The boys scrambled forward with haste. They lead Rezkin through a doorway into a larger, dimly lit space. Rezkin stood in the entrance and peered at the dirty, startled faces that stared back at him, an intruder in their midst. The debris-scattered chamber held about twenty small-men and small-women of varying ages, all of whom were wearing old, faded, and torn clothing, much of which was probably held together by dirt rather than thread.

Two grown men and a grown woman shoved past a couple of older small-men. One of the grown men was dressed in clean, nondescript clothing of good quality, and he was obviously well-fed if his round paunch was any indicator. The woman had long, raven hair, large green-brown eyes, sharp features and thin, pink lips that turned up in a perpetual smirk. Her tunic and leggings were tight over a toned figure and cut low at the bosom to expose quite a bit of skin. Based on Rezkin’s study of the arts, she was not what most people would consider beautiful, but some might call her stunning.

The best dressed of the three was a rough man in his late twenties. He wore a good quality black coat that was worn but clean and was held closed with a gold chain. His hair was dirty and greasy but neatly tied back, and his face was partially hidden by a few days’ worth of growth. The gleam in his eyes was angry and defiant as he stalked toward the intruder.

When the man passed Rezkin’s reluctant guides, he thrust a hand out and socked Broken with a full-fisted punch to the nose. Broken stumbled back, and the man reached over and grabbed Cracker by his tunic, backhanding him across his face. The man’s ring caught the small-man’s cheek and left a vicious gash. He kicked Ash in the stomach, and the young one doubled over as he lost the vestiges of whatever food he had been able to scrounge all over the floor.

The denleader’s two henchmen glared at Rezkin as their leader abused the young small-men. The warrior watched as the small-men cowered under the older man’s assault. He cocked his head curiously as he considered the dynamic. The denleader, who the small-men had called Thorn, was obviously punishing the younger small-men, but there did not seem to be any expectation that they would defend themselves. What good was a man trained to cower in fear? If the small-men at least attempted to defend themselves, they would learn from their mistakes and improve in their Skills.

Turning from his underlings, the denleader stalked forward. He carried a slightly warped and pitted sword and waved it around as he talked. He pointed the blade at Rezkin, who was still a good ten paces away, and barked, “Who are you? What do you think you’re doin’ comin’ in my den uninvited?”