Scion of Cyador

CXLVIII

In the late evening, with but a single lamp lit, Lorn sits at the study desk, squinting at the chaos-glass, and drawing out the rooms in Tasjan’s dwelling on sheets of paper beside the glass. With each image, he draws what he needs to know, then checks what he has drawn, and finally lets the image fade. Then he closes his eyes and rubs his neck before he calls forth the next image from the glass.

The lower levels of Tasjan’s dwelling have no windows that are not barred, and all the doors are iron-bound, bolted, and guarded at all times. The outside guards, and those that patrol the gardens and porticoes, wear green. Those inside wear blue.

Lorn looks at what he has drawn, shifting from sheet to sheet.

Tasjan’s private study opens onto a balcony, and that balcony can be reached easily enough by climbing up a stepped chimney from the secondlevel portico. There are two guard posts along the portico flanking the upper gardens, but if the guards see no one…

All Lorn has to do is figure out how to get to the second-level portico.

With a deep breath, he looks down at the glass yet another time.

A dozen or more glimpses of Tasjan’s dwelling, and he thinks he has a way. If he can climb a particular tree. If he can hold his blur shield long enough. If it works.

He shakes his head and puts away the glass, ignoring the burning in his eyes, and the headache that seems as though someone is trying to cleave his skull with a very dull and heavy ax. Then he turns down the wick and puts out the single lamp in the study.

He walks quietly along the upper corridor to the bedchamber, where he slides the iron bolt shut.

“You were using the glass late,” Ryalth says sleepily.

“Later than I would have liked. I was studying Tasjan’s dwelling and how he enters and leaves it.” Lorn sits on the end of the bed and pulls off his boots, then stands and begins to disrobe.

“Will you check Kerial?” she murmurs.

“I will.” After he pulls off his undertunic, he steps to the small bed and glances down, listening as much as looking. The small figure breathes evenly, regularly. Lorn smiles and steps away to hang his clothes in the armoire, then returns and slides under the covers next to his sleepy redhead.

“He’s fine.”

“Good.” She snuggles against him and seems to relax.

Lorn slips one arm around her, enjoying her closeness. But he stares through the darkness, and it is some time before he finally drops into sleep.