John Carr - Siege of Tarr-Hostigos

"A half candle! No wonder there is so little progress. I command you to shoot every quarter candle."

Kyblannos shook his head. "It can't be done. First, we have to cool off the gun barrels, or the fireseed will explode while we load it. There are no wells nearby so the water has to be carried by cart in barrels from the Hostigos springs. Then we have to clean the fireseed fouling from the inside of the gun barrels."

"I want to see how this is done." Roxthar demanded.

Kyblannos paused to wipe the sweat from his brow. "Follow me." He led the Investigator and his party of Temple Guardsmen to one of the big siege bombards. Roxthar waited impatiently while the barrel was swabbed, which was slow work since every time the pole-mounted swabs went into the barrel a cloud of steam erupted, forcing the swabbers to jump back from the gun or face scalding steam. At long last the barrel was cool, the touchhole plugged and the breech was opened.

"Why is that plug put into the base of the gun?" Roxthar asked.

This was safe territory and Kyblannos' usual confidence reasserted itself. "See those braziers, we use those to light the wires that fire off the guns. If a spark should enter the touchhole before we're ready, the fireseed would explode-killing anyone nearby."

One of the artillerymen took a large ladle of fireseed and placed it into the breech. Once the breech was closed, a rammer placed a wooden disc into the barrel and used his ramrod to push it tightly against the fireseed inside the breech. "The fireseed explodes with more force if we use a disc." He was careful not to mention that this was another of Kalvan's innovations; previously they had used cloth or other wadding; the fireseed discs worked much better.

Next a lift was brought over to raise the huge stone cannonball and place it into the bombard's barrel. The ball was nested inside a net of ropes and pulled up by winches and pulleys. A winch party of several artillerymen lifted the ball and positioned it over the barrel. At a signal from Kyblannos the granite ball was dropped from the net into the bombard where it fell with a resounding thud against the disc.

One of the rammers used his ramrod to insure the ball had positioned itself tightly against the wooden disc. Some powder was poured into the touchhole and everyone moved back except the Investigator.

"I want to set off the gun."

Kyblannos knew he was on slippery ground, but this was his bailiwick and no one-Holy Investigator or not-was going to tell him how to do his work.

"No, Your Holiness. It is a job for well-trained artillerymen. They are trained to know how and where to move after they light the fireseed. Please step back, this is dangerous! You can watch from here."

Roxthar slowly moved away from the guns, with obvious displeasure; the Investigator was used to giving orders, not taking them.

There was a quarter of a candle wait while the rest of the guns were loaded and ready to fire.

"Fire in the hole!" yelled Kyblannos, who was so focused that he lost sight of the Investigator.

An artilleryman took a red-hot piece of wire off the brazier, where he'd set it moments before, and jammed it into the touchhole. There was a bright flash and then the ground shook as the fireseed inside the breech exploded, shooting out the huge stone ball. Roxthar jumped back two rods after the flash singed his robe.

The other guns began to go off-and suddenly the very earth rocked from a tremendous explosion, knocking Kyblannos right off his feet and on top of Roxthar.

Moments later a hat-sized piece of gun barrel flew right over the very place they had been standing-clearly the Investigator was under Styphon's hand!

"What was that?" Roxthar exclaimed, pushing Kyblannos off as though he were tainted by heresy.

Kyblannos, who could just barely hear, wobbled to his feet. He pointed to one of the big siege bombards, which had up-ended; its breech split. Half a dozen broken artillerymen lay strewn over the hard ground. One rammer whose tunic had been burned off his body was wandering around with his mouth open in an O and his hands over his ears. Miraculously, there wasn't a single cut or burn on his naked torso.

"The Daemon Kalvan's work!" Roxthar shouted.

Or so Kyblannos thought, since everything sounded like it was at the bottom of a deep well. He made his way over to the up-ended bombard. Fortunately, the fireseed barrel was set a ways back from the gun and was still intact. If it had gone off, the damage would have been much greater. He checked the proof stamp at the bottom of the barrel-it was the keystone of Hos-Hostigos. He motioned Roxthar over, saying, "It was the Daemon's work! Someone must have mixed this confiscated barrel of Hostigi fireseed up with Styphon's fireseed."

"I don't understand."

"The Hostigos fireseed has twice the blast effect of Styphon's fireseed."

"Are you saying it is better?"

"I'm not saying anything, just reporting what I know with these ears and eyes, Your Holiness. I know guns and fireseed like you know heretics, and Hostigi fireseed is twice as powerful as the Temple's fireseed."

"I had given orders that Styphon's new fireseed was to be shipped from Balph."

"It was, Your Holiness. However, there wasn't enough for both the Grand Host's firearms and the siege guns. So we were given the old fireseed. Somehow a barrel of Hostigi fireseed got mixed up with our magazine."

"Treachery!"

"No, just carelessness." He pointed to the unmoving artillerymen. "Someone in this gun crew didn't check the proof mark so I lost a crew and one of my guns. They lost their lives and Tarr-Hostigos just gained more time."

His ears were clearing enough that he could hear the grinding of Roxthar s teeth.

There was the sound of the big siege guns at the Gap firing and then an explosion that shook the room, knocking plaster and cobwebs from the ceiling. The man on what had been Menandra's best table writhed and twisted, and almost but not quite screamed. The four mercenaries holding him strained to keep him still.

In the other room Menandra screamed, "Curse this Dralm-blasted war! How's a proper house to work with all this noise! And who in Bloody Regwarn is going to fix my mucking door?"

"What happened?" Sirna asked.

A petty-captain, with a wounded arm in a cloth sling, hurried out of the room. He returned shortly to report: "A fireseed wagon exploded half a block down Tigo Street and blew the Nest's door off its hinges. Praise Galzar, we were lucky! Another dozen rods-" He paused to rub the image of the Wargod he wore on a gold chain around his neck. "It took out five or six buildings!"

"Do you think it was meant for us?"

The petty-captain looked thoughtful. "If the Hostigi thought they could take out the Captain-General's headquarters, they'd do it in a eye wink. So would the Red Hand! And there are more than a few Captain-Generals unhappy with his success-"

"'Tis the Daemon's work," muttered the wounded soldier.

"Lie quiet," Sirna muttered. "You lie quiet, or I'll have to use a sandbag on you. I don't want to do that. You may have already hurt your head, when the tunnel caved in." She wasn't really mad at the poor hurt soldier, but at her own fear. She not only had the wounded, Roxthar's Investigators and the Red Hand to worry about, but now Hostigi saboteurs-what next?

The soldier on the table sank his teeth into his lower lip. Blood came, but he lay still as Sirna cut open the flesh of his cheek over the finger-length splinter there and drew out the bloody wood. More blood flowed freely. Sirna let it flow while she picked out the last bits of wood, then bound up the wound in a dressing of boiled rags. By the time she'd finished the bandaging, the soldier had fainted, but he came awake as his comrades lifted him off the table.