The mercenary shook those distracting thoughts out of his head and forced himself to concentrate on the matter at hand. From the cistern, he knew he could either go inside the house and work his way through some of the servants' quarters, or he could slip around onto another patio that connected to his grandmother's rooms, and from there leap or shimmy across a narrow wall to Em's patio. Of course, all of that assumed that the various porches were unoccupied. If not, then he would have to deal with whomever he encountered. He hoped he could do it quietly enough not to arouse the suspicions of anyone else.
To Em's first, Vambran decided, and the rest of the family afterward.
He moved across the rooftop to the spot where he had appeared before, over the cistern. Looking down, he saw the reflection of the moon in the water's surface. It made him realize how much his white shirt stood out, and how much his highly polished breastplate glimmered in the faint light.
He slipped down to the tiles next to the cistern and held there, listening through the doorway that led inside. He heard nothing coming from that part of the house, so he skirted the pool and went to the balcony overlooking the west gardens. Climbing carefully up onto the banister, he swung over the side there and lowered himself down to the next level, dropping softy to the next porch down. From there, he dropped down behind a large rain barrel and several planters that had been filled with some of Hetta's favorite blooming plants. There were no lights burning in his grandmother's rooms beyond the patio, and no sounds coming from inside. From down in the garden, however, Vambran heard the telltale sounds of men talking.
Carefully, watching where he placed every hand and knee, the lieutenant crawled over to the railing, where he could peer through the balustrade and down to the lawn below. A group of three men-guards, it looked like in the moonlight-were huddled together, talking and laughing softly. One of the three was smoking a long-stemmed pipe. That right there was a good indication that something profound had changed with the house guards' loyalties, for Hetta had never permitted the soldiers they employed to smoke while on duty. She considered it distracting to their concentration.
Vambran backed away from the railing and moved carefully across the patio to the other side. There was where his efforts would become tricky, he thought at first, for the gap between Hetta's porch and Emriana's was thirty feet or more wide, and there was only a large trellis attached to the wall, overgrown with creeping vines, for him to traverse in order to reach the other side. Beyond the difficulties in keeping his balance, the mercenary also feared making noise or otherwise being noticed. The only other choice he had was to descend one set of steps that led into the gardens and scoot over to head back up the other staircase, which connected to Emriana's porch that way.
He nearly snapped his fingers in disgust, refraining from that foolish gesture at the last second when he remembered he was trying to be quiet.
The magic Uncle Kovrim bestowed upon me should still be functioning, he realized.
He could use that easily enough to cross the void between the two balconies, and never have to set foot down in the grass at all. The only problem there was the three guards. As long as they stood around talking, he doubted they would think to look up, over twenty feet above their own heads, to watch for intruders. But any motion out of the corner of someone's eye, any flutter of fabric in the breeze, or clank of the joints in his breastplate, would alert them that he was there.
I either wait until they move on, he thought, or else I risk it. Unless I just decide to shoot them right now, he thought snidery, considering it a punishment too kind for their traitorous dispositions.
But he knew he would not attack a man unaware. He was just going to have cross the gap and hope they didn't see him. Cautiously, starting several steps back and in the shadows, Vambran attempted to ascend the air. The magic still functioned. Nodding in relief, the mercenary started toward the edge of the porch, stepping perhaps four feet above the tiles, plenty of room to clear the railing. He tread carefully, one slow step at a time, trying to minimize any unnecessary movements. One foot in front of the next, he moved out over the drop-off, then proceeded, watching the three guards, who seemed right next to Vambran, but who were in reality a good fifty paces away.
A muffled grunt from ahead made Vambran freeze. It had come from Emriana's rooms, and it was followed by a second grunt. They both sounded as though someone was in discomfort. The lieutenant had to resist the urge to speed up, to jump forward and dash into the rooms beyond. But his other fear was that the noises coming from inside would attract the attention of the three guards below, who would naturally look up to see what was going on and spot him.
In desperation, Vambran moved on, continuing to set one foot in front of the other as quietly as he could, until he was over the railing guarding Emriana's patio. At that point, he angled his descent sharply, reaching the tiles in two steep strides. He let his momentum carry him forward, to a pillar, and stepped close to it, trying to blend with its shadows.
From there, Vambran could see through the gauzy material of the drawn curtains into the interior of his sister's rooms. Emriana was there, all right, as was her handmaiden, Jaleene. The two women were tied in chairs, and Emriana had been stripped to her shift. That alone made Vambran's blood come near to boiling, but then he saw Denrick. The pompous ass was still dressed in the same clothes he had worn to Emriana's birthday party earlier in the evening, only he had removed his jacket and preened in front of the women, bare-chested. Next to him stood a rather pudgy man with disheveled white hair and a set of spectacles perched on the end of his nose, who was peering at Emriana and Jaleene with a mixture of interest and timidity.
As Denrick walked around to stand in front of Emriana, his words made Vambran's blood turn to ice in his veins.
"Yes, use your magic to make her drawn irresistibly to me. I want her to desire me and take me willingly to her bed."
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Kovrim refused to admit it to anyone but himself, but he was growing fidgety. Xaphira had probably not been gone all that long, but to the priest, it seemed like it had been an eternity. He paced back and forth in the shadows near the mouth of the alley across the street from the Matrell estate, anxious for her to return.
In contrast to him, the soldiers that made up Vambran's platoon within the Sapphire Crescent mercenary company seemed calm and relaxed, though Kovrim knew that it was a technique practiced by many professional mercenaries. Inside, they were probably just as restless and eager to get started as he was.
They just hide it better, Kovrim thought with a wry smile.
For perhaps the tenth time, the priest halted his pacing and crept forward to the very edge, peering around the corner to where the wall of the estate came closest. It was still a good forty paces away on the other side of the street, and it was where Xaphira had climbed over and disappeared into the compound. There was still no sign of her.
Kovrim was just turning to head back into the alley when a soft voice called from above him, "What's wrong? Are you worrying about me?"
The priest nearly jumped out of his skin, but when he realized it was Xaphira, he let out a long, loud sigh and looked up.
The woman was just dropping down from a second-story railing that ran around the entire perimeter of that particular building, front to back. As her feet hit the hard-packed dirt of the alley, she tucked her knees to soften the blow, then came smoothly up again. Kovrim moved closer to her so they could converse quietly.