Chapter 4

"Day seemed to choose me at random," Duncan explained.

"No." Connor scowled at the paper in his hand. "The traitor did this. He's there – and he wants us to know of the attack."

"But why?" the Irish Assassin wondered. "he started this revolt; does he want it to fail?"

"I think he does," Connor mused. "I think it was always his plan."

Duncan frowned. "And Cormac wants us to stop it for him," he said, putting the pieces together.

Connor nodded, scowling. "He intends this rebellion to go to a point, but no further." It seemed so obvious now. He had known the rebellion was a feint, designed to frighten the delegates, but not how Cormac intended to control it. "We will simply have to stop it early."

"Why are we stopping it?" Duncan questioned. "If that's what the Templars want?"

"Assassins protect the people," Connor reminded him. "Cormac knows this; he was one of us once. If we sacrifice Shepard, we are just as wrong as they." Besides, the more Connor considered the matter, the more obvious it was there could be no victory for the Assassins here. Whatever the result, the Grandmaster had achieved his end. He would not have been so quick to tip his hand otherwise. The Assassins would lose nothing they had not already lost by doing the right thing, however much the situation galled Connor's pride.

"You're right," Duncan sighed. "It's too easy to lose sight of why we're fighting sometimes."

"Especially when our enemies use it against us," Connor acknowledged ruefully. "I don't suppose there is anyway to stop the attack before it happens?"

Duncan shook his head. "Day got delayed at the last minute; the attack will come in a few hours. The men should already be on the march."

Connor sighed. It had been a futile hope; the traitor had played them too well. "We cannot delay longer. We must warn Shepard."

The Springfield militia was huddled in the armory, wary of an impending attack. Connor frowned as he gazed up at the imposing walls. As nervous as they were, the men guarding the fort were unlikely to simply allow the Assassins in. The two men would have to find another way.

The two men carefully traversed the deep drifts of snow. "We could use this," Duncan noted. "Pile it right, and the Shaysites will have to walk in the open."

Connor nodded. "Suggest it to Shepard," he said as they approached the wall. The two men climbed quickly, clinging to the small gaps between the bricks. As they neared the top, Connor activated his Eagle Vision. "Move right," he murmured, doing so. Below, Duncan did the same. A moment later, the two men were inside.

Carefully, they slipped through the armory, avoiding patrols as they approached Shepard's command center. From hiding, Connor whistled sharply, drawing the guard away. Unseen, he entered the room, Duncan behind. "Shepard."

The Commander looked up, startled. "Mentor Connor! How did you –"

"Shays and his rebels intend to attack this afternoon," Connor interrupted.

Shepard stiffened. "I see. We need to move quickly then. What do you know of their plans?"

"We intercepted a message from Day," Duncan said, "asking Shays to delay. His force won't be attacking. The plan was to flank you from you from three sides; Shays and his men don't know it won't happen."

"If that is so, perhaps I could convince them to stand down," Shepard mused.

"I doubt it will be possible," Connor said sadly. Not so long as Shay Cormac led the rebels.

"I have to try," the Commander said firmly. "I fought with these men; I won't fire unless I must." The Assassin inclined his head, understanding the man's reluctance well.

"I f you have to," Duncan said softly, "it will be easier if they're in the open. You should have your men use the snow to control the rebels march."

"I will give the order," Shepard agreed, standing up. "Gentlemen, I am in your debt once more."

Connor shook his head. "These men are led by a Templar, one of my Order's enemies. In stopping these rebels, we are allies."

Shepard frowned. "That could change things," he warned. "Do you expect him to join the assault?"

"No," Connor said, utterly certain. "He wants the attack to fail."

"Then why attack at all?" Shepard demanded.

"So as to achieve his true goal," Connor explained. "A new government – one which will answer to him."

"In Massachusetts?" Shepard asked blankly. "We're just one State!"

"But a State which will have great sway at the convention in May."

The Commander's eyes widened. "But that –"

"If he can sway the delegates," Duncan said quietly, "he will become this Nation's ruler in all but name."

Shepard's eyes hardened. "You have my aid, in whatever manner I may give it. I did not fight for freedom to bend knee to a hidden tyrant."

"Pledge yourself to the Creed," Connor offered, "and join us in our war. "

"I would be honored," Shepard replied. "When this is over, and my duty here done, I shall do so."

"Agreed," Connor accepted simply.

"Welcome, brother," Duncan said, clasping the Commander's hand. "We're glad to have you."

"And I to join so noble a cause," Shepard replied. "Now, you have told me a little about the Templars, but I would know more. Who is our enemy? What does he intend?"

"His name is Shay Cormac," Connor replied, "Grandmaster of the American Rite. He means to seize control of this Nation, and we cannot allow him to succeed."

They stood beside Shepard at the armory gates, watching the Shaysite force struggle through the snow. "Fire over their heads," Shepard ordered.

The cannons boomed, smoke hovering in the cold Massachusetts air. In the silence following, Daniel Shays' voice could be heard, strong and clear. "March, damn you! March!"

"Again!" cried Shepard. The cannons boomed a second time, ash staining the pristine snow, the sound like the thunder of a storm not come. The rebels marched forward.

"At waist height," ordered Shepard sorrowfully, "with grapeshot!" Again, the cannons boomed beneath the bloody, sunset sky, and again after. Smoke and ash filled the air and the sound of grapeshot on flesh. Cries of alarm and wails of pain shattered the air, and the thunder of the cannons rolled. The rebels broke and fled at last, and the cannons were silent.

The sun set over the bloodied field: four men dead and twenty wounded. "Woe is mine," the Commander whispered in the twilight cold, "for I have slain my brethren."