“Next time, use the pointy end,” he said. “Stay in here, and bar the door.”

A trio of guards approached, and Torgar saluted with the hand holding the bloody bandage.

“Any clue where the fucker is?” he asked.

“Toward the front,” one said. Torgar’s ears were still ringing from the blow, his vision so blurred he couldn’t make out the man’s face. He took a wild guess at his name, not caring if he got it right.

“Stay here, and guard them with your lives,” Torgar said, nodding toward Laurie’s door. “Gary, you’re in charge.”

“Where are you going?” asked the one on the left.

“To make him pay for this,” Torgar said, gesturing to his nose. He rushed toward the front half of the mansion, and sure enough he heard sounds of battle. His gut sank at the noise. This was no normal assassin sent to smother a sleeping man or pour poison into a bottle of wine. The guy could fight. Torgar listened for steel hitting steel, or people dying. All around him, he heard doors locking, the servants barring their rooms and staying inside like he’d trained them. Good. Last thing he needed was a bunch of frantic idiots crowding the halls.

As he neared the front entrance, he stumbled upon five corpses of his guard, their blood staining the blue carpet. Torgar could hardly believe the sight. Surely it wasn’t just one man doing all this?

And then he heard a scream.

“Taras,” he whispered, his blood running cold.

It took him a moment to remember the way. Gods, what he’d give to be sober. He passed by three more dead guards, confirming his dread suspicion of the assassin’s target. Despite the pain it caused, he screamed as loud as his lungs were capable.

“Everyone to Taras! To Taras, now move your asses!”

At his friend’s bedroom, he found the door already open. A dead guard was propped against it, the wood’s white paint stained red with gore. Heart in his throat, Torgar stepped inside. Despite his years of training, warfare, and executions, he was still not prepared.