“Sir, Madam! Please, it’s an emergency!” There was a hammering at the bedroom door. Xiatoktok snapped awake, rolling to one side of the enormous bed as Xiatokjia rolled out of the other. From a holster bolted to the side of the frame he drew a melter. Xiatokja had its twin, coming up and into line with the locked, armored, bedroom door. It sounded like their butler, but…

“Green as glass, white as water. Green as glass, white as water!”

They sighed and relaxed slightly. Xiatokja pressed the button to unlock the door. The butler ran in, along with their head guard.

“Sir, Madam, word from Central House- a large troop of raiders on cheves have breached the city walls. There was no sign of an attack, and as of this time, no word on how they got in. Current numbers are unknown, but believed to be in excess of five hundred.”

The butler took a deep breath and forced himself to continue.

“They are pillaging as they go, but their main aim appears to be property destruction. They are loaded with incendiary grenades and are burning whole neighborhoods. The fires have started to spread on their own. The entire east of the city is aflame, as far west as Salbor Square. We have unconfirmed reports of targeted attacks on Xia Clan properties. We have further reports-” he licked his lips nervously “that they are attacking the Bank.” The butler bowed and handed the report to Xiatoktok.

“Sir, Madam. Concubine Xia Gentian was attending a rally at the Dillwater school. The Dillwater school is only a few minutes ride on a cheve from the east wall. I’m afraid that-” The butler clearly wished he could stop talking, but forced himself to continue. “I’m afraid that the area is currently completely engulfed in flames, and the streets are covered in bandits. The closest Clan holding is Salbor Square, but we haven’t heard anything from them yet.”

Xiatokja went pale. Xiatoktok did not. Instead, he calmly, but quickly, read through the report, nodded, and gave his orders.

“Summon servants to assist us in dressing. I will require my armor. The house security is to be set to Red 2.”

The butler and the head guard nodded grimly.

“As for Concubine Xia Gentian, the Patriarch has given her a spear. We have given her guards and our instruction. Her life and death is now for her to decide. We can only do our duty, and if necessary, avenge her.”

They bowed, and hurried to obey his orders.

“Love…” ’Jia said softly.

“If she is dead, I will bury every one of her attackers with her, and hire the Ma to ensure that their kin spend an eternity in utmost torment. Their flesh will become a deathless sculpture signifying pain without release. But we cannot rescue her if we don’t know where she is, and we can’t hunt for her in a city on fire. All we can do for her is make sure she has a home to come back to.” Xiatoktok looked over as his wife. “I leave our home to you.”

“It’ll be here. We’ll be here.” Xiatokja swore. She cupped her husband’s face in her hand. “Stubborn old coot. Could have told her you liked her. Could stay home with me.”

“Impossible. She is a terribly corrupting influence on you. And you know why I can’t just hide here.”

She sighed and nodded. The servants came in and started dressing them.

“Oh, and ’Ja? If possible, do take prisoners.”

“It won’t be possible.” Her face twisted in hate. “They will die in horror and agony for daring to touch what’s mine.”

The armor was the best Xiatoktok could find and afford. He, naturally, then had it tailored and customized to his specifications. Layers of thin alloys recovered from remnant sites were carefully mounted over eggshell thin ceramic that wouldn’t crack under the force of a catapult. The meatsack behind the ceramic might pulp, but the armor would be fine. To prevent pulping, a layer of gelatinous material, trapped in some clear plastic, was attached to the inside of the ceramic. Its ability to disperse and negate impacts was simply outstanding. The helmet was constructed the same way, though the anti-chem mask that sealed over the face was merely some advanced form of rubber that had not yet been rediscovered. He let it hang on a strap. People needed to see his face right now.

He mounted up with his personal guard retinue. Technically, they were First Class Guards assigned to the Bank. In actuality, he had spent the last ten years slowly subverting their loyalties. He faintly grinned as he checked his saber and melter. Not that he expected to use either, tonight.

“Are we ready to depart, ‘Mbeke?”

“Yes, President. At your order.”

Xiatoktok looked around.

“The invaders are on cheves, armed with bows, long knives, lances, axes and incendiary grenades. Anyone with that loadout- assume hostile and kill without warning. Everyone else, use your best judgment. Either way, I expect to be inside of my bank in no more than thirty minutes.”

“YES, PRESIDENT!”

“Good. ‘Mbeke, move us out.”

Xiatokmia had taken to sleeping at the Bank. It was plain overwork. Still, she was unwilling to forgo all her little luxuries. Some might question whether a weight set worth as much as a decent little house qualifies as a “little” luxury, but Xiatokmia always claimed to have grown deaf to the poor as she got older. Besides, a high content of unrefined polisher’s silver made the weights quite small and convenient to store.

She also kept a viciously sharp two handed sword as well as an alarming selection of projectile weaponry within easy reach at all times. Of course, her melter never left her person. Ever. For any reason. Also, inspired by Xiatoktok’s mined desk, she had thoughtfully buried concealed explosives in a variety of strategic locations in her office. Any poor bastard breaking in would not live long enough to have an exciting time.

She couldn’t sleep. Something in the air. She just lay in the foldaway bed, eyes half closed, hand resting on a coil gun. A pounding came at the door. The cadence was right. She stood, gun in hand. The servant nervously bowed and handed her the report. As expected. Most of the staff was at home, leaving just the guard. The bank had fifty regular guards, and twenty first class guards currently fighting fit and on site. Ten of which were not, in fact, on site and were guarding Xiatoktok. In addition, there was a mercenary company on contract as a rapid response force, which should be here within fifteen minutes of the signal being sent.

“All guards are to stand at battle stations. Inform Captain Thorn that we are using Plan Gamma, and to prepare accordingly. Inform her that the signal should be sent to the Gray Feather Mercenary company.” She hauled her armor off the rack. It wasn’t as good as what Xiatoktok had put together, but it had the virtue of being the armor she used to campaign in. She knew it intimately. There would be no little accidents.

“Vice-President, we still have some staff in the building. Most are ordinary staff, but some are on the Red list.”

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“Anyone in the building, aside from myself, who is of the main line?”

“No, Vice-President.”

“Green Mountain group?”

“No, Vice-President.”

“Kill every member of staff still in the building who isn’t a guard or on the Green List.”

“Yes, Vice-President.”

It was a mortal certainty that spies were feeding information about the bank’s defenses to outsiders. Leaks she could barely tolerate. Sabotage, she could not. There would be no little accidents. Then she winced and waved her hand.

“Wait, belay that. Round them up, frisk for contraband or weapons, and lock them in Storage Room F in the basement. Post guards. Do try to keep them alive.”

“Yes, Vice-President.”

’Mia couldn’t tolerate sabotage, but she really, really, really could not tolerate the endless agony that was nepotism politics in filling job vacancies. It was inescapable. Everyone was trying to network into a job via their wife or cousin, or wife’s cousin, and the in-laws! Oh gods, the in-laws!

Determined to think happier thoughts, she marched to the operations room. The operations room, for this operation, was a converted office on the fourth, and top, floor. A map of the bank and the surrounding area was posted up on the wall, with emplaced weapons and dug-in guards all marked.

The Grand Redoubts Bank didn’t exactly have wings as it was essentially one long building with a cobblestone courtyard. The ends of the long building were slightly flared, making the building a sideways “I” shape. The whole building was screened in with an eighteen foot fence. The fence was beautifully polished, extraordinarily expensive ironwood, imported at immense expense. Some wise soul, ages past, had greensmithed it’s hardness and durability to the point where it was miserable to work with. It just destroyed saws. Unless you knew exactly the right combination of enzymes to spray into the cut as your saw went to work. Which the Xia figured out centuries ago. And didn’t tell anyone.

Naturally, the courtyard was generously supplied with hedgehogs- basically a long log with other, pointier logs sticking out of it at all angles- and caltrops. Just to encourage people to stand still for a bit.

“How is it looking, Captain?”

“We have intermittent contact. Nothing really serious, but it’s pretty clear that they are forming up for a major assault. The cannons are in place as are- Wait one.”

A series of lights flashed from one of the protruding sections.

“Here they come!”

A dozen cavalry came storming up to the gate, and tossed grapples over the fence. They lashed the rope to their saddle horns, turned their cheves around and tried to pull down the fence.

Xiatokmia snorted. She had reinforced the fences to prevent just that.

“FIRE!” Shouted the guard captain.

The newly purchased coil guns made a barely audible tac-tac-tac noise, as the next slug was fed up from the magazine and into firing position. The slugs were too slow to break the speed of sound, so they were almost silent as they flew. On the other hand, the heavy metal slugs were very large, as these things went.

The raiders were wearing padded jackets, reinforced with boiled hide. It really didn’t matter. The raiders urged their cheves forward, to pull the fence down, as their comrades watched from around the corner. They got a really good view as the three centimeter long rods punched through the rider’s backs, did nightmarish things inside their bodies, and slapped fist sized holes out their fronts, spraying the torn organ meat before them.

The cheves ran off. There was quiet in front of the Bank. “Shields next.” Murmured ’Mia.

“I’m going to to with… a wagon with a load of crap piled up on top of it.” Replied the Captain.

“Damn. Quite right. Oh look-”

A wagon loaded down with grain bags was being pushed out in front of a load of raiders. They looked a ragged bunch, but their eyes gleamed with fanatic greed.

“Wonder why they have fire bombs, but not explosives?” The captain asked.

“Dunno. Let’s ask the survivors.”

“Not going to be any in this bunch. Even if they don’t know words like “elevation” or “angles” they should understand the concepts.”

Apparently, the raiders did not, in fact, understand either elevation or angles. The crossfire from the not-quite-wings came sweeping down and around the wagon, leaving a gorey mess on the sidewalk. Everyone watching, well everyone watching from inside the bank, took great comfort in knowing that they wouldn’t be the ones who had to clean up.

The street went quiet again. Nobody thought the raiders had actually gone away. Magazines were swapped and, when no targets presented, the partially emptied ones were refiled from boxes of slugs set up next to the shooters.

“A bit late but- how are we for fire fighting? Sand buckets set up, all that?” ’Mia asked.

“Yeah, we got a couple of dedicated firefighting teams set up on each floor. Honestly, it’s going to be like trying to put out a house fire by pissing on it, but it’s something.”

“Haah. Well, let's not let it get to that.”

“They wait much longer, the Gray Feathers are going to be here.” The Captain’s tone was conversational, though her eyes were focused on the street.

“Nah. I think they are about done trying to be smart. Right now, they are whipping up their most disposable members into a froth and are going to “Human Wave” the fence and gates.” ’Mia disagreed.

“Guess we will see how the dry-fire cannon drills did to get us ready for using them for real.” Mobs of people armed with axes, sabers, pikes, and the ever popular incendiaries came boiling out of the alleys. “GODS! There are hundreds of the bastards! Signal the gun crews- ready to fire on my signal.”

They came in a screaming mass, some waving axes or long knives, some sabers or lances. None, apparently, considered how they were going to climb weapon-in-hand. They tried hacking down the fence, breaking sabers and blunting axes as they did. The smarter ones tried to climb, and the ones behind the smarter ones got showered in blood and offal. The ones that were a little smarter still used the limited cover of the wagon to try and vault over the top of the fence. It didn’t really work out for them. What did work was the sheer number of them. There were only so many guards, and they could only kill so many at a time. It only took a couple of minutes before the first few made it into the courtyard and opened the gates. The mob swarmed in, then slammed to a crawl again as the hedgehogs and caltrops in the courtyard broke their momentum. Then the cannons fired.

Sprays of blood exploded around the courtyard. The cannons fired one at a time, keeping a ragged tempo as the canister shot swept through the mob. They were so packed in, the gunners didn’t even need to aim. They just kept pouring down the fire, as the coil guns were joined by crossbow bolts from the ordinary guards. Some bright spark in the crowd got the idea to start throwing incendiary grenades into the bank. They learned that while the glass broke easily enough, the heavy curtains barely swung back. Sometimes, the grenades bounced off the curtain and back into the mob.

A stray shot caught a raider about to throw his incendiary. He dropped, and the incendiary dropped with him. It bounced. He didn’t. The grenade went off at groin height, splashing onto other raiders. The white hot fuel stuck to the outside of someone else’s grenades. The cheap black powder inside cooked… and exploded.

The courtyard soon resembled a scene from hell, as raiders ran around with flesh melting like candle wax and the hungry rain of canister demonstrating why cheap infantry is called “cannon fodder.” There was no general call for retreat- it was instinctual, primal. They ran, mobbed, trampled each other to get away. Hung up on the same fence they tried to scale, shoving their way to the gate and falling, screaming, as they trod on caltrops. A few made the street. Then a few dozen. Before they could escape, a volley of musket fire swept the street. Then another. In perfect alternating time, thin sheets of lead swept down the street, driving the trash before it. Some raiders huddled against the bank walls, hands raised, screaming for quarter. Not many lived long enough to beg. The ones who did were spared.

A fife screamed out the time as a deep drum beat the time. THUMP THUMP. Then the high pitched shriek of the fife, and the crash of marching boots. From down the street came the Gray Feathers, muskets shouldered, pikes at the ready. And riding in their midst, like a descended god in white and gold, was Xiatoktok.