Zanner, King of the City State Cal-Tar-Na
Zanner sat upon his stone throne, fingers gripping the carved armrests hard enough for his knuckles to pale. The sunlight from the windows danced across the weathered stone of the audience chamber, throwing long shadows across the walls. A deep frown pulled at the corners of the king's mouth, and his jaw worked slowly as he stared down at his chief military advisor.
“You have failed me again, Taran. Not a single one of our cities was reclaimed, even with Turabe turning their eyes away from us and seeking to crush the Falmoren.”
Taran remained kneeling at the foot of the dais. His armor gave a faint metallic clink as he lowered his head further, one fist pressed against the floor.
“Your Majesty, I regret my failure.” His voice remained steady despite the tension hanging over the chamber. “The Turabe have gained yet another advantage, something we have not found a solution to. It may even be the reason for their willingness to move forces away to Falmoren as they fight us. It is a weapon that has a reach farther than a bow, is shot in a straight line, and can penetrate much of our armor.”
Zanner's nostrils flared. He said nothing at first, letting the silence stretch uncomfortably. The weight of his displeasure seemed to settle over everyone present.
Several advisors shifted uneasily and lowered their eyes.
“I have seen the small arrows,” Zanner finally said. His voice was cold and measured. He drummed his fingers once against the armrest before stopping abruptly. “I did not summon you here to listen to excuses. Your task is to find a way to regain the free cities.”
He leaned forward slightly on the throne, elbows resting on his knees as his gaze swept across the gathered advisors.
“The coalition will not hold together forever. Some of the cities ruled by councils are already beginning to waver. They may pity those suffering beneath Turabe rule, but the masses are shifting the rhetoric. They are trying to convince people it is better to focus only on defending what remains.”
His eyes narrowed to slits, and he tapped a finger against the armrest for emphasis.
“So a victory is necessary.”
The words hung in the air.
No one spoke.
A heavy silence followed. Taran remained kneeling without moving, while several ministers exchanged nervous glances before quickly looking away.
It was then that Advisor Low cautiously stepped forward from the gathered ministers. He clasped his hands before him and bowed deeply from the waist before lifting his head just enough to meet the king's gaze.
“My king, might I have a moment to speak?”
If the situation had not been so desperate, Zanner probably would have ordered the man flogged for interrupting him. The muscles in his jaw tightened as he stared down from the throne. As it was, if Low was bold enough to speak at such a moment, then whatever he had to say had to be important.
“Speak.”
Low bowed his head and took a careful breath before answering.
“I have also heard reports of this new weapon.” Low kept his hands clasped tightly in front of him. “But the Turabe have hidden its creation and distribution so thoroughly that even my people cannot obtain one.”
The king's temper flared.
His fingers curled into fists until the tendons stood out beneath the skin. The light seemed to catch in his eyes as he leaned forward.
“Get to the point.”
Low swallowed before continuing. A bead of sweat traced a path down the side of his face.
“I have learned that the Falmoren may also possess this weapon. Some reports even claim it was invented there. If we—”
“If we what?” the king roared.
The shout echoed through the chamber.
Several men in the room visibly flinched. One advisor nearly dropped the wax tablet he had been holding. Another instinctively took half a step backward before freezing in place.
“We have no access to their king. We would need to cross through the Kingdom of Sula to the east and then travel up the coast. Even if we managed such a journey, there is no guarantee our people would return before the winter storms make the seas too dangerous.”
Low lowered his eyes and stepped back, clearly relieved to have survived the interruption.
“Excuse me, Your Majesty, I may have a solution to that.”
Hess, the Minister of Trade, finally spoke up from near the back of the chamber.
Several advisors turned toward him with surprise. Hess rarely volunteered information during military discussions, preferring to remain in the background.
Zanner's gaze snapped toward him.
“If you are suggesting we travel to the port city in the County of Bolster and then cross by land, that would still be an extremely long journey.” He gave an irritated wave of his hand. “We also cannot travel around the coast because of the sea monsters. The coastal cities agree to such madness.”
“Actually…” Hess adjusted the heavy rings on his fingers nervously. The gold bands clicked softly against one another as he clasped and unclasped his hands. “A trader recently returned from the port city of Namil in Bolster with news.”
That caused several of the advisors to look up.
Murmurs spread quietly through the gathered ministers before quickly dying away beneath the king's glare.
“Apparently, a new way to bypass the monsters along the coast of the Barren Lands has opened. Travelers are moving along the spine of the mountains there, and a northern pass leads into a backwater barony with access to the capital.”
Hess paused briefly, encouraged when the king did not interrupt.
“We estimate it would take no more than a tenday for a messenger to reach the barony, and from there, a ship could carry them to Falmore.”
Silence filled the chamber as the king considered the information.
No one dared speak.
Finally, Zanner leaned back against his throne. The tension in his shoulders eased slightly for the first time since entering the chamber.
“Make it so.”
The room began to buzz.
“This weapon may be exactly what we need to further unite the city-states against our enemy.”
His expression darkened.
“Make certain we bring enough gifts to satisfy King Asput.”
His gaze swept over the room, lingering on each minister in turn.
No one looked away.
“We must obtain that weapon.”
Amos
Draves’s jaw finally dropped when we reached Pine Ridge.
He had managed to maintain his usual stoic composure while we inspected the wall at the Nore River. Even the sight of all the laborers moving stone and hauling supplies hadn't drawn much more than a raised eyebrow from him. When he pointed to my “New” invention, the post hole digger, his voice only carried hints of curiosity. But Pine Ridge was an entirely different beast.
Now we had entered a new fort that crossed over the cannal with archways that allowed the water to flow unimpeded through the center of the fort. The new buildings on either side of the canal were attached to improved waterwheels that had shafts extending out to the weather side. Each wheel was attached to a sprawling industrial complex. Guards stood atop the battlements, watching every wagon that approached. At the gate of each compound, workers inspected carts before allowing them inside. Armed patrols paced along the walls while smoke drifted lazily from chimneys scattered throughout the facilities.
Unlike the timber structures common throughout the kingdom, these buildings were made almost entirely from cement and stone. Thick walls, narrow windows, and reinforced doors made them look more like military forts than workshops.
It would take a determined army to burn down one of these factories. And even a mouse would find it difficult to make it through security.
Drave's neck slowly turned in every direction from atop his horse, taking everything in.
“So which places are these?” Draves asked.
I couldn't help grinning.
“This is the iron works facility, paper, printers, and a chemistry workshop. Because this area is still considered a mining town. The royal guards have not positioned themselves here.”
“I knew that you said things were growing fast, but this…”
His eyes lingered on a line of wagons laden with crushed ore waiting to enter one of the compounds. Men unloaded ore while others rolled barrels toward a warehouse. Everywhere, people moved with purpose.
“And now you know where all my money is going.” I spread my arms toward the valley. “I have got to feed all these new people. Both in Hillside, and those I trust are moving up to Pine Ridge.”
Draves exhaled slowly through his nose.
“What about the black powder makers?”
“No change there. They are still close to the hot springs. We still haven’t made a usable cannon that can handle very many shots, but we are getting closer.”
Draves gave a small nod, apparently satisfied with the answer.
I wasn't going to tell him about the rocket we had created.
That would be a much more entertaining surprise.
Of course, that achievement came with its own set of problems.
The rockets were significantly more dangerous than the simple mining charges we had been using. They were supposed to shoot forward. Instead, the earliest versions seemed determined to kill whoever launched them. Some exploded the instant the fuse reached the powder. Others made it several yards before detonating in midair.
Our earliest rockets had been laughably primitive. We simply poured powder into tubes and rammed it down as tightly as possible. The results had been inconsistent. Some rockets flew. Others sputtered. A few exploded spectacularly enough to make everyone nearby reconsider their life choices.
Fortunately, we had our own breakthroughs.
Lefty.
The old powder makers' discovery of how to create dense cakes of black powder.
Now the process was much more refined.
The ingredients were mixed while wet, allowed to partially dry, and then packed into the rocket casing in layers while still slightly damp. Workers used carefully measured rammers to compress the mixture layer by layer. The result was an almost solid cylinder of black-powder cake.
More importantly, it burned evenly.
The latest prototypes flew farther, faster, and with far fewer embarrassing accidents.
Then we added the nozzle and finally had a rocket capable of reaching almost a mile out into the ocean when fired from the mountainside.
I was glad I had watched October Sky back on Earth. It certainly hadn't made me a rocket scientist, and I wished I remembered more of the mathematics behind the designs, but one lesson from the movie had proven invaluable.
The nozzle.
Everything changed once the scholars understood what the nozzle was supposed to accomplish.
Those test days had been exciting in the same way as standing next to a lightning strike was exciting.
Eventually, we concluded the failures were likely caused by air pockets and cracks hidden inside the packed powder.
Once we built a screw press capable of compacting the powder more tightly—and stopped trying to fill the entire tube at once, instead packing it in layers—the problem became far less common.
The newer rockets burned far more consistently.
More importantly, they exploded in the correct direction most of the time.
The same improvements had benefited our mining operations. We created cakes and then broke them up, giving them more access to oxygen. So instead of a controlled burn, it had more explosive force. We experienced far fewer duds, which meant ore extraction increased dramatically. The rock crusher broke the ore into manageable pieces, and the ore then moved directly into the blast furnaces.
Iron production was increasing steadily.
Our real bottleneck wasn't technology.
It was people.
We still lacked enough skilled workers, especially blacksmiths.
As much as it pained me, I had been forced to abandon my dream of putting wooden shingles on every building. Square nails were becoming relatively easy to manufacture, but shingles remained a luxury. Every pound of iron diverted toward roofing was iron that couldn't be used elsewhere.
Fortunately, our composite armor required very little metal.
That single fact had probably saved our entire military expansion.
“Draves, you're back!”
Emily's cheerful voice cut through my thoughts.
I barely had time to turn before she came racing across the yard. Her braid bounced behind her as she ran, skirts swishing around her legs. Without hesitation, she wrapped her arms around the sturdy waist of my general.
Draves stiffened slightly in surprise.
Then I caught the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“You have grown, Lady Emily. I am glad to see you are doing well. Has Amos been treating you well?”
“No.”
She answered with such perfect seriousness that even I nearly believed her.
“And he has been getting away with it because he is keeping my grandmother so busy.”
I pressed a hand dramatically against my chest.
“Hey, I plead innocent on both counts. I have told both of you to take a step back and relax. You are the wealthiest person in this County besides me, so you could hire more people and promote others. Act like a business woman insead of some self-employed shopkeeper. As far as Marshandra goes. She runs my house like a drill sergeant and refuses to relinquish her position. Don’t blame me for your unwillingness to take advice from your wise and generous count.”
Emily rolled her eyes.
Still hanging onto Draves, she stuck her tongue out at me.
Traitor.
Draves immediately looked away, clearly pretending not to witness the shocking act of disrespect toward the local nobility.
“Alright, as you count, I demand you take a two-week break from being anywhere near your paper-making plants.”
Emily immediately released Draves.
She took one threatening step toward me and planted her hands firmly on her hips.
“You can’t do that. They are my shops. We need more paper every day. I need to make sure we are on target. What if there is a problem?”
I pointed dramatically at her.
“See, General, look at how she bullies me. I am the victim here.”
Draves looked from Emily to me and then back again.
Slowly, he raised both hands in surrender, then changed the subject.
“Shops? As in multiple?”
Emily opened her mouth, but I answered first.
“We have another printer and paper shop further down near our new town of Hillside, which I told you about. Those are there because people already know we make those products. If we didn’t have visible shops, people would spend more time looking for them. Kind of a misdirection, so people don’t look at everything going on here.”
I smirked.
Draves stared at me for several seconds.
Then his eyes drifted toward the fortified workshops, the guards on the walls, the constant stream of wagons moving through the compound, and finally back to Emily.
The realization seemed to settle over him all at once.
He seemed to finally be grasping the magnitude of what we were accomplishing.
And somehow, the teenage girl standing beside him was helping run a significant portion of it.
His expression became exactly the same as the one Benjamin wore whenever I introduced a new project.
The look of a man realizing there was far more madness still waiting beneath the surface.
“How much paper are you producing?”
Emily and I exchanged a look.
The question sounded simple enough, but neither of us had a simple answer.
“A lot. And still not enough. We have everything we are using here and what is being sold to Vaspar. The small amounts that are going to Carok and West Cove.”
Emily folded her arms proudly as she said it. There was a hint of satisfaction in her voice. The paper business had grown far faster than either of us had originally imagined.
Draves glanced toward the nearest factory. Through the open gates, workers could be seen hauling stacks of drying paper between buildings while wagons loaded with finished bundles waited to depart.
"And the parchment makers of Vaspar allow this? They realize paper could ruin their trade."
His tone carried genuine disbelief.
For centuries, parchment makers had enjoyed an effective monopoly on writing materials. Most people would fight tooth and nail against anything threatening their livelihood.
I chuckled.
“Not as much as you would think. They are the ones Emily is selling the paper to. Her prices are very reasonable, and the Parchment makers of Vaspar have all gotten together and set a price for the paper. The paper may have a lower cost but a better margin. The other reason is that we have the backing of Fredrick.”
Draves blinked.
For a moment, he simply stared at me.
“Shouldn’t you sell it to merchants rather than parchment makers? The way you are doing it just adds a second markup.”
Before I could answer, Emily crossed her arms and spoke up.
“True, and we have had several merchants upset that we won’t sell to them, but the parchment makers are now our distributor, and we don’t upset the economy in Vaspar or make anyone starve. We have also volunteered to take on any of their employees if they decided to slow or shut down the parchment-making side of things, so they are not out of work.”
Draves frowned thoughtfully.
“You are letting them keep part of the profit. So it causes fewer waves.”
“Correct.”
“You could earn more money.”
“I could.”
The veteran officer rubbed his short stubble.
“And there have been no upsets?”
That got an immediate laugh out of me.
A nearby guard who happened to overhear the question snorted and quickly pretended he hadn't.
“Of course, there have been. It has caused a few protests and one riot. But this has the support of two counts. The last report was that things have started to settle down. People don’t like change, but nothing will stop it from happening.”
Draves slowly shook his head.
“Very true.”
His eyes traveled over the factories again.
“Truly. You two have built something incredible. I can’t see how you remain so calm.”
“Because we watched it grow while you saw only the results.” I smiled. “And still we are only at the beginning.”