Quinlan stood stock still, displeasure at being dismissed evident on his face as he struggled to choose between unleashing the protest already formed on his tongue and complying. He knew his complaints would earn him nothing since men far above his station had drafted the orders, possibly even as high as coming from the emperor himself, but hearing it from the mouths of a lowborn freeman and a slave grated on his nerves.
Dignity finally triumphed over ego. “My men and I will return to the ship and await your return. You will deliver us to Vulcrad as soon as possible. I find I have grown weary of being in your presence, Jareen, and will find my own transport back home.”
Jareen could not restrain his smirk. “As you wish, Inquisitor.”
Quinlan ordered his men to remove the prisoners’ shackles before they all tromped back up the ramp and disappeared onto the airship.
Rayna waited until the inquisitor was out of sight before walking up to Lorbash and embracing him. “Lorbash, you old drunk, it’s good to see you. How are you?”
The pilot returned her hug and smile. “Surprisingly, still alive, a feat for which I owe Atin a great deal.”
Atin extended his hand when Rayna turned to look at him. “Atin Cienne, as I’m sure you already know. I’m nominally in charge here.”
“Nominally?” Rayna asked.
“I control what happens in the pit, but I’m only slightly less a prisoner than you are.” He pointed to the soldiers positioned around the artificial crater’s rim. “Those men are there to make sure we all stay put and gainfully employed, and there is nothing I can say or do to change that…yet.”
“So this thing, building a void-steel airship and weapons to bring down the highlords and highborn, that’s legit?”
“It is, and having seen these weapons in action, I am now convinced we have a real opportunity to succeed, especially now that you and your people have arrived.”
Rayna’s face grew dark and she rubbed the chafed skin around her wrists. “It was not exactly by choice, and good men died to get us here.”
“I’m sorry, and I will not presume to know what all transpired in Nibbenar, but I am grateful for your help. It may well be the deciding factor between victory and defeat.”
Jareen shifted uncomfortably at the guilt he felt for his part in the duplicity that led to Rayna’s involuntary enlistment and her people’s deaths. “You have made headway on improving my weapon?”
“More than just headway,” Merle replied, his eyes gleaming with excitement. “Should we show him now?”
Atin nodded. “Yes, the quicker we get this over with, the sooner he can get Inquisitor Quinlan off my worksite.”
Atin led the group across the expansive pit to the base of the volcano. They walked down a short passage inside the mountain before stopping at a sturdy metal door set into the cavern wall. Atin unlocked it and secured it behind them once they were inside. Another passageway resumed beyond the door before opening up into a large cavern illuminated by lamps mounted along the walls. Stacks of wooden crates occupied a large portion of the room’s far side.
Merle and Eldon moved several of the boxes aside before dragging out the one they were looking for. Using a pry bar, Merle removed the top of the box to display a dozen weapons, most of them small like Jareen’s prototype, with a few much longer ones.
Merle handed a pistol to Jareen and one of the longer weapons to Rayna. “I call them muskets, the smaller one a pistol if you want to be specific.”
Jareen gave Atin a quizzical look. “Musket, pistol?”
“Musket is an old Thuumian word roughly translating to sulfur belcher.”
“Or something slightly cruder depending on clan dialect,” Merle added.
“And pistol?”
Merle grinned. “Another old Thuumian word for what you would call a well-endowed man’s, uh…piece.”
Jareen glanced at Rayna, but from her expression, or lack thereof, she was far less embarrassed than he was. He used his thumb to pull back the hammer and examine the mechanism.
Merle nodded. “It is similar but better than your design. Instead of a lit cord, the hammer is spring-loaded. When you squeeze the trigger, a piece of flint hits the steel striker, called a frizzen, casting a shower of sparks onto the flash pan, and igniting the priming powder you place in it during loading. Other than adding the priming powder to the flash pan, loading is the same.”
Rayna looked at the weapons skeptically. “How do these work? All I see is a club.”
“Would you like to show her, Jareen?” Atin asked.
“Absolutely.”
Atin led them around the stacked crates where a second door blocked entry to another passageway that quickly opened up into a large tunnel. Merle ran ahead into the darkness and lit several lanterns along the cavern’s length, illuminating another stack of crates against the far end of the tunnel and several man-shaped dummies tied to stakes driven into the ground less than halfway down.
Atin handed Jareen a flask of powder and a pouch of shot and wadding. “I designed the powder flask myself. Pull the lever with your thumb and upend the flask. That allows the tube at the top to fill with what we have determined to be the optimal load. Release the lever, uncap the flask, and pour in the powder. Stuff down the wad and shot, add your primer, and you’re all set.”
Jareen followed Atin’s instructions, took up a shooting stance, and aimed at the nearest mannequin. The recoil was greater than he had anticipated and the pistol nearly bucked out of his hand when he squeezed the trigger. Despite his less than stellar performance, the target wobbled on its stake, indicating a hit.
Merle took the musket from Rayna, loaded it, and handed it back to her. “Pull the hammer back just like Jareen did, hold the stock tight against your shoulder, center the nub at the end of the barrel on the target’s chest, and gently squeeze the trigger.”
Rayna did as she was told. The weapon’s kick rocked her back on her heels, but her target also lurched. They all walked down the passageway and inspected the hits. Jareen’s shot had struck the target low in the “gut” and Rayna’s had clipped it in its “shoulder.”
“Well, that’s not likely to kill anyone, especially not a highlord,” she remarked.
Atin said, “Still, not a bad shot for your first time, and with poor illumination at that.”
“The highlords will have wards, and they are not likely to stand out in the open.”
Atin smiled. “You haven’t seen the cannon yet.”
“Cannon?” Jareen asked.
Atin led them back toward the entrance and pulled a piece of canvas off of what appeared to be an oversized musket mounted on wagon wheels with a bore large enough for him to shove his entire arm down.
“You asked if we could make them bigger,” Atin said. “Is this big enough for you?”
Jareen ran his hands along the cold iron tube and over the tall wheels. “Cannon is Thuumian for…?”
Merle grinned. “A very large, angry, loud woman.”
“Have you fired it yet?”
Atin nodded. “We have. It’s mounted on wheels so it can roll backward to absorb the enormous recoil. We first tried to make it stationary and damn near killed the crew when it ripped apart the mounting. We’ve also learned to wrap the entire barrel in a thin ribbon of void steel to greatly improve its strength. Since we have to cast them instead of forge them for the sake of construction speed, it allows us to make the walls a full inch thinner.”
“Can I see it in use?”
“We saved a load for you to test it. Until you and Auberon start sending us regular shipments of powder, we won’t have much for weapons training.”
“But he has sent one, so he must have started large-scale production already. Once I get back to Velaroth, I should be able to formalize its production and make timely shipments,” Jareen said. “So how does this beast work?”
“Much the same as the musket but with some added steps. You have to quench the barrel after every shot or risk premat
urely igniting the next load.” Atin’s face fell. “We learned that one the hard way as well. Lost one man and another is going to have to make do with just one arm.”
Jareen grimaced but accepted the inevitable accidents.
Atin continued with Merle performing the steps as he spoke them. “The powder is measured and bagged beforehand. Assuming this is a real battle, we quench the bore, and ram down the powder, wadding, and shot. Puncture the powder bag with a wire here at the pan, add priming powder, cock the hammer, and stand back.”
Merle held a lanyard that was attached to the hammer. “You’ll want to plug your ears,” he said, stuffing a wad of cotton in his ears.
The onlookers pressed their hands over the sides of their heads. Merle jerked the cord and the cannon roared with a massive gout of flame and a thick cloud of smoke. Jareen was unsure if he or the cannon jumped farther when it fired. A hundred yards away, several crates exploded and the dirt mound behind them sprayed in a geyser.
With his ears ringing and a piece of cloth held over his mouth trying to filter the acrid smoke, Jareen asked, “Can we mount these on an airship?”
“You’re thinking about the recoil?” Atin asked. “I think so. Merle and I have been putting our heads together. I think we can mount them on compact carts with small wheels, run stout lines across the back, and attach them to either counterweights or strong springs to reduce the rollback.”
Jareen stared at the cannon and the destruction it had wrought. “This is it then. We have the soldiers, weapons, and we will soon have the airships.”
“We are missing one important thing,” Atin said.
“What’s that?”
“Training. The muskets aren’t too hard to learn, and much of the training can be done without actually firing the weapon. The cannons, on the other hand, are far more complex and less forgiving of errors. It takes a lot of powder to shoot them, and even if powder isn’t a concern, the noise they make is sure to attract attention eventually. Now, I can schedule the live fires around the same time as mine blasting occurs to allay suspicions, but that is still not going to be enough to make a truly proficient crew.”
“We will just have to make do. I expect to have five airships when we attack Phaer. How many cannons do you think you can make and mount aboard the vessels?”
“What airships are we talking about?” Atin asked. “We have the Voulge and the beast Rayna’s going to build.”
“My wife had contacts in every city except Phaer. If I can rally them to our cause, we can crew a supply ship from each city. We sail them to Phaer in the guise of tribute ships. That’s why we must adhere to such a strict timeline. If we miss the next delivery, we’ll have to wait another year for the next one. Flying five laden airships into Phaer at any other time without drawing a great deal of suspicion is very unlikely, and the highlords will swat us out of the sky before we get close enough to the Grand Tower to strike.”
Atin nodded. “And every new day brings with it the possibility of discovery. With the weapons at our disposal, my men and I could hold this crater and the mines for weeks, maybe months, but we would inevitably fail to bring down the highlords. We could be a nuisance, but that is all.”
“That clinches it then,” Rayna said. “Let’s get this airborne bastion bolted together and flying.”
Atin winked at Rayna. “Already denominating her before she’s built. Isn’t that bad luck?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Bastion, seems a fitting name for such a formidable vessel.”
Rayna shrugged. “Hopefully it’s only bad luck for the highlords.”
Atin turned to Jareen. “Merle and Eldon will load the crate of weapons we already made. Once Rayna tells me who and what she needs to construct the Bastion, I can allocate most everyone else to making muskets. By the time we’re ready to launch, I should be able to manufacture upwards of five thousand muskets and a hundred cannons. They won’t be pretty, but they’ll work.”
The conspirators returned to the Voulge with Merle and Eldon carrying the large crate by the rope handles threaded through the ends of the box.
Atin stopped Jareen at the base of the boarding ramp. “Lorbash has something he made just for you.”
The scraggly, aging pilot produced five musket balls from a pocket. Each shot was engraved with arcane symbols filled with gold.
Lorbash dropped them into Jareen’s open palm. “I thought these might be useful to you.” He glanced up at the rail from where Quinlan looked upon them. “Sometime real soon.”
Jareen closed his hand over them and dropped the inscribed lead balls into his pocket. “What are they for?”
“I made them to cut through a sorcerer’s ward. I don’t know how effective they’ll be. It all depends on the sorcerer and the strength of his ward, but they’ll help. Might be the difference between life and death—for the both of you.”
Jareen nodded. “Thank you.”
The group exchanged handshakes and departed. Jareen had Merle and Eldon stow the crate of muskets in his cabin before returning to the pit.
Quinlan’s eyes never left Jareen, tracking him from the moment he returned until he debarked in Vulcrad with his gendarmes to find transport back to their respective homes. To Jareen’s surprise, the inquisitor never spoke to him, not even to question him about the cannon shot that was surely audible across the entire pit and throughout the labyrinthine mine beyond.
Free of prying eyes for the first time in more than a month, Jareen was able to relax as he returned to his master, but he knew in his heart the reprieve was temporary. Despite Quinlan’s silence, he knew the inquisitor was not going to give up his chase. Jareen studied the rune-inscribed shot in his hand and smiled. There was now a significant difference between being cornered and being caught.
CHAPTER 22
Despite being the dead of night with only lanterns to guide her way, Irna, the Voulge’s new pilot, set the airship down onto the cradle with little more than a bump. Jareen instructed four crewmen to carry the crate of arms from the ship to a baggage wagon he hired upon landing.
Jareen drove the wagon himself, paying the regular driver to take the rest of the night off. Even knowing what signs to look for, it took more than an hour for him to locate Gill and his group of dissidents.
Little had changed during his travels, at least on the surface. Many of the same surly faces greeted him upon entering the tavern but no one stopped him as he made his way to the back room where he suspected Gill and the others were holed up.
A man guarding the door, one of the same men Jareen had met during his first encounter with the group, if his memory served correctly, rapped out a pattern of knocks before opening it to admit him.
Gill and the others sat around a table drinking. The looks on their faces suggested that they were doing little more than complaining into their drinks, which was exactly what Jareen had hoped occupied their time. Jareen had not expected them to welcome his return with smiles and pleasantries, but the angry scowls that greeted him gave him pause.
“Damn,” Gill cursed under his breath, “he’s alive. Looks like me and most of us lost that wager.”
A few faces brightened at Gill’s pronouncement, but most turned even sourer.
“For once, I am not sorry to disappoint,” Jareen said. “Did any trouble arise while I was gone?”
“Not a damn bit,” Gill grumbled. “The highborn are getting uppity again, figuring Quinlan got the lot of us and crushed the spirits of anyone who slipped away.”
“Good. That is precisely what we want them to believe.”
“Easy for you to say. You aren’t on the streets being treated like rammox dung.”
“Victory is more important than any man’s pride, yours and mine included.” Jareen opened the room’s back door and motioned his men from the Voulge to bring in the crate. One of them pried the lid up and Jareen flipped it open. “This is what your patience has earned us.”
Gill took one of the
weapons Jareen handed out. “Well, will you look at that.”
Jareen spoke while the men examined and fawned over the muskets. “As you can see, my endeavors in Vulcrad were a success. Not only were my contacts able to make the weapons, they incorporated some significant improvements. The men I brought with me will instruct you on how to operate them, and you in turn will teach others. Gill, were you able to create more resistance cells?”
Gill lifted his eyes from the pistol in his hands. “Aye. We found some and made others. Each are more or less autonomous, using dead drops to communicate just like you asked. Far as I know, we got eight cells with between a dozen and a score of folks in each. There could be twice as many as that though since I only know of the ones me and my men contacted or created.”
Jareen nodded. “Excellent work. I will leave it to you to find a secure location to store the muskets, preferably deep in the lowborn area below ground where you can get a little live fire practice without anyone hearing it. For now, it will all be dry training to familiarize yourselves with operating the weapons.”
Gill looked at the now empty crate and glanced around the room. “This ain’t many weapons to be overthrowing the highborn, no matter how improved they are.”
“This is just the initial batch. I expect to smuggle five hundred or more into each of the five great cities in the coming months, so continue to quietly increase our numbers. Vulcrad and Nibbenar are doing likewise as we speak. I expect I will have to travel to Thuum and Glisteran myself in order to start making things happen there. For now, keep quiet, play the good citizen a while longer, and be ready to fight for your lives when the time comes.”
Gill looked down at the pistol in his hands, stroked the cold steel barrel, and smiled. “Oh, we’ll be ready.”
***
Jareen hired one of the many cabriolets, a common, lightweight, two-wheeled coach, to take him home. His first instinct was to check in with Sah Auberon, but it was late and he had likely retired for the evening hours ago. A chill crept up his spine upon entering his home despite the warm night air. He had avoided spending any time here since the death of his wife and son. Whenever he tried, ghosts haunted his sleep and drove him to find rest elsewhere.
Highlords of Phaer (Empire of Masks Book 1) Page 21
