The Burdens of Leadership

The Thieves Guild, written by Ja Kerr, Chapter seventy. The Burdens of leadership. Rogers strode through the living halls of Harvest House. The green clad guards no longer an enemy to be avoided, but a courtesy to be endured. They nodded to him as he passed, their expressions a mixture of respect and awe. Captain Rogers, the hero of the pit, the guild master, in waiting the titles, felt like a shroud, heavy and ill fitting. He was a captain of three guilds, soon to be master of one, and he felt like a pawn in a game he had never asked to play. He descended to the sub level cells, his steps echo going on the stone. The guards at Allard's door, men who would have run him through a week ago, now stepped aside with deference. Captain. He dismissed them with a nod and entered the cell. It was exactly as he remembered from his first visit. Comfortable, dry, and a cage all the same. A lad sat in his crude rolling chair, a blanket across his legs. He looked up as Rogers entered, his face unreadable. You look weary, Captain, the burden of command does not rest lightly, it seems. Rogers let out a sharp, humorless breath. He didn't sit, opting instead to pace the small stone room. Command. I don't know the first thing about commanding that guild. Rogers purposefully used the words that guild, as he felt he could quite effectively lead the thieves. That was a guild where his talents would be realized, where he knew the captain's he knew the lay of the land, he knew the politics. As the guild master thief, he and the guild would thrive. He stopped and faced his former commander. I am a thief, Alard, a captain of thieves. I know the alleys, the safe houses, the shadows. What do I know of the craft guild? I don't know their hierarchies. I don't know their money counters. Who's the tower, Captain Bertram? Is he even still alive after carch marched in? And if he's alive, do you think he'll listen to me? To a harvest hero appointed by Polo, Allard watched him, his gaze steady, his large hands resting on the wheels. Of his chair. The money counter will count the money, The captain of the Guard will guard. That is their function. It is not your concern, then what is my concern? Rogers's frustration finally broke the surface. You are to lead, Rogers started to pace. Leading men attacked in their homes. Yes, I can do that, leading a force against an invading army. I can do that too, Lead an underground guild that op in the shadows. I was born to do that. But lead a bureaucratic organization like the Craft Guild. I'm lost. It's not hard, Rogers. It simply requires you to approach it the same way you approached your defense of the pit. Work with the other guild masters, know who can be relied on, what their strengths are, and most importantly, to be the rock that Polo and Quinto can build on. To stabilize Ness, to keep Karts from burning it all down and Polo from burning the city down to get his revenge. Stabilize Ness a lard. My new guild hates my old one. The Craft Guild has been a target of the thieves for decades. And what of Raylan? He is the guild master, thief, the deciding vote at this farcical council. I am supposed to work with him. The old resentment was still there, the image of the reckless boy who had stumbled into power. That is perhaps your most difficult task, and you must manage Polo. He trusts you now. Do not lose that trust. Even old Polo I thought you were Manner whispering in his ear, playing the part of his counselor. A slow smile spread across Allared's scarred face. My work here is almost done. He placed his hands on the armrests of his chair. A plan on escaping the moment you are elevated. Roger stared at him, baffled escaping, How you're a prisoner in a chair on wheels. Even with my help, your escape would be hopeless in that chair. To Rogers's absolute shock, Allard's smile widened with a smooth, fluid motion that belied no injury, no weakness. Allard stood the thick blanket pooled at the base of the empty chair. He was steady on his feet, a giant of a man, filling the small cell with a sudden, terrible power. Rogers stood shocked at what he was seeing, his mouth agape. Your your legs. Allard took a step forward, then another, his boots silent on the stone, He walked directly to Rogers and placed a heavy, firm hand on his shoulder. The grip iroon and the power undeniable. How will I escape? Why I'll walk out the front door, of course. A podcast Alchemy production