The half-orc laughed. Aurelia glared at him.

“Silence, Qurrah, or I will quiet you myself.”

He grinned at her but obeyed.

“Care to talk now?” Tarlak asked once the thief regained his composure. The man nodded. “Good, tell me your name.”

“Terrence.”

“Alright Terrence, who orchestrated this whole farce? All I want is a name and I will let you live.”

“They will kill me if I talk,” Terrence said.

“You will die if you don’t,” Haern whispered. “Besides, all will think you dead. Now give us a name.”

Tarlak stood watching and stroking his goatee. The man appeared to be greatly troubled, and when Haern yanked his blade free, it did not help his confused mind.

“I will tell,” Terrance said at last. “But I want you to promise.”

Tarlak clapped the man on the shoulder, ignoring the wince of pain on his face. “I speak for the Eschaton. You will not be harmed, nor persecuted for any crimes you might have committed in your guild.”

Terrence glanced about before his eyes settled on a vacant area of the floor.

“What they’ve told us,” he said, “is that all of the guildmasters wish the Watcher dead. The guilds are united. They prepare for war.”

Haern’s face darkened. He pulled his hood lower. “Who initiated it?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Terrence said. “The Spider Guild seems the most eager. Thren has spoken with our representatives every night. Now may I go?”

The mercenaries let him stand. He winced, clutching his tender chest. Delysia turned back around and grabbed his hand in hers.

“Go with the peace of Ashhur,” she told him, light swirling about her hands. When she released, there was no trace of the wound. He nodded to each of them, pilfered coins from his dead comrades, and then ran.

“Why did you let that one live?” Tarlak asked, watching him go.

“He was the least bloodthirsty, and had some measure of skill. I thought he might be the most tempted by a new life.”