He twisted around, directing his magical lights up and out of the sewer and flying back over his head. As the dancing lights swept up the side of the building, Vambran climbed to his feet, peering intently up there. It was the back of a shop, and on the second floor, where a patio protruded out over the larger lower floor, his quarry was just pulling himself up over the edge of the roof.
As the lights reached the height of the wall, Vambran directed them to hover right next to the man, who cried out and flung an arm up to shield his sight. Vambran smiled to himself and mentally set the lights to remain there, dancing around his foe's head, while he reached for his crossbow.
You're not slipping away again, you bastard, the mercenary fumed, fumbling to free the weapon as he kept his gaze trained on his would-be target.
Before Vambran could unhook the crossbow from his hip and cock it, though, the figure somehow managed to pull himself the rest of the way up and over the edge of the flat roof. He was gone. Vambran gave a primal shout of frustration and slapped the crossbow back down against his hip.
I'm not letting him get away from me! he swore to himself. Got to find a way up there.
There were no stairs up to the patio, but a rain barrel sat in a corner formed by the building and its neighbor, and Vambran ran to that, hoisting himself up and balancing on the edge as he stood. The edge of the patio was still a bit out of his reach, and his perch on the barrel was so precarious that he didn't trust himself to try to jump. He strained, stretching up with his fingers, but it was no use. He nearly punched the wall, but managing to hold his rage in check, Vambran jumped down and desperately sought another way up.
The mercenary sent his lights swarming along the edge of the roof in both directions, looking for some sign of his mark, but it was fruitless. Figuring that his foe would try to escape down the opposite side of the clump of buildings, Vambran took off, running the rest of the way through the alley, clinging to the hope that he might yet spot the intruder. He reached the end of the alley and turned, scrutinizing the handful of people who were walking there, but none of them seemed to fit the description of his foe at first glance. The lieutenant moved from person to person anyway, giving a quick, rather invasive glance at each face, apologizing each time but offering no explanation.
Finally, when he was satisfied that none of the folks strolling along the street were his quarry, Vambran scanned the roof line again, hoping his prey was still up there, hiding and waiting for him to give up. He briefly considered trying to gain access from one of the shops themselves, though few were still open that late in the evening. He supposed he could knock, but he knew his request would seem strange and possibly threatening, and the last thing he wanted to do right then was upset the people living there.
Kicking at the cobblestones beneath his feet in frustration, he looked around for other ideas. He spied a potential hiding place on a window sill under a broad awning of a pottery merchant's establishment. It was a good place from which to observe the roof unseen, for the sill was wide and comfortable, though barred from inside by a metal grate. The awning hung well out over the window, and from there, Vambran could peer out without being seen much from overhead.
Still feeling absolute rage boiling just beneath the surface, Vambran settled down to wait, pulling at his damp, sweaty clothing from time to time.
Let's see which one of us is the more patient, he thought, smiling coldly in the darkness.
Emriana wanted to cry. Hetta was going to be all right, it seemed, but the girl felt terrible for her grandmother's sake. It was clear to her that the crossbow bolt had been a warning, and she had no doubt in her mind that it was directed at her brother and her.
Obviously, she and Vambran had been getting close to the truth, and they had managed to bring their entire family into it, unwittingly and unwillingly. Everyone was in danger, and it was because of her.
Several of the men at the party had set out after Vambran, perhaps in a show of support to help him track down the heinous criminal, but more stood around, ostensibly to protect Hetta from future attacks. They helped her up and inside, where she insisted on being led to her favorite chair in the sitting room deep in the house. It was not a bad plan, Emriana thought, for anyone wanting to get to the older woman would have to sneak pretty far into the building to reach her.
Ladara never left Hetta's side, insisting that Emriana fetch things for her grandmother, when in fact there were numerous servants standing around wringing their hands who could have been put to better use than fretting. Emriana sent them scurrying instead, choosing to stay beside her grandmother as well, at least until Ladara told the girl in no uncertain terms to get the elderly woman's house robe. Shaking her head, Emriana went to fetch the garment.
In the hall halfway to Hetta's rooms, Dregaul caught up to her.
"You insolent brat," he spat, grabbing Emriana by the arm and jerking her so she spun around. "You would defy me at every turn, wouldn't you!" he shouted, his face growing red. He put it right down in front of hers, his eyes bulging in anger. "You and your brother were both instructed-instructed! — to leave this foolish watch business alone, and you chose to ignore those instructions."
Emriana recoiled from her uncle as flecks of spittle sprayed onto her face with every word. She cringed from him, wanting to slip away and run, but he would not let go of her arm, crushing it painfully in his grasp.
"Do you see, now, what your impertinence, your audacity-audacity! — has brought down on this family? This House?"
Emriana reached up to try to pry Dregaul's grip lose from her arm.
"Please," she pleaded, "you're hurting me."
"I'm hurting you?" he said, his voice a constricted shout. "You're hurting? How do you think my mother feels right now?"
"We didn't know," Emriana wailed, the tears flowing. "We only wanted to help. We thought we were doing something important. Something that would set things right. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry…"
"Stop that," Dregaul said, jerking her arm. "You're not a little girl anymore, remember?"
Emriana nodded, trying to calm herself, though she felt like a foolish little girl right then, a little girl who had tried to play at being grown up but who was overwhelmed with fear and self-doubt. She took a deep, shuddering breath and wiped her eyes with her free hand.
"You have to believe me. We never expected something like this," she said at last. "Honestly, we know there's something big at stake, and we're trying to work it out, but we never meant to bring any danger down on the family."
Dregaul let go of her arm then and stepped back, shaking his head.
"When are you going to learn that the most important job of any one of us in the family is the preservation of the House? You act out of some noble sense of grandeur, you and your brother, when you should be weighing every action in terms of its effects on House Matrell."
As she listened to her uncle's words, Emriana's sorrow and guilt began to transform into anger. She eyed her uncle with disdain, a look he did not fail to notice. She didn't care.
"With you, it's always the House you're worried most about, rather than the people living under its roof. Sometimes, I think you care more for the name itself than those of us who bear it."
Dregaul got a dangerous glitter in his eye then. He raised one eyebrow and asked, "And do you not think the House is more important than the individuals who are a part of it? Do you not see that the whole is greater than the sum of its parts?"