The Thieves Guild
by Jake Kerr.
Episode 127:
Let the River Run Red.
Rodgers had no escort and he had no men.
He was given new clothes, a sword from Polo's armory, and a pat on the
back.
As he made his way to Trader's Bridge, he realized he didn't even have a mission,
just to cross the bridge and keep our guild members in the lower quarter safe,
as Orion put it.
Making things up as he went along wasn't necessarily Rodgers' favorite way of
operating, but it was clear he was good at it.
Also, Polo had said he dispatched a guild member to the old quarter to
tell the guild members to stay there, and if they could,
arm themselves.
Their job was to wait and then attack across the Great Bridge when the time was
right.
That left Rodgers with a few Harvest Guild members in the lower quarter, who had
remained behind.
They were most likely the sick and elderly.
The challenge was that when the civil war arrived in earnest, he would need to protect them.
But how? In fact, how could he avoid being captured?
Running around in the colors of the enemy wouldn't exactly avoid the attention of the
knights and merchants.
Rodgers stopped and stretched. He was nearly to Trader's Bridge, and he figured
that he would come up with something during the remainder of his walk.
He had just started walking again when he realized that the war he was preparing
for had already begun. Harvest Guild members were rushing down the
street, away from the lower quarter.
Rodgers picked up his pace, and moments later, a young man just out of
boyhood stumbled past him, bleeding from a wound.
Rodgers grabbed him by the arm. He looked terrified.
"What has happened?"
The boy looked up. He was shaking. "Are you hurt?" The boy
noticed Rodgers' captain stripes. "Oh, thank the gods.
Captain, it is the knights. They swarmed Trader's Bridge and slaughtered our guards,
and would have killed every guild member on the bridge if we hadn't fled."
Rodgers glanced down the road. The bridge was too far to see, but he
didn't hear the clang of swords or fighting.
"How many, and did they enter the quarter?" "I fled, sir, but there were perhaps a
dozen. They just walked across the bridge, killing any of us in their path."
Rodgers nodded. A dozen? So their goal was to simply
take the bridge, not overwhelm the upper quarter with a surprise attack
by a large force. Rodgers looked around and saw a Harvest Guild member
leading a horse with a small cart down a side road.
"You there." The guild member turned and looked at Rodgers.
"Take this young man to Harvest House and report to Esma.
It is critical you get there as fast as possible." The guild member just stared at Rodgers,
slack-jawed. Rodgers unsheathed his sword and marched toward him.
"Do it now." The man turned his horse and cart around and headed toward
Rodgers. Rodgers gently squeezed the injured man's shoulder.
"Go directly to Deputy Guildmaster Esma and relay to him everything you've seen.
Tell him that Captain Rodgers is heading to the bridge to help, but that he needs to immediately send a huge
force to reinforce the Upper Triangle."
The man and cart arrived and the young man climbed into the cart.
It was laden with vegetables. Rodgers closed his eyes.
He knew that it was probably the last time he'd see a cart with vegetables in a long
time. From now on, they would be filled with weapons, or armed, or wounded
guild members.
Rodgers rushed down the road. He had only one fear: that the
knights or merchants would destroy the bridge.
That would be a horrific blow to the one advantage the Harvest Guild had:
enormous numbers. But such numbers did little good if they couldn't
flood into the lower quarter. Even if the rangers took the wall, there was
still no entry from there to the lower quarter other than the night watch and the Night
Guild Tower.
No, if Trader's Bridge was destroyed, the war would be fought
via boat crossings and long marches to the Great Gate through the outer
fields. He had to retake the bridge, and he had to do it before the knights or
merchants could reinforce it with more troops.
As he rushed down the street, he gathered a few Harvest Guards.
They were patrolling the streets, but immediately joined up with Rodgers as he explained
what was going on. By the time he was peering from an alley toward the bridge in the
distance, he had a mighty force of six guards.
Six!
The boy had at least estimated the night force well.
There were 10 of them, and they were amassed on the upper quarter side, walking along
with swords unsheathed, glancing into the upper quarter as if daring
anyone to try and assault them.
Rodgers turned to the oldest of the guards, a woman named Ji.
"We can't surprise them, and we can't take them with just our small force.
We need more.
Uh, take your fellow guards and look for more might, guild members with axes or scythes or
even hoes.
If you can find any with bows and arrows, that could be the decisive difference." "It shall be done."
She turned to the group. "Let's go directly to the Black neighborhood.
It isn't far, and they are strong and will have what we need."Rogers
didn't want to admit to his lack of knowledge as to what the Black neighborhood was,
so he pretended to go along. "Yes, that's an excellent idea." Ji
smiled.
"The miners will have pickaxes and strong arms."
Miners, of course, Rogers thought. They would get to the mines
via the river and have an enclave of families here.
"And I-" Ji smiled even wider. "Know a
family that has an expert bowman."
The group rushed away while Rogers kept an eye on the bridge.
The knights continued to march around, oozing arrogance.
They clearly had no intent on destroying the bridge. Was that for the next group?
Or was Sax and Orion so arrogant that they didn't think destroying this
entry to the lower quarter was necessary? He hoped it was the latter.
The bowman arrived first, but he wasn't the bowman Ji had mentioned.
"Your son is in the outer field." Rogers had just been told the marksman
was away, but that this old man would do as well.
Rogers had his doubts. The man was stooped and appeared in poor health.
He had long, gray hair and dark eyes, so dark that they appeared
black.
Rogers wasn't sure he could pull the string back to loose an arrow, let alone hit the
mark. "My grandson is in the outer fields."
The man deftly slid the bow off of his shoulder.
"But at this short distance, I can fill his place."
Rogers looked at the more than 100 yards between the houses and the bridge, and found
he couldn't trust the old man's confidence.
"I am Raif."
Rogers couldn't help but smile. The ancient bowman had the same name as
Raylan's loyal friend. That had to be a good sign.
"Can you hit a guard or two?
I simply need you to distract them from our attack."
The man laughed. "Young captain, the name Raif appears unknown
to you.
She knows."
Raif motioned with his shoulder to Ji. She nodded.
Her smile was so wide that Rogers could see nearly every one of her teeth.
"But rather than have her regale you with stories of
harvest festivals past, let me show you."
Rogers couldn't do any more than nod his head.
He wasn't quite sure what was happening, other than Ji had somehow found one of the
best marksmen in the upper quarter. At least, Rogers hoped that was what he was
hearing. "Let us go to that building.
I can distract them from the second floor."
The man chuckled as if distraction was a pretty funny description for what he intended.
"We will need to wait for the guards and reinforcements."
Raif turned, walked over, and put a gnarled hand on Rogers' shoulder.
His coal black eyes looked directly at Rogers.
"No, we won't."
The man let go and wandered to a building that faced Trader's Bridge.
It was perhaps 100 yards from the guards, who all wandered along the edge of
the bridge. Rogers followed close behind.
"There are 10 of them. Can you hit a few of them from this distance before they retreat or
assault us?"
The old man just shook his head in reply, as if the question amused
him. The owner of the house immediately gave them access and escorted them up to
his master bedroom. He appeared wealthy, as he had a large window that looked out
upon the bridge and the lower quarter.
It was a wonderful view and a perfect spot for a bowman.
Raif looked sad as he turned to the man.
"I'm sorry, young guild mate. We will need to break your window."
"I understand what is happening
and what others have lost.
It is the least I can do." "You are an honor to the guild."
Raif swung his bow and shattered the window, shards of glass falling to
the lawn below.
Without saying anything else, he pulled an arrow out of his quiver with such speed
that Rogers wasn't even sure how he did it.
"The first arrow, you pull it at random so there is no
insult to the others. It is an honor,
and its flight will inspire its brothers to fly true."
Rogers not only didn't know how to reply, he had no time to reply.
Raif crouched down slightly, nocked the arrow, and let it loose before
Rogers had even formulated a thought.
By the time he had turned to see if the arrow hit its mark, the old bowman had
already nocked a second arrow and let it loose. It was extraordinary.
By the time Rogers realized that Raif was pulling arrows from his quiver and
immediately shooting them in rapid fire, three guards were lying on the ground,
unmoving.
Rogers peered out. He wasn't sure, but it looked like an arrow was sticking out of the
eye of each guard.
Two more guards fell before they had even realized they were under attack.
There was no place to hide on the bridge.
There were small decorative towers at the end, but they provided scant protection.
In fact, a guard hid behind one as his fellow guards fled across the
bridge, only to fall back into the river as an arrow struck him in the neck.
In mere seconds, Raif, the old bowman who was presumably famous
within the guild, had shattered the knight defenses, killing over half the
defenders. Rogers looked over at the old man, who was already sliding
his bow onto his shoulder.
The old man wasn't smiling. In fact, he looked grim.
He stretched his fingers. "Thank you."
Raif turned to Rogers, his grim look turning to sorrow or relief,
or some other complex emotion that Rogers couldn't read.
"Now the hard work begins."
He once again put his hand on Rogers' shoulder.
"A piece of advice, young captain." "Yes?" "Toss the bodies
in the North Fork. Let the river run red as a warning to those who threaten our
guild."
Rogers would let the river run red.
He would let the streets run red.
But first, he had to secure the bridge.
And as he looked at the road that led up and down the North Fork, he had just the idea
on how to do it.
(dramatic music)
A Podcast Alchemy
production.