Roland and Mal watched the street through his viewing spell on the wall. The minutes ticking by an eternity at a time and Roland hated the dull moments like these. They allowed him time alone with his thoughts which were currently centered on the fact that he should’ve gone in with them. But they needed someone to guard their escape route and he had been the logical choice. After all, his sole reason for being involved was that he owed a debt to Ban’Koliath. A debt he could never repay.

The sun was disappearing rapidly behind the city wall and as the last vestiges of light winked out, the street lamps came on. The hues on the street became a study in blue under the glow of the magical crystals. There was no one on the street; Roland’s signs about the Gromble were performing admirably. Still, Roland couldn’t shake the nagging sensation of being watched. He spun about several times expecting an assassin in the dark but found merely shadows and unease. He took a drink to calm himself. The fiery liquid spread through his system and soothed his ragged nerves.

Mal stretched out on the floor. The wolf’s silvery-red eyes darted between the four images of Roland’s viewing spell. Every now and again he swiveled his pointed ears backward giving Roland the impression that he too felt eyes on them. As more time passed with still no signs of anything, his frustrated sighs grew close to a whine. He wanted to help, to fight the enemy but as the smell of foolishness grew ever stronger on the mage’s breath, he knew it was crucial to maintain his post.

Too long. They should be out by now. Roland thought craning his neck back to look up at the moon. It had settled into its nightly routine of making steady progress along the sky. He judged that at least an hour had gone by since they’d entered the building. The mission was supposed to have taken half that time at the most. But Roland had cautioned them that the time estimate was overly optimistic. As usual, he found he was right, which gave him a sense of smug amusement that swiftly faded to boredom. He shook his flask next to his ear; it was dangerously low. He took another drink.

On top of an adjacent building sat a team of four men the unknown source of Roland’s unease. All of them were dressed in crimson robes. The off-kilter compass with its jester hat had been sewn into the left breast marking them as members of the Harlequin Court. Each one had been handpicked for the mission based on what they assumed was their outstanding records of performance. In reality, they had been selected because they were in the hallway when the thought of having a second team occurred to their commander.

Their orders were simple. “Wait until they are all together and take them.” They were provided with rough descriptions and warned not to give themselves away. The mage in their company had created a sphere of muffling though it was a tight fit. Each man was sweating and becoming more agitated as the minutes oozed along.

“We should ambush the mage and capture him. We can use him as leverage if the others make it out,” The bulkiest of their number, a warrior known as Stahpler said in a harsh whisper. “It’s possible that the others have been captured and we’ve been forgotten out here. You know how the commander gets lost in his work.”

“We cannot disregard our orders,” Another said. He had a thin, reedy voice, “Remember we are only to attack when they are all together. And the commander picked us specifically!”

“Shut up, Rylon,” a third voice chimed in, “Don’t presume to guess at the commander’s intentions. Stahpler made a valid point. We should seize the mage, kill the wolf, and then head into the building. What if the commander needs our assistance?!”

“Cameron, you idiot, lower your voice," Stahpler said cuffing Cameron on the side of the head. They tensely watched Roland for a full minute in silence. When it became clear that the mage hadn’t heard them, the others turned to him with dour looks.

“And do you really think these creatures could outsmart and overpower our commander?!” Rylon hissed venomously.

“Sorry,” Cameron supplied weakly. He went back to nervously twisting the cord that held his robes together.

The mage casting the concealment spell hissed his annoyance at the trio of imbeciles. Magic was not a free resource. If it were, everyone would use it. Magic was more of a reshaping of energy and sometimes matter to the will of the caster. And in order to enact that reshaping, the caster had to sacrifice a bit of himself with each spell. This sacrificed energy would replenish over time and with practice would even grow; but it was always a strain. The more experienced the caster, the lesser the strain became.

In this case the strain was great. The mage’s rotund body quaked with effort as the spell fluctuated wildly. He couldn’t tell them they were in danger of shattering the spell because all of his energy was directed at preserving the sphere. Blocking out all sound, light, and smell tended to be rather taxing work, at least if the sweat dripping down his face was an indicator. The shield to begin to falter. For a brief flash, they were exposed completely.

“Amateurs,” Roland muttered as one of his alarm spells fluttered down and informed him of the threat on the roof. Reaching down he idly patted Mal’s head while considering his options. “Time for us to move, my furry friend. On my signal.”

Mal gave a whisper of a bark in agreement.

Roland called upon his vast magical power tapping into it and feeling the familiar comfort of it flow over his body. He closed his eyes and thought of the spell he needed rolling through the complex mental library that held his vast arcane knowledge. At this stage in his life, Roland was a rival for any of the Great Mages in knowledge and power. He might, in fact, be the foremost practitioner of the arcane arts in all of Paragore. Not that he’d had much of a choice in the matter. Already he felt the pressure on his mind, the familiar dull throb of an oncoming headache. The pressure ignited a wave of memories, as it invariably did, and Roland let them wash over him. He didn’t have the booze to spare to drown them out.