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The Thieves Guild

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by Jake Care.

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Season 3,

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episode 40.

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The Battle of Six Armies.

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Crown Vilhelm was no stranger to violence.

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When he was younger, he had led many raids on the
outer fields of Ness.

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It was his daring and skillful attacks during the
great famine that led to him being

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named Crown.

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That was many years earlier, but there are some
lessons you don't forget, and

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surviving while facing a force with swords and
armor is at the top of the

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list.

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To the gate. Spread the word, we retreat to the
gate.

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Vilhelm stood high on his horse, a vision of
courage and

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splendor, despite his cowardly message.

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He may have been a coward, but he was also wise.

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The force in front of him was enormous, and the
force to his left appeared

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small, but very well-armed.

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Finally, the force in black behind him was
significant and powerfully armed, but

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there were two things that worked in his favor
with a retreat to the gate.

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They were smaller than his force, and behind them
was Dragon Road's long

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slithering path to Gautland.

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Facing death, wouldn't they let him retreat?

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He felt it was at least a possibility.

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Another benefit of a force with a history of
stealth and extended operations

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was that they knew how to communicate well.

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His entire army turned within minutes of his shout
from atop his horse.

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And with a nod, Vilhelm turned his mighty steed
and rushed toward the Black

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Rats, which he hoped would scurry back into their
sewer.

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Rogers had barely emerged from a hedge, his new
sword in his hand, when

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the army in front of him disengaged and rushed
back down the Great Road.

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The rest of the merchant guards charged forward,
blood in their eyes.

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Rogers, however, assessed things. From the left,
far in the

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distance, howls and screams and green cloaks and
shirts

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were rushing forward. The force from Gautland held
them off as they retreated.

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Still, they couldn't help but take losses.

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The merchant force was being pushed back
furiously.

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Rogers couldn't quite believe the size of the
Outlanders' army.

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It stretched up and down the Great Road and seemed
well-organized.

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He wondered why they didn't attack earlier.

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With their force, they could have overrun the city
if they had even a token

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understanding of the city's breadth and thin
defenses.

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As it was, they had picked the absolute worst time
to attack

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with a massive force of citizens emerging from the
Old Quarter,

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and a merchant force that clearly was trying to
send a message.

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The merchants were taking real losses, and Rogers
rushed forward and started

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yelling for the force to pull back and wait and
see what the Outlanders would do.

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He felt pretty strongly that they were going to
retreat back to their city across the

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plains. Losses at this point would be senseless.

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Spread the word,

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we should pull back.

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Let the Outlanders flee.

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Most everyone ignored him, but a few of the
younger guards seemed to embrace the

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"Don't put yourself in death's way" message.

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It was odd. The Outlanders were mere yards from
him, but they were so focused

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on retreating that they ignored everyone but those
immediately engaged with them in

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battle. So he felt like a ghost watching the
battle proceed without

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him.

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He quickly made his way down the line, and one of
his shouts caught Dervish's

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attention. He disengaged with an Outlander who
seemed interested

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solely in protecting the retreat and let him go
without chasing him down.

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Rogers, what in the name of the gods are you
doing?

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They are retreating. Our losses are pointless.

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We should pull back and simply make sure they
leave the city.

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Dervish looked terrible, with blood from gushing
wounds

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he caused splashed across his armor and dripping
down his face.

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His sword was more red than gray.

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There was a moment that Rogers wondered if Dervish
would swing his sword at him,

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but as quickly as he thought it, Dervish scowled
and pointed his sword at him.

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Close your mouth and leave. I will deal with you
later.

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Without another word, Dervish turned and launched
back into battle.

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Rogers was no fool, and he knew there was naught
else he could do.

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As the battle continued, he melted into the
charred remains of the

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flats.

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Sax launched himself forward with a bellow that
shook the walls.

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There was a time he could take a half dozen
well-armed men by himself, and

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although that was years earlier, much of his might
remained.

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His men followed closely behind.

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An arrow embedded itself in his chest armor,
penetrating enough just to

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make him angrier. Before another could fly, he had
knocked two rangers to the

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ground with his powerful bulk, and removed an arm
from another with a mighty swing of his

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broadsword. "This is what it is all about," Sax

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felt, joy filling him as he swung his sword in an
arc, forcing

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two rangers to fall back, while a third was nearly
cut in twain at the

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waist. His men were similarly rabid.

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Sax had personally picked them, mighty fighters
who had waited years for their swords

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to dance like this.

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Another ranger fell and Sax laughed."You are
nothing but squirrels.

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You are more timid than rabbits.

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You can't hide in the plains now, you pathetic
excuses for warriors.

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I should have kicked you out of the guild years
ago.

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You don't deserve the title of knight,"

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Sax spoke as he dodged, leapt to the side, and
then stabbed

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forward. A cry of pain was the fitting exclamation
on Sax's

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battleground speech.

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The Rangers fell back, but Sax was relentless and
marched forward.

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The tight space gave him every advantage.

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Pure might was all that mattered in a corridor of
deadly steel.

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How many had Sax killed? A half dozen?

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A dozen?

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He took two steps forward. It would be more, oh,
so much

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more.

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But as he stepped forward, three rangers found a
small gap and sprung

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around the guard to his right and turned Sax's
attention from the front.

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He was suddenly not fighting two or three.

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It was six, with more pushing forward.

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He pounded one of the rangers with the hilt of his
sword while kicking one in front of

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him.

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It was at this point that the mighty and
formidable warrior glanced ahead.

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He had not done so being lost in joy of battle,
and the sight made him

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grit his teeth. As far as he could see down the
wall, there were

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rangers,

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dozens of them, perhaps hundreds. He could cut
down a score and they would be

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replaced by three times that.

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His men dispatched the rangers that had slipped
through, but not before Sax had taken a

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glancing blow to his shoulder. It meant little,
but the fact that a blow got

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through made Sax think while he fought.

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He had a decision to make: fight to the death or
retreat and

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rally a more organized force.

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Philos stayed well behind the thief forces, acting
as a shield for Raylan,

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who was ill-prepared for such a battle.

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Philos refused to let Raylan head to the tower,
being worried that the Outlanders would

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have another force approaching from the south.

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For a similar reason, he didn't want Raylan left
lightly guarded in the sewer.

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He had patiently explained this to Raylan, and
despite Rebecca's and his own

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protests, he was little more than an observer.

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It was a sudden change in the battle that made
Philos rush to Raylan and reverse his

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previous plan. "Guildmaster, you must head to the
sewer.

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Cross the river and head to the tower.

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The Outlanders are retreating, and they will soon
overwhelm us.

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We will hold them to give you more time and then
we will follow, but you must leave now."

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"I refuse to leave my guild members. I will do my
part.

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Do you have a dagger or sword?"

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Philos didn't even reply, but turned to Rebecca.

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"Can you force him to go?"

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She laughed.

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"I can't even force him to flee an unguarded
prison."

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She patted Philos on the shoulder.

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"But I can convince him.

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My dear Raylan, you are the guild master, and you
promised me a visit to

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an inn. Please don't foolishly die on me

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and your guild members."

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Raylan knew it was wise, so he didn't hesitate.

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He grasped Philos' forearm. "Your mission is to
save as many of your

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guild mates as possible, nothing more." "Aye,
Guildmaster." He

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waited until Raylan turned and jogged toward the
distant entrance to the

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sewer. Rebecca glided lightly behind him, her
swaying black dress

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making it look like she was floating across the
ground.

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Simpson was too old to fight, but he fought
anyway.

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After all, hadn't he succeeded in his mission to
travel to Harvest House and

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returned to the Thief Tower without assistance?

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Still, he was old and slow, and one of the final
people in the wave of Green

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to make it across the great bridge.

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There were shouts ahead, and Simpson had to strain
to hear what was being said.

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A young man ran past him.

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"They are retreating. They are retreating!"

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Simpson continued forward. The battle may have
been over, but he still

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wanted to be a part of it.

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The bodies began not far from the bridge, and he
realized he didn't want to be part of it at

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all. For every one dead Outlander were three or
even four bodies

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in Green. Women, men, not much younger than
himself, youngsters

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barely out of apprenticeship. They all lay in
pools of blood,

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body parts severed and laying nearby.

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The streets ran red with blood. He continued
onward for no reason

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other than to honor the courage of his guild
mates.

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The dead lay everywhere. There were many dead
Outlanders, and at a

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certain point he realized that even a mighty force
can't defeat

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masses of people with something to live for.

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The dead Outlanders never outnumbered the dead in
Green, but the number of dead

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Outlanders became so great he couldn't count.

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"So many dead."

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Simpson didn't recognize any of the dead, and he
considered that a small

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blessing. He passed a young woman, nearly a girl,
lying on the ground and

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holding a stick.

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Not even a club, a stick.

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She looked unwounded, and Simpson knelt down to
lift her and see if he could help

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her.

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Perhaps she was simply unconscious.

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He lifted her head and it rolled back in a sudden
lurch, her neck clearly

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broken.

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The cruelty stunned Simpson. She was no threat.

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She was probably just standing there, too stunned
to do anything, and

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someone walked up and broke her neck.

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Simpson slid to the ground and started sobbing....

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a pair of simple leather shoes approached from the
edge of his vision.

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"Come, my friend. Let us go.

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There is a reason that battles aren't for the old.

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It's not that it's too hard for us to fight.

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It's that it's too hard for us to survive."

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It was perhaps fitting that the mighty Sax did not
die in an epic battle against a

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fellow warrior. It was also perhaps fortune
smiling upon him that Sax did

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not die drowned in drink.

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In the end, however, his death was how he had
wanted it.

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There were bodies next to him that he had slain
through force and skill, and it was

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not a single sword thrust, but many from many
hands that ended his life.

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But perhaps the most glorious of all was that he
died not due to

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someone besting him on the battlefield, but due to
his arm tiring from

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unleashing death upon others. As the rangers
rushed forward, routing the

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remainder of Sax's personal guard, a few stayed
behind, looking

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upon the former Guildmaster knight.

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He had an odd smile on his face, with blood
dripping upon it from a gash above

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his eye.

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Look at that smile. I wonder what he was thinking.

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He was probably thinking about a large flagon of
ale.

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There were laughs, and then Sax's body was covered
with a brown cloak, the

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new color of the Knight Guild, as declared by its
new Guildmaster,

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Quinto.

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Vilhelm had to pause his retreat to get word to
the forces that had

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penetrated deep into Ness. He had hoped that a
retreat would pause

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the attacks, it had from those in green in the
rear, but the force in blue

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seemed intent on sacrificing itself to make his
retreat as difficult as

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possible.

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It was such needless death. Vilhelm leaned down to
the messenger.

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"Tell Kanton to sweep away the knights in blue.

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I

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don't know what their intent, but they are killing
our men as we retreat."

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The messenger rushed off and Vilhelm turned his
attention to the thieves,

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but as he did, they were gone. He had planned on a
deadly assault through

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the thick line of thieves to clear his path
through the gate, but when he turned back

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to them, they had disappeared like roaches under
firelight.

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"The path is clear. Retreat as quickly as we can.

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I doubt we will be attacked." Vilhelm thought of
Raylan, imprisoned in

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Gautland. Unlike the forces in blue, his had
discipline and

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wisdom. "They will live to fight another day,"
Vilhelm

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thought, "and that day will come."

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With a kick, Vilhelm's horse vaulted forward,
eventually passing under the great

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gate and rushing down the long and winding Dragon
Road and back to

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Gautland, where he hoped his wounds upon Ness
would achieve something.

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Rodgers worried over the merchant forces.

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They were well-armed but badly outnumbered.

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His earlier warnings were common sense, he
thought.

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The moment the retreating army focused even slight
attention on the guards in

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blue, they would be overwhelmed.

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So while Dervish led his forces into feint and
attack against an army

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uninterested in battle, Rodgers kept an eye for
any hint of a

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counterattack.

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It came so suddenly that Rodgers had little time
to do anything but rush forward,

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yell, and point at the mounted knights rushing
their way.

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Dervish was far up the line toward the gate, so
Rodgers focused on

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getting word out among the guards, hoping yelled
warnings would be faster than

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feet.

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"Look, cavalry approaches. Maneuver into the
flats.

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We can regroup."

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Rodgers made sure not to use the word "retreat,"
but he didn't need to

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worry too much about how his message was going to
be received, as when the

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guards looked up the Great Road, the cavalry were
hard to miss.

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To Rodgers' relief, the guards fled into the
houses and alleys of the flats.

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Rodgers ran as fast as he could, yelling out to
escape the attacking cavalry,

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and his warning took hold quickly. At the last
possible moment,

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Rodgers himself fled toward the houses, a swing of
a sword from

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horseback barely missing him as he dove into a
charred house.

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As he expected, the knights didn't follow.

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They were simply cutting down anyone who dared to
attack the retreating Outlander

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force. He hoped that his warning had made its way
to Dervish and that the

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proud old man would choose wisdom over
foolishness, but such

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concerns were out of his control now.

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He exited the house through the back door and
began gathering the scattered

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merchant guards to get them into an organized
force again.

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But what he'd do after that, he had no idea.

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Raylan slipped upon a stone step and fell into a
pool of piss and shit.

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He would have been mad, but it reminded him of his
escape with Maylor.

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As he pulled himself up, his wet hand slipped on a
different stone and he fell back

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into the putrid water again.

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You do realize that's not a bath, Guildmaster?

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Can you just give me a hand?

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I most assuredly cannot.

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Raylan scowled as he looked at Rebecca.

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She somehow still looked elegant, despite what he
was certain was a dress

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covered at the bottom with filth.

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I'd be angry, but I don't blame you.

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Raylan pulled himself out of the water and wiped
his hands on his tunic.

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Did you know that my first official duty as
Guildmaster was to be pummeled with

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garbage and piss?

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I did not. You must tell me the story.

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And as he and Rebecca wandered through the sewer
and made their way out and then over the

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southern foothills, Raylan told Rebecca about his
first few weeks in the

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Guild, the Founder's Day Parade, the banquet, his
escape from

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the basement of the merchant tower, and his first
trip to Gautland.

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Rebecca was mostly quiet as he told the story,
only interrupting at

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moments to applaud his courage or his wise
decisions.

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By the time they arrived at the south gate, Raylan
realized that he had

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unintentionally impressed Rebecca. He didn't know
quite what to make of that.

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He always seemed to stumble around girls. Maylor
mocked him.

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All his previous girlfriends thought of him as
just a mischievous boy.

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But Rebecca seemed impressed with his achievements
as Guildmaster.

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As they waited for Felos to organize the entrance
through the gate, Raylan

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00:19:02,131 --> 00:19:06,571
decided to make idle chat to go over some
practical things.

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The tower is massive, and there are plenty of
unused rooms.

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I'm sure we'll be able to find you a place to
refresh yourself and then sleep.

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My dear Raylan,

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you are such a gentleman,

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but I have my own quarters on the second floor.

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(dramatic music)

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A Podcast Alchemy production.