“Look out,” the assassin shouted, lunging for Tarlak. An arrow flew across the room, its aim straight for the wizard’s heart. Haern lashed out with his sword, but he knew his timing would be too slow. The arrow sank deep into flesh, but not that of the wizard. Harruq stood between Tarlak and Thren, his hand clutching the arrow embedded deep in his chest. With a shriek of pain, he tore it free.

“The poison…” Haern said.

“Won’t be able to take me down,” Harruq said. “You humans. Either cut off my head or rip out my heart.” He tossed the arrow to the ground, his eyes glaring into Thren’s. “And I’m guessing that you’re the one who shot Aurry.”

Biting cold air swirled out from Tarlak’s hands, freezing several men into stiff corpses. Some of the rogues fled, while those remaining readied their daggers and tensed in preparation for the onslaught.

“He is mine, Harruq,” Haern shouted. The half-orc ignored him. He charged the wall of daggers, regardless of any wounds he might take. Their thrusts came in, fast and deadly, but compared to the speed of his teacher, they were nothing. Harruq parried them away, shoved aside one thief, butchered another, and then continued on to Thren, who stood alone. The guildmaster drew two shortswords from his belt.

“Come, orc,” he said. “I yearn to kill this night.”

“Then yearn for this!” Harruq shouted, slamming down with both his swords.

O ut of my way,” Haern yelled, scattering the remaining few thieves with brutal cuts of his sabers.

The fire cast a red hue across the room, and smoke covered the roof. Sweat and blood clung to them like honey in the rapidly heating area. Tarlak slaughtered a few more with a bouncing ball of lightning.

“Help him!” he shouted, his back to Harruq and Thren. “I’ll guard your back.”

Haern nodded his appreciation, and then raced to his pupil. Harruq and Thren were deep in combat, slashing and parrying in a dance only the most skilled of blade wielders could create. Blood ran down the half-orc’s face and arms. Fresh blood. He was losing.