Throne of Steel

Chapter 14 -The Mercy of Garadin Cinderclaw

"Arrest any Separatists or Renegades you find! And these three! Don't let them escape!"

Under the orders of Imperator Garadin Baelfire, irate over the loss of his most powerful weapons, including the Searing Cauldrons, more and more bladestorms gathered around the Commander, Rytlock and Rox, leaving fewer openings between them as their numbers grew.

"Any suggestions, Commander?" asked Rytlock.

"We're in the middle of their army, we can't just fight our way out."

And not long after he said that, any gaps between the bladestorms were closed for good. Garadin pointed his sword at the three prisoners-turned-guests. "You knew! I know you knew about this!"

"We tried to warn you."

Garadin screamed: "YOU DIDN'T TRY HARD ENOUGH!" He turned off to the side and stomped the ground. "Curses! Now we have to march into the Citadel on foot and slay the legions one Charr at a time."

Rytlock pointed at him with a noticeable tension in every move. "You're an insane fool! This is exactly what Siegeblast wants. If you just march in there, the legions will fight back, it'll be a bloodbath on both sides! By the end of it, both sides will be weakened enough that he can just come in with his new 'Storm Legion' and take on both!"

"Then what else am I supposed to do? I want blood! We all do! Fireheart Rise was our home and the legions brought in forces from all over Tyria to destroy it. They killed every Flame Legion Charr they got their hands on! We need to repay it in kind! We have to repay it a thousandfold! For all the Charr that fell in the past, so that we could be victorious today! We owe it to them! I owe it to my sire!"

It took the Commander to spell out what he personally thought obvious. "Avenging them won't bring them back."

"It won't bring them back, but it will ensure that their loss is not in vain. It will create a future where Flame Legion can live unhindered by Iron Legion and the allies they hide behind."

"Not if you leave yourself prone to getting overrun by Varrock's legion. Even if you win - even if the Citadel wins - no-one stands to gain from this battle. It's a lose-lose situation."

"We stand at the cusp of total victory, after centuries of war. I won't be denied, we can't be denied! All their snide sermons, all their holier-than-thou sneering, we can at last stomp their faces and crack their skulls and now I'm supposed to give up on all of it?"

This was it, this was the Commander's chance to put his plan - or at least his idea - into action. He just had to frame it in a way that would convince him to agree. "There is another way to end this war than one side's total destruction." Even if it took making concessions, concessions were still better than death. "Make peace with the legions. You're in a position of strength now, you have the capacity to completely destroy the legions, you're in a position to use it and they have no way of fighting back in a major way. You can make any demands that you like and the legions are in no position to decline. Any peace treaty you draft, the Citadel has no option but to sign it."

He was drawing the ire of the Tribune with those words - both him and Garadin - but Rytlock soon understood the Commander's reasoning as he continued: "You would still win this war, but without spilling a single drop of blood."

The Imperator froze for a while, looking at the three of them. Unsure what to do. Eventually he turned away and in a sudden outburst, turned to the table in front of him, smashed it into pieces with the sheer force of his hand and shouted: "This was supposed to be our revenge! We were supposed to pay them back for what they did!"

"You can still achieve that, but without everyone dying! Any demands you have, anything to make this peace happen, they will agree to it, they have to."

"Even if I were to fully indulge this, how would you convince the other legions? What reason do I have to believe they won't just break it on the first chance?"

Rytlock backed up the Commander: "Iron Legion will accept your conditions, they have no choice. Even Smodur will see that. I am still a Tribune of Blood Legion and hold Blood Legion's seat within the Black Citadel. If I send missives laying out that these are the new conditions for our stay in Ascalon, Blood Legion will accept it. Ash Legion will fall in line, or else find themselves at odds with three legions."

Garadin snarled, finally giving in to this solution. "Fine! Six hours. You have six hours and not one more second! Bring Smodur out here - PERSONALLY - to sign your treaty. I will have it drafted by then! He will come out here, sign it without protest or any idea for peace is off!"

The soldiers made way for them to move to the Citadel and they were about to run off when he stopped them one more time. "And don't cross me! Should I find out that you used your time for anything other than bringing out Smodur, I will chase down any Charr you smuggled out of there and line and use their heads as decoration for my new citadel!"

They understood loud and clear. Not to waste a single other second, they ran. With brakes, but they ran as much as they could nonetheless. They ran straight to the gates, straight to the now abandoned village of Smokestead and past the nervous-looking legionnaires guarding the entrance to the Citadel. The path through the massive road to the bridges was even more empty now than it was before.

When they got to the perimeter loop, the tables that Bhuer's Centurions had been assembled at, there were only a few lieutenants standing around them, staring at the maps and lists before them. "What's the situation?" Rytlock asked with an urgency befitting their situation. "Where did Smodur go? Is he back in the Core?"

One of the lieutenants raised his head, he was the only one to do so. "Tribune Brimstone, the Imperator is holed up at his seat as always."

"The coward ran right back to his comfy little office, didn't he? No doubt with all those Sylvari from Lion's Arch."

The lieutenants, now shaken up by Rytlock's sudden appearance, were more distraught at how he talked about their leader. "You can't talk so disrespectfully about the Imperator! Mind your tone."

"I don't know what he told you about where he was, but he abandoned us! All of us! Our whole army was there, ready to take on Flame Legion head-on and he ran like the coward he's become! Where is everyone else?"

"There's only civilian warbands left, most of the stationed legionnaires all joined your army, weren't they with you?"
"Dead, nearly all of them. That upstart Centurion Siegeblast stabbed us all in the back. He stole our artillery and wiped out our army before the battle even began. The enemy used Smodur's likeness to distract us, it wouldn't have worked if the real Smodur hadn't turned tail and run for the hills. Now answer my question, where is everyone? Where are the leftover warbands? Where are the gladia?"

"Spread throughout. Most of them are in the cantons, getting all their stuff together. We've got people posted at all the turrets and cannons, we have some defensive systems up and ready, but we have only few new siege engines, with an army this big, they'll overrun us! So most people are preparing to abandon the Citadel, or they already did!"

The Commander reminded the Tribune: "It's do or die time, Rytlock! We were able to talk sense into Smodur before, at least enough for him to march with the army. We just need to do it again."

"Not without backup, he'll just have me shot for fear of a coup. And we're running out of time - and Charr - to amass backup!"

"Then let's not waste another second! Rox! Cover the northwest!"

He was about to run towards a ramp leading down to the mustering grounds in the east, when Rytlock stopped him. "They won't listen to a human, Commander. And neither to a glorified Gladium. We'll have to march down the more lively parts together."

As they descended to the mustering grounds together, he began his rallying call. "Legionnaires! Gladia! Iron Legion, Blood Legion, Ash Legion and any others who live here! You all know of the situation! You may not know that it was caused by our Imperator's cowardice, but it was. He abandoned our army when we most needed him and has locked himself in the Core yet again! But hope is not lost, there is a way out of this with our hides still intact! Come with me and together we will confront Smodur."

He continued and repeated it, as they made their way through several of the fortress' districts, even past Hero's Canton, which was now full of Charr rushing past each other with packed bags planning to steal themselves out of here by the northern exit or to seek a path through the old Ascalonian ruins.

He grabbed one of them to make his point: "Where do you think you're going! The Citadel has not fallen yet! There is a path besides abandoning ship, but I can't walk it on my own! We will make peace with Flame Legion and end this war once and for all! But only the Imperator in charge of this Citadel can negotiate on our behalf, only Smodur can!"

With all the legionnaires gone, Rytlock's words hit deaf ears much more often than last time. Even after their march through the largest districts with the most Charr in their reach, they amassed a measly thirty of them. "This isn't looking good." The Commander remarked. "Maybe we should try the factories. Or intercept some of the ones that are leaving!"

"If they're running and hiding, they won't come with us. This isn't enough for a show of force to Flame Legion, but it's enough to break through those Sylvari." And so they set off to march into the Imperator's Core. And just like last time, a group of Ash Legionnaires got in their way, headed by none other than Torga Desertgrave. With a furious glare on her face. Before she could lecture him on whatever rationale for censuring him she could think of, the Blood Legion Tribune pre-empted her. "Torga, I should have known you would run before there's a chance to run into Flame Legion."

"You not only think it appropriate to show your face here, but you accuse ME of desertion?"

As usual, her accusatory wording didn't impress Rytlock. "Duty to attend full-army deployments extends to Tribunes too, last I checked. I was the only Tribune to live through our engagement with the enemy, and yet here you stand. Drop the pretenses. You didn't show up. None of you did."

"You didn't just…" Torga drew a dagger from her hilt, but Rytlock drew Sohothin just as quickly.

Rytlock continued with a terrifying chill in his voice. "I have neither time nor patience for this. Walk away now or Ash Legion will need a new Tribune." Apparently, the Commander wasn't the only person unsettled by Rytlock's demeanour. As Torga and the other Ash Legionnaires backed off immediately, she and one of her underlings even stumbled as they rushed to get out of the crowd's way. With them gone, he faced the others. "We'll deal with her later. A deserter's a deserter, Tribune or not."

The path up the spiral ramp within the Core was much more clear. The Charr guarding each floor were all gone, all of them died when Varrock used the Citadel's artillery on its own army. That, or they slowly trickled out of here when they caught wind of what had happened. The crowd of Charr making their way up the Core interrupted a group of Sylvari bringing along more crates of Redbriar tea on their way up. A sign that Smodur was still here. Both upper levels were as much of a ghost town as Smokestead was, everyone was gone. Every single person.

Except those three Sylvari. They still stood in front of the iris leading to the final floor, looking as though everything were perfectly fine. At least until Rytlock and everyone else came walking up the ramp and approaching them. The Sylvari in the middle that would accost them the last two times stopped, looked around for guards to help him and looked much more nervous when he realised that no help was in sight. Without further ado, Rytlock went right up to him, with his sword still drawn. "Open the door and get out of the way."

The Sylvari regained his composure and raised his head before shaking it. "You are in no position to give me orders."

"I WAS NOT ASKING. Open that door or I will throw you into the smelter myself."

"I am a consultant of his High Authority, the Imperator! My standing supersedes yours!"

"Your standing is not part of our military structure, it is entirely self-declared. I won't order you again. Open the door."

"I can't allow you and your backwards rabble to pester his High Auth-ugh…" While the plant was still gloating about his imagined status, the Tribune reached for him, grabbed him by his throat and lifted him up. "Help…help, " the consultant gasped, Rytlock was choking him so tightly that he barely got a word out.

"Wrong answer!" the Tribune shouted, carrying the Sylvari to the circular railings overlooking a deep drop to the ground floor of the Core. He tossed him over the railing, past the braziers and onto the ground. A fall that a human wouldn't survive. If a Sylvari could, who knew, but it was painful for certain. Rytlock then turned to the remaining Sylvari and asked: "Anyone else?"

The other two quickly flipped any switches and pulled any levers they had to, in order to open the iris from outside. "Draw your weapons!", the Tribune ordered. And all the Charr that joined them followed suit. Up the steep path into the highest set of platforms within this building.

Stacks upon stacks of crates lined the sides of the hallway as well as the balcony overlooking the Citadel and even the final ramps on their way up. On both sides. All of them were either filled with more of this tea, or empty crates of tea that were already used up. And to match it, there were piles of used teacups, all the Sylvari present held either jugs of water, kettles, fresh teacups or other utensils for serving tea.

They were smart enough to not get in their way as the Charr flooded into the top floor. The Commander followed Rytlock up the ramp to the right from the outer balcony and then the central bridge to the actual seat. The showcase presenting the Claw of the Khan-Ur had already been tipped over and the Imperator, who neglected to turn it back up, sat on the floor near his throne. With another teacup in his hand. His hand was shaking so much, it spilled half of the tea on the floor before he had a chance to drink it.

He barely reacted to Rytlock's intrusion, or that of the Commander and the other Charr following him. His eyes were glassy and his fur was ruffled everywhere. His mane was all kinds of furled, with stray hairs spread around the floor.

When the three of them arrived at the Imperator, he kept mumbling to himself, as he appeared to when they first entered. "It's - it's not - it's not working…it's not working…" He took another sip. "B-but it has - it has to…it has to work!"

"Smodur!" Rytlock waited to see if the Imperator would respond. When he didn't, he gave him a faint kick to the side. "Smodur, snap out of it." At least the Imperator stopped mumbling.

He froze in place and after a few seconds, looked up to Rytlock. "You…you're alive…

"Flame Legion is standing at our gates. They are still at full strength and might have a spare searing cauldron or two. Our options are to capitulate or to die. All thanks to you."

The mere notion of what he heard scared the Imperator, he turned back down and shook his head in increasingly erratic ways. "No…no-no...we can't…we can't surrender, not to Flame Legion…they are backwards…they are bi-bigots…" He slumped to the side and began see-sawing on the floor like a child, he grasped his teacup with so much force that it broke in his hand. "...bigotry le-leads only to the de - bigotry leads only to the death of all…bigotry leads only to the death of all…"

Rox spelled out what all were thinking: "He's just rambling. He's completely gone."

Rytlock's face contorted into a pained expression. He moved so that he stood right above the writhing Imperator. He stared at his superior, taking a deep breath. "Please stop this. Wake up. Snap out of it. I don't want to do this, Smodur. I really don't."

But his pleas fell on deaf ears. Smodur simply kept writhing around on the floor, mumbling the same phrase over and over. "Bigotry leads only to the death of all! Bigotry leads only to the death of all!" Eventually, Rytlock raised a leg, flipped the Imperator over so he lay on his stomach and pinned him to the floor.

He stretched out his hand and looked to one of the few remaining Blood Legionnaires, who had accompanied him into the Command Core and made a clasping gesture with his hand. Signalling for the Blood legionnaire in his deep red armour to hand over his weapon: A one-handed axe. The legionnaire gave Rytlock his axe and helped hold the Imperator's head in place. Now that he had all he needed, the Tribune proceeded with what was - in hindsight - unavoidable. He kneeled on the Imperator's back and looked up to all the Charr watching.

He looked back down, addressing Smodur: "This is for Bhuer Goreblade. Who showed undying loyalty to you. He was loyal to a fault and his hopes that you would improve never faltered until the day that he died. This is for a Charr who fought for his legion to the very end, and you repaid his loyalty by leaving him to die with the rest of us." Rytlock raised the axe and then swung down, burying its blade into the confused Imperator's neck. After a few more swings, copious amounts of blood spilled and spattered onto the floor, with drops littering the Imperator's throne and the table.

After a few more swings, the deed was done at last.

When Rytlock got back up, all the Charr in the room kneeled. They kneeled because they had just beheld the rise of a new Imperator. Just as he had up to this point, Rytlock had yet again usurped one of his superiors and become the Imperator of the Iron Legion.

He stepped forward, past the table so he could address all of them and his first words were: "I just want you to know that I did not enjoy this. I did not plan for this, I did not want to do this. But Smodur didn't give me a choice. You all saw this with your own eyes!" He returned to Smodur's body just to pick up his head and then made his way back out with the head still in one hand. "Commander, Shortfuse, come on. Let's get this whole business over with."

And so began their resigned march. Out of the Command Core, past the speechless Sylvari, down all the ramps, out of the Core as a whole, past the bridges of the Perimeter Loop and onto the uneven promenades leading to the front gate. It wasn't just Rox and the Commander that followed him, all the Charr he had rallied prior to entering the Core followed him as well. All the way past the wall around Smokestead, to the encampments of the Flame Legion.

The Flame Legion kept its promise. Barely any troop movements had been made, almost everything was right where it was when they left. Even the big horns used to sound for war were still untouched. The only difference was that the broken table had been replaced. With Imperator Garadin Baelfire tapping his foot, reclining impatiently upon his throne of steel. He didn't get up until they already got to the table. "Just in time, you only had half an hour to spare. Still, you were faster than I expected. I didn't think you would show at all."

"We're keeping our word."

"You promised me you would bring the Imperator."

"I did. You're speaking to him. Smodur has been usurped."

Garadin got up and paced down his stairs. "And why would I believe you? Your tattering husk of an Imperator could be sneaking out of the Citadel as we speak…"

Before he could continue, the former Tribune placed Smodur's severed head on the table, far off from where the blood could sully the papers that were likely the new treaty. He turned it so that it faced Garadin and the moment it did, he understood. "Take this trophy as a gesture of good will. When Iron Legion enlisted the Pact to storm the Citadel of Flame, they did so on his orders. Smodur's head for Gaheron's. One Imperator's head pays for another."

Garadin smiled when he fully understood the situation. "I see. Congratulations to your new legion, Imperator Rytlock. But there's still the matter of the treaty." Without further ado, the new Imperator bit the bullet, gave the treaty a quick read and then signed it. It was brief and to the point in its wording, but the actual list of demands was long enough to cover several pages.

The treaty made it very clear from the start, that it was not meant as an equitable peace treaty but rather a list of victory conditions that the Citadel had to accept. They were to forever relinquish any claim to Fireheart Rise, the Iron Marches and the eastern side of Blazeridge Steppes, beyond the streak of land branded by the crystal dragon.

The other legions were to accept full responsibility for the war and any casualties of it on either side and to pay a sum of gold in annual reparations to the Flame Legion. There was no expiry date on those reparations, they were set to be paid forever, a short-sighted and unreasonable demand that without a doubt would lead to a new conflict in the future.

Rytlock paused when he got to one part in particular, scratched his head and looked up from the parchment. "Day of Mercy?" he asked.

Garadin looked back at him with complete seriousness, while Rytlock gave the impression that he was reading something very absurd. "You will accept every demand, including this! You will dedicate this day - today and the same day in every year - to thanking me that I spare your lives. I want to see you be grateful, I want to see parades and feasts! Every year on this day, you shall honor and celebrate the mercy of Garadin Baelfire. And on the same day in six months will be the Day of Penance, when you remember what you did to my sire and apologize for it. I want to see humility! And you will do this every year. Every single year, or the treaty is off."

Rytlock grumbled, but he eventually gave in and signed it. Both main treaties, one for Garadin and one for himself. As well as two copies for each side to distribute as they saw fit. "Have it your way! Now, there is officially peace between Iron Legion and Flame Legion. I will send out missives to make sure the same goes for Blood Legion. What Ash Legion will do is up to them."

Just like that, a conflict that had lasted almost as long as that between the Charr and the Ebon Vanguard, came to an end. Not through a bloodbath to end all bloodbaths like every Charr expected, but through two parties begrudgingly agreeing not to kill each other. Not a single Charr died that day, barring the late Imperator. The Iron Legion's new ruler returned to the Citadel and made true on his past threats, turning every Sylvari consultant not smart enough to sneak away when they still could, into kindling for the Core's braziers.

After that as well as clearing out Smodur's body and the many crates and teacups, he got to preparing a several-hour-long speech. All Charr still in the Citadel gathered on all the bridges and platforms that made up the perimeter loop, eager to hear him speak. Those who didn't fit, had to make do with the lower areas. A lot of the Charr that had already fled, came back just to join them. When he was ready, he went to the balcony overlooking the Citadel and turned on the speakers which would broadcast his voice to every corner of this huge fortress.

The Commander listened from within the Command Core. At the start, the first part of the speech was just a recap of what happened since the legions departed. Though he left out a few parts, their trip down the catacombs wasn't mentioned once and he didn't talk too much about the Imperator's strange tea addiction.

The more crucial part came after the summary: "All in all, the situation that led to this entire ordeal is a direct consequence of Iron Legion's past decisions. The benefits of allying with the Pact were too great, Smodur fell for the deceptive allure of international cooperation and became complacent. In our comfort working with others under common orders from Lion's Arch, we allowed ourselves to be subjugated. We became a vassal to a city state whom I have seen abuse their power over us with my own eyes. First in Kryta, then in Ascalon. To that I say 'No more!'. We are one Charr, free and sovereign, we answer to no-one. No longer shall we rely on the Pact or the edicts of Lion's Arch for alliances with other nations. If those nations want peace or alliances with us, let them come to us on their own terms. No longer shall phony bureaucrats dictate our policy or separate us from one another through false consultants!"

It still went on and on from there, but when it was over and Rytlock walked back up from there, the Commander commented on his speech with: "So we're breaking from Lion's Arch?"

He responded with vigor: "We're breaking from Lion's Arch! No more workshops, no more watchknights, no more consultants. We can work together without playing nice with Scarlet."

After that, Rytlock got to picking up the pieces Smodur left behind. And that included acting on what he learned in the catacombs. One of his first policies was to make changes to how the Fahrar was conducted. What was taught to the cubs and what mantras they would recite on the daily. One by one, all instructors that guided the Charr's young through the Fahrar were taken down to the catacombs, to speak to the same ghosts as Rytlock had and to take a look at the same map. And like him, all of them would leave with a different outlook and understand why they were brought down there.

While the Flame Legion's main army was no longer making camp near the Citadel, Garadin didn't neglect to send ambassadors to the Citadel, to organize small festive rituals where the other legions could celebrate Garadin's mercy. Of course, celebrating one's own defeat was a tough thing, so they were equipped to give out incentives. People who participated in the Flame Legion ambassadors' preliminary festivities were awarded pieces of 'Garadin's Glory' weaponry, a set of weapons imbued with fire magic so that their blades or blunt ends were continuously radiating with fire. At first, the reception was meagre, but over time, adventurers and collectors from all over Tyria heard about the weapons and partook in the ambassadors' rituals and festivals just to add the designs to their growing arsenals. More Charr of the legions eventually followed suit.

As for the Commander, he had nothing keeping him here anymore. So he returned to that constricting cabin he had for lodging here and got all his things ready to journey back to Kryta. He was confident that if asked, Rytlock would do as they did in Kryta and reserve one waypoint for the Commander's trip back.

While he was still busy arranging things to pack them up more easily, he heard three loud knocks on the front door. He turned around, unlocked the door and opened it, but whoever was knocking was already gone. There was a letter on the floor however. The Commander pressed his fingers against the grating so he could scoop it up by the edge, took it inside and closed the door. What stood out immediately, was that it was marked as sent by Varrock Siegeblast.

It read: "Touché, Commander. Touché. I'll have to bide my time. The legions will trip up sooner or later and I will be there when it happens. But I nonetheless keep my promises. If you still have trouble with your investigation, I've arranged for help. Canton Factorium, Serrated Blade Tavern. He'll be waiting for a while after you receive this letter. Don't bring friends or the help is off."

He understood every word loud and clear. He stuffed the letter in a bag he was carrying and left at once. The directions were brief but very specific. Serrated Blade Tavern was a bar in the middle of the outdoor part of Canton Factorium, between all the public production halls. It was a small bar that served drinks exclusively, built entirely from repurposed metal scraps like most of the buildings here. It had a counter but besides that, all the 'tables' were just barrels and there were no chairs. Factory workers came here during their breaks.

Opposite from the entrance, there was a staircase. It was a completely barebones steel construction, out in the open, there was neither a wall on that side of the building, nor one enclosing the staircase. The bar was just open to both sides, another example of how the Charr never bothered to create anything beyond the level of absolute necessity.

In a corner beside the staircase, a familiar group of Charr stood closely huddled together around a few crates. It was Grell Nightblade and his warband, all with their sniper rifles on their backs. The former of which was keeping an eye on the front. Immediately upon seeing the Commander enter the building, he walked ahead to meet him half-way. "There you are. You still need help with your little murder case?"

"We're talking about Jennah here, so it's anything but 'little'."

"What happened to the bullets, weren't those enough of a clue?"

He had his sample bullet on him and pulled it out. "It's a dead end as far as I can see. Besides Centurions and Tribunes, what they gave me only lists the warbands by their leader's name. The murderers only used eight bullets total, the culprit could be basically anyone on those lists."

Grell walked up to the Commander. "Narrow it down by who benefits. The Citadel didn't have much to gain from your queen dying, nor did Lion's Arch. The people you're looking for, spend a lot of time far away from the suppliers. And even trained snipers need to practise to keep themselves on top of things. So you'll be looking for larger quantities. Now, who WOULD benefit from your queen dying?"

The Commander immediately thought of two groups, both of which he butted heads with at roughly the same time, when Jennah visited Beetletun Manor. "The Separatists, and the Renegades."

"And those are also two groups that have whole little armies to supply."

"So you're admitting that Varrock had something to do with it?"

Grell looked annoyed. "What I'm saying is that your best shot is looking for the mother of all buy orders."

"I already found three names that fit that description: Bloodfang, Singematch and Fourshot. Three names, two of which don't even lead anywhere. I told you, it's a dead end. It's got to be some kind of black market scheme."

Grell laughed. "Really? Can't you think of something more simple? Much more simple and innocent than some elaborate distribution scheme."

"Like what?"

"Some warbands change their names, you know. If they do that without dissolving their warband and making a new one, the factories don't keep up with what new names they take on, they just file the purchases under the old names to avoid internal confusion."

"Is that even possible? I thought warbands are deeply tied to your identities, you get your second names from them after all."

He nodded and said: "I know for afactthat it's possible. I've witnessed it myself." He was adamant about this from the sounds of it.

"Really?"

"Absolutely. And while we're not as neurotic about census records as humans are, I also know for a fact that there's records of all warband name changes. It's part of the procedure to make those changes official."

"How do I get these records?"

Grell shrugged. "You're friends with the new Imperator. You'll get your hands on them. But that's about it from me." He stepped aside to make room for his friends. "I've got to get moving myself. We've got allies in the Shiverpeaks who are in a tight spot. Blade Warband, let's move." And as if on his command, they picked up the crates and left. Leaving the baffled Commander behind.

As soon as he pulled himself together, he ran straight for the Core. When he told Rytlock about this, he acted as though this was self-evident. The Charr didn't keep track of anything as far as the Commander could tell, their organization was so barebones everywhere else. How was he supposed to know that one thing they actually kept a record of, were warband name changes?

As soon as he had his hands on a copy of those records, he ran straight back to Hero's canton, up the stairs on the metal platforms, into his one-room house and slammed the door shut behind him. He pulled all the warband lists the Centurions had given him back out of the drawer, the list of customers from the ammunition factory, everything. The drawer and table in this constricting place didn't offer enough room for all the documents, so he spread them on the bed as well.

Now all he had to do was cross-reference the warband names that were missing from the Centurions' lists with those in the name-change register. He went straight to the massive ones. Bloodfang, Singematch and Fourshot. When he got to the latter of the three, he froze.

It read: "Shot Warband, led by Haryn Fourshot - Renamed into Blade Warband - Grell's warband - led by Haryn Fourblade."

"I knew it!" he shouted, loudly enough that any Charr in neighboring pods must have heard it. It was so obvious in hindsight, the answer had stared him in the face from the very beginning. He just didn't have proof and was so scared of committing to what was crystal clear from the very start. It was Grell, it always had been Grell! The first time he met Grell was also the same day Jennah died.

Grell told him to his face that he had an entire warband made up of snipers, and then snipers took her out. Grell had said that he had his best men in position, of course he did, they were in position to shoot Jennah.

The way they killed her, four shots in quick succession all with absolute precision and perfect synchronicity - this must have been a signature move, coordinated by their leader Haryn. That was how he got his name.

And those crates his warband were carrying, looked like ammunition crates. They must have just bought more of those exact bullets before bringing him that letter. The Commander stood up from the documents and ran both his hands across his face. Grell was behind the assassination. And he just let him leave.

While this wasn't a smoking gun, it was definitive evidence, the Commander all but knew that it was him. Too much about this lined up perfectly, the odds that this was just happenstance were prohibitively small. He didn't need to prove Grell's guilt. Jennah's murder itself didn't even matter anymore. He knew for a fact that whoever was behind the assassination also supplied the Flame Legion with cauldrons somehow. The same people who had his warband assassinate the queen, either caused the second Searing or arranged it.

The people behind all this, Grell was either one of them, or he knew who they were.