The half-orc’s eyes bulged.

“My life may one day depend upon your skill. Meet me behind the tower at sunrise. Bring your blades and armor.”

Harruq was so flustered and angry he didn’t know what to say. So he said a whole bunch at once. “How dare you…I could…you never beat me!”

Haern pointed to the many cuts lining Harruq’s face and arms. “Every one of those could have been lethal.”

“Stop lying, you never…!”

“My brother agrees,” Qurrah interrupted, stepping between the two. “I thank you for the offer to train him.”

“Qurrah!” Harruq gasped. Qurrah whirled on him.

“Shut up you fool. Now let’s go.”

When they tried to open the door, it swung in easily. Tarlak grinned at them as he leaned against the back wall.

“So how’d you do?” he asked as a furious Harruq followed his brother out, slamming the door shut behind him.

“A draw,” Qurrah said. “To the final floor?”

“To the final floor!”

T he final floor was a bit different from the others. There were no beds, no chests, no drawers, and no current occupants. Instead, piles upon piles of boxes and crates were stacked everywhere.

“Yeah, this is where we store most of our potions, armor, stuff like that,” Tarlak explained.

“Where will we sleep?” Harruq asked.

“Will the floor do for now? I can purchase some beds tomorrow. I’ll just loan it out from your next cut.”

“Next cut?” Qurrah asked.

“Of your payment, of course. We are mercenaries.”

Harruq rubbed his lower lip, a few things connecting correctly into place. “So we’re going to make some gold here?”

“Not enough to be rich, but we carry a decent reputation here in Veldaren,” Tarlak explained. “We have little competition, we’re dependable, and now more than ever, we’re incredibly versatile. A tenth of all our contracts go to fund the organization, and the rest we split evenly. Sound fair?”