the aisle。
The Tuin'Tarl instantly pointed his crossbow。 Indeed； he nearly pulled the trigger before he took in all the details of the scene。 His former teacher sat motionless； his eyes shut。 To all appearances； he was unconscious； or in any case oblivious to the advent of his foes。 Master Mizzrym was nowhere to be seen。
Ryld's passivity left Houndaer unsure as to the best course of action。
Should he and his minions summarily dispatch the spy or seize the opportunity to take him prisoner？ If the weapons master was dead； he couldn't tell them what had bee of his partner。
Then the noble realized that while he'd stood pondering the matter； Tsabrak had drawn back his bow string and sighted down the arrow。 Houndaer lifted a hand to signal him to desist； then thought better of it。 Master Argith was a superb warrior even by the standards of MeleeMagthere。 That was why； when a student； the Tuin'Tarl had admired him so； and had been so eager to recruit him。 Perhaps it would be wiser to kill him while they had the chance。
Besides； Houndaer was reluctant to risk the vexation of giving Tsabrak an order and having it ignored。
He lifted his hand crossbow。 He and the drider took their time aiming； and why not？ Ryld was still unaware of them。
Tsabrak released the string； and Houndaer pulled the trigger。 The shafts leaped at the stillmotionless weapons master。 The noble had no doubt the two missiles would suffice。 They were flying true； and the heads were poisoned。 It was strange and vaguely unsatisfying to dispatch a master of war so easily； as if it was vengeance on the cheap。
Then； when surely it was too late to react； Ryld moved。 He twitched himself out of the way of the crossbow quarrel and caught the hurtling arrow in his hand。
Swiftly； yet somehow without the appearance of haste； the weapons master flowed to his feet and advanced。 His bloody thigh didn't hinder him in the slightest。 His face and eyes were empty； like those of a medium awaiting munion with the dead。
His voice pitched deep； Omraeth sang a quick rhymed couplet。 Power glittered through the air。 Evidently the spell was supposed to afflict Ryld； but as far as Houndaer could observe； it didn't。 The huge male just kept ing。 Tsabrak loosed another arrow； and the teacher slapped it out of the air with his broadsword。
Tsabrak and Houndaer dropped their bows and drew their swords。 The drider spat poison on his blade。 They'd engage Ryld while he was still in the cramped space behind the seats with no room to maneuver。 Omraeth took up a position behind his rades； where he could augment their efforts with bardic magic。
Houndaer felt a pang of fright and willed the feeling away。 He had nothing to fear。 It was three against one； wasn't it； and the one had no mail。 Indeed； by the look of him； he might not even have any wits。
Except that then he proved he did。 Ryld touched the vertical surface that was the back of the steps。 He summoned darkness； blinding his foes。
Houndaer hacked madly； and sensed Tsabrak doing the same。 Darkness or no； when the spy lunged forward； they'd cut him to pieces。 Their swords split nothing but air。
After a few seconds； Omraeth shouted； 〃e back this way〃
Houndaer and Tsabrak turned and blundered their way toward the sound of their rade's voice。 The drider's envenomed sword bumped the Tuin'TarPs arm； but fortunately without sufficient force to penetrate his armor and piwafwi。
When Houndaer stumbled out of the murk； Master Argith was in the center of the salle。 Under the cover of darkness； he'd made it to the top of the steps and bounded down the other side。 He had a good chance of reaching the exit unchecked。
He didn't take it； though。 Standing in the center of one of the faintly luminous circles； he settled into a fighting stance。 He hadn't scrambled over the steps to flee； rather to reach a battleground more to his liking。
Houndaer swallowed away a dryness in his mouth。 Ryld hadn't the sense to run？ Well； good。 Then they'd kill him。
The noble and drider fanned out to e at the Master of MeleeMagthere from opposite sides。 Omraeth hung back and menced another song。
Advancing to meet his adversaries； Master Argith glided through the first of three moves—parry； feint high； slash low—of one of the broadsword katas he'd taught Houndaer back on Tier Breche。 The noble discerned an instant too late that the purpose was to distract attention from the crossbow in the weapons master's other hand。 The dart plunged into Omraeth's throat； ending his song in an ugly gurgle and dissipating the charged heaviness of arcane force accumulating in the air。 The spellsinger fell backward； and it was two to one。
Houndaer told himself it didn't matter。 Not when he was wielding Ryld's own greatsword； a weapon that could supposedly shear through anything； and Tsabrak's blade was dripping poison。 They only needed to land one light little cut to incapacitate their foe。
Ryld gave ground before them。 Houndaer assumed he wanted to put his back