The Old City

0.76: The Cat and The Mouse

Seneca looked around, panting as the icy wind stuck in his throat. It felt good to be back north, where the wintry chill kept him alert and he didn't have to worry about dehydration or nomads killing him.

Here, his only enemy was his master.

The only problem was, he didn't have any idea where Timoleon was hiding.

"You aren't very good at this."

Timoleon was hanging from a branch above him, reading a small line of parchment as casually as if he'd been laying at the beach of the Baymont. He wore a heavy white coat that blended in with the snowy terrain and a leather cap which just covered his ears.

"You took the obvious path, Seneca. You looked at the map and plotted a course straight for the camp site I'd pointed out. Anybody would see that, my boy, and it made you easy to spot. Next time, take a subtler route, a more circuitous path. Your prey will not so easily find you, and you'll have the advantage havin' studied the landscape more carefully."

"Yes, sir," Seneca said, dismayed. It was his fourth loss in a row. He thought he'd been getting better at this, but Timoleon was always a step ahead. How did the General always seem to know what he was thinking?

Near the Magnarian Hideout.

There was a shocking amount of rubble for one building. The Soranians hadn't been precise in their attack, instead favoring a blitz strategy where they'd hit the wall in many places. Little chunks of rocks were strewn about everywhere, and the crimson paint was far from the only red around the scene.

The Magnarians had fallen quickly.

The survivors were now being wrangled together and sent back to the Enforcers' Headquarters for interrogation. The dead were being examined for any hints of their next steps.

A crowd had gathered around the building to watch the spectacle, curious now why such a large contingent of soldiers had been deployed. Timoleon had always found it interesting how the urchins would hide at the first sign of trouble, then poke their necks out to gawk and gossip once they realized it was someone else who'd received the punishment.

Parasites.

They did serve their purpose, though. Having changed clothes, doused his hair in grease, and smeared his face with soot, Timoleon now blended in with these peasants. With so many people around, nobody would focus on him—so long as he kept his aura compressed.

Suddenly Timoleon felt a tingle in his spine, a cold sweat which broke across his neck. He didn't move—that would give away his position—but he did make note of the direction his observer came from and slowly moved through the crowd, changing his angle to sneak a look.

On that rooftop, he told Aros. Find out who was just there.

He felt his lieutenant's acknowledgement and then saw his silhouette appear atop the building a moment later. No sign of anyone here, sir. Not even a trace of aura.

What can you see from up there?

I can see you, sir, and all of the Magnarians. Seems like a good vantage to watch the battle just now. Not so close as to get noticed, but not so far as to make observation difficult.

Exactly what I would have done, Timoleon realized. Someone really was playing tricks on him.

He had to get away. Even with his disguise, he could be recognized if that person already knew him. It was time to disappear and regroup, to rethink how he'd take over the First Ring. It was time to start from the beginning.

***

The Rooftop across from the Magnarian Hideout, five minutes earlier.

Seneca surveyed the damage with a smile.

"Do you believe me now?" he asked.

Arkades watched the parade of Magnarians below. "We were set up."

"Timoleon is the craftiest, most dangerous tactician I know," Seneca said. "He rose through the ranks to sate his ambition, but winnin' the war wasn't enough. He wants more. He wants all of Soran. And ever since the war, he's made subtle move after subtle move to take it. Why did you mobilize today?"

"A Senator received a tip that there were dissidents organizing around the First Ring—not the sort of people we want running about. Not the normal gang behavior either. Well, nobody questioned Senator Darat when he demanded we lead a force into the First. We just moved."

"Patroklos Darat?" Seneca asked. Another puzzle piece had settled into place.

Arkades shook his head. "Rumor has it, Timoleon saved a Senator's life, and that Senator gave him special privileges to enter the Fourth Ring to advise him."

"It's more than a rumor. I was the one who actually pulled Darat out of the Jade Swamp. Timoleon merely took credit for it after the fact."

Arkades looked horrified. "The honor of passage has not been bestowed in a hundred years. It is not something one gives lightly. If this got out..."

"It must get out!" Seneca hissed. "Look at what he planned. The downfall of the very city we fought to protect—at the hands of the very bastards we fought against!"

"Where is he now? Surely someone will move to restrain him now that his mark is so publicly tied to this atrocity."

"Crimson Lotus keeps no hidden base that I'm aware of. They organize in the shadows, and bounce between safe houses that nobody but its members know about."

Arkades turned his stormy eyes toward the scene below. There was anger in those eyes, and betrayal. Timoleon had been his commanding officer as well. It was no wonder he'd taken the news badly. But Seneca had been his direct superior and saved his life dozens of times. All he needed was a little push.

"I'm workin' to bring Timoleon to justice," Seneca whispered. "He's lost all sense of morality, even if he still has an inkling of judgment. Help me, Arkades. I need a man on the inside. Someone who can help push the Upper Rings when I need them to take a certain step."

"I am not important enough to be of much use, sir. I never even get to speak with the Senators."

"You can help in more ways than you know. Bring me information. Spread a well-timed rumor. Identify others in the Upper Rings who might support our cause to bring Timoleon to justice. We need every man who is willin' to fight this battle because Timoleon is just that clever. Help me, Arkades."

The man stared at him, guilt and pain in his eyes. Seneca could feel the turmoil in his heart, the conflict between his duty to his orders and to the man who was his brother.

Of course, his brother won out.