When the patrol passed, Rezkin slipped over the wall and scurried down a thin mage rope. The rope was nearly as thin as thread but stronger than steel, and it cost a hundred times its length in gold. It would never break, slip its knot, or tangle. This was one of the treasures he had taken when he left the fortress—his home. It was a strange thought. He had never really thought of home before, but he supposed the fortress had been his. Once he reached the bottom, he gave the rope a swift tug and imposed his will upon it. The rope released itself from where it was tied at the top, and Rezkin quickly wound it up and placed it back in his pouch.

The warrior quickly jogged to the river to check his preparations and found them in order. By the time he jogged back, Rom and the small-men were making their way casually up the road. Rezkin stepped into their path causing them to jump back once again. “This way,” he said, and they followed.

When the motley group reached the river, they piled into a rowboat large enough for four or five grown men. Rezkin handed each of the thieves a packet of food wrapped in cheesecloth and passed around a waterskin. “Eat. You will need it.”

Rezkin had already eaten his own meal, having skipped dinner at the general’s house. His friends and the Marcums might be a bit offended, but due to his earlier exchange with the general, they would excuse his absence—in Marcum’s case, appreciate it. The young warrior hated to see how scrawny and underfed the thieves were, even Rom, but he had a feeling the big man’s leanness had more to do with giving away his rations to the younger boys. Rezkin instructed Attica and the other guildmasters to provide more food to the younger members, but he had few means of monitoring their compliance at this point.

Rom and Rezkin rowed the boat, and the big man repeatedly glanced at him questioningly but did not dare question the master. Rezkin finally nodded and asked, “What is it, Rom?”

“If ya don’t mind me askin’, Master, where are we goin’?” the dutiful second inquired.

Rezkin smirked and said, “To the Black Hall, of course.” Rom’s face drained of color, and Broken abruptly stopped eating to stare at the Master Raven.

Ash looked around curiously and asked, “What’s the Black Hall?”

“It’s death,” Rom said without thinking.

Ash turned to Broken and shook him saying, “What’s he mean, Broke? What’s he mean death?”

Broken shoved Ash’s hand away and exclaimed in a whispered shout, “It’s the Assassin’s Guild, twit. Ain’t you never listened to the stories?”

“But, I thought that was just a story,” Ash complained. “Are we really goin’ there?” he asked the the Raven with pleading eyes.

“Yes,” he plainly answered.