Crisis at Garmil's Gate - 08

Master Iser and Sir Ramsey clashed their beam swords together, crossing red-on-gold with sparks and discord.

"How does it feel, Master Iser? To get so far in your schemes, only to have someone come along who can tear it apart inside a day?"

Iser broke the clench and made a cut at Ramsey, which the Paladin easily blocked. "I wouldn't know. I've not had a scheme fail so far."

"You think you can turn this around?" Ramsay said as he hammered at Iser's guard, knocking the traitor off-balance and flailing to stay on his feet, "You have no idea how many times I've been in this exact situation, Iser."

"Oh," Iser said with a mocking gesture, "do tell."

"Fool!" Ramsay smashed aside Iser's blade. "I am 30 years old, and a Paladin of the Solar Guard. What does that tell you?"

"That you had friends shower you with prestige?"

Ramsey cut Iser's hands off, and then cut his beam sword in half. "Try again."

Iser stood there, looking at the cauterized stumps where his hands used to be. Ramsey didn't need to see Iser's face to know his mind at that moment.

"There, Iser, is your answer. When you reach Hell, go look up the other villains I'd sent there previously. They'll tell you just how wrong you were."

Ramsey's tone brought Iser back to the moment. "What do you mean, 'were'? Are you arresting me?"

"By right as Paladin of the Solar Guard, and confirmed by the Court of Stars, I hold the High Justice. You are condemned, Master Iser, for treason and heresy."

"Condemned? What idiocy is this?"

Ramsey shut off his blade, turned his back, and walked away. "You are already dead."

Iser, beneath his crimson helm, looked on astonished. "What?"

"Sibley." Ramsey said, ignoring the man, "What's the situation?"

"You can't be serious!" Iser said, disbelieving, when he attempted to step forward. His legs did not move, but his torso did and fell forward off his waist and hit the floor. The clang and thump of the now-lifeless corpse of the traitor Master Iser didn't so much as get Ramsey to look over his shoulder.

"The courtyard is clear of hostiles, Sir Ramsey, but heavier mecha and the main forces are on their way here from the elevator. They have it under their control."

"Nothing from Gatewatch?"

"Not a word. Something's wrong."

"The usual something, Sibley. Go with Creton and handle the elevator. I'll deal with the main force."

"They've got proper military-grade mecha in the main force along with more of their modified workers. You'll need more than your sword and blasters."

Ramsey reached into a boot sleeve and retrieved the baton that Creton gave to him previously. "Your boy made certain that I'd be ready for that scenario. Go on now. I'll be fine."

As Sir Ramsey made his way out from the hole in the wall and down into the courtyard, he saw in his faceplate a viewscreen from the perspective of the Baden-Powell: a squadron of mecha, backed by a company of rebelling workers on foot, rapidly converged on his location. Four of them seemed to be proper military models, resembling those stolen from a mothball facility run by House Fang several months ago.

"I see." Sir Ramsey said, "The matter is clear to me now. This treachery ends, here and now."