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rking frantinotcally； it flew upward； lifting itself off the blade before it could penetrate too deeply。
The next few seconds were difficult。 Ryld could barely make out his foes； while the nightmare could apparently see through its own smoke pernotfectly well。 He stood and turned precariously on the crest of the roof； in constant danger of losing his balance； whereas the flying horse could manotneuver wherever it pleased。 Just to make life even more interesting； the rider started swinging his curved sword。 Fortunately； like most denizens of the Underdark； he had little notion of how to fight on horseback； but his clumsy strokes still posed a danger。
Ryld wanted to end the confrontation quickly； before someone discovnotered Pharaun's hiding place。 Unfortunately； in light of all his disadvannottages； the weapons master thought the only way of doing that was to take a risk。 The next time the demon reared； he let one of the blazing hooves slam him in the chest。
His dwarven breastplate rang but held。 The blow hurt cruelly but didn't break any ribs or otherwise incapacitate him。 He fell backward； banged down on the east pitch of the roof； and started to tumble。 Kicking and scrabbling； negating his weight； he managed to catch himself and twist around into a low fighting stance。
The nightmare was rushing in to finish him off。 He swung Splitter； and this time the demon was too mitted to the attack to halt its forward momentum。 The greatsword slashed through its neck； nearly severing the head with its luminous scarlet eyes。 The steed toppled sideways and rolled； leaving a trail of embers。 The rider tried to jump free； but he was too slow。 The nightmare crushed him on its way to the ground。
Ryld tore open the dead male's purse； then floated down to the demon horse and checked the saddlebags。 There were no potions or any other means of mending a wound。
Why； he wondered； should he expect to find such a thing among the noble's effects？ The noble had e to the Braeryn for some lighthearted sport。 He hadn't believed the goblins couldn't hurt him or that he was in any other danger； so why bring a remedy for grievous harm to the festivinotties； even if he was lucky enough to possess one？
There were only five hunters who'd e there with a deadly serious purpose； prepared to cross swords with formidable foes： Greyanna and her retainers。 They were far more likely to carry healing magic than any other drow whom Ryld might opt to waylay。
Alas； they were likely to prove more trouble as well； but if he wanted to save Pharaun； he'd just have to cope。 Pharaun was a useful ally； and Ryld was unwilling to let that carefully nurtured relationship expire easily。 He skulked on； ignoring the hunters who obliviously crossed his path； until he finally spied a familiar figure on a rooftop just ahead of him。
Still masked； one of Greyanna's twin warriors was stalking along that eminence。 An arrow nocked； he peered down into the street below。
Ryld threw himself down behind a stubby little false minaret on his roof。 He peered around it； looking for the rest of the would…be murderers。
He didn't see them。 Maybe the band had split up； the better to look for their quarry。 They'd have to； wouldn't they； to oversee the entire district。
He ducked back； cocked his hand crossbow and laid a poisoned dart in the channel。 He and Pharaun had been reluctant to kill their pursuers； but with the wizard dying； Ryld was no longer overly concerned with a petty retainer's life。
He leaned back around； his finger already tightening on the trigger… and the space where the archer had stood was empty。 Ryld cast about； an