“Sounds like a nice place,” Harruq said. “New to me, though.”

“Just opened last month,” Haern whispered. “Your boss plays a dangerous game, little thief. Run home. Tell Thren I’m coming, and by tonight’s end, he will bleed at my feet.”

Haern removed his saber, and the thief fled. When he turned out of sight, the assassin gave chase, leaving the surprised Harruq standing far behind.

“What are you doing?” he shouted, sprinting after. Haern’s glare silenced any further shouts. Rounding about a corner, the half-orc grumbled as he watched Haern leap into air, grab a jagged brick halfway up a building, and then use it to propel himself to the roof.

“How am I supposed to follow you now?” he asked. He ran after, the fleeting image of gray cloak upon the rooftops as his only guide. They crisscrossed southwest, deep into the heart of the city. Harruq caught glimpses of Haern and their thief, who did not appear to realize he was followed. The half-orc ran on until he lost sight of both.

“Forget it,” he said, slowing to a walk. He gasped for air, his many bruises crying out in fresh pain. The gash on his forehead trickled blood atop his eyebrows, and he wiped it with the back of his hand. The hairs on his neck stood. He whirled about, his swords drawn. Haern stood there, grinning.

“You have gotten better,” he whispered.

“Don’t have much choice, do I?” he shot back. “What’s with the running? Where is the Pearl’s Swine place?”

“The Swine’s Pearls, and it is in the northwestern corner of Veldaren.”

Harruq sighed in surrender. “Alright, so why are we here?”

“Because the new headquarters is not the Swine’s Pearls. That fool had the audacity to lie to me. Come. Our friend has just arrived, and we must not let them prepare for our appearance.”

The half-orc smashed his swords together. He felt his adrenaline surge yet again, and he desperately hoped it would be enough. It had been a long night, after all.