by John F. Carr
Warntha wouldn't have minded staying with the Ros-Zarthani; the company was good-mostly fellow soldiers who had accepted him as one of their own despite his disguise as one of Styphon's highpriests. The possibilities for future fighting seemed endless, so he was content. He was especially looking forward to fighting against Kalvan and his Army of Hos-Hostigos.
On the other hand, things were never dull when Hadron Tharn was around. Warntha was surprised to find he actually missed his crazy boss.
The conveyer door opened to show Tharn with a welcoming smile, flanked by two guards in black uniforms. "How was your exercise?"
Warntha took a seat inside the conveyer across from his boss and said, "It was a nice vacation. The Ros-Zarthani soldiers are good troops, even without gunpowder weapons. They'll give Kalvan fits, but not enough to be decisive."
Tharn's face blanked. "None of my plans are working. I'm hemmed in on every side by morons and incompetents! The Opposition Party has refused my latest donation! They claim that Chief Verkan's new policy of phased harvesting of the Europo-American Sector is workable and acceptable by all parties. So Verkan wins once again!"
Warntha was used to his bosses sudden mood shifts, but this one took him by surprise. He wasn't exactly sure why his boss hated Paratime Chief Verkan Vall, but he suspected it had something to do with his sister Dalla. "So what's the next move, boss?"
"We're on our way to Fifth Level Base One."
Warntha, as an ex-military specialist, had originally been recruited by Tharn's Organization to help train troops at the Base, mostly proles being trained for military action groups. This had been going on for a decade and Tharn had created quite the private little army. The proles he was using as his shock troops thought Hadron Tharn was a supporter of the Prole Liberation Movement. Warntha, knowing Tharn's prejudices, seriously doubted that! Warntha still didn't know Tharn's plan, but he knew that Tharn had no good purpose in mind for any proles, whom he looked upon as little better than beasts of burden.
He had just finished cleaning his kit when the overhead flickering ceased and the silver mesh began to solidify overhead signifying they had arrived at Fifth Level Base One. The conveyer came to rest in a small room; from there they went aboard a rocket transport and traveled to a large island, at the base of the largest southern continental mass, that usually served the First Level population as a recreation spot-meaning there was little possibility of a Paratime Police conveyer dropping in unexpectedly.
Warntha, who was dressed warmly for a higher latitude, felt himself begin to sweat as the airboat arrived at the large military compound. It took a great deal of Tharn's assets to keep this place running, but he had six airstrike teams and fifteen divisions of infantry for his own personal army. To the best of Warntha's knowledge, it was a bigger force than Home Time-Line's own military, which primarily existed to put down Prole Insurrections. The two guards remained in the conveyer.
He followed Tharn into a large conference room with a large visiscreen dominating one wall. A dozen proles in military uniforms decorated with gold braid sat around a table. They all stood up as Tharn approached.
"Citizen Tharn, when can we mount our attack?"
"General, the time has not yet arrived. There is still work that needs to be done on Home Time-Line. I advise patience."
Warntha choked back a laugh. Hearing Tharn advise patience was like hearing someone advise a friend to take a vacation on Second Level Arzl Dykx, a subsector where the survivors of an ancient nuclear holocaust killed each other for table scraps.
One of the other generals, an older man with a gray beard, said, "With your long life, Citizen, you can afford to wait. I was a young man when I joined the PLM. Look at me now!"
The other proles nodded their agreement.
"If all goes as planned, you will all get the longevity treatments and you and your children will live a long life indeed."
This promise appeared to settle them down and the generals went back to the business of plotting the overthrow of Fifth Level Force Headquarters.
As a veteran of the Home Force, Warntha knew that the Fifth Level HQ would have to be taken by surprise for this band of half-trained and inexperienced resistance fighters to take them out. What kind of surprise attack does Tharn have planned? he wondered. By definition, as a Hadron Tharn plan, it would be irregular, dangerous and with total disregard to casualties. He almost felt sorry for the proles.
II
As he and his bodyguard made their way over the narrow cobblestone streets of Harphax City, Phidestros was surprised by the large number of gawking onlookers and the occasional applause that greeted their party, which was flying the red and white Royal banner of Hos-Harphax and the Iron Band standard. The morale in Harphax was a far cry from that of a year ago, when prosperous merchants and guildsmen were leaving the city in droves for fear of a Hostigi siege train.
The buildings at the center of town were mostly two and three-story white plaster storefronts, but as they drew closer to the city walls these were replaced by ramshackle wood and plaster tenements, timbered warehouses and an occasional stone factory. It was one of the largest of these factories that was their destination, the Royal Artillery Works. The streets were filled with wagons and carriages; Styphon's gold had finally brought prosperity to the capital city.
At the Artillery Works Phidestros' ears were greeted by the din of banging hammers, screeching metal and yelling men. He dismounted and walked over to General Kyblannos, formerly head of the Iron Band and now the commander of the Harphaxi Royal Artillery. They touched palms and Kyblannos mouthed, "Follow me," and led him into the cavernous building. As two commanders entered the building, the artisans and helpers who saw them stopped working and they were able to hear each other over the roar of the forges.
"Welcome to my killing ground, Captain-General," Kyblannos said, looking for all the world like a proud father.
Phidestros shook his head. "This is too close to Hadron's realm for my liking."
Kyblannos laughed. He pointed at a small brass gun, lying on its side next to a wooden carriage. "This is one of the four-pounders we found at Tarr-Veblos. We're working on some Kalvan-style carriages to mount it on. What's interesting is that it's a Zygrosi cast gun," he pointed to a small proof mark, "but this mark is Hostigi-a keystone, Kalvan's device. This is conclusive proof that Kalvan has a band of Zygrosi foundry workers working at the Usurper's Foundry in Hostigos."
"We knew that from our intelligence, but this proof mark would convince even my father! It's the Trickster's Own Luck that during your excursion into Hostigos you were unable to capture the Hostigi Artillery train."
The artilleryman nodded. "We had a limit on how many men and how much equipment we could smuggle into Nostor. The countryside is still barren from the war, but Prince Pheblon has outriders everywhere. Who expected a troop of Hostigi regulars to be escorting the train?"
"Don't fret, Kyblannos, you did well. Leaving the dead behind in Phaxosi uniforms was a bit of genius. The Hostigi blamed the entire raid on Prince Araxes who died protesting his innocence." They both laughed, as no one had liked that cowardly fencestitter.
"If Queen Rylla hadn't been so anxious to blame Araxes, things wouldn't have turned out so well," Phidestros said.
"Again, the Trickster's Own Luck! Yes, my Captain, and you took full advantage by capturing Tarr-Veblos. Did you ever tell Lysandros or Soton the truth about that raid into Nostor?"
"No. It's our little secret. If word got out, and the Electors of Harphax ever learned that they had been had, well, Great King Lysandros would have turkey feathers in his beard! And you know who he'd take his ire out on.
The artilleryman nodded knowingly.
"So what is it you want to show me?"
Kyblannos took him over to look at a new Harphaxi gun already mounted on one of the Kalvan-style carriages.
"Small, isn't it?" Phidestros said, examining the iron tube surrounded by hammered hoops, or metal rings, to give it more str
ength. As Kyblannos had told him more than once, when the hoops cooled they contracted until they were actually crushing the barrel to a slight degree. This counteracted the tendency of the barrels to come apart when the fireseed charge exploded.
"It's based on one of Kalvan's small mobile guns that the Red Hand captured atTenabra." Kyblannos pointed to a cannon already mounted on a carriage beside it. "This is the Hostigi gun. Can you tell any difference?"
Phidestros shook his head from side to side.
Kyblannos then pointed to a gun beside it that was bulkier and obviously larger. "This is one of our guns of the same bore. It has noticeably more heft than the Kalvan designed gun." Kyblannos turned back to the Hostigi gun, and said, "I went over it for days until I learned its every secret." He bent over to pat the breech as if it were a favorite dog. "Can you see the difference between Kalvan's gun and our new one?"
"Identical."
"In rough appearance; however, not only are they lighter than the old eight-pounders, Phidestros, but the gun typically only needs four horses to pull it, instead of six, Bless Galzar! This is what gives Kalvan's artillery its mobility."
"Why doesn't Kalvan make the guns even smaller, maybe four-pounders? Then he could use two horses instead of four."
"For a very good reason. It's been my experience with small guns, like four-pounders, that after a few rounds the metal gets so hot that the gun will 'cook off' any fireseed placed in it. I'm sure Kalvan took that into consideration."
Then he led Phidestros over to the corner of the Artillery Works. "See this brass gun?"
"Yes. It's a Zygrosi gun. Only the Zygrosi make brass guns in the Five Kingdoms. Where did it come from?"
"Battle spoil from Tarr-Veblos."
Phidestros nodded, wishing he'd spent more time on the artillery field. The differences between the Zygrosi brass cast gun and the Harphaxi cannon was immediately obvious. Besides being made of brass, the muzzle was thinner and there were no metal rings.
"I don't recall the Zygrosi guns looking like this. Is this another of Kalvan's designs?" Phidestros asked.
"Yes. The Kalvan gun has much less metal on the muzzle end, which makes it lighter and easier to handle, yet it has even more metal around the breech so that it will take a double charge." He banged on the brass barrel with a hammer, which pinged nicely over the bellows. "That means it will take a double charge of Styphon's fireseed, or a full charge of Kalvan's fire-seed formula."
Phidestros nodded. "Remember that gunner who tried to use some Hostigi fireseed in his twelve-pounder at Tarr-Harphax?"
Kyblannos grinned. "They're still finding shards of that gun and the artilleryman's teeth in the outer bailey. Fortunately, we've got tons of Styphon's fireseed to burn in our older guns."
"Nice gun, but that wasn't why you sent for me, Kyblannos. I know you better than that!"
"I was wondering if you could use some of those Zygrosi connections of yours to get us some pattern makers and brass casters, so we can cast some of our own cannon."
"I thought you'd already have figured out how to cast your own."
Kyblannos ran his fingers through his curly helmet of gray-streaked brown hair. "I have lots of ideas, but what I don't have is the time to make the molds, train pattern makers and determine the right mixture of copper and zinc for the molten brass. We can cast more guns if you hire Zygrosi brass casters and put them to work, while I spend my time working on the trunnions and gun carriages."
Phidestros reached into his belt pouch to take out his pipe, remembered where he was and quickly removed his hand. "I wish I could help. The problem is that I'm not 'recognized' in my birth land. Besides, the Zygrosi brass casters who know how to cast hundreds of pounds of brass have never been numerous, not with the shortage of fireseed in Hos-Zygros. You know how stingy Styphon's House was with fireseed until Kalvan gave away the secret of the Fireseed Mystery. Now, with the fireseed mixture common knowledge, brass founders who can cast guns are worth their weight in gold-and they know it."
Kyblannos agreed. "In Hos-Harphax and Hos-Agrys we've had more fireseed, but never enough to burn wastefully on big guns, so the cannons have kept to the same design for centuries. Until Kalvan."
Phidestros nodded. "Styphon's House does not like change, but it's unlikely the fireseed mystery will disappear just because Kalvan's defeated. Soon every town will have its own fireseed mill, and Styphon's House will go back to healing the sick-if they remember how!"
Kyblannos laughed. "Styphon's House, a plague on it! I've been hearing stories about an Investigation in Balph-and not just of commoners, but highpriests as well!"
"This Investigation is common knowledge. Even Soton recognized it, but not happily. This rogue Archpriest Roxthar is trying to purge Styphon's House of unbelievers!"
They both roared with laughter, enough that the artillerymen around them gave them funny looks. Kyblannos added, "The streets are full of talk of his Investigation! The Ktemnoi merchants talk of nothing else. Has Roxthar actually found any Styphoni faithful?"
"No. He'd have better luck finding a virgin at the One-Eyed Boar!"
They both hooted. When he caught his breath, Phidestros said, "It is wise to watch what your tongue says regarding Styphon, when among strangers. Great King Lysandros appears to be one of the faithful-don't laugh! If he isn't, he gives a very good imitation, attending all manner of Temple rituals and services. Fortunately, being sworn to Galzar means I have no business being dragged to Styphon's House's tedious services. Still, I have to show proper respect to Styphon's images and highpriests."
Kyblannos gave him a look that said better you than me. In a low voice, he added, "By Tranth's Hammer and Galzar's Mace, we live in strange times, when Captain-Generals are judged by their respect for a failed god!"
"You speak the truth, Kyblannos. Soton also warned me that Roxthar might be bringing his Investigation right along with our army. It appears Archpriest Roxthar is afraid that the Kalvan heresy might infect the rest of the Northern Kingdoms if not stamped out completely in Hos-Hostigos. I wonder if the lands Lysandros has promised me upon our victory may turn out to be as barren, after this Roxthar's passage, as Regwarn's Caverns of the Dead."
Kyblannos nodded soberly. "In the wine shops it is said that even the Inner Circle fears the Investigation."
"Yes, if Grand Master Soton is worried, the Temple must be quaking right to its very foundation!"
"Then it is up to us to avoid all appearance of heresy."
"Right," Phidestros answered, "which means not mentioning the name Kalvan in association with your new carriages."
Kyblannos spat on the floor. "This is a Dralm-damned way to fight a war."
"Is there anything else you want to show me before I return to Tarr-Harphax?"
Kyblannos nodded eagerly. "I want to show you my latest gun carriages. We have to go out back."
Phidestros followed his old comrade through the Artillery Works moving out of the way of tree-stump sized anvils and forges belching fire. In the back lot amongst broken wagons and second-growth trees were some ten or twelve dismembered carriages, several of them longer than any carriage he'd ever seen before. There was a stone wall twice the height of a man between the Works and the next building.
Kyblannos pointed to a carriage, which had a long bed for the gun. "This is our new carriage." He gestured to two of the artillerymen following behind and told them to load the gun. "Use sand, we don't want to lose any more neighbors."
It must be artillerymen's humor, thought Phidestros as the gunners all laughed out loud.
"See, that's the counterweight there. Watch and see what happens after the gun goes off."
After putting in powder and ramming it home, the rammer put in a wad of sand wrapped in cloth. When he was finished tamping it down the barrel, another gunner lit the fuse coming out of the touchhole. "Fire in the hole!"
THWACK!
The ground shook as the gun pushed back to the end of the carriage. The moment the backward mo
tion stopped, the counterweight yanked the cannon back to its former position on the track.
"Galzar's Great Ghost! Very impressive, Kyblannos."
All the artillerymen grinned like proud fathers, including Kyblannos. "It means that the crew doesn't have to waste half a candle aiming the gun again."
One of the wheelwrights came forward. "Not even the Daemon Kalvan has these recoil beds!"
"I never saw anything like it before. Kyblannos, making you General of the Hos-Harphax Royal Artillery was one of my smartest decisions."
Kyblannos beamed. "Thank you, Captain-General."
"Where did you get the idea for these recoil carriages?"
Kyblannos paused to take his pipe out of a pocket in his apron and stick it in his mouth. "Back when I was younger and a camp follower, I was drafted into the Agrys City Traveling Dramaturgical Theatre Band as a prop artificer."
Phidestros laughed. "I don't know where you get these stories, but you have more of them than a one-eyed Trygathi troubadour!"
For a moment Kyblannos looked hurt, and took his pipe out of his mouth, sticking it back into his pocket.
"I'm sorry, old friend. Please, continue."
"I remembered we used to build drawbridges that, when lowered, flew back up again."
"Yes, like the counterweights on a portcullis."
"Exactly, so I used the idea of counterweights on the carriage bed, only with a cannon instead of a drawbridge."
"Ingenious, old friend. I swear by the Wargod's Beard, this recoil gun carriage looks like one of Kalvan's wonders. Now, how many of them can you build by spring?"
Kyblannos looked crestfallen. "I can have eighteen six- and eight-pounders on Kalvan-style carriages ready by spring, and maybe four more on these recoiling ones." He held his hands out. "For these new recoil carriages, there's not enough time. They take three times as long to build as the Kalvan, I mean, new-style carriages, and we're still working out the kinks in the rigging."
