"Probably," Riven agreed.
Casually, Cale loosened his blade in its scabbard.
"At least one needs to live," he said. "We'll need him to find out where they're holding Ren."
Riven, his mouth an emotionless line, gave a single nod and said, "Only one needs to live. And I'll question him. Well enough?"
Cale knew what Riven meant by "question."
"We'll question him together," said Cale, "but otherwise, well enough."
"They could just be hired muscle," Riven said, "or street thugs."
"Could be," Cale agreed, "but I'm skeptical of coincidences. Too much skill for muscle too."
"Agreed," said Riven.
They picked up their stride a bit to move them closer to Jak. Trying not to be obvious, they communicated the rudiments of a plan.
Jak said to Cale out of the side of his mouth, "Up ahead. Narrow street on the right, just after the warehouse."
Cale saw it. Between two two-story warehouses ran a narrow dirt packed alley. They wouldn't have to cross the street to get to it. Good.
"I see it," Cale said.
"I've got it, too," said Riven. "Narrow. That's thinking, Fleet. That big whoreson's going to have trouble managing an axe in there."
Jak smiled crookedly, obviously surprised at Riven's praise.
He shook his head and said to Cale, "I go invisible the moment I turn the corner."
Cale nodded and said to Riven, "You come in last and draw them into the alley. Take the first man. I'll take the second. I've got a potion. I'll go invisible too. Jak, you make sure to put down anyone else who shows. Otherwise, help where it's needed."
Riven sneered, "I won't need any help, Cale."
Cale didn't expect to need help either, but he believed in being prudent.
"At least one needs to live," Cale reminded them both.
Jak nodded. Riven did not.
They headed for the alley. As they walked, they spaced themselves out a bit—Jak, then Cale, then Riven. Cale saw that Jak, in anticipation of casting, already held his holy symbol pendant in his hand. Cale reached into a belt pouch and palmed his potion. With his other hand he clutched his own holy symbol and whispered a prayer that would give them Mask's blessing in the combat.
Jak reached the alley first. He turned down it as though that was what he had intended all along. He was already invisible by the time Cale, only several paces behind him, turned into the alley.
"I'm on the right, just inside the alley, against the wall," said Jak's voice.
Cale nodded and walked past.
"Stinks," Jak said, and he giggled.
Cale imagined Jak pinching his nose while waiting in ambush and smiled despite himself. The halfling had spoken the truth, though. The alley reeked of manure and rotting garbage. Perhaps three or four strides in width, it extended the length of the block, bounded on both sides by tall, crumbling brick walls. Shapeless piles of trash lay piled on the ground at intervals. Near the alley's far end, two stray mongrels pawed at one such pile. They seemed disinterested in Cale's arrival.
A few doors backed to the alley. The rear exits of shops, probably, but none were open.
With his thumb, Cale popped the wax seal on his potion vial and gulped it down. Immediately, his body began to tingle. He held out his hand and watched as it, along with the rest of him and his gear, faded from sight. Invisible, he backed against the wall on the side opposite that of Jak, maybe five paces into the alley. He drew his blade.
Riven turned into the alley.
"Here," Jak said, to let Riven know where he was.
"Here," said Cale.
Riven nodded as he passed each of them. Ten paces in, he turned, drew both blades, and waited. Down the alley the stray dogs gave a growl, startled, and ran away.
Several moments later—they must have taken time to pair up—the two pursuers entered the alley. Cale quickly appraised them. The smaller, swarthy-skinned man in leather looked to be an easterner. His precise movements, compact frame, and narrow face reminded Cale of Riven. A falchion hung from his belt. The other stood nearly as tall as Cale but was much heavier. He wore hand axes on his belt and a mammoth battle-axe across his back. With his thick nose and heavy-lidded eyes, he looked a bit like a stunted Ogre. Both stopped a stride into the alley when they saw Riven waiting for them. Cale figured Jak could probably reach out and touch both of them.
"Let's dance, prigs," challenged Riven.
The big man grinned and said, "Dance indeed."
His ring mail jangled as he unslung his axe.
The smaller frowned, looking around the alley as though for Cale and Jak, while he absently whipped free his falchion.
"Just us," said Riven, and he whirled his sabers. "Come on."
Riven beckoned them forward. The two spread out as much as the alley allowed and advanced on the assassin.
"Mind that axe, Dolgan," said the smaller.
Dolgan. When Cale heard the name, a red rush of anger flooded him. The man must have paid for healing. He showed no signs of the wounds Cale had given him.
Cale eyed the man's ribs and picked his spot—through the left lung and into the heart. Dolgan would not walk out of that alley.
As they closed on Riven, they unknowingly closed on Cale.
Cale tensed, waiting for the moment, but before he could act, the small easterner exploded into motion. He sped past Cale and lunged at Riven, blade low. Riven, though obviously surprised by the easterner's speed, managed a parry with one of his sabers, slid to his left, and loosed an overhand slash at the easterner's head. Sidestepping neatly, the easterner spun three hundred sixty degrees and slashed at Riven's thigh. Riven managed to jump backward, slamming himself into the wall.
Dolgan, still a few paces back, must have thought to take that opportunity to rush in. He bellowed and charged, axe held high for an overhand slash, the only swing possible for that axe in the narrow alley. Before he had taken two steps, Cale stepped in front of him, dropped to one knee and impaled him through the chest. He became visible the moment his long sword penetrated flesh.
Dolgan's bellow gave way to a scream of pain. His would-be charge served only to impale him on Cale's sword, nearly to the hilt. The blade slid between ribs and grated against bone before bursting from Dolgan's back.
The big man glared surprised rage at Cale. He opened a mouth flooding with crimson. He roared with pain and anger, soaking his beard in blood and spit, and tried as he began to die to bring his cumbersome axe to bear. Not possible. Cale was too close in, and Dolgan already too weak. When the big man attempted to shorten up on the haft, the weapon fell from his grasp.
Cale stared coldly into Dolgan's dull eyes and twisted his blade half a turn before jerking it free.