Rogers was exhausted. He had wandered the length of the Lower Quarter, rallying whatever resistance he could while wearing the green of the Harvest Guild, then watching the movements of the Knights and Merchant guild guards while switching clothing and wearing the blue of the Merchant Guild. There had been sporadic fighting, but the Harvest Guild lacked leadership, and as guild members drew swords to defend their homes, they were easily defeated and imprisoned, which led to others being fearful of that fate.

As the hours went by, more and more Harvest Guild members just followed where they were led. Rogers pushed himself to the last pocket of resistance—a remote neighborhood anchored by a cul de sac in one of the poorest parts of the Flats. Called the Pit, it sat near the Great Wall, halfway between the Knight Tower and the Craft Tower. It’s remote location and unsavory reputation must have made it the final hurdle for clearing the Quarter.

As he wandered the Lower Triangle in his Blue cloak, Rogers last piece of intelligence was finding a large group of Merchant guards and Knights preparing to march on the Pit. Rogers had stuck around to ask who was leading the efforts. “Merchants first. Knights to clean up,” was the succinct and brutal answer.

The vicinity of the Wall made Rogers nervous. All it would take would be White Guards with bows to decimate the defenders of the Pit. However, the neighborhood itself was ideal for defense. The houses were extremely old and falling apart, but they were stone, making an attempt to burn the defenders out unlikely to be successful. The houses were also built very close together in a style that must have been popular in times gone by. Finally, the street was narrow, and the alleys were little more than footpaths, with no room for large groups of attackers to maneuver or hide.

Standing at the end of the main thoroughfare into the Pit, Rogers nodded his head in appreciation. The final rose that Larsen wants to pluck has plenty of thorns.

With a yank that practically pulled his arm from its socket, Rogers was pulled off his feet and tossed to the ground, the impact making him lose his breath. As he gasped for air, the point of a sword pressed against his chest. A giant of a man stood over him. “Green and yet free. I sense a spy.”

“Not. Spy.” Rogers felt his breathing return to normal, but he couldn’t even sit up with the sword pointed at his heart.

“What do you do for the House?”

Rogers knew that this was the man’s way of asking what job he did for the Harvest Guild. “The inner orchards. I organize the delivery to the warehouses.” It was a mid-level job for the guild that this man would hopefully not be familiar with and which would make sense for someone living in the Lower Quarter.

The blade pulled back but was still pointed at Rogers as he sat up. “How did you escape the traitors?”

“It wasn’t difficult. They are expecting people to either fight or go along with them to the Old Quarter. Someone wandering into the Pit wasn’t a priority.” Rogers held up his hands. “I’m here to help.”

“Not many call it the Old Quarter. How do I know you’re not a spy?” Damn my tongue, Rogers thought.

“I can’t bring myself to call it the Wretched Quarter with so many of our brothers and sisters being herded there like animals.” The man nodded. Rogers had a better view of him, and it was clear that the man was a low-level Harvest Guild guard. His leather armor was worn and faded, while his green tunic had holes and tears. “I’m Rogers.”

“Kenda. I guard at the warehouses.” That makes sense, Rogers thought. He isn’t expected to do anything more than just watch for thieves. The thought was a sad one. Kenda most likely hated Thieves, and yet they were currently his guild’s only ally.

“May I stand, Kenda?” The guard nodded. “I am good with knives and would like to help. I am familiar with the Pit and knew it would be a strong place for our guild to take a stand.”

“That it is. I’ve lived here my whole life. There is a saying that only we share: The roots of Harvest House start in the Pit.”

“There is wisdom in those words.” Rogers looked down the street. “So what can I do to help?” Nodding in the direction of the Lower Triangle, he added, “I saw Merchant Guards and Knights amassing. They will storm the neighborhood soon.”

“Knights and cowardly Merchants.” Not waiting for a reply, Kenda continued, “It is as we expected. Ask for Graf. He is in charge. Look for the pig.”

Rogers didn’t bother asking for clarification on the pig comment. He thanked Kenda and made his way down the lane. Narrow streets and alleys split left and right. The houses were all quiet, even along the main thoroughfare that Rogers followed.

The road narrowed as he approached the cul de sac at the end, which was a half circle of townhouses. The houses were crumbling and there were entire parts that were bolstered with random pieces of other things, like wagon wheels and ceiling beams. The decay was tangible but so was the solidity. Anyone trying to clear this ancient part of the Lower Quarter would have to go house-by-house, entering through dangerous single doors.

As he looked around, a few things stood out to Rogers. Everything was deathly quiet. No one was in the street; there were no doors opening and closing, no sounds of children playing, and no sounds of conversation. Yet, he knew the defenses were there—archers behind windows, probably unskilled archers with old and barely functioning bows, but archers none-the-less, and who knew what traps lay behind each door?

The pig turned out to be an actual pig. Rogers thought that there would be an inn or tavern with a pig on a sign near the end of the lane, but, no, there on the left of the townhouses that lined the cul de sac was an actual pig, rooting around in the mud in front. Rogers walked to the front door, stepping past the pig who looked up at him with a quizzical look.

“Hold.” The voice was deep and icy cold. Rogers stood still. “What’s your business in the Pit?”

“A force of Merchant guards and Knights approach. Kenda let me through to warn you. I’m looking for Graf.”

“Who are you?”

“Rogers. I work the inner orchards. As I said, I saw a force preparing to head this way, and I came to help.”

After a moment, the silence was broken by the sound of chains clinking and then the grinding of metal. As the door opened, an old man with long grey hair looked up at Rogers with a big smile on his face. “Well met, Rogers. I am Graf.” Graf stood aside and waved Rogers in.

Entering the house confirmed Rogers’ assessment. The rooms were cramped but solidly built. The knights could storm the houses but clearing them would lead to heavy casualties. However, looking at the group facing him confirmed his other assessment—they were poorly armed and would be overwhelmed in a traditional battle. Counterattacks and charges would be impossible with staves and knives and fireplace pokers as their main weapons.

“These are the men of my family. We have other families defending their houses up and down the lane and throughout the neighborhood. Our force is small, but we are one with the land, and we have our secrets.” Rogers nodded. He was surrounded by a group of five men, with another group peering in through the door to another room. “Tell us of these traitorous Merchants and Knights,” Graf spat.

“There are a score of Merchant Guards up front, but I am sure that the Knight forces will be close behind. They are in full battle armor.” Glancing at the weapons, Rogers was losing confidence. One of the men had a broomstick as a weapon.

“How long until they reach us?”

Rogers didn’t expect them to march right away, but the sad truth was that they were close and could swoop in at any moment. “They are already within striking distance. We should prepare immediately.”

“We are prepared,” one of the men said. He carried a sword and slapped the flat of it against his palm.

Graf slapped Rogers on the back. “Ready to die?”

Rogers ignored the comment. “So what is your plan? You are blessed with natural defenses in your lanes and houses. How do you intend to use them?”

Graf looked at one of the other men as if asking for a translation of words he didn’t understand. The man shrugged. Graf turned to Rogers and said forcefully, “We will defend our houses.”

“Do you have archers?”

“I believe so. Each family has some bows for hunting game in the Outer Fields during the Hunting Season.”

“How are they arrayed?” Graf looked blankly at Rogers. This is bad, he thought. “So, tell me, what is your strategy? How will you best use your archers? Where is your first line of defense?”

Graf stood up straight. “We will defend our houses!”

As Rogers had feared, there was no organized defense. The marvelous defenses of the Pit would go to waste, especially the deadly cul de sac. “This will not work. You need to have a plan.” Rogers knew that Graf was the leader of the Pit, otherwise Kenda would not have pointed him to him. So even if each family was left to defend their own houses, Graf would be able to change things.

Pointing out the front of the house, Rogers continued, “They are heavily armed. If you defend house-by-house, they will have a difficult time clearing the Pit, but they will wipe out many of the families. All it will do is slow them down. We need to draw them into a situation where we can attack them, causing great casualties. I don’t know if this will stop them, but it will give them pause.”

“And how do you know this?” It was a younger man who had orangish red hair and brilliant blue eyes. He looked angry and ready to fight.

“Before I joined the Harvest Guild I apprenticed to the Knights. I have seen the Knights practice and know at least how they will approach. They are heavily armored and will cut through individual defenses easily.” Turning from the red-haired man to Graf, Rogers held out his hands, palm up. “But they follow a force of Merchant Guards who have less discipline, and that is our chance. They will march like Knights, but make mistakes. If we draw them into a place where they cannot escape and we cause great casualties, it may make the Knights delay their approach.”

“How does a delay help us?”

“It gives us time to create traps and better organized defenses within the houses.”

Graf nodded. “So what did your Knight apprenticeship teach you?” Graf replied, his voice not questioning or mocking but rather curious, if a bit skeptical.

“Well, my immediate thought is that the best spot to defend is outside your front door. The cul de sac provides us cover on three sides as we attack them where they cannot defend themselves. Is there anywhere else like that in the neighborhood?”

“No. There are dead end alleys, but they are too small and out-of-the-way to be a place for us to attack as a group.”

Rogers thought about the layout of the neighborhood. The guards and knights knew the Pit would be a bit more difficult than other locations, hence the show of force, but they would also be cocky. Clearing the Lower Quarter so easily had most assuredly led to overconfidence. This made him think that they would just start moving house-by-house and lane-by-lane. Slow but sure.

“So we need to somehow draw the guards and knights here, making them ignore moving house-by-house.”

“My friends and I could attack and retreat. Would they follow us?” It was a young man who had been standing off to the side.

“You would need to cause injury. Do you have bows?”

“Yes! We could shoot from a distance until they charge, and then we could retreat to here.”

Graf spoke to the young man. “Rao, that sounds dangerous.”

“Nothing about this isn’t dangerous,” Rogers interjected.

“You brought up bows. That is another part of the plan. In fact, let me lay it out for you.” Rogers looked around and walked over to a table. He grabbed three plates and arranged them into a rough outline of the cul de sac. Holding up a glass, he said, “This represents the guards.” Placing the glass in the middle of the plates, Rogers continued, “The guards will be drawn here. Rao mentioned archers. This is critical. You’ll need to place archers on the second floor or roof of all these houses.” Rogers tapped the plates, indicating the houses surrounding the cul de sac. Looking up, Rogers smiled. “This—” He tapped the glass. “Is going to be target practice for these archers.” He then tapped the plates, one after another.

“And then we rush out and finish them off!” The voice came from a middle-aged man, the one who was wielding a broomstick.