Ren didn’t see Sarim for a few weeks after they had struck their deal. Ren and his men frequented the Komen Commons, which seemed as safe as Sarim had suggested. Disguises remained necessary, but the city guards seemed scant and deeply involved with the various gangs and other groups that frequented the slums.
When at last Ren was invited back to Sarim’s side, they met in the cellar of another tavern that Sarim knew well. With an assortment of maps, they began to form a plan for the upcoming rescue attempt.
“I managed to secure an informant in the Grey Brethren ranks,” Sarim told Ren, with a broad grin. “He can’t help us get your friends out from their cells, but he does know the location of the prison where they are being kept. It is here, accessed by secret passage from the Keep.”
Ren watched his finger point to an urban vicinity near the Grey Temple. “I had worried we would be stuck attacking the gallows directly, falling into some trap, no doubt. But if we know where they will be bringing the prisoners from, we’ll know where to stage our attack.”
Sarim nodded. “What sort of attack did you have in mind?”
“An ambush,” Ren said. “We lay in wait, disguised or out of sight. When the prison transport is coming through, we strike—as quick and as brief as possible.”
“Then it is good I have more information,” Sarim said. He took a sip of his ale for a moment—thankfully he wasn’t always pouring Ren the Asha Spirits. Ren waited anxiously until Sarim swallowed and said, “They are moving the prisoners the night before their execution. They plan on stowing them in a cellar near the gallows until morning.”
“So, we attack that night then,” Ren decided. He held his finger over the map and touched the spot where the gallows had been prepared the month before. Then he drew a line toward the prison that Sarim had shown him. He glanced up at the smuggler. “Looks like three routes could get them there.”
Sarim rubbed his beard between finger and thumb as he pondered the avenues that Ren had seen. “They’re closest here, or, farther from the prison here.”
“Let’s not pick a fight too close. Attack them here,” Ren said, pointing. It was a place where the roads intersected close enough to be likely within ear-shot. “We’ll need to split up, but we’ll send the largest group to the middle route. When the convoy comes along, we can hurriedly redistribute to catch it.”
“I concur,” Sarim said, and took another sip of his ale. “You will come, too?”
“Of course,” Ren said, surprised. He couldn’t swing a sword, but he could pull a crossbow’s trigger.
“And your men?” Sarim asked.
Ren nearly blurted another answer, but then realized he could not assume the outcome. Not this time. They had been through so much—his men needed to answer that question for themselves. He told Sarim, “I’ll let you know.”
They discussed a few alternate plans, but ultimately resolved that their first idea had been the best.
Later, Ren discussed with his warriors and sailors. Asar and Omma agreed to risk their lives again, without hesitation—they wanted Woodro rescued as badly as Ren wanted both him and Ira back. It was Kal—whose recent loyalty had seemed bottomless and unquestioning—who first brought up doubts. “I want to help, I really do. But… my Captain is dead and we’re just going to keep going the same way,” he said. Many of the other sailors agreed with him—it seemed Kalikus had become central to their group. Of the twelve remaining crewmen, only five volunteered to join the daring mission to rescue their captured comrades.