The Mechanical Crown

There must be blood

Garrus turned to face them. "I'm hearing a lot of 'maybes' and 'more-or-lesses'. We require certainty, now, comrades. Conviction."

"The lads and lasses are building faster than they've ever built," Craic said, his voice full of admiration. "It's a thing to behold, Viscount."

"I've seen it. I believe you." Garrus settled into his seat at the head of the table. "Are the barricades secure? We need to stop them street-by-street, if they should breach the gates."

"They are ready."

"The citizen armouries are fully equipped?"

"Not fully, but they are at eighty percent. Another week and there'll be a sword or an axe for every adult hand, and some for the little'uns, too."

Garrus clasped his fingers on the table. "The Mountain Breaker is what will do it," he said. "They have the numbers. If they attack, sooner-or-later they will breach the gates."

"And we'll make them pay for every inch," Craic said, slamming his fist down on the table.

Still stood by the window next to Stryke, Lord Halderman held up a hand, as if gesturing at a child to quieten. "Making them pay won't do us any good if we're all dead and the Telladors still sit happily on the throne."

"They don't know our streets," Gare interjected. "They don't know what they're walking into."

"Perhaps not," Garrus said, seeking to intervene before Halderman and Craic got started again, "but Lord Halderman has a point. Our ambition here is not to fight a last stand which will be talked about as legend for centuries. That is not enough. We must have victory, not just for us but for all of Bruckin. That is why the ship must be completed, so that we can ride out and decimate the army before it has a chance to enter the city."

"The situation has changed," Stryke said, breaking his silence. "You need to prepare for imminent attack."

Garrus turned in his seat to stare at their peculiar new ally, holding a cautionary hand up to the others before they could begin to speak. "Why?"

Stryke pointed at the camp in the distance. "The King's arrival is bad news, Viscount Lief. With him back in the capital, the army would follow normal procedures - the generals would formulate an effective plan, carry it out. They're not fools."

"And now?"

"King Guijus being here means he wants something. Glory, maybe. He's not been thinking right for months; he'll want something definitive and immediate. You think the King is going to stay in the mud of an army camp while it sits out a siege of the city? If that was the plan, he'd have stayed at home and received reports. But he's here now, which means he'll want more."

Gare shook his head. "I don't see it," he said. "A direct attack now wouldn't go well for us, but we'd wipe out half of his army. Two thirds."

"Even so, what then? There'd be nobody left to oppose the crown, if Bruckin falls."

If anybody in the room was to have insight of the Tellador king's motivations, it was Roldan Stryke. Garrus ran a hand through his hair, acutely missing the benefits of having his brother present. They were able to think as one, even while seeing different sides of every situation - they had always been stronger together.

"The worst case scenario," Stryke continued, "is if they attack when you're expecting a drawn-out siege."

"If we mobilise and then nothing happens we'll look like fools," Craic said. "And it'll take resources away from the shipyards."

"I would rather be a fool than be dead," Garrus said. He looked to Chief Gare. "Make it happen. Now."

Gare looked for a moment as if he was going to protest, then he thought better of it, nodded and departed the room. Garrus looked over at where Stryke and Halderman were stood. "I hope you're wrong, King's Eye," he said.

A flicker of movement registered in Garrus' vision just before the glass of the window fractured, splintering out in a cobweb shape from a single point of impact as an arrow pierced the room and embedded itself deep in the chest of Lord Halderman.

The moment hung in time, as they all tried to process what had happened, then Garrus was aware only of Stryke diving away from the window towards him. Knocked from his chair, with Stryke landing heavily on top of him, Garrus witnessed another arrow embed itself into the ceiling, then another into the back of the chair in which he'd been sat. Craic was also on the floor, uninjured, and was crawling towards where Halderman lay, convulsing. As Garrus watched the blue-tinged arrow in the man's chest rippled, then disintegrated, dispersing on the wind that was now whipping in through the open space that had once been a window.

"We need to get clear of this room," Stryke shouted above the noise of the wind. "Stay low!"

Craic was dragging Halderman, a streak of blood smearing across the floor. Craic was a large, powerful man and was managing quite easily to move the tall, slender aristocrat.

As Garrus crawled towards the door, he shouted back to Stryke. "How are they able to target us from so far away, with such a cross-wind? It should be impossible!"

Stryke was now assisting Craic, as they kept the table between them and the window and the army beyond. "Here's your answer about when they're going to attack," Stryke shouted.

The door to the room opened, one of Garrus' aides standing open-mouthed in the doorway. Garrus furiously waved him back to safety. As he continued to crawl, he glanced back at the other arrows. They, too, had vanished.

The war had begun.