Rezkin shook his head. “Your left foot is too far forward, and your right shoulder is too high. You need to loosen your grip and shift it higher on the hilt, not that it will make much of a difference with such a poor blade. Also, you are staring at my hands when you should be looking at my shoulders or even my feet at this distance.”

“Just draw your sword and get on with it. I ain’t got all day,” Thorn snapped.

Rezkin shrugged and said, “I did not realize you were in such a hurry to die. I will not kill you with my sword, though. I will kill you with yours.” Almost as soon as he finished speaking, he had covered the distance between them. Thorn’s swing was too slow and weak, and Rezkin caught the man’s sword hand easily. The warrior slammed his other hand into the crook of the denleader’s elbow and twisted the man’s arm. The sword came free, and Rezkin plucked it out of the air as it started to fall. With a flick of his wrist, he thrust the dull blade into the man’s gut at such an angle that the tip of the short blade protruded from between Thorn’s shoulder blades. With wide eyes and a blood tainted wheeze, the denleader slumped to the ground lifeless.

Rezkin stepped back and checked his clothing as he kept an eye on the former denleader’s henchmen. Both were staring at the corpse in surprise. The entire challenge was over in the blink of any eye. Satisfied that he had managed to avoid getting blood on his apparel, he asked, “Do we have a problem?”

“No, not at all, boss,” the bigger man quickly replied.

“Problems with you seem to be poor for the health,” remarked the woman. “We’re good, but … ah … Draphus might have somethin’ to say about it, and for that matter, so might the guildmaster.”

“Who is Draphus?” Rezkin asked.

The woman’s smirk returned as she replied, “The Diamond Claws’ second.”

Rezkin tapped his hilt as he thought. “Then Borgout is dead?” That had been the name of the second for the Diamond Claw Thieves’ Guild last he had heard.

The woman chuckled. “You’re a bit behind. Martius is the Guildmaster, now. Greld and Borgout were killed three weeks ago.”

Rezkin grunted. “I have been busy. Which one of you is second of this den?” he asked.

The big man gulped nervously and said, “That’d be me. The name’s Cratz.”

“What is your weapon of choice, Cratz?” Rezkin asked.

Cratz cracked his knuckled and crossed his arms over his protruding gut. “I use my fists,” the meaty man replied. Several of the small-men cringed as though remembering those fists.

Rezkin turned his attention to the woman. “And, you, Attica?”