They stopped and looked around, but as far as Larian could tell there was no sign of their quarry. How had they lost him so quickly? There was no way he could have gotten to the next intersection before they got here. Unless he had ducked into an alcove somewhere...
A barely perceptible rustling from behind was the first warning. The soft hiss of metal on leather followed almost immediately, then through his cowl Larian felt steel - sharp steel - against the back of his neck
"It's a little late for a stroll, boys." The voice was a smooth baritone, the accent educated, cultured.
Larian began to turn his head to get a look at the speaker - presumably Roland, but he preferred to know for certain - but the steel dug a bit deeper, penetrating the wool and pressing into his skin painfull
