Arn kicked in the door, tremors of impact jarring his leg. The man inside charged at him with a meat knife, but Arn easily drove his new metal blade into the man’s side and shoved him aside. Moaning, the man settled down against the inverted door.
The accommodations within were like many of the others—a table; a few chairs; foodstuff scattered on a counter, cupboard, and the table itself; and a few bunks. Arn marched toward one of the cots and checked beneath. Sure enough, a small lockbox. He slid it out across the smooth wood floorboards.
While Arn tinkered with the rusted lock, a woman slid off another cot and hurried to the dying man’s side. Sobbing, she did what she could for him. She posed Arn no danger, so he let her be. In the corner of his eye, Arn noticed a small boy in the cot where the woman had hit. With wide, shocked eyes, the boy watched Arn snap the lock off with his blade’s hilt and pour the family’s savings into the sack around his shoulder.
Another door interrupted the pattern of logs that composed the far wall. Arn opened it to a balcony and strode outside, his heavy boots thumping on the suspended lookout. He left the family to their mourning.
Below the balcony was the flat rooftop of another house, while next to it was another two-storey structure. This sprawling maze continued for half a mile before the dense neighborhood gave way to a wide courtyard. The rising sun gleamed in the waters spouting from a fountain there. Like the tangled mathhar forests of Razaad, the urban jungle gave way to taller buildings, and occasional hills, stretching off toward the horizon.
In the harbour to Arn’s right, shone the striped sails of their fleet. Drowen and his army had joined with Elwar’s. This was—Arn had learned recently—the city of Saanazar. Since his departure from Razaad a couple of years ago, it seemed like every place that Arn went was bigger and less believable than the last. At least Saanazar’s streets were not lined with metal grates and molten sewers like those of Starath.
Arn’s heavy burden swayed from his shoulder as he clambered over the balcony and landed on the roof of the building below. He was supposed to stay closer to the troop that Drowen had assigned him, but Arn worked better as a hunter. Metal that shone brighter than any blade—that was Arn’s prey, now. The leader of the troop had grown to trust Arn’s loyalty after he consistently brought them more gold than any of the others.
As he kicked in the trapdoor and descended the stairs into the next house, another citizen shouted a curse and charged at Arn. Arn sighed and readied his sword.