The Thieves Guild
by Jake Kerr.
Season 3.
Episode 39.
Six Armies.
They weren't armies, not really, but they weren't mobs of people either.
They were all organized with a singular mission.
"Armies it is," Rafe thought as he looked out from the
Thieves Tower balcony.
The fact that everything was so clear from his spot miles away was almost
magical. "Who am I kidding? Of course, it's magic."
The reality was so obvious, Rafe spoke the words out loud even though he was alone.
He'd learned much over the past few weeks, and even the things that weren't written down
were as clear as ink on paper.
Magic infused the Thieves Guild. Magic was the
Thieves Guild.
The tower was the most obvious example.
It was massive, and while far from the city across the river, it still should have been
as clear as the mountain, but it was so well-camouflaged as to be
invisible,
camouflaged by magic.
And the balcony upon which Rafe stood was another piece of magic.
By all indications, it was simply well-crafted stone, but if you wanted to
see something within the city, really see something, it somehow was
just within sight.
Not like one of the extremely rare spy glasses where you could focus on the
distance. More like a vision from the distance that was just close enough that
you knew what was happening.
Such was the case as Rafe surveyed the war spread across the city.
There was the Thief army, driving into the rear forces of the Outlanders
after having emerged from the Gate Sewer.
Within the city were the Harvest Guild members, overwhelming the
Outlanders through pure desperation.
And in a surprise to Rafe, the Merchant Guild had sent forces, which
were squeezing the Outlanders with the Harvest Guild members like a vice.
And then there was the wall, forces of White rushing from left to right,
and forces in brown marching from right to left.
The only guild missing was the Craft Guild.
Rafe couldn't find them anywhere within the city, even with the assistance of
magic.
There was a flash of red near the Great Gate which drew Rafe's attention.
Red? Who would be wearing the red of the Magic Guild?
Rafe peered ahead, but it was gone. Was there an Outlander in
red? Now that would have been interesting.
What secrets were there in Gautland, in Calysto, and the other
cities no one had visited in centuries?
Turning from the balcony, Rafe walked back toward his quarters.
As much as the unfolding violence would change the city of Ness, it wouldn't
even begin to affect things as much as the mysteries that Rafe had discovered
hidden in the many books.
One mystery most of all, one that even Rafe was struggling to believe:
Quiet old Pietro was much more than anyone had ever thought.
They wore black and swarmed out of the sewers like rats, covered in filth,
with the only color to be seen being the white of their teeth behind vicious snarls.
To his delight, Wilhelm's forces had easily marched into Ness, but now,
as he and his rearguard passed the gate, a large force attacked,
crawling from dark holes with grates removed.
Wilhelm was surrounded by his personal guard, and his heavily armed and well-trained
men repulsed the attack despite taking heavy losses.
"Into the city. The thieves will scurry into dark corners to attack again.
We must get to the open terrain beyond the gate." His men escorted Wilhelm
deeper into the city, down the paved road that was all too familiar to
him, as it was the same road that entered his own city.
At this point, Wilhelm realized he was in dire straits.
Knights in black upon the wall rained arrows upon them, and the road full of bodies made
it clear that his invading force had faced similar death from above.
His only hope was to move out of range of the archers. "Don't stop.
Follow the road along the river. We will sweep into the city and establish defensive positions.
Captain?" Wilhelm addressed the captain of his personal guard.
"The thieves in black will return. Guard our rear."
Wilhelm had a vague plan of taking the entire city and repulsing the rangers
and knights that were amassed in the outer fields.
He immediately saw a major mistake in his plan: the city behind the wall
was huge,
much larger than he anticipated. He would need to establish a position within the
city and do it quickly. His force moved forward, and as they
left the gate and wall behind, they started to catch up to the main invading
force. Wilhelm stood up in the stirrups of his great horse, peering
ahead. A messenger was running toward him.
He sat down and impatiently waited.
"Crown, a force in green has stopped our advance."
"Are they well-armed? The knights here wear white and black."
"They are not.
They bear clubs and pitchforks, but they are countless.
They came across a giant bridge like insects and attacked from everywhere.
More were coming as I left to inform you."
Wilhelm shook his head. He should have considered that desperate citizens would
provide a defense, even if the Rangers and Knights were off at the outer fields.
His two needs came together. They had to establish a defense
and they had to secure their forces in a way to make attack difficult.
"We shall establish a defense there."
Wilhelm pointed to his left and the part of the city that was clearly full of
homes and cottages. He could see the ravages of a great fire and even
smell the smoke that was ever present.
But there were many blocks of houses that were untouched by flames.
Perhaps he could take advantage of an empty part of the city recovering from
disaster. "Yes," Wilhelm thought. A well-armed force
could establish a base within the residential area, and then he could send out
scouts to look for ways to halt any eventual attack by the Rangers or Knights.
As word spread among the Outlander forces that they were to turn from the road and
into the lower quarter, loud shouts came from somewhere among the houses.
And then the oddest thing happened. A large and well-armed force
in blue rushed from behind and among the houses and slammed into
Wilhelm's forces,
only to be joined by shouts from behind, where the force in black renewed its
attack.
Green in the front, blue to the left, black to the rear and a raging
river to the right, Wilhelm knew he only had one chance.
"To the Knight Tower. We must find our way in to take the wall."
The wall would be easy to defend, and if nothing else, Wilhelm could rain
death upon the city that cursed his people's existence for as long as anyone
could remember.
Rogers knew Dervish. Everyone knew Dervish.
He was a cranky old man, but one of the few merchant guild captains that
people liked. He enforced order and oversaw the merchant tower with an iron
fist, but he was fair.
So when Dervish approached Rogers from behind along the North Road
with a truly impressive force of merchant knights, he knew what he had to
do.
Rogers checked his outfit. He looked awful, but there was no real
visible green, which was more important than him looking impressive.
In fact, he looked in sad shape, perhaps like he had just been in
battle.
Luckily, Dervish didn't know Rogers.
Dervish's force was on foot and he paused as Rogers waved his arms.
"What is your name, young man?"
He looked Rogers up and down. "You have seen battle." "Yes,
sir. My name is Rogers. I was there when the Outlanders breached the gate.
I held ground, but it was hopeless. I fled on foot to find help." "Help is here.
What guild do you call home?" "I am a merchant like you, sir.
A modest shop in the flats." "Well met, guild mate." Dervish called over his
shoulder. "Get this man a cloak and some arms.
You will join us." It was a command, not a request.
"I will happily defend Ness, sir." Rogers looked around.
"But where are the Knights,
sir?" "They have betrayed Ness." "The craft guild guards?" "The same.
Guild Master Karch informed Guild Master Orion of the invasion and Orion ordered his
men to ignore it.
They are ferrying men into the upper quarter."
Dervish spat. "They appear more interested in defeating the Harvest Guild than defending the
city."
There was loud grumbling from behind Dervish after he spoke.
Guild Master Karch.
Now that's interesting, Rogers thought. "But enough dawdling.
Do you have any guidance on where the force may be?" "I recommend we leave the North Road
and cut to the Thruway and head toward River Road through the flats.
We will be well hidden and the force won't expect to be attacked from a difficult-to-navigate residential
area."
Dervish nodded. "That's a wise plan, Rogers. Stay with me.
We will do as you say and surprise these vile Outlanders from the cover of the flats."
Dervish then added, almost to himself.
"And then we will do the same to the Knight and craft guilds."
Raylin had to give Rebecca credit. Despite her regal nature and arrogant
bearing, she waded through the shit and piss of the sewers without complaint,
and indeed seemed unbothered by the smell.
When Felos held up his hand at the large sewer grate near the Great Gate, Rebecca
unsheathed a long knife that must have been hidden under her black dress.
"They are still passing through the gate.
We will await the last of the forces and then attack from behind."
Everyone nodded. Rebecca turned to Raylin.
"Have you ever killed anyone?" "No."
Rebecca seemed nervous, and Raylin couldn't tell if it was from excitement
or uncertainty or fear. "You have?" "Only
people I have known."
Raylin was too stunned to reply. People was plural.
She had killed multiple people, and only those she had known.
What did that mean? Before he could even consider a follow-up question,
Felos shouted, "Now."
The grates came down and their forces rushed forward.
"It is but difficult only the first time, dear Raylin.
But then you realize your actions are for the greater good and it becomes
easier."
She smiled at him, and it wasn't the sarcastic smile or arrogant
smile he was used to. It was one of warmth and understanding.
"Be strong. This will be over soon."
And with that, Rebecca rushed out, Raylin following close
behind.Carol Miller, old but not frail,
rushed over the great bridge wielding a shovel.
She was not as fast as the young ones nor as strong as the field workers.
She simply picked apples. She didn't even carry the baskets to the
wagon. She was a modest apple picker, but modest or not,
she was from an old and respected family and was proud of her guild and loved
her city. So she grabbed a shovel and joined the force that was racing
across the great bridge to attack the invading Outlanders.
She thrilled at the enormous wave of green, the thousands of people that
the other guilds had forced into the Old Quarter.
Yes, even this elder Harvest Guild member from the Inner Fields
now called it the Old Quarter.
Those people forcibly escorted in large groups over days were now
rushing back across the bridge in an enormous force, all at the same
time. The river of green filled Carol with pride.
She was older and still should have had many years left in her, but she knew the
cost. She was most likely going to die.
It was a decision she was at peace with.
Dying on a ladder against an apple tree or in a bed with an illness didn't seem quite
so worthwhile as being part of this river of green.
A river of green. What a lovely thought it is to be one with a
flowing river. And as she approached the horrific sounds of battle ahead,
she grimly smiled and gave out a snarling shout of her own.
This wasn't just a river of green. It was a raging river,
dangerous to anyone who dared to attempt to tame it.
When Sax first heard of the Ranger Guild betrayal, he grinned.
He never liked that whiny little Quinto, who seemed to obsess over pointless
details when all he had to do was kill whoever approached the city.
Simple, bloody and gets the point across.
Sax was now personally going to do the same thing to Quinto and his weakling
forces.
Yes, they had taken the night watch, but they had the element of surprise and the
night watch was historically lightly defended.
Such a victory would be Quinto's last.
When Karch personally delivered the message that the Harvest Guild and Rangers were
amassing in the Upper Quarter but the trader's bridge was destroyed,
Sax's plan was simple: use every boat on the river to get his forces
into the Upper Quarter.
It would be a mighty mission and Sax was certain he would be celebrated far into the
future for his decisiveness.
And Karch even noted that there was an Outlander incursion, but the merchant
guards would helpfully handle it.
Of course there was. The cowardly rangers had abandoned their posts.
The Outlanders would be foolish not to raid at this time.
Sax was grateful for Karch and the merchants for leaving him alone to handle
the rangers.
As Sax made his way up the tower steps, he could hear the screams of battle from the
gate and grinned again. Outlanders dying always made him
smile.
He patted the hilt of his enormous sword.
He would personally retake the wall.
The corridors were wide but still restricting to a force.
His idea was simple but would be brutally effective.
He and John and his personal guard would just march forward, killing every
ranger in their path.
Sax climbed the tower steps to the top of the wall with John beside him.
He was perhaps a little heavy in the middle, but Sax was still strong as
an ox. So what that he had to catch his breath at the top?
In the heat of battle, his sword would shatter shields.
"I had forgotten how long this damn wall is, John."
It had been hours of marching and walking.
"Aye." John looked tense as they peered ahead.
Nothing but a barren corridor ahead of them.
The march was so long that for the first time Sax noticed two odd
things about the battlements on the wall.
The first odd thing was that they were on both sides of the wall, providing
protection to attacks not just from outside, but inside as well.
But the oddest thing about them was that they were capped with stone projections that
acted almost like a shield above the wall.
It was as if the wall needed protection from attacks from above.
Before Sax could give the matter more thought, however, one of his men shouted.
A group in brown in the far distance was approaching. "What foolish men, eh, John?
Thinking they can defeat our broadswords and iron with their puny daggers and wooden shields?"
But John couldn't answer. He'd fallen to the ground, the feathered end
of an arrow protruding from one of his eyes.
(dramatic music)
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