by Jake Kerr
"Don't you think we should establish ourselves here first? We need to prepare."
"Of course!" Darla's response made sense, and Maela moved from feeling guilty about planning for an escape that Darla wanted to feeling guilty for not paying attention to Darla's commentary. "Well, we have to make sure we have ways to hunt for food, and we should check the well. It will be bad if it is dry and the only water we have is from the pitcher they left for us."
Darla nodded. "I checked the well. It's the same water." She motioned toward their cups. "I'm just glad we finally have time to be together without being half-starved or living on rat blood." She reached her hand across the table, and held it there. It took a moment before Maela realized that she was expecting Maela to take her hand and hold it. She moved her hand toward Darla's so fast to make up for the awkward pause that she knocked over her cup of water.
"Sorry!" Maela straightened the cup and tried to stop the water from flowing off the table with her hand, stammering out, "I'm just still assessing everything. It's just my nature."
Darla got up to find a towel and replied with a laugh, "It's okay. It will take some time for us to figure things out."
Maela shoved the last few bites of her meal in her mouth to help clean up as Darla returned with a towel. With breakfast over, the two of them decided to investigate their new home and take stock of both resources and opportunities. The cabin itself had basic supplies. A few days worth of food, and living supplies for two--plates, buckets, utensils, skillets, and other tools and necessities.
To both of their surprise, they found a chest with clothing that would last a week or so--breaches, tunics, and underwear. All of it brand new yet soft and well-made. No rough-spun tunics or leather needing to be worn in to get comfortable. Darla held up a cotton shirt that had a thin line of red down the seam. "Magic Guild colors!" she replied, sliding her top over her head.
She was not wearing anything underneath it, and Maela turned away as Darla stood half naked before pulling on the wizard shirt. Maela again found herself confused. Darla was beautiful and Maela was drawn to her. She couldn't deny it any longer. The glance of Darla sliding off her top confirmed it. But it just didn't seem right. They were survivors and adventurers, tough women who drank rat blood and discovered new lands. They weren't the type to giggle over flowers and hold hands.
As Darla spun around in the shirt, a wide smile on her face, Maela couldn't pull her eyes from Darla's cute little flourish as she finished. Darla spread her arms and asked, "What do you think?"
"You look like a wizard. Know any magic?"
"You'll just have to wait and find out!" Darla's eyes glittered as she smiled and looked Maela in the eyes.
Three days later Maela was getting impatient with Darla. Despite constant requests, Darla refused to go out and investigate the woods or path. Her excuse was that there was no rush, and slowing down to enjoy their rustic life would have appealed to Maela days before, but Maela felt her attitude shifting.
Each hour ticking away was another hour that she was failing in her mission to report back to the Guildmaster Thief. She was, after all, still the Blade of the Guildmaster. She still wanted to enjoy this side of the mountains with Darla, but she wanted to do it while heading home.
Finally, Maela just left without telling Darla. Maela had searched all over for the bow and arrows that the man who dropped them off said would be there, but she found none. All she found was a hunting knife, which was long and better than the kitchen knives, but still a lousy weapon.
Stepping into the woods, Maela muttered to herself, "How do they expect us to hunt for food without a bow and arrows?" Looking around, Maela decided to head straight into the woods, leaving a gash in each tree with the knife as a guide back to the cabin.
It was a precaution she knew she had to take. The trees were enormous and all looked the same. Sure, the vegetation differed here and there, and there were occasional clearings, but taken as a whole, the forest was one large blank canvas of green.
The one thing that concerned her was the comment from the man who dropped them off at the cabin that they had a guard. She expected two or three guards to be working along some kind of perimeter around the cabin. Indeed, that was part of why she wanted to head out--to test the defenses.
With three or even four guards, if the perimeter was wide enough there would still be gaps for her and Darla to slip through. They would just have to keep track of the of the defensive rotations. She had walked straight for twenty minutes when she saw what looked like a clearing ahead.
Did I somehow slip past the guard? Maela thought as she balanced the knife in her hand. If the clearing was a guard post or some kind of barracks, she would have to be extra careful.
Crouching as she got closer, she used all of her skill to slip silently from tree to tree, even over a forest carpet of twigs and brush. There was definitely a building ahead, but it didn't seem large. Perhaps it was a hunting lodge, which would have been the best possible scenario--she could sneak in or overpower the hunters who lived there and steal their bow and arrows and weapons.
She slid behind the next tree, and as she peeked around it she nearly dropped her knife. By the gods!
It was her and Darla's cabin.
There was no doubt of it. There was the trail that led back to where their guards had departed. The front door was the same, and the railing along the front to tether horses was the same one that she had leaned against as she talked with Darla about how awful the cabin was for defense, with it having no shutters and the front door not having a lock.
Maela considered that she had somehow gone in a circle due to her losing her bearings. She didn't think that her sense of direction was that bad, but she considered it possible. Striding forward she walked right past the cabin to the rear to where she first entered the woods. Glancing around, she estimated that she was just left of the well when she entered, so that was what she did once again.
There was only one problem--she couldn't find the marks she left on the trees with her knife. She had been extremely careful, leaving a deep diagonal gash in every tree she passed. But there were not gashes near where she had entered the woods. Shaking her head, Maela moved to the left to see if she had misjudged where she entered the woods. But there were no gashes there.
She then moved to the right and looked at the trees in that direction. After moving in widening concentric circles, Maela finally had to admit that her marks were gone. Do the trees heal that fast here? She considered it highly unlikely but possible--after all, this was a new land unlike she had ever visited before.
It wasn't close to dark yet, so Maela once again decided to head into the woods. This time she planned to enter straight from the front door and pay close attention to her direction. She also used the knife to leave deeper cuts in the trees, hoping to slow down their healing.
The sky was impossible to see through the dense foliage above her head, and the dim lighting made relative landmarks like stones and bushes and unique trees difficult to see. Not that they would be helpful at moving in a straight line, but they would have helped. Still, Maela had navigated the sewers of Ness countless times, and this was no different.
Trusting her sense of direction, Maela continued forward.
Less than an hour later she once again approached a clearing, a clearing that was familiar, even through the dim light of the forest. Not even bothering to hide her approach, Maela marched forward and shoved bushes aside. As she entered the clearing she looked upon her and Darla's cabin.
As before she entered the clearing directly opposite the front door. This is impossible. Maela looked around, but there were no marks on the trees that she remembered leaving not long before. Walking along the edge of the clearing, Maela tried to grasp what had just happened.
Looking left and right, Maela examined the width of the clearing. It is possible I walked in a curve and didn't walk straight, but I did not make so sharp of a curve that I re-entered where I left the clearing. St
ill, Maela did not quite believe what she had just experienced twice. The sun was going to set soon, and she was sure that Darla would soon come out to see what Maela was up to, so Maela once again entered the clearing across from the front door.
The marks on the tree were useless, so Maela just moved straight ahead as fast as she could. She knew it was reckless, but she had to know eliminate the possibility of what she feared was actually happening.
Moving about three times as fast as she had before, Maela was relieved after about thirty minutes. If she had been going in a circle, she would already have stumbled upon the cabin. A new fear crept into her head. Great, Maela. You marched in a straight line, but now you're lost in the forest.
At that moment a new thought entered her head: How come I haven't run into the guards yet? The answer came a moment later as she once again strode into the clearing with her and Darla's cabin. For the third time in a row she entered directly across from the front door.
Sheathing her knife, Maela ran her fingers over her hair. The feel of the tight curls of black under her palm often calmed her, and she closed her eyes as she took a deep breath and let the texture claim her attention.
Maela walked to the cabin. She knew what she had to tell Darla--there was no escape through the woods. The wizards had enchanted their cabin and all paths led to their front door.
What concerned Maela more than their inability to escape their prison was what the news would do to Darla. At her heart, she knew that Darla was the same woman who told the guard who dropped them off that they were the time who persevered. But she also said they were the type to escape. How would she react knowing that was no longer true?
But what worried Maela more was if Darla didn't care.
23
A Familiar Ranger
"You there," Rogers called out to an old man with bald head and greying beard who was tending to a young boy that was nursing an arm in a sling. "What lies behind there, there, and there?" Rogers pointed to the three rows of houses that surrounded the cul de sac. There was no hope of defeating the Knight Protectors, and escape was their only hope. They had defended the Pit against Merchant Guild guards, but Knight Protectors on horses were a different matter. They would retreat to fight another day.
"The Circle, the Pit Wall, and Sally's Lane."
"The Pit Wall? What is that?" Rogers knew the other two locations. The Circle was the road that ran along the Wall. That would be deadly. Sally's Lane was obviously some old road that ran through the Flats. While it would provide some safety, it was undoubtedly broad enough to offer little protection.
"It is the stone wall that blocks the west side of the Pit from the rest of the Flats." The old man shrugged. It runs along the houses but doesn't make for a proper wall, as it ends at the Circle and Sally's." Rogers nodded. He was hoping for some unknown path or little know alley that they could run through before fleeing into the anonymity of the Flats. A wall was exactly what he didn't need.
Looking up the road and past the pile of dead bodies, Rogers came to the grim conclusion that everyone around him was about to face a similar fate. It was his dumb luck that he had chosen to help those at the Pit make a last stand. It was the one place where the Thieves had no real influence or knowledge. The sewers, safe houses--the rest of the Flats had resources he could use. But the Pit? No one cared about the Pit, including the Thieves.
Shaking his head at Maela and her predecessor's inattention to this important part of the Flats, Rogers muttered, "You would expect a place called the Pit to have more secrets."
As he was about to put together a plan to escape in groups via the Circle and Sally's Lane, the older man spoke up. "We have our secrets."
Rogers walked right up to him. "We need to escape. Is there a secret tunnel, a path, an alley--" Rogers waved his arms around. "A place to hide. Anything. We are facing an insurmountable force. Retreat is our only option."
The old man nodded. "Death's Sewer."
"Death's Sewer? What is that?" Sewers ran all under Ness, but the places where you could actually enter were well hidden. Rogers assumed that this was one of those entrances, but why call it Death's Sewer?"
"It is a sewer tunnel--a natural one--that leads under the wall to Executioner's Hollow. The boys go down there to watch the Knights execute thieves, although we discourage it. Still--" The man shrugged. "They're thieves."
Rogers knew better than to take issue with the man's attitude. The Thieves Guild was secret out of necessity, and the fact that they were the ones defending the Harvest Guild members who snuck out to enjoy the execution of Thieves was just part of the deal.
Every Thief knew of Executioner's Hollow. Rogers was not one of those who would go on rescue missions, but he knew of the secret path there. It was a noxious sewage tunnel that ended North of the Hollow at the base of the Wall. The iridescent mixture of clotted shit and piss landed in a brown pool that seemed to seep into the ground. The Knights avoided it at all costs, and even the Knights guarding the Wall walked past the pool briskly.
Wait, Rogers thought, the sewer the Knights used was an artificial one, not a natural one. Could there be a second path to the Hollow?
"This sewer? Does it carry waste? How close to the Hollow does it exit the Wall?"
"No, it carries a stream of water. It is a natural cavern, not even a sewer. We just call it that."
"Quickly. Where does it end?"
"Behind the Hollow there is a pit where the Knights toss the bodies of the dead Thieves. It ends there. The boys climb a ledge up from the pit. You can imagine why the Knights don't investigate there."
Rogers nodded. A pit full of decomposing bodies and skeletons. No wonder it was still secret and no wonder it was called Death's Sewer. "We must gather everyone to make the trip through Death's Sewer. It is our only hope. We will exit the sewer and make our way through the Plains to the North and get to the safety of the Outer Fields."
The entrance to the sewer was through a caved in portion of the Pit Wall behind one of the houses at the end of the cul de sac. Running around and gathering healthy men and women, Rogers spread the word that everyone would need to escape through the sewer.
His goal was to get everyone into the sewer and then somehow block it from the inside. The Knight and Merchant Guild members would search the Pit and find it empty. It would be if everyone had just disappeared. The trouble was that there were so many people injured that family members wouldn't leave them behind.
"He cannot walk. You must trust that the Knights will show him mercy and provide him with care." Rogers comment led to incredulous stares. Everyone knew that the injured would simply be slaughtered. With no other option, Rogers simply denied the possibility. "We will free him from prison when the time comes," he added.
A majority of the citizens had left for the sewer, but there were still many others that either were lacking in the urgency to leave for one reason or another. Some were looking for some hidden family heirloom to take, others stayed with injured relatives, while some simply refused to leave and swore they would defend their homes to the death.
As he went to a group of men who were carrying and assisting injured friends a shout filled the air. "A knight approaches!"
Rogers cursed. So many would die needlessly. He understood the desire to assist friends and family, but it was foolish. And now the first of the knights was approaching. "How many?" Rogers shouted to the young girl that ran up to his group.
"It is but one," she replied, but her response was unnecessary, as the knight had already turned the lane and was in clear view.
He was large and imposing, yet there was something odd about him. "He is guildless?" the girl asked.
"No," Rogers replied. "He is a Ranger." Rogers unsheathed his sword. "He is the first of many. You all must flee and quickly. Please, do not delay. I will take care of him and then be behind you."
Without waiting for a response, Rogers strode forward. The Ranger took long steps, almost jogging forward. He was in a hu
rry but refused to allow himself to run, which would sacrifice some of his awareness and responsiveness for speed. He is a formidable one, this Ranger, Rogers thought.
As he prepared to clash with the Ranger, multiple realizations hit Rogers at once: The Ranger had not unsheathed his sword; he looked familiar, even though his face was covered with a brown cloak; and he wasn't just tall, he was huge. In fact, he reminded Rogers of--
"Rogers!"
"Alard!" Rogers sheathed his sword grasped the Deputy Guildmaster's hand with a firm shake as he looked him up and down. "A Ranger?"
Alard shrugged. "We have not the time to discuss my journey or mission. Do you have a force? Thirty-eight knights approach, with four on horseback. They are clearing the houses one-by-one, but we do not have much time." Before Rogers could reply, Alard nodded at the pile of bodies. "This will put them on guard. How much surprise will you need? Perhaps we should attack first?"
"Alard, they are fleeing. Look around you. Yes, there are plenty of Blue dead, but there are many more Green soaked in red. They fight with broomsticks and pitchforks. Two dozen Knight Protectors and cavalry will leave none alive."
Alard's eyes looked odd, as if he had some fire within that had been missing for a long time. He closed his eyes as if knowing that he was revealing something he did not want to be known. Finally, he nodded and opened his eyes again.
"Do you have an escape?"
"Yes. There is a natural sewer than leads to Executioner's Hollow. You should follow me. You can help lead them to safety in the Outer Fields."
"That is a wise plan, but I will never enter Executioner's Hollow." As if assuming Rogers didn't understand the depth of his commitment, Alard repeated. "Never." Before Rogers could say anything else, Alard continued, "I will buy you time. Gather as many as you can."
"How will you buy us time?"
Alard reached over his shoulder and slid his mammoth broadsword out of its sheath across his back. The sword was the most enormous weapon Rogers had ever seen. "That is not your concern." The tone of Alard's voice made it clear that he was in charge, and there was no more room for conversation.