Author's Note: Hope you all enjoy this third chapter. We'll definitely seeing more of Gabranth in the future (his role in this chapter is rather minor). Of course, in keeping with the timeline of Vayne's life, we'll be seeing Doctor Cid soon, and (quite probably) his third son, Ffamran, too.

Hunter and Prey

The hooded figure's breath was shallow as it hurried up to the unassuming red door in the furthest reach of Molberry. It was night, but the streets were by no means dark. Every business in Archades made use of security lamps, and the marble walkway shone a curious shade of yellow. The figure pulled a slip of parchment out of his pocket and examined it under the nearest lamp. Yes, he had come to the right place.

Raising a gnarled hand, he knocked smartly, stepped back, and waited. It was unnerving how quiet the city was at night. Not even the clink-clanking of armor sounded in the distance. There were no crickets here in this industrial super-center, no owls, no trees. He would never have come to this place if had hadn't run into some very useful information. He much preferred the dregs of Old Archades to this artificial place. But thinking about his reward gave him a little courage, and he straightened his robes just as the tiny slot at the top of the door slid opened.

"State your business." The order was barely audible, the ghost of a whisper. The old man approached the door and stood on tip-toe to speak directly into the tiny opening.

"I've a message to deliver to a man they call Geta. I'm to present this information only to him."

The man behind the door seemed to get the hint. He disappeared for a moment and the old man heard the lock click open. The old one shuffled inside, only to be grabbed roughly from behind. The doorman pulled his head back and held a dagger up to the exposed flesh of his neck.

"Come in, but touch nothing. Never speak of what you see here, no matter how much you are offered, you hear, Street-Ear?" The Street-Ear Jacovian nodded ever so slightly (he didn't want to slash his own throat with nods of an overzealous nature) and was released. He straightened his robes again and massaged the sore spot on the back of his head muttering something about "ruffians."

The doorman led him down a series of dark hallways and into a small library where a fire burned cheerfully in its grate. He motioned briefly to a seat and left. Jacovian sank into the chair closest to the fire and held his hands up to it. A few minutes passed before another man came through the door. He had dark hair cropped short like a soldier, and his eyes were deep blue. He sat down opposite the street-ear and fixed him with the most appraising of stares. Jacovian swallowed nervously.

"You wish to speak with Geta." It was not so much a question as a pointed observation. The old man nodded.

"I have information he may find useful. And I'm willing to, ah, sell it to him." Jacovian finished his sentence doubtfully; he was certain that the man's dark eyes had flashed at the word "sell."

"Indeed." The blue-eyed man looked at the fire for a moment, lost in thought. Jacovian had almost convinced himself that perhaps coming here wasn't as good for business as he had originally thought when the other dropped a heavy satchel of gil on the table between them.

"How much will this buy me?"

The old man let out a sigh of relief. "So you are this Geta I've been searching for? Thank the gods! You're the hardest client I've ever tracked down. Digging for you was like searching for five gil in a big steaming pile of chocobo—"

He stopped himself and looked up at Geta quickly, but the man was (to his great relief) smiling widely. "I must keep myself hidden, my friend. And if you had the skill to find me, you most certainly know why." Jacovian gave a solemn nod.

"So it's true what they say down in Old Archades, eh? You are Lucius Celsus Solidor, First Son of the Emperor?" It was Geta's turn to nod this time.

"I've been in hiding for four months, ever since Clodius was killed."

The silence grew long between them. Geta cleared his throat.

"So what have you heard, Street-ear?"

Jacovian reached into his robes and pulled out the slip of parchment he had inspected earlier. Unfolding it, he passed it across the table. Geta's eyes shot across it, and he looked up in shock.

"Vayne is closing in on the rebellion?"

"That's what I've heard, my lord. You are considered the lowest of traitors and are to be apprehended on sight." Geta gave a heavy sigh and leaned back in his chair.

"I thought we'd have more time!" Jacovian didn't really know what to say to this. It wasn't as if he was the reason these Landinian rebels were on the brink of arrest. He shuffled his feet nervously and scratched at his nose. Geta gave a small ironic chuckle.

"Thank you, Street-ear." He crumpled the parchment, leaned over, and tossed it into the fire. "And if you hear anything else," he began, dark eyes glittering in the firelight, "I'll pay you twice as much as your highest bidder." Jacovian's eyes went wide. Information like this could go for thousands of gil. If he played his cards right, he stood to make quite a fortune.

Geta caught the look on the old man's face and seemed to know his mind. "So I can count on your fidelity, then?" For what felt like the tenth time that evening, Jacovian nodded.

Dressed in the guise of an Akademy scholar, Geta walked from Modberry to Trant and back again, eyes moving carefully over the colorful crowd. If his information was correct, Vayne had discovered his involvement with the Landinians and the location of their Archadian hideout. The base had been relocated accordingly throughout that morning, the reasoning behind it being that they'd attract less attention in full daylight than in sneaking about at night. Despite all the precautions the Landinians had taken, he expected to see Vayne's guard emerge at any moment.

He wasn't disappointed. Before long, he spied the flowing cape of a Judge Magister heading up the steps on the far side of Molberry, flanked by a small force of 20 or so men. There was no mistaking that helmet; the curved horns of a Gigas were Gabranth's most identifying feature. Moving closer, he noticed the insignia on the other men's arms: Vayne's red seal of state, the mark of his personal guard. Gabranth reached the door and, to Geta's mild surprise, kicked it down with all his force. His voice rang oddly from behind his helmet.

"Bring me the rebels. I want them all alive."

The small contingent was quick to comply and headed into the house, Gabranth bringing up the rear. Geta thanked his stars that the last of the library scrolls had been moved over an hour ago; Gabranth's men would find nothing of consequence. Still, he engaged himself in a somewhat droll conversation with nearby gentry, watching the doorway out of the corner of his eye.

Five full minutes passed and nothing. Geta could feel the hope brimming up in his chest, and then he heard it: the struggling gasps of a captive. He recognized the man dragged from the house, Tycho, the bookkeeper. His heart sank at the sight of the next couple who emerged: Archadian guards carrying armfuls of scrolls. So the last of it hadn't been moved? He remembered how Jacovian didn't quite meet his eye when he delivered the message (and how he had attributed it to nervous fear). Geta felt the nausea hit him like the flat of a sword to the stomach.

"Take the bookkeeper and his charges to Lord Vayne." Gabranth motioned lazily to Tycho and the scrolls. "Tell him his brother was not found at either location." At either location? So Jacovian had betrayed them completely. Geta did some very quick thinking. Surely he could make his escape from the bowels of Old Archades. But before he could even detach himself from the group of gentry (the oldest of which was rambling passionately about Viera society), he saw it: Vayne's banner, fluttering ominously over the heads of ardent and gentry alike. Beneath it, wearing the coolest of expressions, was Vayne himself. He approached Gabranth, and the helmeted head gave a curt nod.

"My Lord."

"Spare me the formalities, Judge Magister. Have you located my wayward brother?"

"No, my Lord." Vayne's discontent was etched in every line of his face.

"I feel that I have waited overlong for my prey, Gabranth," he said wearily. "We've crushed ever rebel pocket in the vicinity and no captive admits to this "Geta's" involvement." He pushed back several strands of dark hair that had fallen into his face. "He always did inspire unwavering devotion in his men." Vayne looked off into the distance and heaved a heavy sigh. "Perhaps we shall have to count on the word the Street-ear," he said. "He has been twice right thus far."

Gabranth inclined his head slightly, the merest suggestion of an affirmation. "Truly this Jacovian has proven himself our man." Vayne snorted derisively.

"Only because I bought his loyalty."

The two stood silently for a moment, the bright sun glinting off of helmet and hair. As though he was aware that someone was staring, Vayne glanced over at a gaggle of nearby gentry and noticed a young man dressed in the garb of an Akademy scholar. He was unmistakable, even with hair cropped so short. He leaned toward Gabranth.

"Have the area sealed off. I want the full questioning of every citizen in Molberry." His dark eyes followed the brisk step of the scholar as he separated from the group. Vayne motioned at him with a black gloved hand.

"Start with him."

He awoke to find himself lying facedown on the cold, moldy floor of a dungeon. The room was pitch-black, and the pungent scent of the dead and rotting hit him like a boulder to the head. Geta reached out into the darkness. His arm hit the wall before it had extended fully. The other arm fared no better. He was caged in the smallest of chambers, a windowless waiting room for death. There was a sharp click and the door was dragged open. The dim torchlight felt as powerful as the noontime sun to his eyes, and he held up his arms to shield himself. The dungeon master, face hidden behind a gaping mask, pulled him up roughly and threw him over his shoulder like a sack of flour.

Geta was tied to an iron bed, secured at the waist, neck, ankles, and wrists by heavy bands of metal. His vision faded in and out, but just before he fainted he heard a soft, cruel laugh. His younger brother leaned over him, a wide smile baring his gleaming teeth.

"So glad you could join us, Lord Brother."

The dungeon master chuckled darkly and began to sharpen his knife.

Wow, this story is really coming along! It's proven a much easier task than I could ever have anticipated. (Quite frankly, it seems to be writing itself.) I promise to update soon. We do, after all, have a murder to witness.

Thanks for reading, and as always, all reviews are welcome.