Harruq helped drag the body into the alley. Haern propped him up, and then reached into a pocket beneath his cloaks. He pulled out a small green vial barely larger than his pinkie. He popped the cork and splashed a little inside the man’s mouth. Coughing and sputtering, he jolted back to life.

“Welcome back,” Haern whispered, pocketing the vial. “Stay silent, or things will have to turn brutal.”

The thief realized who it was and paled. “You!” he exclaimed. “I haven’t done nothing, I swear.”

“Quiet.” Haern glanced to Harruq. “Do you wish to torture him, or should I?”

“I doubt I’m as neat as you,” Harruq said. “Think we got the time?”

“No, please, what do you want, I’ll help you,” the thief cried.

Haern yanked him close. His eyes, looming out from a deep shadow that surrounded them, pierced into the thief’s soul. “Where is Thren hiding?”

“Oh come on, you can’t go asking me that. It’ll be my head.”

“It’ll be your tongue, your fingers, and your manhood if you don’t,” Haern said. “Now answer me.”

“I can’t!”

Haern placed the edges of his sabers against the man’s neck, and then slowly moved one downward until it pointed directly at his groin.

“Then there will be many other things you can’t do.”

“Wonder what it’d be like peeing through three holes,” Harruq said.

Haern faked a thrust, and that was all the man could take.

“They moved the headquarters!” he shouted. Haern smacked him across the face.

“Quieter, and calmer. Where did they move it to?”

“The Swine’s Pearls,” he said.