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Not likely； thought Ryld。 He turned to say as much to Pharaun； then blinked in surprise。 The wizard looked as if he was taking this diatribe seriously。
〃They're just venting their resentment in the form of a fantasy；〃 the warrior whispered。 〃They'd never dare； and we'd crush them in a matter of minutes if they did。〃
〃So one would assume；〃 Pharaun replied。 〃e on； I want a closer look。〃
They started working their way forward through the agitated throng。 Some of their fellow spectators plainly resented their shoving。 Ryld had to toss one hobgoblin down onto the floor of the sunken arena； but no one seemed to think it odd that they wanted to get closer to the charismatic leader。 Others were doing the same。
The Prophet continued his oration。
〃I thank you for your work and your patience； which soon will reap their reward。 Word of our revolt has reached every street and alley。 We have warriors everywhere； and each understands what he is to do when he hears the Call。 Meanwhile； the drow suspect nothing。 Their arrogance makes them placent。 They won't suspect until it's too late； until the Call es and we rise as one—until we burn them。〃
Ryld and Pharaun had forced their way close enough to see the Prophet pick up a sandstone rod and anoint the end with an oil from a ceramic bottle。 The rod burst into yellow； crackling flame as if it were made of dry wood； that exotic bustible product of the World Above。 The master of MeleeMagthere squinted at the sudden flare of light。
〃Eyes of the Goddess〃 Pharaun exclaimed。
〃It's a neat trick；〃 Ryld said； 〃but surely nothing special by your standards。〃
〃Not the fire； those two bugbears standing behind the Prophet。〃
〃His bodyguards； I imagine。 What of them？〃
〃They're Tluth Melarn and one Alton the cobbler； two of our runaways。 They're wearing veils of illusion； too； but of a simpler nature。 I can see past theirs。〃
〃Are you serious？ What are drow； even rogues； doing aiding the instigator of a slave revolt？〃
〃Perhaps we'll find out when we tail the Prophet and his entourage away from here。〃
〃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 wide