Visible in the pre-dawn glow were a dozen crossbowmen in the street below.

They’d been waiting patiently for the squad inside to flush the hell-priest out through the window, where he would make a nice easy target silhouetted against the roof as he ran. 

Orders were for half to fire when he crashed on to the roof, then reload, while the other half shot. Repeat alternating shots as drilled.

Aim carefully and adjust to anticipate target movement as he runs to the next roof, either left or right. Target considered unlikely to jump due to lack of healing spells. 

Firing to continue until one or more of a) ordered to stop b) target immobilized c) target resembles pincushion. 

They got off their first volley as the scrawny looking man fell out the window.

Then paused, unsure, when he disappeared. Glancing at their officer.

Missed him. Mostly. Tear in his clothes. Gash across his thigh. Bleeding. Painful. But still holds weight.  

Breathe. Observe. If you panic here you die. 

Soldiers behind him and below. Even if he could walk away from the jump they'd mob him immediately. 

Roofs to the left and right occupied by those damn seagulls. If he ran through them they’d scatter, giving him away instantly. 

The officer was a professional, this wasn’t what they’d planned for, but he had trained to fight casters and could run through the options instinctively.

Galtan Army battlefield doctrine against invisibility was area of effect spells, but he had none available. Mundane fire could work, but bad idea in civilian area. Dust? Oil? Not easy from this angle and in open space. Squad inside could do it? But not fast enough. Cleric won’t stay still.

The Chelish Army doctrine he'd studied said:

When faced with overwhelming enemy resistance that cannot currently be dealt with efficiently, carry out a swift and orderly retreat to outside enemy range, conserving casters for later counterattack. 

(Elsewhere it gave detailed advice for publicly torturing commanders who engaged in cowardly retreat. Unclear these were reconciled). 

The cleric would be moving as fast as possible away from them, that meant running along the roofs as they’d expected. Wide spread of shots on a roof might get him even invisible, if they knew which way he was running. 

Look for environmental details: Any blood dripping from injuries? Any tiles cracking? Roof bowing from weight? 

As he clung there, part of his mind was, unhelpfully and insistently, reminding him it was dawn. He should be praying, like he had every day since being chosen. He felt his empty slots like an itch in a phantom limb. Only the Disguise Self and his cantrips remaining.

A memory of seminary. Shortly after being Chosen they’d drilled casting Create Water from a distance, aiming for targets. Supposedly practice for other spells, or for firefighting. His classmates had taken great amusement in using it to torment unlucky cats, or him.

Shifting his weight so he had one hand free, his cut leg crushed painfully beneath him. He sighted the pack of seagulls on the next roof.

He’d need to aim carefully. The water appearing amongst them, visible from his angle but not for the Galtans below. Enough to startle them but not to be obvious.  

Create Water

On the roof to the left of the Inn, the previously placid seagulls suddenly began to scream and scatter. 

His book bag smoldering. Laughter from the other side of the classroom. 

The next roof had been damaged in the invasion and barely repaired. He’d nearly fallen through it one night.

From this angle he could see the wood through gaps in the tiles, just on the edge of his range.

Spark

Just past the panicking birds a few tiles fell, seeming unprompted, and shattered as they hit the gutters. 

“Fire!”

Another clatter, no visible blood.

“Don’t shoot the falling tiles, shoot where he’s going to be. You godsdamned imbeciles.” The officer yelled. 

That was possibly unprofessional. He was getting a little stressed. This should have been a simple cleanup job like dozens they’d done before.

The officer took a calming breath. This wasn’t working, time to recalibrate. 

They didn’t actually need to shoot the cleric, just stop him escaping before his invisibility ran out. The man had no healing spells left so wouldn’t risk a straight jump, and shimmying down would give him away.

The hellpriest was going uphill, away from the port. They’d scouted this row and there was only one safe way down in that direction. The officer had left a couple of men watching it, but they’d need reinforcements to take the cleric. 

“You three, with me. Rest of you, spread out and watch the roofs along this street. Sergeant watch the inn, this could still be a trick.”

The unit smoothly split up and he ran to catch the cleric. 

He clung there on the slanted roof, mind struggling to catch up. It was barely more than a minute since he’d had his rude awakening. But no time to rest. He had just over half his Invisibility left and he'd be pretty easy to spot here. 

The soldiers below were spreading out along the street. Still in theory watching the roofs, but their attention was wandering now. Safe to move at least

A voice from the open window of his room shouted “You lot, go downstairs and help the search.” Followed by rapid footsteps.

Orgull twisted himself around, face down on the roof, arms and legs splayed to spread out his weight.

The same voice but in a calmer more conversational tone “Huh, didn’t know the hell-priests could disappear like that. Certainly, didn’t see them do it during the battle.”

He took a moment to shove his scabbarded dagger in a pocket, wincing as the need to take the weight off one arm put more on the wounded leg. Then he began to climb.

Another voice through the window, leaning out, barely a few feet from him, younger, subtly more educated? Harder to tell with Galtans. 

“Well of course you wouldn’t see them….”

His bare feet were getting scratched and splintered, trying to push their way into footholds.

His hands were already scraped raw, but he kept silent as he dragged himself up past the window.

The first voice again “Oh shut up Durand. You didn’t prepare anything useful?”

He was leaving little smears of blood on the tiles, but hopefully dark enough it wouldn't be too noticeable. 

He pulled himself up and, with an undignified turn on his belly, over the peak of the roof.

“Most of them can't, and there was no specific intelligence.” the second voice said slightly defensively. “Glitterdust isn’t part of standard loadout. I could have tossed a fireball but figured it would be a bad idea.”

He perched on the roof for a moment, the back side mirrored the front, with a dormer window like his, then a slope down to the back alley. 

He began to slide downwards

“Gods no. The marshal would have had our hides. The locals already think we set their houses on fire for fun.”

Visible in the back alley was a Galtan sergeant with an ugly mustache, leaning against a wall while he castigated a soldier who looked barely over twelve.

From the way they were standing, facing slightly inwards, there would be at least one other soldier there, hidden by the lip of the roof.

Total of three? Four? Fuck. They’d notice him falling down and that was too many.

He’d have to take the other window.

Still just about audible from the other side:

“Reckon we still need to pay the innkeeper? Even though we didn’t catch him?”

“Of course we’ve got to fucking pay him. We’re trying to encourage these poor fuckers to cooperate.

We can use the gold the hell priest took last night, must be somewhere in here, all comes out the petty cash anyway.”

His grip on the edge of the window faltered for a second. 

Don’t think about it. Not now.

He rolled through the window, barely avoiding a noisy crash on the floor. Leg screaming. His eyes were beginning to water from the pain.  

The room was empty. The Galtans must have cleared it out before they knocked. He curled up on the floor below the windowsill, hopefully invisible from below.

His Invisibility ran out.