The water material would likely need to contain at least some of the fire element also, else it would simply douse the flame. This, it had turned out, was the most difficult thing about the entire process: fire and water were generally at odds with each other, not combining well except under very specific circumstances.
He'd spent the month since then trying different mixtures, experimenting with various materials. He'd tried lamp oil at first, thinking that such an obvious mixture of fire and water would be perfect for his needs, and had spent many afternoons here, in the Gearhouse, trying to make the substance fit. Some of his results wouldn't ignite at all; others burned away too quickly.
In the end, he'd decided that lamp oil wasn't going to be his perfect ingredient, at least not on its own. The problem seemed to be that the flecks of graysilt didn't actually dissolve in the oil, which left clumps of explosive material gathered in the mixture. He'd needed to find a way of homogenizing the material somehow, and the hours he'd spent searching the shelves of alchemists and herbalists hadn't gotten him anywhere.
Ten days ago, though, he'd happened on a possible solution while walking past the furnaces at the northern edge of the city, where coal was turned into coke. The process was a new one, and was an important step in the production of the hard-iron weapons that were becoming more common by the day. One of the furnace workers had introduced him to a by-product of their process, a white substance he'd called naphthalene. They'd been collecting the stuff over several months of production, but hadn't been sure what to do with it.
Rill had quickly discovered that the white substance did, in fact, break up the specks of graysilt. The material wasn't particularly viscous, and so some oil had still been needed in order to add enough of the water element, but he was becoming more and more certain that he was on the right track.
"Here you go," Daniel said, handing Rill the small spoon containing the naphthalene. He held it back a little when Rill reached out for it. "Try to remember," he said, "that we don't exactly have unlimited quantities of this stuff."
Rill nodded. Daniel was right. The coke workers had collected two small barrels of naphthalene altogether; his experiments had consumed about a tenth of it, so far. He took the spoon and slowly introduced its contents into the jar, first scraping a little bit from the spoon onto the stirring stick, and only then adding it to the mixture.
"Any idea how long we actually have?" he said, as he stirred the last remnants of the spoonful into the jar.
Daniel shook his head. "I have to admit, I kind of lose track of time in here."
"I know what you mean," said Rill, grinning at him. "It's great, isn't it?"
Daniel smiled. "It is, rather."
Rill held the stirring rod up to inspect it. He had to hold the jar close underneath, as the stuff wanted to ooze off of the piece of wood. He was delighted to find, however, that he'd achieved his goal: the flecks of graysilt no longer showed up in the mixture.
He looked at Daniel, trying to make himself appear slightly mad. "It's time," he said, with a wicked grin.
Daniel reached out behind him and picked up a large piece of scrap metal, a plate of iron about half an inch thick, which he placed on the workbench. Rill took the jar and spread his new concoction over it. The stuff had the consistency of molasses on a hot day, and it was easy to cover the plate without letting any drip over the sides onto the wooden surface of the bench.
"If you don't mind," Daniel said, edging toward the door, "I'm going to watch from over here."
Rill was about to say something sarcastic, but then shrugged and decided not to. In the end, he couldn't really blame his friend for being overly cautious, considering the mess they'd made the last time he'd tried this. There were still smoke stains across most of the ceiling of the Gearhouse, after all.
Reaching into a pocket, he produced his flint-stick: a small contraption, about the size of his thumb, which held a piece of flint against a wheel of pitted metal. He held the flint-stick with one hand while spinning the wheel with the heel of the other palm, which he used to light a small oil lamp to one side of the plate of metal. Rill had learned early on that sparks weren't enough to light the mixture, that a steady flame had to be held to it in order to get any kind of reaction.
Slowly, being careful not to spill any oil from the lamp, Rill edged the small flame to the metal plate. Only when the flame actually touched the oily mixture did he notice he was turning his face away.
After he'd held the flame steady for a couple of moments, the entire plate sputtered into a steady fire. Rill took a couple of steps back as he blew out the lamp in his hand.
He was surprised. He'd been expecting a slightly more explosive or, at least, intense reaction, but the metal plate was burning quite peacefully, a small lake of fire floating about an inch off its surface.
"Did you do it?" Rill turned to see Daniel, standing behind him now, looking just as uncertain and skeptical as he at the result.
"I think so?" Rill said, taking a couple of steps forward.
When he got within a foot of the plate, he found himself before an intense heat. Shielding his face from it, he quickly stepped back again.
"What's wrong?" Daniel asked.
"It's hot!" Rill exclaimed, looking briefly over his shoulder. "Really hot."
Daniel stepped up beside Rill and reached his hand out to the workbench. He quickly pulled it back again, inspecting his fingers as though they might not be there anymore. "How can it not have burned out yet?" he said. "If it's burning that hot, surely it would have used up all the fire element by now, right?"
Rill had thought the same thing, but apparently there was something more going on here. Somehow, the flames were putting off this incredible heat and yet, at the same time, were burning at such a low intensity that they lingered, not putting themselves out.
His face broke into a huge smile. It was exactly what he needed.
At that moment, the assembly horn called out, announcing that it was time for the day's martial training.
"Flames," Rill said, under his breath. "Come on," he said, "let's put this out and get out there."
Daniel nodded and the two of them bent down under a nearby shelf to pick up what looked like an over-sized, elongated pot. It was made of cast iron and it was designed to be placed over the metal plate, so that it could snuff out anything flammable upon it.
Despite some hesitation about getting too close to the heat again, they moved quickly to get the pot flipped upside-down and placed over the plate.
The horn blew again, its bright assembly call grating on Rill's nerves. He pulled on his boots and coat while they waited the requisite time for the flames to extinguish. They shared a frustrated look; they were probably going to be late again.
As Rill finished tying his boot lace, Daniel picked up one edge of the flame-douser to check that the fire had, in fact, gone out. "Oh my," he said, and pulled the pot completely off the plate.
"What is it?" Rill said.
"Come and see," Daniel replied, pointing at the plate.
Rill stood and followed Daniel's finger. He gasped. There was little to no sign of the oil mixture they'd just set to burning, but the plate, a thing of cast iron, had ruts and grooves etched into its surface where the metal had actually melted. Indeed, there was one spot, off toward one corner of the plate, where it seemed the mixture had stood a chance of actually melting completely through.
Rill, his eyes wide in surprise, looked at Daniel, whose own expression was a mix of shock and horror. Before either could say anything about it, though, Daniel turned and was running out the Gearhouse's door, with Rill close at his heels. Engineers were given five minutes to assemble after the first horn was blown. Rill figured they had about a minute left. Poor Daniel. He'd never been the type to get in trouble before Rill showed up.
Rill didn't like drilling. He understood that, as a member of Kepren's army, each of the Royal Engineers was also a soldier and that soldiers needed time to practice the
art of gutting people, but he felt that there was far too much emphasis placed on swordsmanship for people whose primary responsibilities were keeping the engines of war functioning properly during a battle.
"Can't they let it go for just one day?" Rill panted, catching up to Daniel. "Don't engineers have other things to think about?"
"The captain wouldn't drill us if it wasn't necessary," Daniel replied between breaths. He gave Rill a sidelong glance. "Anyway," he said, "if those glazed looks of yours are any indication, I'd say you spend just as much time thinking about the machines during drills as you do the actual swordsmanship."
Rill had to admit his friend was right. He'd found, lately, that it didn't matter what he was doing, his mind was always working out some kind of problem.
He did wonder if, perhaps, Daniel had a bit too much blind faith in the way things worked around here. The orange-haired man was a few years older than Rill, and had been instrumental in getting him into the corps in the first place, but Rill always thought he was just a little bit too dedicated to the status quo, never quite willing enough to make his own decisions, come to his own conclusions, about things.
The lieutenants might have had the same ideas. Daniel had been a member of the Royal Engineers for a year and a half, but had only risen to the rank of second-stationer. Rill had attained the same rank in a single month.
He also wondered if the effect the two of them were having on each other was positive or negative.
As they rounded the corner of the inner keep wall, they entered the marshaling yard, where most of the corps was already lined up in preparation for drills.
They were passing the space where a number of the catapults were kept when not in use, and Rill kept his eye out for the broken one. He'd heard that very morning that some saboteur had been operating within the Keep lately and had rendered one of the weapons inoperable.
His eyes went wide when he saw the damage on the second catapult from the end: the throwing arm had been completely sawn through. He was amazed. How somebody could have done that kind of damage, could have spent that much time sawing at a piece of foot-thick wood, and not been caught, was beyond his ability to understand.
He wondered what the captain would do with the saboteur once he was eventually found. There had been rumors of things going missing over the last few weeks, but a destroyed catapult was another thing entirely. Mere theft was a crime; sabotage was treason. And treason, Rill knew, was a problem usually solved with the hangman's noose.
Just as the final horn was blowing, announcing that anybody who hadn't reported already was officially late, Rill and Daniel skidded into place in one of two dozen lines of men and women. Knowing they were likely under close scrutiny, they immediately came to attention and waited for their orders.
The columns of engineers fanned out from a common center, and in that center, standing atop a large, granite stone, stood Captain Draya, his eyes taking in the people under his care. Rill inhaled sharply when he saw the captain's eyes flit briefly in his direction, acknowledging his arrival, though not chastising it.
Draya was a tall, stout man, in his late thirties or early forties, with short-cropped, brown hair and eyes that saw everything. By all reports, he was a gifted engineer. Rill had heard that he'd single-handedly rebuilt the big clock in the Reed District, which had previously been broken for decades, before he was ten years old.
Still, Rill hadn't really figured the man out yet. The one time he'd actually met his captain was when he had initially been considered as a Royal Engineer, and that meeting had been less than a minute in length. Draya had looked him up and down and asked him why he wanted to be an engineer.
"I think I would be good at it," Rill had said.
Draya seemed to have been satisfied with the answer, evidenced by the fact that Rill was standing here.
While Rill didn't agree with his captain's policy of daily sword drills and physical training, he at least appreciated the man's style of leadership. As Draya's eyes scanned the gathered crowd before him, they didn't seem to be looking for any fault with which to take issue. Rather, they wore the same look that had graced the faces of many fathers as they'd dropped their boys off at the Temple. The effect was stern, yet it was tinged with a sort of concern for the well being of the people before him.
Rill could fully appreciate a man who seemed to take a genuine interest in the people he commanded. He'd met too many lieutenants lately who didn't share the same point of view.
"It's good to see you all here," Draya said. He didn't appear to raise his voice, yet Rill could hear him easily, even from his position in the back. "I don't believe I need to tell you how important the coming days are." His eyes scanned the faces before him, as though he was looking for something. "I know many of you have work to get back to," he continued, "and you'll get back to it shortly. For now, however, we drill."
He turned to one of the lieutenants at his side—Rill didn't know her name—and nodded. She was a tall woman, and rail thin, but her voice was strong as she replaced the captain on the stone and yelled out, "Alright, everyone, get your swords! Pair off! You know what to do!"
In front of each of the lines of men and women were barrels full of short swords. The orderly columns became queues as people, one by one, armed themselves, found a partner, and grabbed some space in the marshaling yard to practice their sword-work.
By the time he had grabbed a sword and was walking off with Daniel to a spot near the inner wall of the yard, Rill's mind had begun wandering. He was thinking about Caymus, about the last time the two of them had done this same thing. He'd had a longsword and a shield then, of course, so the movements were quite different, but the feeling was the same: parry, thrust, block, retreat, advance...repeat.
Caymus had seemed so different after he'd awakened from his long sleep. All the time he'd been out, Rill had been afraid that he was going to lose his friend; when he'd encountered the stern, faraway look and the voice that seemed to come from such a great distance, he'd thought that his worries might have come true. Caymus seemed older now, sadder, as though burdened with some great heaviness.
Be'Var had suggested that Rill give his friend some time, that Caymus was, in fact, shouldering an immense responsibility, and that given time to assess, to adapt and to flourish, some of his old self should start showing through again.
Rill hoped that was the case. He'd been eager to tell Caymus about the engineers corps when he'd arrived at Flamehearth, but in the moment he'd seen his friend's face, the eagerness had evaporated, leaving only concern and worry. Caymus wouldn't talk to him about what had happened, what he'd been through while he slept. "I'll tell you eventually, Rill," he'd said with a faraway look, "just as soon as I figure it all out for myself."
That, at least, had sounded like the Caymus he knew.
In the next second, Rill was shocked out of his memories with a sudden smack of the flat of a sword against the top of his head.
"Hey," Daniel said, "pay attention, will you?"
Rill was about to protest the rather stark reminder, but he knew Daniel was right. He hadn't been hit all that hard, but he rubbed his head anyway and he gave Daniel a sheepish look. "Sorry."
Daniel acknowledged with a slight tilt of his head, so Rill brought his sword up and continued the drill, thrusting forward three times while Daniel parried.
"What was it this time, anyway?" Daniel asked, repeating the same thrusts at Rill.
"That friend of mine," Rill said, parrying the thrusts. "Caymus. He spent a long time unconscious after being nearly killed by someone we shouldn't have trusted." After the third parry, Rill stepped forward with three slashes, aimed low, middle, then high.
"I haven't heard of anyone called Caymus," Daniel said, blocking each swing with one of his own. "But I've heard of the Sleeping Giant. Are they the same fellow?"
Rill chuckled at the nickname, surprised he'd never thought of it himself. "Well, he's something like seven feet tall, so yeah, that's probably h
im."
"How long has he been asleep now?" Daniel said, repeating the same three slashes.
"It was a little more than three months," Rill said, performing the requisite blocks, "but he's awake now."
"Really?" said Daniel, taking a moment to brace himself for the next attacks. "The giant awakens, huh? Good for him."
"Yeah," Rill said, stealing a quick moment between drills. "I'm a little worried about him. I don't think he's totally back with us yet. Just left the city on some fool mission or other. I don't know why."
He prepared for the next drill, which involved three overhead swings, which Daniel was meant to dodge or side-step. Instead, he was interrupted by the pierce of the yard-master's whistle, which signified that sword drills were over.
Rill was surprised at the sound. It meant they'd been drilling for a full twenty minutes, though it had seemed more like five. The first time he'd drilled like this, his arm had been so sore he'd though it might fall off. Now, it all seemed so easy, so effortless. He supposed it meant he was becoming a better swordsman after all.
The pairs of engineers melded back into a single group. Each deposited his or her sword into the same barrels from whence they'd come, then began running the circuit that took them up the stairs of the wall of the Keep, across several dozen yards of rampart, then down another set of stairs. This would last another twenty minutes, after which they would work on hand-to-hand combat for a final twenty.
As he made his way around the circuit, Rill marveled at how light and springy his legs felt. He'd run this path several times a day, every day, for over a month now, and he was beginning to truly understand how fit the process was making him. When he'd first begun his training with the Royal Engineers, he'd barely been able to breathe after one ascent up the wall. Now, he found himself effortlessly passing others as he moved.
Knight Of The Flame Page 45
