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Clinging to his victim； the master drove his dirk repeatedly into the big male's side。 Sometimes the blade plunged deep； and sometimes it caught on a rib。 Blundyth flailed and bucked for a while； couldn't break free； then tried to aim the arbalest back over his shoulder。 Pharaun ducked away from it。 Finally the merchant fell sideways； pinning his attacker's knife and hand beneath him。 Pharaun dragged his hand free； but didn't bother with the dirk。 He was about to procure a set of vastly superior weapons。 He wiped his bloody fingers on Blundyth's clothing； then rose and headed for the entrance to the stall。
Blundyth's neighbors watched him； but didn't interfere。 As the dead male might have observed； his murder was nothing to do with them。
The wizard's supply shop was as wellstocked as usual。 Jars； bottles； and boxes stood on limestone shelves； and a greenish mirror glowed on a wooden stand in the corner。 The air smelled of spices； herbs； bitter incense； and decay。
Blundyth's piwafwi lay carelessly draped across a chest； and it was the first item Pharaun appropriated。 The cloak fit him like a tent； but it had the customary row upon row of hidden pockets。 Next he examined the vials and drawers； finding the magical ponents that corresponded to the spells he had prepared。 With every one he filched； he felt a little better； almost like a cripple regaining the use of his legs。
As he worked his way across the room； he spotted a pair of boots sitting atop a little cupboard。 They were plainly special in some way； for the maker had tooled runes into the leather。 Without his silver ring； Pharaun lacked the ability to instantly discern what virtues they possessed； but playing a hunch； he decided to take the time to try them on。
The boots squirmed； molding themselves to his feet； then quivered against his flesh like an animal eager to run。 He took an experimental step； and the magical footwear kicked off on its own； augmenting the strength of his legs and propelling him all the way across the shop in a single bound。
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 Tui