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ight and had easily avoided the kick。
Cursing； Ryld summoned a magical darkness that filled the chimney。 Neither of them could see； so both had to listen carefully over the sound of the cleric's prayers for the faint shifts of fabric and armor in order to locate his opponent。
A rush of air warned Ryld of a second mace blow。 He twisted violently back； inadvertently falling a little as his levitation magic was interrupted。 His sword arm brushed the chimney wall…and an instant later the mace smashed into his elbow； numbing his arm to the fingertips。 He tried to swing； but the sword slipped from his fingers。
The mace smashed in a second time； catching him in the stomach。 Ryld's breastplate stopped the spikes from penetrating； but even so； the force of the blow made him grunt。 His opponent was better than Ryld had expected。
Ryld heard his short sword clatter against the bottom of the chimney； far below。 Meanwhile； the cleric's prayer had increased in volume from a whisper to a chant。 The cleric must have been using his magic to neutralize the poison； which meant that Ryld would soon have two threats to face。 In the narrow chimney； the greatsword strapped to his back was useless。 He wouldn't be able to bring Splitter to bear。 That meant close fighting。 Very close。
Kicking off from a wall； Ryld launched himself horizontally at the sound of his opponent's breathing。 His fingers brushed against a mail tunic； but then he heard the rush of a mace。 He twisted； but the weapon connected with his shoulder。 He was saved from injury by the dragon…shaped ring on his finger…the ring that marked Ryld as a Master of Melee…Magthere…for its magic made his skin and flesh as tough as that of a dragon。 The spikes of the mace bent as they struck； and the weapon glanced off。
Meanwhile； Ryld clawed his way up his opponent's body； stabbing fingers into pressure points。 The man grunted； gasped…then made a loud； choking gurgle as Ryld found his throat and crushed his windpipe。 His body went limp； and he too tumbled away。
They must have been losing elevation during the fight。 Ryld emerged from the magical darkness and could see again。 And the cleric could see Ryld。
Shouting an invocation to his god； he tore the mask from his face and hurled it at Ryld。 The weapons master twisted and dropped； but the mask followed him with the speed of a swooping bat。 It slapped against his face and adhered tightly against his nose and mouth with a wet sucking sound。
Ryld tried to tear the mask from his face； but it clung to his skin like fungus to a rock。 Unable to breathe…a single indrawn breath would draw the contagion the mask carried deep into his lungs…Ryld did the only thing he could。 He touched his brooch and dropped。 Somehow； he was able to avoid drawing a breath as he caught the ledge where the cleric stood。 He held his breath still as he wrenched his head up to the level of the ledge； then swung his legs up in a graceful leap。 The mental discipline taught to him by the masters of Melee…Magthere sustained him as he sprang toward the startled cleric； hands poised to strike。 Dark sparkles danced before his eyes as he reached the limits of what his body could do without air to sustain it…and he passed those limits； still rushing forward。
The cleric； red eyes wide with fear； danced backward； avoiding Ryld's charge。 Then； nerve broken； he turned and fled； screaming the words of a prayer。 A circle of darkness appeared in the air just ahead of him； and he hurled himself into it。 Then he was gone。
An instant later； the mask vanished from Ryld's face。 Able to breathe again； Ryld drew a shuddering breath and steadied himself against one wall。 For the moment； all was well。 The cleric was gone； his magic having spirited him away； and the two warriors of House Jaelre who had acpanied him were dead。 Even if the cleric did find Pharaun and the others； Ryld had greatly improved the odds。 In the meantime； the two dead bodies would give his excuse about going back to see who was following them the ring of truth。 If the others came that way they would find the dead warriors； would be able to tell from the tracks that there had been a third man； and would assume； when Ryld failed to return； that he had been captured and dragged back to Minauthkeep。 Perfect。
Stepping out into the chimney once more； Ryld levitated down to retrieve the sword he'd dropped。 The bodies of the two warriors he'd killed lay in a tangled heap； wedged into the bottom of the chimney。
Ryld's sword was sandwiched between them。
Flipping the top corpse over； he reached for his sword…then gasped when he spotted a pair of leather gloves that had spilled out of one of the warrior's torn pockets。 He recognized them in an instant by the insignia of House Melarn embossed onto their wide cuffs。
They were Halisstra's gloves…and the soft leather was stiff with dried blood。
Fear washed through Ryld like an icy river。 Did that mean Halisstra had been killed？ If so； the logical thing for Ryld to do would be to return to the others…assuming they weren't demon meat by then…and give up the insane notion of remaining on the surface。 It had all been Halisstra's idea； anyway。 If she was dead； there was no point in him continuing alone。
But if she wasn't dead。 。 。 。
Ryld shook his head； angry at himself。 He didn't owe Halisstra anything； he told himself Going after her was simply insane。
His fist tightened on the bloody gloves。 Stuffing them into a pocket of his piwafwi； he touched his brooch and levitated up the chimney。
Chapter Five
Pharaun smirked as Belshazu surged across the boiling pool of water。
〃Demons are so predictable；〃 he said； tsk tsking。
He raised the cone of glass he'd palmed earlier and spoke a mand word。 A blast of freezing air burst from the cone； smashing against the demon。 Sweat crystallized to sparkling ice on Belshazu's broad chest but cracked and melted away under the heat and motion of the demon's charge。 When the cone of cold struck the knee…deep water that surrounded Belshazu the pool instantly froze solid again。
The demon； finding himself trapp