Geder
My God,” Aster said. “They’re beautiful.”
The warehouse had been cleaned out to make room for the devices. Old stone rose to rafters of whole trees, and clerestory windows spilled light across the ceiling. Geder’s personal guard had taken their positions at the doors and behind him, protecting him in case of attack, but even they glanced at the massive weapons of war. The metal had been burnished until it seemed to have some deep, hidden light glowing through it. They stood taller than men and promised violence.
“We made some adjustments to the design, my lord,” Honnen Pyre, the Jasuru armorer, said. He was deferential, but Geder heard the pride in his voice. “The harpoon spears from your books are a fine start, but if you see here, we fit them on a ballista. More power to hit something higher up in the air, we thought.”
“Yes,” Geder said, stepping up on the device. It was even more amazing than the drawings had been. The ancient plans had made the machines seem spare and elegant. A marvel only of the mind. Made real, made larger, given form and weight, they were almost like looking at the carapace of a beetle or a gigantic wasp. A human invention for the defeat and destruction of dragons. Geder put his hand against the steel, almost expecting to feel the machine breathing.
“And the reel there,” the Jasuru said. “Keeps some of the tension for pulling the rope up and through. Now, it’s a queen’s own bear to reset the device. Those that fire her will want to make a solid hit the first time.”
“It’s brilliant,” Geder said.
Pyre swelled with pride. “I’ve got a cousin that worked with the whale hunters up in Hallskar. Thought of some of the things he’d said and modified them. The way the base turns to help the men aim quick is a Hallskari thing.”
Geder stepped down. “Show me the rest.”
The geared arbalests with their spinning blades were smaller than he’d expected. Small enough for a three-person team to carry and operate one in the field. Now that Geder saw the device in person, he felt he had a better sense of how they would work in battle. The smith sent one of the flat, round blades up into the rafters, where it stuck fast.
“Can I try?” Aster asked tentatively.
“Can he?” Geder asked the Jasuru. “Is it safe?”
“Safe enough, my lord,” he said. “Come right here, Prince Aster, sir. I’ll show you how to work the tension bar.”
Geder stood back, watching. He was always astounded to see how much Aster had grown and changed in only a few years. Pulling back the bar and fitting a round blade into its seat, he looked old enough almost to be a soldier. Likely there were boys his age in the field. Not royal blood, of course, but of Aster’s age. When he loosed the blades, they flew up spinning and sank deep into the wood ceiling. Geder clapped with delight. It was like seeing a cunning man’s show. Better, even, because it wasn’t magic.
“How many can we make, and how quickly?” Geder asked.
“This is as many as we’ve got now,” the smith said. “I could get twice this with the supplies I’ve got and got coming. But it won’t be fast.”
Geder nodded. “Do that, then. Start now. And we’ll need to break these down and put them on carts going south. Do you have men to go with them? I don’t want Jorey’s men trying to figure out how to put this all back together without a guide.”
“I’ve got an apprentice boy I thought I’d send with them. He’s smart enough for putting it all where it goes, but he busted his shoulder a year back and can’t swing a hammer to save his life. Not much use to me here. Maybe good for something out there.”
“Well, he’s with the campaign now,” Geder said with a grin. “Have these ready by morning. We have to get them to the south quickly. We don’t know when the enemy might attack.”
“If they don’t do it soon, they’d best not do it at all,” Pyre said. And then a moment later, with a sense of awe that Geder felt himself, “God damn, my lord. We’re killing dragons.”
Jorey’s reports had been coming back every few days since he’d arrived in Elassae. The troops, he’d said, were in a mild kind of disarray. That was fair. Geder had executed Lord Ternigan months ago, and apart from the ongoing siege at Kiaria—which Jorey said showed no signs of breaking—they’d had no clear idea what was going to come next. Many of them had hoped that they’d be brought back to Camnipol and the disband called. The priests were invaluable in keeping the army focused and disciplined. That was a very good thing. Geder had ready any number of histories that talked about what happened when armies rebelled against their commanders. Once the Timzinae plotters were all caught, Geder would bring home the armies and throw the largest triumph the world had ever seen. He owed the men that much, and more.
Back at the Kingspire, he went to the map room and walked across the little hills and mountains between the miniature Kiaria and Porte Oliva. Ten tiny ships sat on the blue sand that was the ocean. One flag marked Cithrin’s city, and another midway between Orsen and Bellin showed where the army had been camped when Jorey had sent his last report. Fit into a room in the Kingspire, it looked so close.
The weapons would have to move quickly to catch up to the army. But armies moved slowly compared to couriers and small forces. And Jorey would be even slower once he reached Bellin and entered the long pass through the mountains, and the weapons carts didn’t have to track down to Orsen. They could cross the Dry Wastes and save hundreds of miles. He chuckled and hugged himself. It was all going to work. They were going to win.
He wanted to share his happiness with someone, and spent almost an hour looking for Basrahip, who was locked away with his priests in some sort of ritual, or Aster, who was out on a ride through the countryside with Lord Caot’s daughter and a few other young people of the court. His own father was still at Rivenhalm, late as always to come to court, even now that his own son was Lord Regent. And then, there was almost no one. It always surprised Geder to realize how few people were really his friends. They knew him as Lord Regent and hero of the realm, but that wasn’t the same as having a friend to talk with, and letters to Jorey didn’t seem quite the right thing either.
But there was his wife. Sabiha. Geder called for his palanquin and ordered the slaves to carry him to Lord Skestinin’s manor. Maybe a cup of tea with Sabiha as a little celebration. He liked Sabiha. He hoped that she liked him too. He’d ask her sometime when Basrahip was around… only that seemed rude, and he didn’t want to make her feel awkward.
As soon as he reached the manor, he had the sense that something was wrong. The footmen at the front of the house seemed agitated, and the door slave chained by the entry looked grey about the face as if ill. When he told the slave he’d come to see Sabiha, the man almost reared back. Another servant showed him and his guards to a withdrawing room at the back of the house. Geder haunted the windows, peeking out at the gardens as if there, hidden among the boughs, might be some explanation of why the house felt so tense.
When the door opened, the woman who came in was not Sabiha.
Lady Skestinin’s smile was almost a grimace. She held her body straight and stiff, and Geder had the sense that had he been anyone else, she would not have agreed to see him. He rose to his feet, tugged between embarrassment at having made a social misstep and alarm at the woman’s appearance.
“Lord Regent,” she said. “This is an unexpected pleasure.”
“Lady Skestinin. I was… I’m sorry, I should have sent ahead. It was a casual visit. I was thinking I would call on Sabiha.”
“Ah, I am afraid she is feeling a bit under the weather. The baby is at a delicate point.”
Geder glanced reflexively to the back of the room, but Basrahip wasn’t there. He didn’t know if Lady Skestinin was telling the truth or not. He couldn’t think why she would deceive him, but he couldn’t shake the sense that something more was happening.