The lens slid open, and the glass spike impaled Jake’s left eye. The half elf stifled a cry of pain and forced himself to stay in place. At first everything went black, but then fuzzy images started to flicker before him. He closed his right eye and focused on the soundless narrative.

The banging on the portal-door turned into a thunderous pounding. Flint had arrived. Beneath the brute’s fists the iron-bound door shattered, but he found himself blocked by the portal leading to the warehouse’s rooftop. With a roar the mountainous main pivoted and slammed a fist into the wall. Solid rock crumbled away, and he struck again, and again. His knuckles bled, but he took a moment’s respite and the wounds healed themselves, and then he laid back into the wall, sundering chunks of stone. One way or another, Flint was entering the room.

Jake was watching a slow reel of memories from the assassin’s early life. Being beaten up by brothers, yielding to an early life of violent crime, moving around Salvar and living like a vagrant. It was all pitiable enough, but Jake had no time for it. He concentrated on thoughts of the white-haired grandmaster assassin, Lichensith Ulroké. The slow reel became a blur and then paused and resumed at a regular pace.

He was in a room - a chamber hewn from the living rock that formed its walls. There was a large bed covered in thick furs, and thicker rugs covering the floors. The mounted heads of various Salvic beasts stared lifelessly down from the walls. Further away, armor glistened on a set of mannequins. Ulroké stood before him, glowing, speaking soundlessly. He was receiving praise in the master’s quarters.

Jake had seen the room before in small glimpses, in memories Amari had shown him, whether intentionally or not. Only now, he had a solid mental image of it. Now, he could picture the details of the walls and ornamentation, of the rugs on the floor.

Now, he could portal to the lair of the beast.

The demon hunter groaned, pain spasming in his left eye socket as he pulled his head away from the device, leaving it strapped to the still-screaming assassin. Blood flowed down Jake’s face, absorbing partially into the bandage on the hand he pressed over it. He took two steps toward the door and lost his balance and sat down. He would practically need to re-learn how to move and fight, with only one eye.

Well worth it. Jake’s gut burned as if full of coals, the anger threatening to consume him. Seeing Ulroké’s face had awoken the rage. Temper it, he reminded himself, whet it, but do not use it until the time is right.

The wall shook with the force of Flint’s fists, and Jake saw pieces of it begin to crumble off.

Right. I’d best let them in.

Jake allowed the portal to dissipate, and Flint’s men poured into the room with the brute close behind. Some of them levelled rifles, while others merely watched to see what their leader would do. Skovik’s hazel eyes nearly bulged out of his head as he approached Jake, towering over the seated half elf in every respect.

The thief looked up with his good eye, and gave his best effort at a cheeky grin. He only managed a pained leer.

“Right, I know…” he quipped, “but if you kill me, I can’t portal you to Ulroké’s bedchamber.”