One of the men, weathered and gnarly as an oak beam, caught movement in his peripheral vision and glanced Kendrick's way. He saw the shadow hurtling towards him, the blackened blade, two glints of volcanic eyes, and knew what he must do; he leapt back inside the building, screaming frantically at his comrades to close the door.
His companions, three of them, confused momentarily by his sudden outburst, milled about the entrance.
And then Kendrick was among them.
He allowed his momentum to power his fist into the first man's jaw, dropping him like a lead sack, and then sprang over him and drove his knee into the chest of the second.
The second man staggered back, blundering into his final companion, and Kendrick used this moment to reach over him and strike his sword hilt against the third man's head. That man dropped as well, the second collapsing over him as Kendrick blasted his elbow alongside his head.
Kendrick dropped to one knee, quickly surveying the destruction he'd wrought in little more than a half-dozen heartbeats. The men were alive, but none of them an immediate concern to him or his team. As he knelt astride the bodies, other midnight-garbed figures swarmed into the warehouse fanning out either side of him.

Stunned silence reigned; even he who'd first spied Kendrick had halted his shrieking and was stood in slack-jawed indecision. Kendrick stood up slowly, lifting his blade and pointing it towards a larger group of men standing around a cart in the middle of the expansive warehouse. They were a mixed bunch; men of various creeds and disposition, but all had the wary, dangerous look of wild beasts. Some wore the tanned jerkins and calf-length trousers of sailors, others leather armour or mesh-link coats. All carried weapons, and even now some fingers were itching towards sword hilts.

"Halt!" Kendrick shouted, his voice booming the length of the storehouse. "In the Emperor's name, I command you to drop your weapons. Stand and be judged," he paused, "move and you will be assumed guilty."

It seemed the band of ruffians had no respect for the Emperor, for as a man they lifted their weapons and charged towards Kendrick's group, screaming hatred of the young Emperor's law. Neither Kendrick nor his team was fazed, in truth this was what was expected of the hired thugs of a narcotics supplier. This was the very scenario they'd trained for. They were ready, eager, some even craved the action. As one, they too charged the advancing group.

"Dead or alive," Kendrick shouted as he ripped the cloths from his face. "Take them all. A bonus to the man who brings down Garius Bronwathin!"

The warehouse became a maelstrom of action, the single-edged swords of the Justices Of The Peace carving the night in flashing arcs, the swords, knives and cudgels of the throat-slitters and head-crackers rising and flailing in reckless abandon, but no less lethal.
Grunts and curses broke raw from throats, and the clash of steel-on-steel was abrasive to the ear. Where steel met flesh the dull thuds and bludgeoning crunch of bones were more sickening to hear. Blood splashed the floor, joining the human detritus that already lay there; a sundered arm, another hand and a decapitated skull that rocked with a motion of its own.

Through the nucleus of the melee Andra Kendrick stalked. Of his team he was the most experienced at this form of brutal combat. He'd been raised on death; a Justice now, but in childhood the vengeful killer of his family's slayers. He was trained in the arts of warfare by the greatest masters of the sword, after the Justice sent to bring him down had saw pity - and recognised a kindred spirit - in the boy who'd hunted and destroyed the rapists and murderers of his mother and sister.
The Justice had enrolled the boy in The Academy, the training ground of the elite lawmen, at Kallovar, The City of Swords, bending and shaping the raw mettle of the boy until he was as keen as the superb blade he now carried as a badge of his office. After taking The Oath, the tenets of the Justice Of The Peace, Kendrick was not one to shirk from the most dangerous missions. Many murderers and rapists had he brought to justice, many the smuggler, bandit and thief had felt the keen edge of his blade.
Once or twice he'd come face to face with death, and yet he'd come through, his fortitude and resolve strengthened all the more for the experience.

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