Vambran shook his head, refocusing his thoughts on the task at hand. He began to move toward the interior of the estate, peering down. He moved slowly, keeping an eye out below for any potential threats, but it was as Xaphira said; the garden was at its densest and most overgrown there, with lots of trees to obscure the night sky from anyone down below.

As he got in closer, Vambran began to angle into a very gradual descent, heading for the highest point of the house, the observation deck upon the flat roof, to start. He figured that he could step off the invisible pathway at the apex of the estate and work his way down from above. Anyone inside who was waiting to ambush him would not likely expect him to come from overhead.

As he walked, Vambran thought about what Emriana had said in her desperate message. The house guards had turned. Denrick had her held prisoner in her own rooms. He wondered if anyone else had put up a fight, had tried to resist. He feared for Hetta, and for his mother. He wondered about Evester, Marga, and the twins. It was hard for him to imagine his uncle Dregaul turning on all of them, but the evidence was damning.

Dregaul had certainly strayed into murky territory with his latest decisions. Vambran thought about how little he and his uncle had seen eye to eye over the past few years. They had rarely gotten along, especially because of the death of Rodolpho Wianar, but the lieutenant never remembered seeing evidence of his uncle straying so far from the righteous path before. Perhaps the tragedy at the Generon all those years before had tainted Dregaul differently than it had Vambran. Perhaps, in being a part of the cover-up, Vambran's uncle had blurred the lines of right and wrong in his own head more and more in the intervening years. The shooting had been the crux, and Vambran and his uncle had taken opposite paths from it. They had become opposites themselves, apparently. So different in their takes on life.

The lieutenant's most recent visit home had seemed to bring those differences to the forefront. It seemed like a hundred years had passed since he was standing on the deck of Lady's Favor, hesitating to step off, just so he could avoid facing Dregaul for a little longer. How he had wanted to avoid such unpleasantness! He and Dregaul had found an uneasy peace when he stayed away.

But there the two men were, on opposite sides of the most divisive conflict in the history of the family, and Vambran was preparing to bring his uncle down, once and for all. He was perhaps the whole family's last hope. The thought didn't make him feel particularly proud, only sad that it had come to that, and he didn't even really understand why.

Vambran realized he had reached the observation deck. He settled his feet softly to the flat surface, willing the pathway of air to evaporate then he considered where he was in relation to the interior of the house. Emriana's rooms were almost exactly below him, a couple of floors down. If he had some rope, he could get there straight from the observation deck, but he was no mountain goat and wasn't about to try to climb down unaided. Instead, he could reach there easily if he went around to the west and dropped down at the cistern.

Thinking of that patio made the lieutenant pause briefly, bitterly, as he was reminded of his failed attempt to get a true read on Denrick. The arrogant brute had certainly lied as smoothly as could be. Though Vambran had sincerely believed the younger man was a ne'er-do-well, Denrick had actually convinced him for a time that he had been innocent of the crimes against Jithelle. Too late, Vambran knew better.

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.