Wheel of Time MUD

Field Notes, Shienaran Lancers
By Lord Hieronymus "Harry" Bosch

I sent a letter to the Civil Watch. Seemed like the right thing to do.

The man sitting under our warrant -- former Sheriff, once considered steady -- had worn their colors. Before this. Before the Gate. Before the Sedai.

I didn’t expect much in reply. Maybe a formality, maybe silence. What I got was a quiet confirmation that made the whole thing worse.

Turns out there was another killing. Not in Fal Dara -- outside the city, in quieter country. One of their own. A Watchman. Gut wound, slashed in the dark. Didn’t die right away. Lived long enough to name the man who’d just tried to kill him. Said it loud, too -- loud enough that someone heard. Then the killer circled back and finished the job.

The Watch didn’t act on it. Not officially. Not with enough to hold. But they remembered. And now so do I.

That was a week before the Sedai dropped.

She was Green Ajah, traveling without her shawl, not advertising who she was. Not that it should’ve mattered. She didn’t raise a hand, didn’t have a warder, didn’t start anything. Still ended up face-down just inside the Dog Gate, blade in her back. The man who put it there says he thought she was a Grayman. Says she attacked someone. Says he was drunk.

He says a lot of things.

The apology came later. Pretty script, silver ink. A lot of Light, a lot of regret. Not a word about the Watchman. Not a whisper about the dead man who saw him coming and shouted his name for the world to hear.

He only found his humility once the warrant posted.

Now there’s a new wrinkle. The Blue and the Gray Ajahs both sent word. Turns out he’s asked for clemency in Tar Valon too -- tried to get his warrant pulled there. I don’t know what he told them. But I plan to find out.

I don’t like coincidences. And I don’t believe in ghosts.

Next stop is the Tower.

Let’s see how far his story travels.