The informant dropped to his knees then keeled over to one side, part of his skull missing from the strength of the sword's blow, and Barrats's gaze went straight to the compound entrance to see if the man's squeal had been heard. 

No, was the answer. Instead, the rabble at the gate had turned their attention on Fels and his ten-man command, drawn their spears and bows and began to shout at them: "Clear off!"

Barrats's men loitered, just as he'd told them. He could see their hands itching to draw their own weapons, but they bided their time. [i]Good men, waiting for me to take the first shot.[/i]

The time was now. He drew a bead on one of the men, whom he'd took for the ringleader. He freed the arrow, heard a scream, and saw blood spray from the back of the target's neck before he lurched back, motionless. This time, someone's agony was heard, but it didn't matter: at the same moment, the rest of the expedition drew their blades and struck, a sizable portion of the bandits keeled over with blood fountaining from their head wounds. The gate was in disarray and the battle began in earnest. Barrats managed to pick off two more of the outlaws before abandoning his bow, drawing his sword and running forward, leaping into the fray with an endurance reserved only for the most adept of combatants. He enjoyed fighting with his companions, and felled three of the thugs, who died screaming even as their compatriots made for the gates and barricaded themselves inside. 

In no time at all, the only men left standing were Barrats, Fel, and Roals, all three of them breathing hard and flicking the blood from their steel. Although the men assigned to them were considered to be Hochschule's finest, they were no match for such a sizable array of opponents and instead laid beside their leaders, either writhing in pain or spewing blood from their wounds. Barrats regarded Roals with a new respect: he'd acquitted himself well, with a speed and skill that bellied his interracial looks. Fel, too, was looking at him, though with rather more distaste, as though the boy's proficiency in battle had annoyed him. Now they had a new problem, though: they'd taken the outside of the compound, but the door had been blocked by those retreating in. It was Roals who suggested we light it on fire - another good idea from the man Barrats had previously dismissed as a drunk - so he did, finding a nearby torch and making sure to avoid damaging the sandstone frame. 

They promptly poured in through the hole in the wall, stepping over the torn and ragged corpses littering the hallway on the other side. Thick, deep carpets and rugs were on the floor, while exquisite tapestries had been hung at the windows. The whole place was in semi-darkness. There was screaming, male and female, and running feet as they made their way through quickly, slaying any man in the way. Roals had looted a candlestick, and he used it to cave in the head of a half-orc, wiping brains and blood from his face just as Fel reminded them why they were there: to gain insight into the location of the Fahran. He went on to describe the city as the trio raced along more gloomy corridors, finding less resistance now. Either the bandits were staying clear of them or were marshaling themselves into a more cohesive force. Not that it mattered what they were doing: they needed to find something along the lines of a map.