A Venture South XIV: Final Preparations

I swear, he keeps locking this only to amuse himself...
As if working a lock while crouching on a very narrow stone sill fifteen metres up in the air wasn't difficult enough on its own, the rain was getting heavier and a distant rumble announced that it was turning into a lightning storm. 
The end of summer, and soon this little venture will end as well, one way or another. Strange, seems like more time has passed, that Bree might have been in another life even, it feels like it was so long ago.
Ameren sat there and stared at nothing, her thoughts drifting off elsewhere, just like they had been all too often since speaking with Connwear the night before. Only when a flash of light spread across the sky did she remember where she was and what she was doing, mumbled a curse and resumed trying to get the window open. When the latch finally shifted and she could climb inside, Ameren was soaked to the skin. There were only embers left in the hearth, but compared to the dark night outside it was easy to make out everything in the Marshal's chambers. She remained still by the window while she scanned to room, her gaze wandering between the few pieces of furniture and the collection of various trophies, weapons, and bits of armour on the walls. Nothing had changed since they'd been there a few night ago. The Marshal himself was peacefully asleep on the bed, groaning and reaching for the knife on the nightstand after Ameren snatched a book from the desk and threw it at him on her way to the door, leaving a trail of water across the floor as she went. 
"It's just me, Marshal. No need to get excited," mumbled Ameren dryly once she'd ensured that the door was properly bolted. Levain put the knife back and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, and then, to Ameren's annoyance, didn't get up, but rather rested his hands behind his head and sank back down into the bed. 
"Too late for that, I'm afraid. What man wouldn't get excited when a woman sneaks into his chambers in the middle of the night?" said Levain, smiling confidently at her. "It started raining, did it? You must be cold, lovely crazy woman. Don't be shy, there's plenty of room here, and it's very cozy too."
"Not interested, Marshal. Get up, we have work to do," said Ameren and tossed some firewood on the embers before stepping over to the desk. While she took forth her maps and notes from the pack, all still dry thanks to the oilskin they were wrapped in, Levain pushed himself out of bed, tied one of the blankets around his waist and carried the other with him, holding it out to Ameren while stifling a yawn with his free hand. 
"Would it kill you to put on some clothes?" asked Ameren wearily, nevertheless accepting the blanket and wrapping it around her shoulders.
"Probably not, but why risk it?" answered Levain with a shrug, a cocky smile lingering on his lips, squared his shoulders and boldly moved closer. "Why do you ask? Do you find this too distracting?"
"No, I find your ceaseless advances annoying and tiring."
"So you say, but I don't think that's entirely true."
"You don't get rejected all that often, do you?"
"There's a first time for everything. But for all I know this could be you playing hard to get."
"I'm not playing, Marshal. Can we just get this planning done with so I may leave again?"
Levain chuckled and winked at her, but took a step back and looked down at the map of the estate, growing serious and paying close attention as Ameren told him of what she'd found and of the plan she, Connwear, and Havaldr had come up with. Which passages they were intending to use and which needed to be blocked, one even set fire to as well as a diversion, something the Marshal didn't like the sound of but admitted was rather clever. When they got to the subject of what sort of resistance to expect once inside, Levain had pitifully little help to offer. After Mendel tried to get in and Seldorien labelled it an assassination attempt on Lord Idhren, which he thwarted, Levain only had guardsmen stationed outside and on the first floor. The second and third were Seldorien's responsibility now and all the Marshal could offer was guesswork on how many men were there. 
"So we're looking at anything between a handful to several dozen. Shit..." mumbled Ameren, frowning darkly behind the mask.
"But we are using stealth, are we not? If we're careful we won't have to take on all of them," said Levain, but he didn't sound all that hopeful.
"Stealth will only get us so far. And you said Seldorien himself resides in the estate when Idhren is there. There will be blood, Marshal."
"We have, what? A dozen fighters at our disposal?"
"Less. We need two of yours minding this passage so that Idhren doesn't slip out that way, and they lose some precious time running up and down it to find out that it's blocked. And two of ours won't be fighting. One's wounded and would be a burden, so we're leaving him to ensure we have a way out, if things go badly."
"And the other?"
"Is a harpist who only learned which end of a sword to use some months back."
"Ah..."
"That leaves us with myself, three mercenaries, you, and your remaining five officers."
"Not the best odds, but we should be able to tackle twice and thrice our numbers, if your people are as good as you say they are."
"You don't have to worry about them, they'll pull their weight and then some."
"Even so, you're going to need help on the second floor. I'll have three of mine go up through the passage to the third floor, as you suggested, but I and the other two will go straight into the building via the front door."
"Do you really think that will work?"
"Yes, I do. I'll march right in and up the stairs, and demand to see Lord Idhren in regards of the little fire in the tunnels. That might draw out Seldorien too."
"Very well. With luck we'll get at least halfway up to the third floor before they figure out what's going on and set their full strength against us."
"And then it's just a matter of fighting our way through."
"Practically a stroll through the gardens. When do we spring this trap?"
"Two hours after midnight the day Lord Idhren has arrived in the city, give the fire ten minutes to take hold properly and make people worried, then we burst in."
"As you say. Let your people know and I will speak to mine," said Ameren, folding up the map and putting it away, shrugged the damp blanket off, slung the pack to her back, and went over to the window. 
"That's it then? No kiss good night?" asked Levain and followed her, the serious tone in his voice gone. 
"Aye, that's it," replied Ameren coldly, pulling the window open and tossing out the rope. 
"Just seems a terrible shame that you're going outside in that," said Levain, leaning his shoulder against the wall and gesturing to the storm. "When you could spend the night warm and snug."
"Marshal, if I had a night free to spend in a man's bed, it sure as shit wouldn't be yours I'd choose," growled Ameren and slipped out, planted her feet against the stone wall and slowly climbed downward. The wind had picked up tremendously, gusts rushing past and setting her off-balance without much time between them to recover, and before Ameren had even gotten halfway down her arms were in agony from the constant strain.
I'll be glad when this is all over and done with, and we can finally go back... if it's possible to go back after this...
Then a strong wind pulled Ameren back from the wall, her feet slipped against the wet rock and she fumbled with the rope, losing her grip on it. She desperately reached after the rope as she fell, tangled her arm and caught it again, pain lacing through her shoulder and down the right side of her body as the drop came to an abrupt stop and she was slammed against the rock. A faint whimper passed through gritted teeth and she struggled to straighten herself, moving down as fast as she could, soon safely back on the ground.
"Folk can't just change what they care for like blowing out a candle and lighting it again, Ameren. If I'm being honest, you're scaring me."