Brug jumped, Harruq spun, and Qurrah laughed.

“Can one really expect a quiet conversation between a half-orc who thinks with his muscles and a human who doesn’t think at all?” Qurrah asked.

“Yes, if both are dead,” Haern replied. “Guard the door. The other side is mine. Enter at the sound of combat.”

The assassin dashed to the warehouse, cut around the corner, and vanished, all without making the slightest sound.

“Showoff,” Harruq grumbled. They made their way to the warehouse, armor creaking and footsteps aplenty.

T he sensation was unique, and to Aurelia, entirely unpleasant. Her eyes saw the inside of wood rafters, as if they had been chopped in half. Then darkness, followed by more wood, and suddenly she hovered above a large building stacked full of barrels. More than thirty men stood in the center, some dressed in black, some dressed in gray. The two leaders stood face to face, discussing some matter in hushed tones.

“What do you think they are going to do?” Tarlak whispered into her ear.

“I thought I said no more speaking,” she whispered back.

“Can’t help it. I’m a nervous talker.”

Aurelia rolled her unseen eyes. “They want Haern, right?” she asked.

“Right.”

“What will bring Haern rushing in?”

“I’m going to say someone dying.”

The elf chuckled. “So what do you think is about to happen?”

Tarlak pointed, knowing Aurelia would not see the gesture.

“That.”

The members of the two opposing guilds had drawn their blades. Aurelia ran through a litany of her spells, pondering her course of action. She preferred not killing anyone, but if things turned rough, she would not risk the lives of her friends.

“You think all this is rehearsed?” Tarlak asked. The two leaders appeared to be arguing vehemently, while their cronies twirled their daggers and prepared their swords.