Rogers had been through a lot of sewers as a Thief Captain. They were never used by other guild members beyond the maintenance sub-guilds, and those were all Thief members, as well. The underground pathways linked many destinations that were important to Thieves. There was even a famous tunnel from years gone by that had been called the Throughway, as it ran along the North Fork, was wide and easily traveled, and was used by the Thieves to transport stolen goods from the Warehouse District to the Old Quarter, much like how the Throughway was used to do the same thing for the Merchants and Craftsmen above ground. That tunnel, unfortunately, had collapsed many years before, but it was indicative of the use the Thieves made of the sewers.

The Harvest Guild members knew none of this, and thus the tunnel that led to Executioners Hollow elicited complaints from the injured on how uneven the path was and how difficult it was to travel. For Rogers, however, it was a delight—no shit or piss, and a small trickle of fresh water. It was a natural tunnel that seemed to be independent of the sewers.

No wonder we never knew of this, Rogers thought, as they made another turn and yet again failed to pass a side tunnel or a man-made sewer access. It appeared to be a natural tunnel that had no purpose beyond its accidental use as a road between the Pit and Executioners Hollow.

There was light ahead, and as it increased in intensity, so did the noxious stench of rotting flesh. A young Harvest Guild member asked, “You’re from the Outer Fields and have never made this journey?” Rogers nodded, and the boy said, “Then you should gird your gourd, this is not a pleasant experience.”

“Thank you,” Rogers replied, half alarmed at what he would find and half amused at the boy’s use of the phrase “gird your gourd.”

It turned out to be much worse than Rogers expected. The cave opened at the narrow end of a small canyon, or crevice more than canyon. As it spread to more than shoulder length, the bones started to appear, and after a few more steps, the light dimmed. Looking up, Rogers could see why—bleached white leg bones and ribs had created a lattice above their heads.

The bodies that were thrown into the cavern had stuck in the narrowing of the walls above them, and as they decayed, the bones created a kind of trap. As more bodies were thrown into the crevice, the bones became interlocked with those beneath, and the entire thing created a ceiling of bone. Beneath his feet, Rogers could see the remnants of crushed bone that those that had traveled before had ground into pieces.

“It is worse ahead,” the same boy said. “There is no ceiling to clear the floor, so we’ve created a path among the dead, but fresh bodies slide down and often block the path.”

And as the light once again shone down, Rogers could see what the boy meant. There was no natural ceiling of bone, no floor of crushed yet powdery bone, no way to try to imagine away the horror in front of you: There were skeletons and bodies piled to the left and a small path to the right that hugged the wall.

The smell was overwhelming and it took all of Rogers willpower not to vomit. From the pools that he worked to avoid, Rogers could tell that several of those that came through before him were not so strong-willed.

There were skeletons piled so high on the left that it was clear why the path was not discovered by the Knights—it was barely visible. Additionally, it was clear that this was the main point where the Knights tossed those executed from the Hollow, as there was no clear path. He had to step over bloated bodies and freshly dead, their faces recently alive but unrecognizable due to being picked over by carrion.

The path was nothing more than gaps between and over skeletons and bodies, with the bodies shoved to the side when they blocked the path. Eventually they became skeletons and were more easily cleared. Rogers knew that he was surrounded by dozens of his guild mates, killed by the Knights after being caught stealing something from the Silo or Warehouse district or for some minor offense in another part of Ness. It didn’t matter—Thieves were executed. It was the will of all the guildmasters.

It didn’t hit him hard until he stepped over a body of a fat man that must have been dumped within the past few days. Rogers looked down as he tried to step around him or at least on him with a modicum of respect. It was Deely, one of Maela’s key Thief lieutenants in the Flats. He was deeply placed within the Harvest Guild, and Rogers immediately knew that Deely had done his duty as a Thief and was helping Harvest Guild members and in the process paid the ultimate price.

Deely wore no guild colors, so Rogers was certain he was executed as a Thief and his colors ripped from his body, but Rogers couldn’t imagine why Deely would steal things amid the attack on the Harvest Guild. What was worth the risk of stealing in the Lower Quarter while so much other activity was going on? Rogers would never know, so he silently saluted his guild mate and moved on. Thankfully, the trail started to lead up, and the bodies were soon left behind.

The trail at the top was narrow and treacherous for all but the children. They emerged to the North of Executioner’s Hollow, behind a hill that was one of the group of hills that surrounded the hollow that contained the killing field of the Knights. There was a cart stained dark with dried and drying blood near the lip of the crevice.

A large dark-skinned man with a long beard stood waiting for them. “They are waiting to the Northwest. There is a valley that is nestled next to a small hill that hides us from the Wall.

Rogers nodded. “What about the Rangers?”

“They avoid Executioners Hollow, but we will undoubtedly meet them as we approach the Outer Fields.”

“Let us go then.” Rogers helped the stragglers as best he could, but the injured had trouble moving, and the young were all too ready to run off and investigate hilltops and random paths.

His group finally reached the valley, and Rogers took stock. There were a few dozen healthy men and women, a large group of children, and a smaller group of badly injured. Two men approached.

“Rogers, is it?” It was a young man, with flowing black hair. He looked grim but excited. Rogers nodded. “I’m Rao.”

Rogers face lit up. “The brave young man who made our initial plan a success!”

“You have an odd definition of success.” Rogers was somewhat taken aback. Had he not saved them? “We should have fled immediately but that fool Graf wanted us to defend the neighborhood.”

“Respect, Rao. Graf died defending our homes.” It was the bald old man that he had seen back in the Pit.

“Aye, Valmer.” Rao turned to Rogers. “So we are to flee around the Wall to the North and head to the Outer Fields?”

The question reminded Rogers that despite their perseverance, the families from the Pit still needed leadership. “Yes, we will need to go very wide, as to avoid the White Guard.”

“It’s a long journey on foot,” the old man stated, “especially with injured.”

“There is no option. I don’t believe separating us is wise. Our numbers are still enough to make a small group pause before harassing us,” Rogers replied. “That will not be the case if we are fewer in number.” Both Valmer and Rao nodded.

“Perhaps the Rangers will assist us,” Valmer said. Rogers found the comment both interesting and encouraging. It was well known that as the only two guilds that operated outside the Wall, that the Rangers and Harvest Guilds were close, but the Rangers were officially a sub-guild of the Knights, and their loyalties were to supposed to lie there.

Of course, it was well-known that Quinto loathed Saxe, so perhaps those loyalties were considerably weakened.

They made dreadful progress. Without wagons or horses, the injured had to be assisted or carried, and that slowed everyone done to practically a crawl. The good news was that they were out-of-sight of the Wall, and the Knights didn’t seem to know or care of what became of the residents of the Pit.

Rogers was constantly tempted to head back. He was doing important work, but he was the Captain of the Lower Quarter, and he was no longer there helping in any way. He knew things were in good hands with Maas, but he still felt the pull of his duties.

There were armed men at the front and rear, and Rogers himself wandered along the line of travelers. He wasn’t sure how long the trip would take. He had hoped a single day, but with the pace it could easily have gone more, which meant that they were going to be in jeopardy of hunger and thirst.

There was a shout from the front of the group, and Rogers sprinted ahead. His fear that the Knights had found them was replaced by uncertainty when he saw the two men wearing Brown. They both had bows slung over their shoulder, and wore a mixture of deep brown and flat green. Rangers. The question as to whether the Rangers would help or not was soon to be answered.

He approached as one of the Rangers was finishing talking. “The Knights attacked you?”

“No,” Rogers said emphatically as he stopped in front of the two. They both turned and peered at him. “The Merchant Guards were aiming to clear the Pit and move everyone to the Wretched Quarter.”

“I don’t know of this Pit, but you say that the Merchant Guild is attacking the Harvest Guild?” He turned to someone Rogers didn’t know. “Then why did you say Knights were attacking?”

“Your brethren are in league with the Merchants. While the Merchants attacked first, we had word that Knights with cavalry were on the way to finish the job.”

The two Rangers looked at each other. The one who had been speaking turned to Rogers. “And you are leading this group? What is your name?”

“I am leading purely by fate. I am Rogers, and I am from the Inner Fields. I found myself nearby when the Merchants attacked and am doing my duty in assisting. If I am leading it is only due to circumstance, not right.”

The Ranger nodded and looked to the distance. “You are taking them to the Outer Fields?”

“Yes. We will find shelter with our guild.”

“And why did Guildmaster Polo not send help or join the defense of his guild members?”

Rogers had often asked himself the same question over the past two days. He shared his best guess. “I know not. I believe it is due to the surprise nature of the attack. His guards are near Harvest House, and those that were caught in the Lower Quarter were ill-prepared to defend against the attack. Additionally, many of the homes were burned to the ground, so there was confusion, as well.”

“We don’t care much for city concerns, but this is troubling. I will need you to come with me and report to Guildmaster Quinto.” He turned to his colleague. “Gather food and water from camp. Send word to Captain Ouros and see if you can get some horses or carts to help with the injured.” Turning to Rogers, he added, “Tell your guild mates to wait here. We will bring assistance.”

Rogers went up and down along the group and told everyone that the Rangers were going to be sending help. The response elicited cries of thanks and many comments of the goodness of the Ranger Guild. When he returned to the Ranger who had done the speaking, he was standing by himself, his colleague presumably off getting help.

“So what is your name?”

“Ah, I apologize for not introducing myself. I am Vilo.” He held out his hand, and Rogers shook it.

“Thank you for your assistance, Vilo.”

The Ranger shrugged. “A burning city is not worth defending,” he replied. He turned and added as he started a brisk march out of the hills, “Follow me, Rogers. It is a good distance to Guildmaster Quinto, and we will be on foot, but it is an easy journey.”

Rogers shook his head as he increased his pace. He had never seen a Ranger in his life, and now he was heading off to meet with their Guildmaster.