The Ratfinder
1st of Ashan, 718
1st of Ashan, 718
The guilty were so gloriously nervous when they were confronted with their wrongdoings. Even when nothing was said out loud.
It was moot that one hunter or another had betrayed Ivanthe to his prospective kidnappers; they were the only people in Etzos he spoke more than two words to, and his lack of family or concerned party that might bat an eye at his disappearance was not something that anyone else in the city might care about or notice.
Finding out who it was, though, was a matter of luck and suspicion. There was a thin, raggedy hunter named Stannen who was usually found in the corners of the Chopping Block; Ivanthe had heard Old Man Farlin berating the man more than once for late kills and poor numbers. He seemed to stick around because Farlin simply wanted every pound of meat he could get and because he had nowhere else to go.
But for the past two days, Stannen had been conspicuously absent. And when he’d reappeared on the morning of the 29th, the annoyed dismay with which he’d looked at Ivanthe was enough to make alarms go off.
Slowly stirring up his empathy, Ivanthe had smiled and remarked calmly that he hadn’t seen the older hunter for awhile, but Stannen hadn’t missed much––the past few days had been decidedly boring and uneventful.
Rage, disgust, and terror were proof enough that Stannen hadn’t wanted to see him there.
When Ivanthe asked Farlin for the night off, the old man had nodded and waved his hand. “Yeah, that weather you took last night earns you a break. Look after yourself.” And that was that.
Stannen wasn’t an especially smart man, but Ivanthe hadn’t survived ten years by taking risks; when the other hunter finally emerged from the Chopping Block with an annoyed scowl on his face, Ivanthe was tucked between two stalls and half-hidden between a pair of bickering fishwives.
Stannen didn’t even glance his way before heading down the street.
Ivanthe hesitated at first. With the sun back in the sky, the open places on the street would surely give him away. Perhaps if he stayed on the opposite side, keeping pace but not getting close…
He might have stayed there too long and lost his prey entirely, were it not for something remarkable: right near the Chopping Block, not twenty yards from the door, a scruffy young man slipped away from the wall he had been leaning against. He shifted idly for a moment, eyes trained on Stannen, then turned and began to follow the him down the street.
Ivanthe watched in amazement for just one moment, because he wasn’t going to allow fear to delay him a second time.
Opposite both men, Ivanthe began to follow.
It was moot that one hunter or another had betrayed Ivanthe to his prospective kidnappers; they were the only people in Etzos he spoke more than two words to, and his lack of family or concerned party that might bat an eye at his disappearance was not something that anyone else in the city might care about or notice.
Finding out who it was, though, was a matter of luck and suspicion. There was a thin, raggedy hunter named Stannen who was usually found in the corners of the Chopping Block; Ivanthe had heard Old Man Farlin berating the man more than once for late kills and poor numbers. He seemed to stick around because Farlin simply wanted every pound of meat he could get and because he had nowhere else to go.
But for the past two days, Stannen had been conspicuously absent. And when he’d reappeared on the morning of the 29th, the annoyed dismay with which he’d looked at Ivanthe was enough to make alarms go off.
Slowly stirring up his empathy, Ivanthe had smiled and remarked calmly that he hadn’t seen the older hunter for awhile, but Stannen hadn’t missed much––the past few days had been decidedly boring and uneventful.
Rage, disgust, and terror were proof enough that Stannen hadn’t wanted to see him there.
When Ivanthe asked Farlin for the night off, the old man had nodded and waved his hand. “Yeah, that weather you took last night earns you a break. Look after yourself.” And that was that.
Stannen wasn’t an especially smart man, but Ivanthe hadn’t survived ten years by taking risks; when the other hunter finally emerged from the Chopping Block with an annoyed scowl on his face, Ivanthe was tucked between two stalls and half-hidden between a pair of bickering fishwives.
Stannen didn’t even glance his way before heading down the street.
Ivanthe hesitated at first. With the sun back in the sky, the open places on the street would surely give him away. Perhaps if he stayed on the opposite side, keeping pace but not getting close…
He might have stayed there too long and lost his prey entirely, were it not for something remarkable: right near the Chopping Block, not twenty yards from the door, a scruffy young man slipped away from the wall he had been leaning against. He shifted idly for a moment, eyes trained on Stannen, then turned and began to follow the him down the street.
Ivanthe watched in amazement for just one moment, because he wasn’t going to allow fear to delay him a second time.
Opposite both men, Ivanthe began to follow.
