Chapter 162: An Attack In Santa Fe De Antioquia

The Captain marched Miguel straight into the Council Chamber—the place where the fate of the province was decided. Under normal circumstances, the room determined taxes, garrisons, and appointments. Tonight, it felt as though it might determine the fate of all New Granada, perhaps even ripple outward to the other colonies of the Spanish Empire.

Miguel barely had the strength to take it in, yet the chamber left a deep impression on him.

It was a long, cold hall built to humble. Thick stone walls swallowed sound, making footsteps echo too loudly and voices feel smaller than they were. The air smelled of wax, old paper, and iron—ink mixed with the faint tang of rust from armor that had passed through the room over decades. Narrow windows high on the walls admitted little light, and what entered was weak and pale, filtered through dust and the late-afternoon haze.

At the far end, raised on a wooden platform, stood the Governor’s desk—a massive slab of polished cedar draped in deep crimson velvet. Behind it loomed a large portrait of King Carlos IV, his painted eyes heavy-lidded and distant, gazing down with indifferent authority. There were no round tables, no sense of debate or equality. Only the elevated seat of power, and the empty space before it.

That empty space was where Miguel was forced to stand.

Bleeding through his sleeve, weak from blood loss, and clutching the foreign rifle like a condemned man holding evidence at his own trial, Miguel felt painfully exposed. He was not treated as a guest, nor even as a messenger—but as a variable, something to be assessed.

Moments later, the heavy doors opened.

Governor Francisco de Baraya y la Campa entered the chamber with brisk steps. He was a man shaped by military discipline—straight-backed, broad-shouldered, his expression permanently set between impatience and calculation. A member of the military faction, he carried himself like a man more comfortable issuing orders than negotiating policy.

The dragoon captain snapped to attention and saluted.

The Governor returned the gesture with a short nod, then fixed his gaze on the officer.

“Captain de Villalta,” he said coolly. “You ordered a toque de rebato. I trust this is not a misunderstanding—especially given the delicate situation with the Gómez family. We are already occupied.”

The captain raised an eyebrow and glanced at Miguel, momentarily puzzled.

Miguel, pale but conscious, forced himself to speak.

“We brought evidence to clear the name of the family, sir,” he said weakly. “That is why we came.”

Understanding flickered across the captain’s face.

The Governor studied Miguel with renewed interest. “And who is this?” he asked. Then his eyes dropped to the blood staining the stone floor. “And why is he bleeding in my chamber?”

His frown deepened.

The captain opened his mouth to respond, already turning to summon medical assistance, when an apothecary hurried in—clearly summoned earlier by one of the dragoons.

The captain turned to the man and spoke with cold authority.”See to him. I need him conscious for what is about to be discussed. He has already lost too much blood.”

The apothecary swallowed and nodded rapidly, moving at once to Miguel’s side. With careful hands, he guided Miguel to a chair near the wall.

Miguel exhaled shakily. The room spun.

“Wake me when you need me,” he murmured—then his head fell back, exhaustion overtaking him as the apothecary worked to stanch the bleeding.

The captain frowned but said nothing. He knew he bore part of the blame. In his urgency, he had dragged Miguel here instead of allowing proper treatment.

The Governor turned his attention back to him.

“Explain,” Baraya said. “What is happening?”

The captain drew a breath. “We are facing a far greater threat than we believed. The Gómez family is not the danger—someone else is.”

He gestured sharply, and two soldiers stepped forward carrying the wooden box.

“Show the Governor,” the captain ordered.

The lid was opened.

The Governor leaned in, his expression hardening as his eyes traced the weapon inside.

“A fusil?” he said slowly. “These are prohibited in New Granada. And this mark…” His finger hovered over the insignia. “The Armory of the Noble Guard.”

The captain nodded. “Yes. The rumors were true. The Church’s attempts to break away and form a theocracy were not idle whispers.”

He continued, voice steady. “This young man serves the Gómez family. He was sent by Carlos Gómez himself. According to his testimony, this rifle was used in an attack against the daughter of Aurelio Castro—the last patriarch of the Castro family.”

The captain produced a folded letter.

“In it, Carlos claims he is ’protecting’ her. He also accuses Ezequiel—Aurelio grandson—of orchestrating his death.”

The Governor read the letter in silence. When he finished, he let out a short, humorless laugh.

“Protection?” he scoffed. “More likely a hostage.”

The captain nodded grimly.

“It does not matter now,” he said. “What matters is that rifle. It should not exist in these lands. Even if a man like Carlos could afford such a weapon, he could only obtain one in Spain—and only with his father’s influence. But this…” He tapped the steel lightly. “This is superior to anything forged in our kingdom. Only the Vatican produces arms of this quality. And you know as well as I do—they do not sell their weapons. Least of all to colonists, even if they are the sons of dukes.”

The governor frowned deeply.”This complicates everything. The situation is worse than I thought. The mainland is overwhelmed—our last reports from August say that French citizens handed over Toulon and the port to the Anglo-Spanish forces. Now the Crown is scrambling to fortify the city. They have neither troops nor gold to spare for the colonies.”

He paused, jaw tightening.

“Whoever is orchestrating this chose their moment perfectly.”

The captain nodded.”We must inform the Viceroy in Cartagena immediately and request reinforcements. In the meantime, we should search for traces of this army elsewhere. I would not be surprised if Cartagena itself harbors traitors.”

The governor stiffened.”Traitors? José, you understand how grave an accusation that is.”

The captain exhaled slowly.”It has already happened. The boy who brought us this evidence was wounded because of betrayal. The guards escorting him turned their weapons on each other. Didn’t you hear the chaos in the city? Santa Fe is terrified—and with reason.”

The governor’s expression darkened.”I was in a meeting with Royal Intelligence when it happened. You know how they operate—once they begin, no one is allowed to leave or enter.”

The captain raised an eyebrow.”And why were you speaking with those madmen?”

The governor shrugged.”I asked them to keep watch on the Gómez family. I suspect they have ambitions in New Granada, but through conventional channels I could not gather enough proof. I thought Intelligence might succeed where I failed.”

The captain fell silent for a moment.”If the Gómez family truly is preparing something, they will have to be dealt with. But not now. Fighting two enemies at once would destroy us. Let us finish dealing with this new threat first. We can return to this later—the officers have arrived.”

The governor nodded and took his seat.

The captain then recounted everything: the ambush in Santa Fe, Miguel’s testimony, the weapon, the letter. The council erupted into argument almost immediately. Voices clashed, tempers flared. Miguel himself was questioned, forced to explain the events at the Gómez estate and Amelia’s role.

The discussion lasted less than two hours. Most of those present were soldiers, not courtiers. They favored decisions, not speeches.

Finally, the governor raised his hand.

“We have a course of action. We will arm the garrisons and deploy troops across Antioquia. We will request aid from Cartagena, regroup with Bogotá’s forces, and crush this enemy before they entrench themselves.”

Several men nodded, a spark of excitement flashing in their eyes at the prospect of military merit and royal recognition. Chairs scraped against the floor as officers prepared to leave and organize the troops.

Then—

BOOM.

A deafening cannon blast struck the palace.

The walls shook violently. Dust rained from the ceiling. Miguel jolted awake as pain exploded through his wounded arm, adrenaline forcing his body into motion despite the blood loss.

A chandelier tore free from its chains and crashed down. A lieutenant was crushed beneath it, killed instantly.

Gunfire followed.

Not distant skirmishes—organized volleys.

The shots echoed from Antioquia, but the heaviest concentration came from the barracks themselves.

The governor and the dragoon captain went pale.

The governor slammed his fist against the table, trembling not with fear, but with pure rage.”Those bastards are attacking the city itself!”

He stormed forward and kicked a nearby officer.”Move! Go and order your soldiers to kill those traitors immediately!”

The officer staggered up and rushed toward the barracks along with the others.

Outside, chaos was already spreading.

The dragoon captain surveyed the streets, his jaw tightening.”Sir, we must withdraw. Those men cannot hold the city. You know how corrupt the garrison is. With a sudden attack—enemies outside and inside—discipline will collapse. Half the soldiers you just sent out are probably saddling their horses to flee.”

The governor’s face drained of color. His hands trembled.”It’s over,” he whispered. “My political career… it’s finished.”

The captain looked at him with a mixture of pity and restrained fury. He knew that, as a dragoon, blame would fall on him as well.

“Do not despair, sir,” he said harshly. “One day, I will personally see every one of those bastards hunted down. But for now, we retreat to Remedios. The jungle and the gold stronghold there can be defended. If we hold the mines of gold, we can raise new troops and endure until the Viceroy sends reinforcements.”

The governor nodded helplessly.

Together, they turned and left the palace.

Behind them, Miguel and the servants remained frozen in place—bloodied, exhausted, and speechless—watching as authority abandoned the halls and Santa Fe collapsed into open chaos.

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