Before I narrate this week's episode of the Thieves Guild, I have an exciting announcement.
Starting with our next episode, we will be moving to a Monday through Friday
daily release schedule.
You will now be able to listen to the stories every day on your way to work,
binge them on the weekend, or find the time to listen whenever you like.
Each episode will be 5 to 10 minutes long, which will present you with almost
a full hour of Thieves' Guild stories every week.
We're excited about this new direction, and I'm personally excited about being
with you every day to share new adventures of the Thieves' Guild.
The Thieves' Guild Written by Jake Kerr.
Music.
Season 4,
Episode 14,
A Trader's Council A Trader's Council,
He was rolled in on a makeshift chair, its rough wooden wheels protesting against
the fine grass of Polo's private quarters.
A thick blanket covered his legs. Polo had been told to be careful,
as the man could still move his arms.
But as he walked forward and looked at the broken warrior, he realized this
was someone not even capable of relieving himself without aid,
let alone attacking anyone.
He almost felt sorry for the broken man. Almost.
Traitor Allard, I must say you are a difficult man to kill.
Polo circled the rolling chair while Allard stared at him, following his every step.
Was that hatred in his eyes?
Polo hoped so. It would make this easier.
Sax told me that when you saved those outlander raiders, you killed nearly a squad of his men.
I didn't believe him, but it appears I should have. That wound would have killed
any normal man. Yet here you are.
Allard continued to stare at Polo without speaking.
No, that's not hatred, Polo thought. But what was it?
The intensity, which would have been amusing had it been rage,
was unsettling as the eyes followed Polo. You have nothing to say?
I have much to say, but you aren't asking the right questions.
In fact, you aren't asking any questions.
Polo stood facing the formerly mighty deputy guildmaster.
Fine, traitor. I'll play your game. Why did you save those outlanders?
There was nothing to gain.
You simply ruined your reputation.
I must admit, I have wandered over this for years. So here you are asking me to ask you questions.
So let's start with that. Why
did you kill your fellow citizens to save a bunch of outlander raiders?
I did not save outlander raiders. Certainly you did.
The blood of your guildmates was on your sword. I saved a family.
Allard's intense stare seemed to soften. Nothing more, nothing less.
What do you mean? They were a family, not raiders. Holo laughed, a sharp barking sound.
Do you think I care? Do you think the army they sent through our front gates
didn't include family members looking to kill our family members who did kill our family members?
Holo noticed a change in Allard's face.
Ah, you don't know, do you? Yes, the Outlanders invaded Ness.
And do you know who fought them off?
Allard didn't move or say anything. My guild members, we saved Ness,
and my guild will continue to save Ness from that craven Orion and his nephew.
Volo stopped his pacing and stood in front of Allard, leaning forward.
But that is not your concern. I brought you here solely to see if you are in
the condition to do what I need you to do.
I will not do anything for you. That's the good news, traitor.
All I need you to do is live. You are my bargaining chip. My life isn't worth
whatever you're bargaining.
We both know that is true, but still you have value in that I'm told that foolish
child Raylan is fond of you. He may see things differently.
You see, traitor, I don't trust Raylan.
He has already poisoned the minds of my guild members.
He's a liar, and the sooner I rid myself of him, the sooner I rid myself of the thieves.
To Polo's exasperation, Allard's intense face softened and then,
remarkably, changed to a kind smile.
Why was he smiling? What do you find so amusing, traitor?
You forget that Raylan himself saved your guild on Founder's Day.
That was not me. It was him. You, Larson, Orion.
You all play your political games, but the real game is what you called poison.
The truth, Guildmaster. Those are the chips Raylan wields. Not me. Not an army. The truth.
And you fail to see that in the game Raylan is playing. Because Raylan,
the one you call a child, is not playing a game.
You are thieves and liars. you and Pietro have lied about your guild for decades.
Your entire existence is built on lies.
At that, Allard smiled even wider, which made Polo even angrier.
You have no idea, Guildmaster. You have no idea.
Polo slammed his hand on the arm of Allard's chair, which rolled backward a bit through the grass.
Polo took a breath. It would not do well to lose his temper.
So, deputy, what is it that I have no idea about?
Allard's smile faded, replaced by a weary resignation.
Our goal has always been simple. We take so we can give.
Ness is a city of guilds, yes, but each guild has those it overlooks.
The sewer cleaners of the craft guild, the stable hands of the knights,
your own knight guild, who live in squalor in the old quarter,
because they cannot afford a hovel in the flats.
We provide them with food, shelter, and dignity.
That is our mission. That was Pietro's mission.
Polo wanted to scoff, to call it a lie, a convenient justification for a criminal enterprise.
But Allard's tone was flat, devoid of the passion of a liar,
and perhaps more alarming, it was grounded in facts.
He knew it to be true, from what his guild member Simpson reported to him after
traveling from the wretched quarter.
Still, Allard was ignoring some inconvenient things.
And the army you lead? I was told of your black-clad knights.
I know of your organized forces in the wretched quarter.
Pietro may have helped others, but he was also raising an army.
Who else is there to defend the city? Sax's forces don't cross the river.
That entire part of the city has been left undefended by my former guildmates.
It was a maddeningly simple answer, plausible even, and that angered Polo more than any lie could.
An army of thieves is a threat, Alard. A hidden city is a threat.
How am I to trust a word you say?
You can't, but you can look at our actions. When your guild members were driven
from their homes, who took them in? Who fed them?
Who gave them shelter without asking for a single crown in return?
The questions hung in the air, unanswered because they were unanswerable.
He had been locked away in Harvest House, secure, while his people suffered.
The thieves had done the job Polo should have.
It was a bitter truth. And there was that word again, truth.
That does not forgive your alliance with the Outlanders, Polo finally spat out,
changing the subject, needing to be on firmer ground.
You are a traitor to Ness.
Allard was quiet for a long time. When he finally spoke, his voice was low,
heavy with the weight of years.
He told Polo the story he had told Vesper, not of saving raiders,
but of a starving family, of desperate and helpless people of a different sort.
He spoke of knights who saw only enemies, not people, of a choice he made that
cost him everything but his honor.
He spoke of Pietro's intervention, a kindness he still didn't understand.
Polo listened, his anger slowly draining away, replaced by a grudging respect.
The story rang with a truth that resonated with his own dislike of Saxe's brutal, thoughtless methods.
He still wanted to believe Allard was a liar, but the words felt solid, real.
He countered by explaining that the outlanders, as helpless as this family may
have been, had invaded Ness.
That was inexcusable. Allard nodded.
Indeed, Wilhelm must have heard of what was happening within the city and felt
he could conquer a city in chaos.
It was foolish, and I'm sure he will pay in ways that even he can't comprehend.
Polo didn't like how Allard seemed to know much about the outlanders.
It struck him as suspicious, but before he could press the point, Allard cut in.
Guildmaster, what do you consider your greatest achievement?
The question took Polo by surprise. He thought of his life's work.
He thought of the many years of harvests that fed the city.
He considered the full silos that fed the city during poor harvests.
He thought over the new veins of ore his guild members had discovered in the
mines, and were mining even then.
I have overseen the greatest prosperity the Harvest Guild has ever known.
Our fields are bountiful our silos are full.
I have ensured that no one in Ness goes hungry. No one?
Allard's words were not an accusation, but it landed like a physical blow.
He didn't need to say more.
Polo's mind immediately went to the night guild, to the sewer cleaners,
to the families that Allard had spoken of.
The families he, Polo, had never once considered.
He had created bounty, but he had not shared that bounty.
The realization settled on him like a shroud. he, the great provider,
the man whose entire life was
dedicated to nurturing life, had let his own people wither in the shadows.
Polo looked at the man before him. His face wasn't accusatory.
More than anything, he looked like he was interested in what Polo had to say.
That's it, Polo thought.
That's the thing he couldn't put his finger on.
Allard was a listener.
It was unexpected in someone with such a violent reputation. He wasn't a traitor.
He wasn't a bargaining chip, but a man of profound, and perhaps painful, wisdom.
Wisdom that came from listening, and guiding someone to ask the right questions.
The conversation had exhausted him, stripped him bare of his anger and certainties.
I have much to think about, he nodded to the guards who had been waiting silently by the entrance.
Take him back to his cell. As Allard was wheeled away, Polo was left alone with
the echo of having asked the right questions at Allard's urging,
but not liking the answers.
The wooden door of the room slammed shut, plunging Allard back into deep shadow,
the only light coming from a gap in the tree roots and packed dirt that made up his room.
He was deep under Harvest House, a room that wasn't nearly as well defended
as the rest of the complex, but did that even matter when there was no way out of the room?
He listened as the heavy lock of the door clicked heavily into place,
the sound final and absolute.
Pietro could pick that lock easily, Allard thought, smiling at the memory of
the old guildmaster he had served for many years.
He struggled to roll his chair forward, deeper into his living cell.
A whisper cut through the black. That went better than I expected.
Allard stopped, turning his head toward the sound. A flicker of movement,
a shadow detaching from other shadows. Vesper.
It was an easy lock to pick.
Another form appeared beside him, small and lithe.
Mailer. Vesper walked forward and slid his knife from its sheath,
the faint scrape of steel on leather unnaturally loud in the silence.
The guards will be changed in an hour. Even with that contraption,
we have time to get you out.
Mailer stepped closer, her voice a low, urgent murmur. We're here to take you home.
Music.
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