Sun Jun 17, 2007 3:15 am
Acteon Skinner shifted. The slight movement sent a quick, shooting pain through his legs, shattering the numbness that had settled there. How many hours had he sat in this same position without movement? How many more would he endure before he would return to Myrkentown?
This was his third day in the bows of a tree. It was not uncommon for a hunter to tree himself, waiting along a game trail for an unsuspecting animal to pass beneath and fall victim to an arrow. But Acteon was not hunting; well, he wasn't hunting in the traditional sense. He was watching.
The large tree, which had served as his home for the past three days, sat across from the mouth of a cave. The same cave that a small group of individuals--including himself--had visited a month or two ago. The same cave that had served as the site of religious rituals for the Order of the Baie.
This wasn't the first time he'd sat in this tree, watching this cave, waiting for someone, anyone, to visit. It was unlikely to be his last either. After all, hundreds had worshipped here for who knew how long; it seemed altogether unlikely that it would be completely abandoned without someone checking in on the place. But each time he had sat in the tree, watching the cave, no one had come.
Until now.
Without warning, a young man materialized from the treeline. He walked slowly, quietly so not to draw attention to himself should anyone be around. Although Acteon didn't recognize the man, he definitely recognized the clothes that he wore. The young man was a member of the Myrkentown Constabulary, likely sent by High Constable Cinnabar Calomel to investigate the cave for any information that might have been missed.
Acteon couldn't help but feel somewhat disappointed; after so many hours spent in the tree, it was disheartening to have the only person you see be someone doing the exact same thing as you--investigating. But Acteon quickly remembered the words that Carnath-Emory had said to him, "Anyone could be a member of the Order. Anyone."
Acteon hunkered down, unmoving, and watched the constable as the young man approached the scorched cave. The constable paused and looked toward the trees, as if feeling that he was being watched. His eyes searched for a moment and then, seeing nothing out of place, he moved into the shadowed opening.
Acteon stayed frozen, perched on the branch. He made no move to follow the young constable. Acteon had no desire to give himself away.
Five minutes went by. Then ten. Ten became twenty. And when nearly thirty had passed, the constable reemerged from the cave. He paused momentarily in the shadow of its mouth, peering out for anyone who might have followed him or arrived while he was inside. Once satisfied, he returned to the daylight. And in his hands he carried a box.
The young constable's hands, arms, face, and the knees of his trousers were blackened by the soot left behind by the Brotherhood's smoke and flames. However, as best Acteon could tell from the distance, the box appeared to be intact and unburned. If the box truly was unharmed, that meant it had been protected from the flames somehow; buried, perhaps. And, if it had been buried, then somehow the young constable knew how to find it. Maybe the High Constable hadn't sent his counterpart after all.
For now, Acteon dismissed the box. He was not likely to learn its contents now, not without a fight. But, fighting was not the right course of action, not yet. So Acteon studied the boy. It was essential that Acteon remember him well enough to talk to the townsfolk and find out who the young constable was. That way he could find out more.
The young man was fit, but rather slight of frame. He had a regular face with little that was memorable to the average person who wasn't paying attention. His hair was brown and his eyes set a little closer together than normal. He was either shaven or he couldn't grow much facial hair yet. The boy could barely be more than twenty, if he was that age at all.
As the young constable disappeared into the trees, Acteon closed his eyes, trying to steel in his mind every last feature of the man. Acteon would need his memory to be accurate, if he were to locate the young man on the streets of Myrkentown.
A new hunt was on.