The hunter waited patiently on a hill overlooking the town.
This must have been the fourth such small settlement that the hunter had investigated over its months-long search, but they were optimistic about this one. So many of the towns that they had observed and searched in their quest had been nothing more than they seemed, but this one was strangely fortified. The hunter had noted that this one possessed far more intricate wards than most small villages owned, indicating a great deal more money poured into them. No doubt their quarry would describe these wards as ‘standard’, but he’d always had a skewed sense of scale.
They had very briefly, and very lightly tested them and found that this town actually had intruder tracking and detection wards. Unusually strong ones, at that. Some further testing had determined that whoever had set these wards up, they’d paid top dollar for the kind that surrounded the entire settlement like a dome. No digging up from underneath these wards. Not only that, but the hunter could tell from long experience that these were the kind that required a specially keyed pass device to not set off the intruder alarm. Tricky, but not without its own weaknesses. Unfortunately, those weaknesses required specialty equipment that the hunter simply didn’t have at hand. They could acquire that equipment, certainly, but they were still unsure if this town was worth the effort of the lengthy round trip that would take.
Despite themselves, however, they were inclined to stick around for other reasons. The hunter had been observing this particular town for close to a month, now. Not only was this the largest slave-owning plantation that the hunter had seen so far, but it also seemed to be one of the bad ones.
Several weeks ago, the hunter had been observing the town from far, far away when they had noticed a cart come trundling into town. Shortly thereafter, the occupants of the cart, a burly dwarf and his human slave, had been confronted by a force of guards led by a much fancier-looking dwarf. After a short confrontation, the burly dwarf and the slave had been captured and then marched to the back of the town and into the small clearing beyond the walls. They had watched, aghast, as the fancy dwarf had forced three other slaves in addition to the one from earlier into the woods, mostly unarmed. The forest had been too dense for the hunter to see what had happened inside, but they had seen the results. Two of those slaves never returned. Another was killed after returning to the clearing, wounded. Only the original slave had survived, and they had done it by leading a mature Ursalag variant back to the clearing to be killed by the noble.
The hunter was conflicted. On one hand, their mission was not only personal but of grave importance to the future of the Kingdom. On the other, the hunter hated slavers like this one. They wanted to kill him and rid the world of one less putrid stain upon it. Only the knowledge that they were too far away from the noble to get to him in time before he retreated behind his wards kept the hunter from making the attempt, those weeks ago. Well, that and the knight they had seen. They were unfamiliar with the fully armor-clad dwarf, but the hunter gave good odds the knight was stronger than they were after the display they’d seen from them earlier.
Still, there were other oddities about this settlement that gave the hunter pause. In the time that the hunter had spent observing the town, the cart with the burly dwarf and the slave had been the only travelers to go into or out of the town. Which was extremely odd. Small towns like this, especially ones with massive plantations were often the trading lifeblood of a region. It was like the town was both entirely self-sufficient and unwelcoming, which spoke of either extreme wealth or extreme preparation. Perhaps both. Grain and products from the fields were tended to and then collected by the slaves, after which they were taken into town and disappeared. Initially, the hunter hadn’t even thought to look for storage until an idle thought caused the hunter to make an observation.
There were no granaries in town.
Long surveillance had discovered that there were no visible storage facilities of any kind for the products the plantation produced. After noticing this, the hunter had tracked a slave pulling a cart laden down with grain from the fields with their far-eye. The guards had taken the cart once it had passed through the gates and into the town proper. From that point, the much stronger and not Status bound guards easily hauled the cart to a far corner of the settlement. Once there, they dragged the cart into a small building that almost looked like nothing more than a servant's shed. After some time, the cart had been rolled out of the shed, this time empty. The shed was far too small to store even the amount of grain that had been on the cart, much less the other loads that the hunter had seen disappear into it. The answer was obvious.
This plantation wasn’t for profit. It was to build an underground stockpile. Well, presumably. That was the hunter's running theory.
The hunter couldn’t imagine how much they had stored at this point, or how massive the underground storage must be. The plantation was growing and storing a massive variety of goods, that could only be possible through the use of alchemical fertilizers. Expensive ones, at that. Otherwise, the land would have long grown depleted from the stress of so many different goods.
The mystery of this plantation was alarming enough that the hunter had long since determined that they needed to stick around and find out what was going on. They’d decided that they were going to have to interrogate the next traveler they saw either going in or going out of the settlement. Preferably out. They’d been reluctant to do so earlier because they had so few of the resources necessary for a clandestine capture and interrogation. But the hunter had ultimately decided the use was justified in this case. Luckily for them, the hunter seemed to have finally hit the jackpot, after nearly a month of observation
This morning, they’d noticed that a small cart was being prepared in town by a team of guards, led by a very richly dressed dwarf. A different one from the bastard that had thrown those poor slaves to the monsters. He’d visibly been giving instructions to a smartly dressed guards-dwarf, before personally handing the guard a fancy leather messenger bag.
The hunter felt their mouth curl up in a smile at the thought of that bag.
Speedily, the hunter packed up their small campsite on a distant hill overlooking the town and set off.
They had a path to prepare.
……………………………………...
Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Corporal Sven yawned as he sat in the seat of his messenger’s cart.
Despite the early hour, he enjoyed his work. It had been nearly three years since he’d enlisted in the Velancian military, one since he’d managed to score a transfer to the Savoy private guard. Bribing that Savoy scout had been the best decision he’d ever made. Life in the proper military hadn’t suited him very well, with how tight of a ship those Orsini ran. Early on he’d managed to weasel his way into the messenger corps because of how well he knew his way around a horse and cart. But they’d run him too hard, and he hadn’t liked that. Everyone knew that the Savoy scouts would recommend you for a little bit of gold, and thank the System for that. He much preferred how lax things were with the Savoy.
It hadn’t been long before he’d fallen into the messenger gig with the Savoy as well. Hell, because he knew how to keep his mouth shut, he’d even fallen into this cushy job. Sven might have been stationed out in the ass end of nowhere, but the pay was double the usual rate and Addersfield didn’t have much in the way of messages that needed delivering. Typically, he only needed to deliver a progress report from Steward Orinbar to Vittolia. Once there, he was to personally hand the report to Prince Anguis, and nobody else. Sven liked that. He enjoyed how it made him feel important, to be hand-delivering important information to the Prince. He enjoyed lingering in Vittolia even more, though. There were many madonna’s of the street corner who knew ol’ Sven by sight in Vittollia.
He’d been on the road for a few hours now, enjoying the early morning. His was a small cart, with only a few things packed into it that were being delivered to the big city. Addersfield had long since fallen out of sight behind him, and he was looking forward to the unofficial ‘off-time’ he’d be spending in the big city.
All in all, Sven of Mache was pretty happy with life.
Sven was snapped out of his day-dreaming by the horse pulling his cart slowing down to stop with a whickering noise. Focusing back on the road, he was puzzled to find that a tree had seemingly fallen onto the road, blocking it off completely. “Ain’t been no storms lately.” He muttered to himself. Seconds later, a realization hit him and Sven’s face fell. This wasn’t his first time around the bend, after all. “Aw, shite.”
“Indeed.” A completely unexpected voice said from behind him. Moments later, a great force struck Sven on the back of the head. The world went dark.
Sometime later, Sven slowly began to awaken. His old military training though told him not to let on with that fact. Without opening his eyes, he slowly began to test his limbs, only to find that they were all bound in some way. He was sitting on the ground, but his hands were tied behind him. His ankles seemed to be tied together as well.
“You can stop pretending to be asleep, now.” A feminine voice called out from in front of him, with an almost tinkling quality to it. “I know you’re awake. No use pretending. The quicker this is over with, the quicker we can all go about our business.”
Resigned to being caught, Sven opened his eyes. A quick glance around confirmed his suspicions. He’d been captured, all right. And from the oldest trick in the book at that, the ol’ tree in the middle of the road. He resolved then and there never to let the guys find out about that. He’d never live it down.
Well, assuming he got out of this with all his bits still attached.
Sven found that he was lashed to a tree off to the side of the road not far from his cart. That wasn’t what held his attention, though. His attacker did because of how odd they were. He could tell they were one of the tall ones, even with them being crouched a few arms lengths away from him. Definitely weren’t a dwarf. They were covered head to toe in a form-fitting, one-piece leather suit of some kind. It was very obviously heavily enchanted, as well. The whole thing was visibly camouflaging around the lady in front of him, making her blend in with the environment. Over that suit, the lady was wearing a long cloak, similarly enchanted to the suit. Not a single inch of skin was visible, covering even the head completely. The only openings he could see were two small holes, revealing silvery-blue eyes that were glowing slightly in the shade of the tree branches above. They were idly toying with a long, blackened dagger from where they were crouched in front of him.
Sven’s spirits fell even further. “Bugger.” He muttered. “Ye ain’t a bandit, are ye. Yer a spook.”
The leather-clad figure let out a small snort at his words. “Something like that.”
Sven let his head fall back and hit the tree trunk with a thunk. “All right, what do ye want?”
“Just like that? No protests? No ranting and raving about how you’ll never betray your masters?” The spook asked dryly.
“Ain’t no job worth dying over,” Sven said matter-of-factly, shrugging his bound shoulders as much as he was able to. “It’s a good gig, but I ain’t gonna risk the knife fer a bunch of lordlings. Ask yer questions.”
“So cooperative.” The lady said letting out a small, silvery laugh. They rose from where they were crouching and began to approach Sven. “In return, I won’t even have to use the entire truth potion on you. Merely a few drops to loosen your tongue.”
“Wait a tick,” Sven said once the leather-clad figure was standing over him. He got the impression they were raising an eyebrow at him. “Can ye get me hair out from under these ropes first? It’s pinchin’ mighty fierce.”
……………………………………...
The hunter couldn’t help the thrill of elation they felt after they’d finished the messenger’s interrogation. They’d learned a great deal that only reinforced their desire to stick around and investigate this town, apparently named ‘Addersfield’.
How very Savoy of them, to name it after a snake.
The hunter had been very interested to learn that the Heir of House Savoy was in residence in the town. But they’d felt their core veritably stutter inside their chest when they’d learned why. Apparently, Heir Magnus had been given the responsibility of looking after an important political prisoner, along with his out-of-favor cousin Azarus. The hunter had learned that the burly dwarf they’d seen those weeks ago had actually been Azarus, who apparently had some kind of feud with Magnus.
The guard hadn’t known who the prisoner was, nobody in town but the Heir, the Steward, and the cousin knew precisely who it was. Only that it was an open secret that the Savoy princelings were guarding an important prisoner.
It had to be him.
The hunter didn’t know of any other important figures that had gone mysteriously missing in the past year that would fit. Certainly not anyone else that the bastard Anguis would send his only son and Heir to look after.
Once the hunter had finished their interrogation, they’d fed the guard a mild memory loss potion and set him back up in his cart once he passed back out. Afterward, they’d easily moved the fallen tree out of the road, not without some small amusement that such a stereotypical setup had actually worked. With a slap on the horse’s rump, the cart had rumbled off on its way. The guard would wake up in an hour or so, groggy enough that he would believe he’d merely fallen asleep on the road, unaware of his interrogation.
Once they’d cleaned the ambush area sufficiently to erase any tracks, the hunter began sprinting back to their watch post in anticipation. All they needed now was confirmation that their target actually resided in the town, even though they had a strong suspicion. Their commander wouldn’t accept the existence of a maybe in order to move any more forces through dwarven territory, even for a rescue of this importance. Even though the hunter knew their watch over the town would likely continue for some time while they waited for a perfect moment to strike, they couldn’t help a rising sense of anticipation.
Help was coming, Father.
I promise.