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.

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.