It had happened. Of course it did.
Haldon had suspected the old bastard would pull this precise lever the very first moment the iron chime of the bells had shattered the pre-dawn quiet. Then, the instant he had been told that it was an emergency session, Haldon knew. He knew Barbut would relentlessly force a vote before the sun would set.
Barbut and his Shoreline dogs had absolutely no chance of passing such a radical decree under normal, lawful circumstances. This ambush was the only weapon a desperate minority could wield to slit a giant's throat.
The only shield Haldon could use in return was to forestall, to spin words into thin air, and desperately play for time. He had prayed that with every passing minute, more and more members of the Iron Anchor party would race to the Call to add their weight to the tally.
