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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。