Lambert is a self-made man. He would know what it would be like to be in need. Was this a genuine offer, or was it a ruse?
Either way, Rhea's response to this encounter is clear.
—-
Yousseff sits straight up, his head turned skyward, his arms resting, and his mind focused. Without the nervous energy of youth that Rhea brought with her, the serpentine sorcerer has a much clearer view of the mana swirling throughout the estate.
He will investigate this swirling starlight of magical energy, seeking any sign of discontinuity or deceit throughout the ethereal engravings. There is a confluence of energy toward the main building, which makes sense in and of itself. Party tricks and security for the guests would be top priorities.
Then, there is the vault building—their target. A slight pulse goes on within there, and he focuses his mind on it, furrowing his brow, gripping his legs, hissing.
Buried deep inside that vault must be the object of their desire, as the place burns brightly with the magical essence necessary to hold at bay the most powerful of demons.
It’s difficult to determine if there are any traps beyond what Osman described. Hopefully, the two lovers can work on alleviating any issues that come their way within that building.
He’ll turn his attention there once he finishes scanning the grounds. After all, the tiny flecks of light from each guard are nothing to grow overly concerned over. Some are equipped with superficial magical charms that the wealthy love to give their underlings, letting them be so easily visible to one who is so in tune with the weaves of mana. It would be no problem to avoid them if the need arises.
He turns his attention back to the vault when a burst of energy catches his attention. He focuses on it, taking only a moment to stand up, plant his staff on the ground, and whirl his cloak around him, disappearing into the aether.
In a puff of magical smoke, Yousseff appears closer to the disturbance. He sits behind a statue dedicated to Lambert in a thoughtful pose but with a self-confident smirk over his muzzle. The statue is large enough for the cast spell to appear behind and hide, listening to the magical incantation in the small garden walkway.
The words the unknown mage speaks are familiar to Yousseff, who curses his situation. Osman, the fool he is, didn’t find out about this part of the guard detail. The Carter Company must have wizards under their employ, and they must be diligent in scoping out the area.
Once this ritual is completed, the spell caster can count the number of souls in the area and provide details about them, essentially scrying their identities.
The spell caster falls to his knees and writes upon the dirt.
It’s a quick and dirty process, but he also says a word for each word his unknown opponent speaks. For each stroke the guard caster makes, he must create a counter stroke. Each sound and movement he creates adds to the magical ephemera, producing a brilliant light for those attuned and watching. He must only hope that his rival doesn’t notice the slithering tails of deception make their way into the tale that they weave.
And what a tale Yousseff has to weave himself. After all, he can’t just counter the spell. At best, the unknown caster will suspect they have failed and must try again. At worst, they will realize that an exterior force is working counter to them.
So, the play is obvious, but it is also taxing. He must not erase anything that the mage creates but instead add to the symphony of magical energy, taking the encoded will of the guard and turning out a different result. He needs to prepare for everything he can and think of each of his companions—their form, skill sets, and equipment. By speaking of each of them into this streak of lies, he will blind the one seeking the truth and keep his allies well hidden, doing his part of the deal and undoing any unknown magical hazards.
The spell continues in the dark of the night, the sounds of the desert insects serving as the only thing that could drown out his hissing breath from behind the statue. Not too soon, the guard finishes their spell. Yousseff feels the blast of magical energy as it sweeps over him and the rest of the estate.
A long and pregnant moment of silence follows. Yousseff grips his staff tighter, waiting, his heart beating faster and faster. With no response coming, it must mean something went wrong.
“All present and accounted for,” the smooth voice speaks from the park. There are no unknown entities.”
Yousseff breathed a sigh of relief and picked himself up, pressing onto the statue to listen to the rest of the conversation.
“But there’s one thing. Yeah, I’ll call ‘em.”
Yousseff catches his breath, planting himself flat against the statue. What did he miss? There are many possible errors, yet he is sure he made none.
So then, what?”
“Yeah, you’re off your post,” the voice continues. “Do you have something to report?”
—
“A would-be thief,” the shadowed assassin-guard responds, speaking through a communication stone.
“No, she ran off after she took the jewels. Yeah, I watched her go. What’s the matter?
The shadowed guard pauses, sighs, and pockets the stone. “Ah, so there’s more to you than you let on, kitty cat?”
—-
Rhea took the gems. Of course, she did. Given the circumstances, what other choice would she have? However, that doesn’t mean she will keep them. She holds them cupped in her hands as she runs toward the exit, but she drops one and then takes a turn, running for a bit more through the cover of the night before she drops another. She keeps up this practice as she circles around chaotically, keeping the target building in sight.