With less than three hours sleep and little time other than to change his sooty clothes filled with the stink of smoke, Rogers left Maas in control of the Flats while he traveled to the Lower Triangle. The previous evening the Ironsides and Grell estates had both burned to the ground, while the fires along the River were still burning into midday. Things were still bad in the Flats, but they appeared to be coming under control and Rogers needed to get to the Lower Triangle.

As he grabbed the reins of his horse, Rogers tried to grasp the scale of the disaster. In the Flats alone, it was too much for the Fire Protectors to handle. He couldn’t imagine what was going on in the Lower Triangle. Rogers had every available Thief assisting, but it still wasn’t enough.

We need Maela, Rogers thought. Maela, before she went on the fool’s errand as the new Blade of the Guildmaster, was the Captain of the Flats. She knew everyone and had every nook, cranny, family, street, and building memorized. Rogers didn’t like her methods and was constantly annoyed as she ignored his attempts to teach her, but he knew she had good instincts and even better knowledge.

Without Maela, Rogers was stretched thin. He was confident Maas could manage things, but Maas didn’t have the creative and decisive mind of Maela. Still, there was nothing Rogers could do—while the damage in the Flats was catastrophic, the fires in the Lower Triangle were still raging and on course to be even worse. He had to trust Maas and get to where the fires were still burning unchecked.

The moment he arrived at the Green Belt he realized why things were so bad. “Where are the Fire Protectors?” he asked as he grabbed a young Harvest Guild member, who appeared to be in shock as she watched an entire swath of the city burn.

“I was told they are stretched too thin. They can’t be everywhere at once.” The words came out in a monotone, as if the young woman was simply repeating something she had been told.

Rogers watched as Harvest Guild members bore pails and buckets to fight the flames. Many of the homes had already burned out, leaving nothing but charred cinders behind. He knew that many the Harvest Guild members helping were Thieves, doing their best to assist the city.

The Green Belt stretched along the north side of the major road that split the Flats and the Lower Triangle. Officially named Founders Path, the road was commonly called by the simpler name of the Throughway. Wide enough to fit three wagons, the Throughway was the major artery that linked the Warehouse District with the many shops in the Flats and Lower Triangle.

The Green Belt featured bigger homes with larger lots than were found in the Flats, which made it clear that if you lived there you were wealthier. The phrase “from the wrong side of the Throughway” was a common description for the residents of the smaller houses on the Flats side of the road and one that indicated the often divisive conflict between the two sections of the city.

The fires had shown no such prejudice, striking both sides of the Throughway with equal ferocity. The lush lawns that were one of the reasons for the Green Belt’s name stretched nearly from the river to Founders Park and Merchant Tower, and as Rogers rode along the Throughway the houses behind every lawn seemed to be burning.

Rogers couldn’t understand how that could even happen. The houses weren’t packed as close as those in the Flats, and yet the fires were worse here than there. Part of it was clearly due to the lack of Fire Protectors. The houses burned, the embers floated to nearby houses, and the flames took hold. But it was obvious more was at play.

The ride toward the river along the Throughway was heartbreaking. The fires clearly started near the river and had spread toward the east, and what started as frantic guild members fighting newly burning buildings turned into stunned masses of families staring at the last few flames licking the splintered wood of homes minutes from collapsing, and finally to the smoldering ruins of the early fires, with nothing left but ash and dust.

As he rode another tragedy unfolded—the brazen efforts of the Merchant Guards to clear the Harvest Guild out of the Flats and the Lower Triangle. Rogers had his suspicions the night before, but as he continued to organize the fighting of the fires, all he could do was watch the blue wagons take people away. Of course, it appeared that they were being taken to shelter, but Rogers had seen far too many machinations from the Merchants to believe that.

What was a suspicion in the Flats was confirmed in the Lower Triangle. It was as obvious as it was heartless: There weren’t enough wagons to clear all the people out, so while their own homes smoldered, Merchant guards used swords and clubs to push the Harvest Guild families toward the Great River.

His Deputy Captain was overseeing firefighting duty, so Rogers looked for a Thief that he recognized. He finally found one as he was about to give up and head back to the still burning fires. An older thief that had retired from active duty was holding the arm of an elderly Harvest Guild member and guiding her away from a Merchant Guild wagon that had pulled up.

“Killian!” The Thief turned and bowed his head slightly to his Thief captain. “Old friend!” Rogers strode up to him and lowered his voice to a whisper as they gave each other a firm handshake. Killian whispered in the woman’s ear and pointed her to someone further up the road.

As she left, Rogers spoke in a hushed whisper. “The Merchant Guild is marching the Green Belt residents toward the river. Do you know where they are taking them?” Rogers wondered if Larsen had some insane desire to take over the Green Belt for a palace or something and was forcibly relocating the Harvest Guild members to the Flats.

Killian’s face was set in a grim frown. “Afraid not, sir, but you are right. Even with the distraction of the fires, it is clear the Merchants have something in mind for the Harvest Guild members. It would not surprise me if they plan on moving hundreds of families.”

“Could they be moving them to the Flats?”

Killian shrugged. “We should send someone to look. I would go, but my best days are behind me.” Without waiting for a reply from Rogers, Killian called out, “Feros!” A young boy, probably as new to the guild as Ralan, ran up.

“Captain Rogers has a mission for you.” Killian turned to Rogers.

“I need you to travel toward the Great River and follow one of the Harvest Family groups being marched away by the Merchants. They are being forcibly relocated, and I want to know where they are taking them. When you find out, I want you to find a fast running guild mate and have him or her take a message to the Black Tower, telling the Guildmaster or Deputy Guildmaster what is happening—the Merchant Guild is attacking the Harvest Guild and marching them as prisoners to whatever destination you find out. Then you return to me here and tell me what you’ve discovered.”

“Yes, Captain!” and without even awaiting a dismissal, the young man named Feros was off.

While waiting for the scout to return, Rogers put all his efforts into containing the fires. It was at that moment that he realized something he should have caught earlier—the Knights were in league with the Merchants. The fires in the Flats were either burnt out or under control and yet there were no members of the Fire Protectors fighting the flames in the Green Belt. The wagons with the pumps that shot water, the large buckets and teams of people to douse the flames with them—all the materials that would help get the Green Belt fires under control—were missing.

As an ember set fire to yet another straw roof, Rogers felt a hand roughly grabbing his sleeve. As he turned in anger, he saw that it was Feros. “Feros! What have you found?”

The young boy looked stunned. “The Merchant Guild is marching the Harvest Guild members over the Great Bridge and forcing them into the Old Quarter.” Feros looked stricken. “Hundreds of people, Captain. Hundreds. They are going to overrun the Old Quarter. There are too many for us to turn back by force!”

Rogers grabbed the boy’s shoulders. “Did you send a messenger to the Black Tower?” The boy nodded. “Then you did good, Feros. Thank you.” Rogers wondered what would happen next. The fires would finally die out, but the anger of the Harvest Guild never would.

Turning back to Feros, Rogers asked, “How fresh are your legs. Can you make it to Maas in the Flats?”

“Yes, sir. I am winded but will recover soon enough.”

“Good, as soon as you can, go find Maas. Tell him that he has a new mission. He is to no longer prepare for fighting fires.” Rogers shook his head as he said the words. “He is to prepare for civil war.”