by Jake Kerr
"You did well. Go to your home and wait. Your job is done." Rogers made his way to one of the houses at the edge of the cul de sac, the one with the most skilled archers, including the one who would signal the attack after the archers had loosed all their arrows.
Rao's force appeared before Rogers had even made it up to the archers. He peered out the window to see Rao already at a lawn and heading to the open door of one of the houses at the end of the lane. He had left with a force of about ten, and from what Rogers could tell, there were only seven or so remaining.
Deaths already. Rogers closed his eyes. This will be a bloody day.
Opening his eyes and peering down the lane, he watched as the guards approached. They were slowed down by their armor, yet they still were fast, and they moved as a unit, in the rough outline of a formation heading toward a goal. To his relief, the arrogance of the guards was on full display. There looked to be about two dozen of them and five or six were without helms, presumably assuming that clearing the Pit would be simple and thus their worry was more about comfort than danger.
The formation was also perfect for Rogers' goals. They would soon be caught in a crossfire of deadly arrow fire from practically all sides, and the orderly nature of their lines would make it easy to focus fire. The guards slowed down when they realized that they were approaching a dead end with a row of houses. They must have seen where Rao escaped, but they were disciplined enough not to march right into an unknown and defensible position like a house.
They did exactly as Rogers had expected--they stopped right in the middle of the cul de sac to chart an attack plan. "Now!" Rogers exclaimed.
An arrow with the green of the Harvest Guild shot through the air from an archer in front of Rogers. The arrow plunged into the ground at the feet of the guard at the front of the formation. He looked down at the odd arrow with the green streamer attached and then over to the house where the arrow had been loosed, but by then it was too late--the signal had been given, and arrows flew from every direction
The first volley was the most deadly, and four guards fell to the ground, arrows sticking out from eye sockets or their skulls. The decision to leave their helms behind led to their doom. Another wave of arrows flew, but the guards had reacted and were moving around looking for the source of the attack. The chaos unfortunately worked to the guards' benefit, as they moved in jerky motions looking around, leading to arrows missing the mark and bouncing impotently off thick armor. Arrows continued to fly as a few guards backed up the lane. Another guard fell, his unprotected head his undoing, like that of his brethren.
For a moment, Rogers was afraid that the guards would flee. There were too many to be stopped by the force guarding the lane, and he had no doubt that they would return with the overwhelming and deadly force waiting behind, which would not be merciful. But the remaining guards were moving as a unit, and that's when Rogers saw that one of their number was directing them with his sword.
A leader. He is assessing where to attack. It was useless, however, as the arrows continued to fly from all directions. A guard screamed out, and fell to the ground clutching his leg, where an arrow had struck him in an unprotected area. Rogers took count as more arrows flew. Eighteen guards remained. A formidable number, despite the deaths.
The captain of the guards pointed toward one of the houses, and that's when Rogers realized what he was going to do. To escape the deadly fusillade of arrows, they were going to simply attack a random house. Even in the tight corners and unknown terrain, the guards would be safer than sitting in a crossfire.
"Unleash the blue arrow," Rogers shouted. The archer had arrows left, but he did as he was told. He picked up the arrow with the blue streamer, and shot it at the tree. With a thunk it struck the bark, leaving a fluttering blue piece of cloth behind. The signal did its job, and before the captain could move the guards to more defensible positions, waves of Harvest Guild members flooded out of every house.
They bore swords, knives, axes, pitchforks, cleavers, clubs, broomsticks, and even branches from trees. The knights spun around, preparing for the onslaught. There was no organization to be had when facing raging citizens wearing leather tunics, cloth shirts, and bearing weapons that were laughable and yet coming from all directions. Young boys, faster than their older guild mates were at the front of the charge.
A half dozen of them focused their rush and clashed with two guards. They were nimble and well-armed, with short-swords, but it was still not enough. Two of the boys immediately fell, vicious swings of broadswords leaving behind grievous wounds. But even as the two fell, the others swung their own weapons. The clang of swords hitting armor could be heard across the cul de sac.
A thrust from one sword, and a well-placed slash from another led to two guards falling with mortal wounds. Before Rogers could celebrate, however, everything was chaos. The Harvest Guild members swarmed over the guards, making it nearly impossible to assess the flow of the battle. Rogers turned and made his way down to support the attack. It was clear that their overwhelming numbers would defeat the guards, but at what cost?
As Rogers emerged from the front door of the house, the cost was immediately clear--blood flowed across the cobblestones, bodies lay in piles around the remaining guards. In the time it took him to get to the street, most of the guards had been killed, but they had slashed and stabbed two or three Harvest guild members for every one of their own that had fallen.
Rogers rushed to help, noticing a body clutching a broomstick on the ground as he ran by. The captain of the Merchant guards was dead, and there were three guards left, crouched in a defensive stance with their backs to each other. They swung their swords at whoever rushed forward, the three of them covering every approach. Their chaotic attack suddenly facing a tight group of desperate guards, the Harvest Guild members didn't know what to do. The fear of dying during an attack had finally surpassed their rage. Knowing what had to be done, Rogers shouted, "I will attack. As I draw their attention, overwhelm them!"
He rushed forward, his sword in a diagonal, preparing to parry and then counter against a desperate defensive attack. The guards were disciplined and didn't break their formation, which meant Rogers only had to deal with one guard. The trouble was that it was clear why the guard was still alive--he was a skilled swordsman.
Rogers' parry and counter was easily blocked by the guard, whose own counter glanced off of Rogers' light armor, hidden under his tunic. No longer focusing on anything more than staying alive, Rogers didn't realize that his attack had inspired the others until he watched the guard he was facing suddenly drop his arms, his sword clattering to the cobblestones. Behind him a Harvest Guild member backed up, holding a bloody knife. The other two guards lay dead on the ground.
They had done it, but the cost had been steep. The two dozen guards were dead but nearly fifty harvest guildmembers were also dead or critically wounded. Boys, men, and women groaned, and Rogers changed his attention from battle to medical care and triage. "You, over there, gather clean cloth! We need to bind these wounds." Rogers looked to a man who stood in shock, overlooking the carnage. "You can mourn later. Help me move the wounded indoors."
Graf had died in the attack, and everyone assumed Rogers was their new leader, even though he wasn't part of any of the families from the Pit. Their trust in him was both humbling and intimidating. He had never had so many lives in his hands, and with the dead arrayed around him, he wasn't sure he deserved it. As he tried to direct people, the cries of parents and family-members mourning over the dead filled the cul de sac. There was an odd smell that permeated everything that Rogers couldn't identify, and it was only as he had moved away from the bodies that it was blood. He had never known that blood had a smell before. The realization made him sick to his stomach.
The wounded ranged from stab wounds that were most likely mortal to broken bones to gashes that needed to be threaded and bound with clean dressing. As he looked over, Rogers noticed a young man who had lost part of his hand
to a slash. He was more of a boy than a man and reminded Rogers of Ralan, his guildmaster. I hope Ralan and Alard have a plan. Things will only get worse from here on out.
A shout caught Rogers' attention. Things were too dangerous for him to ignore anything, so he walked out to see what was happening. His immediate fear was that the Knights had arrived with archers and would just pick them all off from the top of the Wall, but that wasn't it. Instead, there was a young girl rushing down the road toward Rogers.
"They are coming! A huge force!" The girl stopped in front of Rogers and a few of the defenders. "A huge force of Knight Protectors approach."
"How many?" Rogers asked.
The girl turned to him, and exclaimed, "Dozens! Some on horses!"
That was larger than the force Rogers had seen arraying behind the guards. The ones who intended to "clean up." Had they found out about the battle in the Pit? Impossible. No one escaped. Rogers doubted that there were dozens of Knights approaching, but he didn't doubt that there was a large force, along with the cavalry he had glanced. Maybe a White Guard witnessed the battle from the Wall.
He couldn't risk it. The potential defense of the Pit against the Knights he had seen following the guards would have been even worse then what had just occurred, yet he considered it possible. But with the potential of a more formidable force approaching, Rogers decided that such risks of life were no longer worth any price. Turning to the others, Rogers said, "The defense of the Pit is at an end. Our goal now is to get to safety." Rogers looked up the lane. It was empty, but he knew that Knights were approaching. We need to escape. But how?
20
Simple as That
Karch was having dinner in his private quarters when a fist pounded on his door. Only one person would dare to intrude on Karch like that--a messenger from Larsen. Karch took his time and wiped the gravy on his plate with a piece of bread. As the door knock became louder and more insistent, he finished eating his bread and wiped his mouth with the napkin.
The knocking had changed to pounding, and Karch had to smile as he placed the napkin on the tray as he stood up. It was a small thing, but making people understand that their urgency didn't matter to him placed them in the appropriate mindset as to who was in charge. I am, Karch thought.
Opening the door, Karch didn't even let the messenger speak. With a wave of his hand, he crossed through the door. "I know. I know. Larsen needs to see me."
Karch had one problem--he hadn't apologized to Keres yet, and he was unsure how to reply when Larsen asked him if he had. It was possible that Keres would be in the room and gloating as Larsen berated Karch over the lack of apology. Karch would apologize, of course. All other paths led to the dungeon or worse, but he wondered if his delay would cost him.
He knocked on Larsen's door and entered without invitation, as he always did. To his shock, Larsen was standing and looking out his broad window that oversaw the Lower Quarter. The Craft Guild Tower stood in the distance.
"Sir." Karch stopped in front of Larsen's desk and stood at attention, his hands behind his back.
"Tell me what you think of of Orion." Larsen's voice was calm, and the guildmaster stood motionless, continuing to peer out the window.
He knows I didn't apologize, and he is going to slowly work his way to a rage, Karch thought. Stifling a sigh, he replied, "He is our most powerful ally."
"Yes, but I am asking about him as a person. What do you think of him? Is he dangerous? Is he the type to betray his friends? Is he dull-headed and harmless?"
Karch paused. He always considered that there was more to Orion than it appeared. In fact, he had pondered whether Orion was creating some competing plot while playing the role of a bumbling man of the people. One of the concerns his entire time as Deputy was his inability to keep an eye on the Craft Guildmaster, as Larsen commanded that doing so was a waste of time.
Yet Karch knew that Larsen had a specific opinion, and it seemed pointless to counter it. "He is harmless. A simple man with simple goals. His lack of sophistication makes him very popular with everyone, but it makes him a good and predictable ally."
"Yes. So I thought." Larsen turned around. "Sit down, Karch. We have a problem." Larsen walked over and sat down at his desk.
"Orion is a problem?" Karch wondered what Orion had done. Was he truly a formidable opponent and had he made a mistake? Did he tip his hand in some way? Karch entered the room assuming it was Orion's nephew that would be the problem. Perhaps they were related.
"He marched in here and told me that I had to stop my plans. He outlined that they were doomed to failure, and you will not believe why."
Karch's first thought was that Orion wasn't plotting but had finally understood the stupidity of Larsen's plan. This is getting interesting. "Not seeing the flaw in your plan myself. I, of course, do not believe it."
"Exactly. Such comments are nonsensical. Orion is of a mind that the Wretched Quarter is organized and run by thieves. Our mission to drive the Harvest guild members to the Wretched Quarter, rather than making the guild members miserable and open to our message of reconciliation upon Polo's dismissal, will lead to them being cared for and possibly armed by these thieves."
Despite his suspicions toward's Orion's motivation, the fact that he was well-known to rage against thieves made Karch consider the possibility that the Guildmaster Craft was simply letting the stress of Larsen's plan get to him. "He has always hated thieves" was Karch's simple reply.
"Yes. That was my thought, but there is more to this. Orion acted differently. He commanded me. Me. And he was outlining a specific line of attack against us, with one coming from the Great Bridge and then another from Traders Bridge." Karch nodded his head. The scenario sounded distinctly possible if the guild members in the Wretched Quarter would organize with the help of the Harvest Guild.
"I'm afraid I don't understand."
"It was a threat, you idiot." Larsen's previous calm demeanor disappeared in a heartbeat. "He has clearly partnered with Polo and is going to rally the Harvest Guild members in the Wretched Quarter against me. He stormed in here, told me of this threat to me and for me to change my plans. Of course he's smart enough to know that he can't threaten me directly, so he uses this mythical thieves guild as the method."
"So if we don't abandon our plan to clear the Lower Quarter and overthrow Polo, Orion will lead an attack from the Wretched Quarter while Polo attacks from the Harvest District?" Karch considered the scenario unlikely. Even if Orion was creating a path to power for himself behind the scenes, he would have much more to lose attacking Saxe and Larsen than going against a single Polo.
"Yes. Of course he backpedaled at the end of the meeting, but it was because I was playing dumb and rejecting his comments by using his own words against him. He made it clear earlier, however, that he is dangerous."
Larsen's anger was bubbling beneath the surface, and Karch decided to simply move along, rather than ask more questions and risk Larsen redirecting his anger at Karch. Of course, Karch thought Larsen's entire plan was doomed for failure with Orion, let alone without him, so there was no sense in arguing over details anyway. "So what should we do?"
Peering at Karch, Larsen replied, "First, I want your counsel. You were not there, of course, but your distance is valuable. What do you think of Orion now that you know of the conversation. When you first arrived I asked you that, but now I want to know if your opinion has changed."
Karch was shocked. Larsen appeared to sincerely be asking for input as to whether his own interpretation was correct or not. He had asked for such advice in the past, but never of anything of such import. More like, "should I trust the new chef to cook the eggs the way I like them?"
Karch's immediate thought was that Orion was speaking the truth. Even if there was no thieves guild or organized thief presence across the river, the idea that the disenfranchised Harvest Guild members would organize was reasonable. Yet saying so would be disagreeing with Larsen. The consequences of that could be dire
.
"Orion is looking to betray you, of course. I have long expected that he is perhaps more savvy than we have considered." Larsen stared at Karch long enough that he felt uncomfortable, as if Larsen were weighing the truthfulness of his words.
Finally, Larsen sighed loudly and replied, "Your conclusion is correct, but your perception of his character is wrong." Karch wondered if Larsen had asked simply to disagree with Karch, there being no correct answer. Larsen shook his head. "I've always liked Orion, and he is a good man, but something has happened to him. Whether he is being blackmailed or scared or simply gone insane--it doesn't matter--he must be dealt with."
Larsen held up a finger. "We must be discreet, but we must be forceful. Go to Pattis and work with him on assassinating Orion in some fashion that will deflect blame. He is still our ally, so perhaps we can blame Polo. Yes, in fact, that is the perfect plan. Kill Orion and blame Polo."
Karch knew the words were coming, but they still shocked him. Orion was beloved almost as much as Pietro. His death could reasonably be connected to Polo, so the chances of the plan succeeding weren't what concerned Karch. It was Larsen's complete disregard for the power vacuum that would ensue from Orion's death. The city was already in a de facto civil war, and Orion's death would seed greater chaos and a greater likelihood that the entire fabric of the city would collapse.
Yet there was no option in that room at that time other than to agree. "As you wish, Guildmaster. I will work with Pattis on this right away. We will make sure that Polo is blamed for Orion's death."
"It is as it should be." Larsen pushed his chair back to stand up, and Karch scrambled to his feet. As Larsen walked back to stare out his window, he muttered a "you are dismissed," but his thoughts already seemed to be focused on the Craft Tower in the distance.
Karch found Pattis arguing with a guild guard captain about clearing the Pit, word had come that the Harvest Guild families had massacred a group of Merchant Guild members out of anger. Karch was not surprised, the Pit was a particularly nasty and dirty section of the Flats. "Just kill them all, Pattis. That appears to be your style, anyway."