Inside, the man burned for vengeance. They had dared to threaten his family. They had come after his whole House, and he would not stop until he hunted them down and made them accountable. He would not stop.
Vambran kept seeing the image of his grandmother, lying on the grass, her blood staining her clothes red. He clenched his fists, trying to control his breathing. He'd never entered into battle in such an emotional state, and he knew that if he didn't calm himself, he would make a fatal mistake. He had to regain control of his feelings, save the savagery, the fury, for later. Then the bloodletting could begin, he promised himself.
In the meantime, Vambran was also upset that he had been unable to complete his interrogation of Denrick Pharaboldi. He had intended to get the boy so beside himself that he would let down his guard, and the lieutenant would read his thoughts. He'd hoped to get some inkling as to whether or not young Pharaboldi was telling the truth, or if he was, as Vambran suspected, hiding his complicity in the murders. Of course, Denrick was properly warned that the Matrell offspring were on to him, and they would not so easily corner Denrick by himself again. Even if they were to manage to confront him on favorable ground, he would be ready for them next time, possibly even have the presence of mind to mask his thoughts, or worse yet, to procure some form of protection against just what Vambran had intended.
The lieutenant paused in the midst of his walk along the parapet, drawn to some faint sound. He strained to see if he could hear it again, but there was nothing. He stood motionless, moving just his eyes, seeking out that form, that indistinct protrusion of darkness that was just a little off, was not quite right. He was looking for that hint of someone hiding close by. He saw nothing.
He exhaled slowly and was on the verge of turning around and going back in the other direction when he heard the sound again. It was nothing more than a faint scrape, but he was certain he heard it coming from the wall itself, just ahead and around a bend, perhaps. He carefully began to pad forward, trying to keep as quiet as possible, but with no delusions that he was a master thief, trained to silence. As he moved, he continued to watch, and he spotted the motion at almost the same moment the intruder realized he'd been discovered.
The shadowy figure was hanging by his hands from the top of the wall, his feet dangling down toward the ground some five feet below. He was in dark shadow where he clung, and he held himself motionless there, as though waiting. As Vambran approached, the figure tilted his head slightly, so slightly, in fact, that if the lieutenant hadn't happened to have been looking directly at him, he might never have seen him.
"Hold it!" Vambran called, moving forward, freeing his crossbow from his belt.
At almost the same instant, the figure let go of the wall and dropped to the cobblestones with an almost inaudible grunt. Swearing, fumbling to load his crossbow, Vambran ran toward where the figure had been.
But the fugitive was too fast, darting across the street in the blink of an eye, and Vambran couldn't get a clean shot off. Swearing again, Vambran swung down off the wall, dropping easily to the street. He took off after his quarry, not about to let that one escape.
The figure dashed down the street and into an alley, a good thirty paces ahead of Vambran, who sprinted after, his long strides making up only a little ground. The mercenary turned the corner to the alley and flinched as a crossbow bolt thwacked hard off the stone of the building only inches from his face. Vambran felt flecks of stone spray his cheek from the impact. He dropped low, making himself a smaller target, and he pressed himself closer to the wall, hoping he wasn't so easy to see.
Already, though, footsteps receded down the other end of the alley. Vambran was up and after the fugitive the moment he realized he was no longer a target. He recalled that the alley turned sharply around to the left a little farther ahead, then split into two directions at a Y-shaped intersection. He would have to hurry if he wanted to get there in time to avoid losing his quarry. His blood pounding in his ears, the mercenary urged himself to go faster, lengthening his strides again, heedless of the danger of another crossbow bolt.
The lieutenant reached the turn and darted around it, his feet skidding only slightly on the cobblestones. He spotted his prey in the distance, still running. The would-be assassin took the left-hand path at the intersection and, as Vambran lumbered ahead, closing with the man little by little, the shadowy silhouette vanished.
What the-? the mercenary thought, increasing his strides and peering around, letting his fury bubble over again at the thought of having lost track of his prey.
Vambran nearly didn't see the hole in the street for all of his careful observation everywhere else. He nearly stepped right into it, but at the last moment, he leaped over and clear.
It was a drain into the sewers that ran below the city, and the grate was flipped open. A slough of water trickled down the street from both directions and poured into the sewers, splashing into the runoff that eventually made its way to the harbor. It was too dark to see into the pit, but Vambran had looked down plenty of those drains as a boy and knew that the passages were certainly large enough for a man to walk through. A stink rose up from that particular opening, and Vambran wrinkled his nose in distaste.
"Damn it," he growled.
The mercenary cocked his head to listen for signs the fugitive had indeed gone that way. He heard nothing. He rose to his feet once more, breathing heavily, drenched in sweat. He peered around the alley, trying to see some other evidence of to where the figure might have disappeared. There was nothing. Though not keen on wading in the muck and waste of the sewer, he wasn't letting his quarry escape so easily.
On impulse, Vambran pointed his finger in the air in front of himself and twirled it in a circle as he spoke a quick arcane phrase, looking away at the last second. A set of lights sprang into being, as though four lanterns hung suspended in the air in front of him. The light was blinding, but he sent them with a flick of his finger circling around himself, using their glow to peer into the deepest shadows of the alley. When he didn't see anything suspicious, he sent them zipping down into the opening of the sewer and he peered down after them. The vertical shaft of the drain was perhaps ten feet high, certainly an easy drop, but not so easy to climb out again. If he was going to follow the figure, he would have to find a better way to climb back out. At the bottom of the descent, he could see the passage, filled with murky brown water, flowing sluggishly parallel to the alley.
Does it look stirred up? the mercenary wondered.
Sighing in disgust, Vambran wrinkled his nose again and sat, then slipped his feet over the side. He held that position for only a moment, long enough to remember the image of his grandmother bleeding on the grass of the estate. That thought erased any hesitation that lingered. He was on the verge of dropping down into the slime when he heard a faint noise behind him and up high. He froze, listening, and detected it again. It was the sound of soft cloth sliding over stone.
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.