The side rooms are empty. Calmorien must have loaded his wares onto an outgoing ship fairly recently. The sound of voices rises as we approach the final room. With a last nod to each other, Enturi and I slip through the door, weapons drawn.

The room is mostly empty. Not much in the way of stored goods. Only a few barrels. One of them is open, next to a table. A human and an old elf - Calmorien, I'm guessing - are lowering a body into it.

"Put that down!" Enturi commands. The two whirl around. Seeing us, they drop the body roughly into the barrel. The human, large and muscular, pulls out a sword and a dagger and moves in front of Calmorien. His face is tattooed with the mark of the nameless, the human refuse - usually convicted criminals - who are turned loose in Elftown when they are too dangerous to be sold as slaves. Looks like this one found a gig as Calmorien's bodyguard.

"Drop your weapons!" orders Enturi. "I am sure we can talk this through, Calmorien," he continues, in a tone as velvet as a king's courtesan's. "We are just here for information."

"Get out of here," hisses Calmorien, "or you will regret it."

"Perhaps you didn't hear me," Enturi says menacingly. "Put your weapons on the floor, now."

Usually people back down when he does this. These guys don't, though. I'd be lying if I said it didn't make me laugh at Enturi just a little, inside. Guess your powers don't work on everyone, buddy.

"Do it!" commands my fellow enforcer.

Goddess, how long is this going to go on? I've had enough.

"This is slimin' stupid," I say. "Stinkin' idiots." As I move forward, the bodyguard's thrown dagger slices into the side of my hip before bouncing off to clatter across the floor. I look down in disbelief. Apparently the human had an even shorter tolerance for this shit than I did.

"You scumlumping bastard!" I hiss through the pain. "Now you're dead." I jump forward, swinging my sword and sickle violently, but he evades my attacks. I keep pushing forward, lunging and slashing. My sword hacks into his shoulder and he looks surprised. Siezing the opportunity, I overwhelm him with a flurry of slashes. I cut open his leg with my sickle and give him a hip wound to match the one he gave me. The blade of Lynae's rapier dances beside me and one of her thrusts pierces his earlobe. The bodyguard is distracted by the ear wound, which pours out blood like the slit throat of a sacrificial ox. When he grabs at it with his off hand, trying to staunch the flow, I bury my sword in his neck. You're done, bastard.

"Nice moves," says Lynae admiringly. 

"You, too."

I check out my wound. A bit grim, but not life-threatening. Hurts like a bitch but seems to be more of a graze than anything. I can take a couple more like it before being in serious trouble. I nod to Lynae and we begin to move toward Calmorien. When he sees us advancing, he throws up his hands in surrender.

"All right," he concedes. "I'm done." He lowers his weapon.

I glance back at the door, where Bolin is dragging the two unconscious guards inside. I swear, he has the worst sense of priorities I have ever seen. "What are you doing?" I demand. "Why weren't you fighting?"

"No!" screams Lynae. The three of us turn to watch her lunge, thrusting her rapier at nothingness. Calmorien is nowhere to be seen. There is a grunt of pain, and she pulls back her rapier. The tip is bloody. "He's a sorcerer! He's vanished!" She whirls and thrusts again, hitting nothing but air. A gash opens in her side. She dances away, spraying blood.

"He's there, by the lockbox!" Enturi yells, pointing to a lockbox bolted to the table. I fleetingly wonder how my fellow enforcer can see an invisible elf as I leap forward, blades singing. By luck, I make purchase, and I feel the edge of my sword cut into him. I slam forward, throwing him back against the table edge, and we fall to the floor.

I roll away and come up in a crouch, ready to fight. Or would be, except for the fact that my wound seems to have ripped open a bit more and the pain chooses this moment to reassert itself. My sword drops from my fingers and I grab my hip, wincing and moaning. The sparkles come inside my head, but I breathe deep and shake off the darkness they would bring. When my eyes clear, I see the sorcerer, visible again, lying unconscious a few feet away. Good thing. He could have easily taken me out while I was in the grip of pain. I reach up for the edge of the table and pull myself up.

"Dwarf," I mutter through gritted teeth. "I might be ready for some of that healing now."