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； long…armed 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。 Pernothaps 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 bat…eared 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 lonotcation； 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 gorgeous 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 gorget； 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 fornotward 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