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enjoyed the free labor and the ability to rant and slap her orphan workers without fear of reprisal while still maintaining the image of a heart of gold to her regulars. The tavern filled the first floor, while the orphanage and a few modest rooms for rent composed the second.
    Harruq stepped into the alley beside the tavern and looked up. A window. Perfect. As he searched for a way to scale the wall, he saw a drunken man watching him.
    “Get lost,” Harruq growled. The man obliged, taking his bottle of ale and running. That taken care of, the half-orc went around back where he found a few worn and uneven crates. He lifted oneand approved of its strength after a simple test. Satisfied, he went back around and placed it against the wall. He was about to go back for a second when torchlight flooded the alley.
    “Move and you’ll find an arrow in your throat,” said a voice.
    “Pincushion him anyway,” urged another.
    Harruq held a hand before his eyes, cursing his awful luck. He saw two figures, night patrolmen, and both human. One had a readied bow aimed at his neck.
    “I haven’t done anything wrong,” Harruq said.
    “Sure you haven’t,” one of the patrolmen said. “Then what’s with the crate?”
    The half-orc’s mind groped for a reason. “Um, well, I needed to piss, so I came out here.”
    “So you needed that to go behind?” asked the other. Harruq nodded. “Bullshit. Put your hands up. I see those sword hilts.”
    Harruq mumbled another curse, his pulse racing. It wouldn’t take long to down the closer soldier, provided the archer wasn’t too good a shot. Even then, he risked at least two arrows sticking in his flesh. Unsure of what to do, he played dumb and let the first soldier approach.
    “Careful, he’s a biggie,” the bowman said.
    “Nothing I can’t handle,” said the other before smashing the butt of his sword into Harruq’s face. Rage surged through the half-orc’s veins, his orcish side screaming for blood. He fought it down even as a mailed fist smashed against his spine. Harruq collapsed to his knees, choking down a furious roar.
    “Goes down easy, I say,” the guard said to the bowman. “How much you want to bet this guy is the sick bastard killing the kids?”
    “How much you wanna bet we can hang him even if he isn’t?” the other asked.
    Both guards laughed, and the sickness in Harruq’s gut grew. A boot kicked his stomach, and he knew his patience was near its end. Visions of ripping out entrails filled his mind, and all his willpower kept him crouched there. A kick to the face forced him over, and he reached for the impact point along his cheek. A sword hilt quickly found his exposed chest. Rolling over only shifted the next few blows to his back. When the heel of a boot crushed down on his kidney, Harruq felt ready to slaughter, no longer caring if he was caught or killed. He would make them both pay.
    The tip of a sword pressed against the side of his neck, drawing blood from the slightest pressure.
    “He looks mad,” said the guard. “Died fighting us, don’t that sound right?”
    Every muscle in Harruq’s body tensed, knowing his moment to act would need to be perfect. Before he could, a feminine voice shouted down the alley, startling all three.
    “Both of you, stop that this instant!”
    Through blurred vision, Harruq saw a woman with auburn hair standing at the edge of the alley. The patrolmen also turned to look, their weapons still in hand.
    “Who the abyss…oh, go on back to your forest, Aurelia. Nothing to see here.”
    The woman pointed to the bleeding half-orc.
    “I see plenty.”
    “Just cleaning up some filth.” The bowman shifted his bow onto his shoulder. “Now move along.”
    “I don’t see any filth. Some blood and dirt, maybe, but no filth.”
    Harruq closed his eyes and listened as he tried to slow his pulse. He had no clue who this Aurelia was, but if she wanted to intervene he was glad to let her.
    “This does not concern you,