“Very well. Let us go to Thorn,” Rezkin nodded. He released the youngest, who stumbled forward to be caught by his comrades. The warrior stepped aside, and the three immediately took off running as though a fire had been lit under their feet. They darted down the alley and made several sharp turns before ducking through a hole where a couple of slats had broken away from a wooden fence. No doubt the three were hoping to lose their pursuer, but Rezkin kept up with them easily. Without slowing, he leapt up, bounded off a stone wall, and slipped over the rickety fence. Eventually, the boys stopped beneath a window boarded over with broken shutters. The window belonged to a small, unused storehouse near the docks. The paint was chipped, and the roof bowed dangerously in the middle, but the door was solid and locked.

The boys glanced at each other and then at the formidable mark that managed to keep up with them in their mad dash. Broken rapped a series of coded taps on the door. A heavy bolt slid to the side with a thunk. Before the sentry could get it open a crack, Rezkin had shoved his way past. The heavy door knocked the unseen man to the side, but two more waited in his place, each with drawn weapons. One bulky behemoth held a rusted butcher’s cleaver while a shorter man with a wicked scar running from the corner of his mouth to his ear wielded a gnarled wooden club.

The behemoth attempted an overhand chop at Rezkin’s head, which the young warrior easily knocked aside. Rezkin punched the man in the throat and then elbowed him in the temple. Scarface took a swing at Rezkin’s exposed back, but the warrior ducked as the club passed over his crouching form. He reached out and grabbed the club, yanking it from the man’s grasp. Rezkin then proceeded to bash the man in the skull, knocking him unconscious. Behemoth stumbled to his feet just before Rezkin swept them back out from under him, landing the man on his back. The young warrior slammed the club down on the man’s chest leaving him gasping for breath.

The third man who had fallen over a pile of broken crates and other refuse, came at Rezkin with a long serrated dagger and a disgruntled roar. Rezkin blocked with the club, lodging the blade in the length of wood. He thrust an open palm at the man’s chest as he simultaneously swept his foot behind the man’s legs. The man fell backward, and Rezkin stomped on his windpipe. The entire incident took only a matter of seconds, and the small-men were too stunned to consider running away. Rezkin pointed at them and, with a thumb over his shoulder, indicated they should lead the way.