Phaelan used his foot to brace against the dead goblin’s body, freed his trapped blade, and made for the wall. Getting over the top was a lot easier the first time, but then again, survival is a powerful motivator. A narrow alley ran on the other side of the wall. Once over, I had a feeling the goblins would only pursue us so far. I knew Mermeia. And Mermeia was teeming with humans and elves who would gladly serve Khrynsani temple guards their cods on a platter.
I swung myself over the top and dropped to the ground, slipping in something I didn’t have the time or inclination to identify. Quentin followed, and I took this opportunity to lay hands on him. They weren’t particularly gentle hands, but then after a fight with goblins who wanted me dead for no other reason than that I knew Quentin, I wasn’t in a particularly gentle mood.
Quentin gasped, trying to get his wind back. “I’ve got to get to Simon Stocken’s.”
“What did you take?”
Quentin’s expression was somewhere between mere panic and basic terror, probably inspired by the goblins, not me. “What do you mean?”
I gave him a shake. “What’s in the box?”
He pulled a chain out of his shirt. On its end spun a plain, silver amulet. “You mean this?”
I winced, expecting a repeat of my alley experience. But there was no pain. No urge to be sick. I also couldn’t believe my eyes.
“What is it with you and necklaces!”
Phaelan dropped down beside us. He couldn’t believe we were still there.