Elise licked the rock.
“Now smell it.”
Elise smelled it.
“Now, put it in your armpit.”
“Are you making fun of me?” Elise asked, anger rising in her voice.
“You know me better than that,” Yulia replied.
Elise complied.
“Slow your breath,” Vinnie suggested in a soft voice. “Ask the rock a question, just like Yulia said.”
After a few more breaths, Elise began to giggle. “This is so damn goofy.” Then, she gasped. “I feel it,” she whispered, then laughed some more. “Oh!” she exclaimed, and her arm snapped tight against her side. Reddish-brown dust fell from her sleeve and out from the hem of her tunic.
“You did it!” Yulia shouted.
“I really did,” Elise replied. “But this really itches.”
The real fun started when everyone started baby-talking to random chunks of the crumbled cave wall.
Idle Times Means More Work
“It’s been more than a week since they took Keep 49,” Mika observed. She stood across the table from Astrid with a map of the Lungu Protectorate between them.
Gormer had indeed brought in crews to remove the former sitting room’s ornate furniture and replaced it with simple work tables. They’d also added bunk beds along the walls with curtains around them.
The space had been transformed into something that was part office and part bivouac. Boxes of intelligence reports and action summaries covered most of the work surfaces.
At all hours of the day, scouts, commanders, lieutenants, and common soldiers rotated through. Orders were given here, and reports were made. Astrid slept very little, too busy coordinating all the moving parts of her rapidly-growing army.
Gormer referred to the rooms as the War Chamber. Astrid hoped the room wouldn’t live up to its name.
“The other keeps in this region,” Mika pointed to the central lowlands where Wilfred held land, “they just rolled over. They didn’t want the same treatment that Keep 49 got. Word spread about the weapon that made a man explode.”
Astrid let the statement hang for a moment before cutting Mika off. Vinnie was sending regular reports from the caves as he worked on the new weapons.
The weapons were powered by the mages themselves instead of the amphoralds. While he was making great progress in understanding the gems, he wasn’t exactly sure how to use them. People from Argan and the woods people were rotating through for training.
But his last message simply said, “We are The Forge now.”
All this rushed through Astrid’s mind. So many things were in play. She felt like any quick decisions at this point would be arbitrary. She was focused on the global optimal. “I know you’re impatient,” Astrid said, “but we can’t afford to make any mistakes. They’re not attacking, so we won’t attack. We’re still building strength.”
Mika sighed in frustration. “They’re not attacking because we showed strength. We have them contained. Right now we’re lucky, because these roads connect all the keeps we still control. But if they cut those roads…” Mika gestured to the series of roads on the map that Tomas had colored green to indicate that they were under friendly control.
“They haven’t called our bluff,” Astrid replied, using the new word she had learned by playing an ancient card game with Mika and her friends. “Which means they are uncertain. We’ve been good about keeping the merchants and tradesfolk happy. Trade with the Petrans did wonders for that.”
“Yeah,” Mika shot back. “Everyone likes coin.” She paused. “Except maybe you. But what do you think will happen when my former colleagues get their shit together and start drawing blood?”
“When the time is right, we will negotiate,” Astrid replied.
Mika shrugged. “Spring is right around the corner. These lands once loved their spring war campaigns; we were all raised on the stories. We trained for that. Hasn’t been a campaign in fifty years, but that hasn’t stopped us from being ready for one.”
“It’s far different now,” Astrid argued.
“How do you figure?” Mika couldn’t contain her frustration any longer. “This is war, whether you realize it or not. Just because we’re not in the field doesn’t make it otherwise.”
“It’s different,” Astrid declared, “because we are establishing principles again. Going back to the original Charter is working. The unfair laws are off the books. People are free to work the land as they see fit. As long as we’re not fighting we have a chance to be reasonable. I intend to open a dialogue very soon.”
Mika just shook her head. “Astrid, you’ve earned my respect. You really have. I didn’t think you would. Your adherence to your principles can only take us so far, though. Not everybody shares the same ideals.”
“They might not now,” Astrid replied. “But we won’t waver from what is right. If we hold true, more will see the way.”
“You’re starting to sound like a fanatic,” Mika replied.
Anger flashed across Astrid’s face for a moment, and she shook her head and let out a tense breath. “This conversation is falling apart fast. So we disagree. Let’s work on practical matters.”
“Where do you want to start, then?” Mika asked, still frustrated.
“Training. The troops you’ve sent to Argan via Keep 52 are coming along. They’re integrating well with the combined forces of the woods people and the new Civil Guard.”
That made Mika smile. “Some even became Dregs. That surprised me. We train for direct engagement, not sneaking around in the woods and attacking from cover.”
“You object to that style?”
Mika laughed heartily. “Only when it’s used against me. You’re elevating the woods people’s tactics to military art.”
“Now who’s rigidly adhering to principles?” Astrid could not resist the dig.
“Aha!” Mika declared with a smirk. “That’s the difference right there. I’m willing to change my stance when I see things working. We lieutenants are practical. You don’t seem to be changing when what you’re doing is not working.”
“How do you figure my moves so far aren’t working? We bloodied them at Wilfred’s estate and freed the Civil Guard. We taught them we can get to them, and now they are hiding in the keeps that surrendered without a fight.”
“I know these people, Astrid. I spent my whole life around them, and I know they’re up to something.”
“I look forward to showing you the results of all my methods,” Astrid replied. “You’ll just have to be patient and work with me on this…which brings me to another matter.”
“OK…” Mika said warily. She did not like the lead-in. She sensed a trap.
“Some of your regular troops have expressed interest in learning the magical arts.”
“What?” Mika spat. “They’re regular soldiers for a damn reason, Astrid. They’re not good or smart enough to use magic. Couldn't pass the tests. You start putting ideas in their heads—”
Astrid held up her hand. “They put the ideas into their own heads. Some of them have developed abilities just by being around my Wellspring cadets. They asked to meditate, and I did not deny them.” Astrid spoke quickly as red rose in Mika’s cheeks. “I’m not taking your troops away from you. They asked permission to train, but I told them I would ask you before further instruction. They showed initiative. You taught them that.”
Mika deflated. “New magic, new ways.” She sighed. “So be it. Just make it abundantly clear that these troops belong to my estate and will follow my orders.”
“There is no question,” Astrid replied. “They are loyal to you and the protectorate.”
“Maybe it’s the cheese,” Mika remarked.
That caught Astrid off-guard. “What?” She snorted with laughter.
“All that cheese coming across the border from Petran,” Mika answered with a lopsided grin. “It’s giving them funny ideas.”
“It’s not the cheese, Mika. It’s the magic
.”
“What’s the difference?” Mika replied.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Introduction to Magitech, Three Weeks Later
Liesel had to help Yarik down the stairs. She had not realized that standing all day made his arthritis flare. When he worked, he simply sent the pain away. Laboring on his machines sent him to some other place where his body mattered very little.
They worked in the machine shop for two weeks straight, getting only three or four hours of sleep each night if they were lucky. They dragged themselves back and forth between the machine shop and their suite of rooms in a grueling marathon that was going to pay off today.
“I need to keep an eye on you,” Liesel said as she put his arm over her shoulder. She had to practically force him to accept support, although she could hear his joints grinding.
“Don’t treat me like an invalid,” he hissed. “I’m not dead yet.”
“No,” she growled back. “But you’re getting crotchety and cranky like a dying lion roaring while his teeth fall out.”
That made him laugh and curse at the same time. “Don’t sass me, girl,” he managed to retort. “You’re never too old for the belt! These old joints just need to get warmed up, is all.” He pushed himself away from her and pretended that the pain was not extreme.
Liesel watched him walk toward the warehouse that was now their manufactory. Internally, she laughed at the thought of a whipping. He had taught all his children that corporal punishment would stop the day they were strong enough to take the leather strap away from him.
She had never forgotten the day she turned eight and punched him in the balls after the third strike across the back. She had stood there with fire in her eyes and the belt in her hand. She didn’t even remember taking the belt away from him.
He had said with pain and pride in his eyes, “Now do you understand why I’m so hard on you? Do you understand power now? More importantly, will you mind me when I tell you what you need to do? That is the most important of all.”
The lesson made her who she was today, and she was grateful for the discipline it had given her.
“Men,” a voice said behind her. “Prideful beasts, every last one. My father was just like that at the end.”
Liesel whirled and reached for the rifle that wasn’t there. She’d left her weapon upstairs as a sign of trust.
“I’m sorry,” Hagan lied as she stepped from a shadowed archway. “Did I startle you?”
How long had she been there?
It was too late to hide her discomfort, so she went with snarky as cover. “I seriously doubt you are sorry,” she parried with an icy smile. “No need to hide in the shadows and spy. We are an open book.”
Hagan’s face fell and for a moment her eyes went sharp and cold. Her shoulders relaxed, and the hairs stood up on the back of Liesel’s neck. Maybe challenging this one wasn’t such a good idea. She reeked of crazy.
Then Hagan smiled. “You are guests here, so I’ll forgive this misunderstanding.”
“Misunderstandings need forgiveness?” Liesel countered.
“Some do.” Hagan stepped forward. “But let’s move along. I’m eager to see this…what did you call it? ‘Assembly line?’”
Liesel had thought they’d worked out their mutual suspicions when they took turns torturing the twice-escaped Civil Guard. Maybe it was the fact that they had gotten away that had erased their bonding.
“Yes,” Liesel responded. “It’s a method that the New Ancients used for making complex devices quickly. Groups of laborers worked intensely on a single part, and one part was added to another until the machine was complete.”
“So any one person knows about just one part? How can the end result be any good? A master blacksmith knows every aspect of sword-making. They produce a master sword.”
“It’s true that a master craftsman produces superior products, but it often takes decades to learn a craft, and it takes many hours of labor for one person to create that master sword. We can take one person and show them how to create one simple part using our machines. We teach them how to operate a section of the assembly line. They don’t need a lifetime of skills; they just focus on running the machine like we tell them. If they do that, they get quality parts fast.”
“But not the best quality,” Hagan countered as they pushed open the door of the warehouse.
Hagan stopped short. The shabby warehouse had been transformed. There hadn’t been enough time to install a proper brick floor, but Liesel had gotten her borrowed laborers to flatten and level the dirt floor. Construction methods were crude in these parts, but the villagers had caught on quickly. It helped that they were motivated by the story of the defiant guard and the weapon that made him explode.
“You see the common villagers you loaned me for construction?” Liesel asked, sweeping her hand across the row of machines. Each was staffed by a man or woman who stood nervously by the controls.
“I do,” Hagan said as Wilfred and Hanif arrived.
“Lieutenants.” Hagan gave them a cool reception. Wilfred looked bruised, and the blisters on his face glistened with salve. With his eyebrows gone, he looked a bit otherworldly to Liesel.
“Greetings, First Lieutenants of the Protectorate,” Liesel effused dramatically. The arrivals somehow snapped her into show mode; that, or she was relieved to dilute the creepy company of Hagan. “Welcome to the first run of your new magitech weapons factory!”
Morgon stepped forward and ran his eyes up and down the line of machines that were spaced no more than five feet apart.
“It’s a bunch of workbenches,” Morgon observed, ignoring the complex machines on the benches since he simply could not understand them. “How are they supposed to make a magitech rifle?”
Liesel smiled and looked up to a catwalk that ran the length of the warehouse. The walk had also been built by the conscripted village labor force. “I’m glad you asked that,” Liesel said as she led them up the stairs. Yarik stood there looking proud. He seemed to have forgotten his pain.
“This is the first station,” Liesel announced. Then she raised her voice to a shout. “Everyone, activate your machines!”
The warehouse was filled with a high-pitched hum that lasted a full second and the lieutenants flinched. Then the sounds of whirring motors and spinning gears filled the space.
Some of the machines glowed with red and blue light as they converted their stores of metal into rifle parts. The cold shop warmed quickly.
“It’s loud!” Hagan shouted.
Clang! Station One announced it was done. The first laborer polished a long tube, looked it over, then moved two paces to hand it off to the next worker.
“That was the barrel,” Liesel said proudly. “The metal available to us was inferior, but it will work for a basic infantry rifle.”
“I gave you all my practice swords and reserve weapons to feed your contraptions with metal,” Wilfred growled. One of the blisters on his face cracked open and oozed. Hiding her disgust, Liesel ignored it.
“What is that person doing?” Morgon inquired, cutting Wilfred off before he could complain again. “Station Two is the trigger assembly and receiver. It’s one of the most important parts of the weapon, because it holds the amphorald.”
They moved down the catwalk as the parts traveled between stations. The stock was fitted to the receiver, and internal parts were added to both. The lieutenants had no idea what they were looking at. This was a first-generation design, crude by Yarik’s standards.
Even so, this concept was far deadlier than any crossbow in all the Protectorates.
“What is that strange object?” Hagan asked, pointing to one of the final stations. A woman wearing heavy gloves and a thick leather apron pulled a long, glowing blue rod from a machine. She clamped the rifle into a vice fitted to the top of her station and slowly inserted the rod into the barrel.
“This is the finishing part of the line,” Liesel announced. “That device is something called
a cathode. It’s one of the most delicate parts of the weapon. This is a crucial stage.”
“Delicate…” Morgon balked. “No part of a weapon of war should be delicate.”
Yarik finally took his eyes off the line and spoke. “I beg to differ, my dear Mr. Morgon. I’ve studied your crossbows up close, and I can say without a doubt that the string mechanism on your weapon is far more delicate than my cathode.” Yarik pointed with a sharp finger. “At the next station the barrel is filled with mineral oil. When finished, you will see how tough it is firsthand.”
The rifle came to the final station where, sure enough, the worker used a funnel to pour oil into the barrel. She then screwed a cylindrical solid brass fitting to the end. The brass part ended in a shallow concave face.
The worker at the final station hunched over the completed device. Liesel had handpicked the woman herself. She was a rare combination of compliant and ambitious; the villager was perfect. She was just smart enough to put all the pieces together, but not smart enough to have much of an idea about how they worked.
Her eagerness to leave village life was the perfect motivation for Liesel to use against her.
When she was done, the woman held the rifle over her head with both hands and shouted, “Finished!”
“Halt the line!” Liesel ordered. The carefully-conditioned laborers each stepped back two paces and craned their necks to look up at Liesel for further orders.
Like dogs begging for a treat, Liesel thought.
Yarik checked his gold pocket watch and smiled. “Not bad for barely-trained peasants,” he announced. “Ten minutes for a complete rifle.”
What she did not tell them was that it would take many more hours and a lot more high-quality metal to make a significant number of the weapons. She also omitted the fact that some of the more complex parts were made by Yarik and Liesel in private using their own more refined machines.
“Well,” Liesel added, holding up a small stone that glowed bright blue. “Almost complete. Of course, we don’t allow the workers to have a loaded weapon.”
She stepped aside and swept her hand toward the stairs. They followed the rifle like moths to a flame while Liesel hung back to help her father down the stairs so that nobody would notice. Nobody, that was, except Hagan.
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