Time was of the essence – especially in such critical cases – and Sigurd knew it. He rushed to the only person he knew could help get him the information he sought: Shelly, the information broker.
He ran into the solitary alleyway and approached the shoeshine stand. Refusing to play the man's game of cat and mouse, Sigurd plopped thirty golden coins in front of Shelly.
“Whoa," said the information broker. “This must be really important for you to be dishing out this much money, this fast.”
“It's extremely urgent," Sigurd replied, catching his breath. “I need to know how many slavers are in this town, or in the general vicinity, and where they're located.”
Shelly began counting the coins one-by-one while he spoke, “There's a couple of slaver groups in the area. None of them operate in town per se, but they do hunt in Grimroost and its surroundings.”
“Are they territorial?”
“Somewhat, but not really," Shelly acknowledged. “Who you're looking for, from where were they snatched?”
“The northern part of town, near the exit gate," Sigurd replied.
Shelly nodded to himself, sussing out the answer, “Then that can only be one group, because there's two others. One operated directly south of Grimroost—though they went quiet not long ago—and the other further out west.”
He grabbed a crude map of the local area he had lying around, and marked the location of the group's hideout, thereafter handing it to Sigurd, “Here, this is where you'll find them.”
“Thank you, Shelly," Sigurd replied, happily adding, “You truly are the best!”
“Good luck," he replied. As Sigurd left, he shouted, “Just make sure not to rush next time, I'm fond of the game I play!”
With a wave of his hand, Sigurd was off once more. But before he could attempt his daring rescue, he thought to take some precautions and acquire assistance. He stopped by the inn and explained the situation to Barry and his men.
“We're eternally indebted to you, boss. Just lead the way," the former bandit leader agreed to help. They were quick to assemble and in a matter of minutes a makeshift plan was set. They left Grimroost not long after.
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
The group took to their horses to storm the slaver stronghold. It was the only way to make it there rapidly. Though each men owned only one horse, Sigurd shared Barry’s horse. Along the way, Sigurd cooked up a plan; it was a gamble, not knowing what they would find, what to expect.
The plains north of Grimroost—those whose hilly paths led in or out of that town—were ones that saw a lot of carriage movement. The rolling hills and uneven terrain made it a challenge for all to traverse, at least on foot. Thinking of that, it made sense that the stronghold they were headed for was even further north than that. The plains offered no tactical advantage whatsoever, no hiding spots, and no chance at even approaching targets stealthily. Anyone would be a sitting duck.
On the map Sigurd received, it showed the rough location of the slaver stronghold as being a few clicks north of town, past the plains, and down an offbeat, downtrodden path, at the edge of a sea of trees known as the Titan Forest.
“This group we’re about to attack,” Barry started. “I’d heard of their outfit before. They outnumber us, but that’s not a problem. We’re more ruthless!” he added, boasting.
“We can adapt to that, you’re right,” Sigurd replied. “Time is critical here, so I’m thinking the best course of action is a direct attack, through the front, no pretenses. It’s a risky choice, but I’m willing to take that bet.”
Barry let out a large chuckle, “I like the way you think, Sigurd! We wouldn’t have it any other way.” He then pointed ahead of them, “And that there is our destination.”
On the horizon, the tops of the trees peeked out. Then the full picture was revealed, like a tapestry unfolding. The forest earned its moniker from its freakishly large trees. They were exceptionally tall and their trunks were of a ridiculous girth.
From the canopies, coiling all the way to the bottom, hugging the trees' trunks was a massive web of wooden structures, some carved into the giants themselves. They were all entwined and connected via several rope bridges. Together, the complex formed the basis of the slavers' compound.
‘They get points for originality, that's for sure,’ Joyce complimented.
“As soon as we arrive, things will get chaotic,” Barry added. “Do you have a plan, or is this a free-for-all?”
“A bit of both. The plan is to strike hard and fast,” Sigurd admitted, making a cutting gesture with his thumb across his neck. “Pierce their defenses and cut straight through to the heart of the compound.”
Barry nodded, grinning in delight, “You’d best brace yourself then, because the fun’s about to begin!”
The burly man then pointed up high at one of many makeshift lookout towers. As he did – almost as if they were being cued to do so – the men there rang out their horns and signaled the rest of the base that an attack was underway.
From the safety of their heightened structures, the slaver army descended using a system of pulleys; they scrambled, weapons in hand, and rushed to the entrance of their compound, ready to defend against the incoming invaders. They numbered in the hundreds, their forces covering the entirety of their slice of the forest – or as far as Sigurd could see.
Spreading their humble force evenly, Barry’s men flanked off in either direction, with the intent of splitting off the large group that received them. They spread out in a formation akin to a flower blooming, until only one horse was left: the one he and Sigurd rode on.
Both men jumped off the horse; the impact sent the beast fleeing. Then surrounded by the slaver army, Barry cracked his knuckles and clenched his muscles. Just as when they fought the first time, his weapons were his fists. Similarly, Sigurd’s sword was still a pathetic stub of a weapon, and thus he refused to draw it.
The opposing force – intimidated by the burly man – kept their distance, threatening both of them with their swords.
‘This may turn out bad, but, as long as I can get this stupid sword fixed, it’ll all be worth it!’, he reasoned, despite how roundabout it sounded.
“Boss,” Barry yelled, as he stared down several of the slavers, ecstasy written on his battle-hungry face. “You do what you have to, stick to the plan. I’ll hold these guys off.”
“Are you sure you’ll be able to handle them?”
“Please,” he further grinned. “This riffraff is nothing compared to Supreme Overlord Master’s training.”
‘Ah, so we’re sticking with that nickname,’ the title’s sudden mention caught Joyce off-guard, breaking all tension. ‘And what the hell kind of training has Nia been submitting these guys to?! I should check in on them more often...’
Snapping out of his distraction, Sigurd nodded. “Right, I’ll take the head then!” he said, dashing into a jump, leaping over a group of enemies on his way.