The barbarian’s grip tightened on his huge battleaxe. As he considered their prey and the reward money, he flexed his muscular arms and bare, nipple-ringed chest. “I’ll lead the charge.” He dashed out into the street, drawing curious gazes from the locals.

“You always lead,” Arami muttered while running to keep up. “Why would a mage lead anyway?”

Horab paused a few feet from the house, taking in its meager size and thatched roof. Letting loose a battle cry, he lowered his shoulder and charged the wooden door, which splintered beneath his strength and speed. As Arami started to utter an incantation, Horab hefted his axe, ready to bring it crashing down on their quarry.

Within the far wall rested a fireplace, a pot of stew hovering above the flames. Beside it, seated in a rocking chair and armed with only a wooden spoon, sat a wide-eyed, tiny old woman in a black dress.

Horab glanced about the one-room house, looking for the foe they had been tracking the past two months. To his left sat a kitchen nook with only a handful of cupboards. To his right, a cot with a nearby end table and chair.

“By the fates!” Horab’s grip relaxed, sending the axe head crashing to the wooden floor where it stuck fast. “That bartender must’ve been paid off! Or he’s daft.”

Arami scowled and stepped back outside. He scratched his head, tousling his long red hair that was drawn back into a ponytail. “He said we’d find him in the seventh house from the corner, or three from the alley.” He counted while pointing at the various houses. “And that’s where we are.”

“Of all the rotten luck.” Horab unstuck his axe and hefted it over a massive shoulder. He turned and headed after Arami. “Now we’ll have to go back and—”

“Excuse me.” The old woman stood and scampered after him.

“Sorry, Ma’am.” Horab spoke as gently as possible. He relaxed his stance to appear less intimidating and more apologetic. “It appears we were given some bad information. So we’ll just get out of your hair.”

“You’ll do no such thing!” She stepped around him and stood in the doorway. Her withered face barely came up to Horab’s broad chest. “Before you do anything, you’re fixing my door.”