Barim led the recruits down the well-worn path out of town, through a copse of trees. Walking among the foliage, you could hear the Bannermen’s camp before you could see it. The general bustle of five hundred men going about their daily business combined with the clanging of practice weapons, the jingle of harness and the occasional dull booming thud, which left a rumble in the recruits’ chests. Nasser and Jodan jumped at the sound, but Garold noticed that Harvir did not. ‘This man has seen more than he’s let on.’
Emerging from the shade of the trees, the path opened up to the common fields, and the camp came into view. The first thing that Harvir noticed was how uniform and orderly everything was. The entire field had been transformed into neat rows and avenues, laid out in a grid. A low ditch had been dug around the perimeter, and the dirt had been piled up alongside with wooden stakes planted in the ground to make a low palisade. Guards were stationed at the four “gates”, located in the center of each wall. Harvir noticed a troop of horsemen riding back and forth in the field outside of the camp, tilting their lances at spinning targets mounted on poles and set at the height of a man. A large blue tent was stationed in the center of the camp, with an open space in front, probably for reviewing or addressing the company. A giant banner with the company’s insignia was planted in front of the command tent, and it flapped lazily in the hot summer breeze. There was also a paddock for horses and livestock along one of the palisade walls. They had even made sure that the part of a small stream that ran in the middle of the common field had been enclosed within the walls to ensuring access to fresh water. It dawned on Harvir that these men weren’t just boasting. They were professionals.
The dull BOOM thundered again, followed by a second and a third in quick succession. This time Harvir saw a puff of smoke billow from a hillock, located farther away from the town and well outside of the camp. ‘Sounds like a cannon, but the blasts are too close together.’ Before he could think more on it, he noticed that a few of the horsemen had peeled away from their fellows and were fast approaching. The men wore blue-tinted steel breastplates. One of them donned an ornate blue cape and rode a jet black horse. The horses’ barding and the lance tips shined brightly in the afternoon sun.
The three horsemen galloped up to the group and reined to a halt only a few paces away. All three of the recruits had unconsciously backed off, but Barim and Garold held their ground. The rider with the cape lifted the visor of his helm. He was clean-shaven, with an aquiline nose and deep-set blue eyes that peered at each of the group in turn. Finally, he looked down at Barim. “You’ve been gone all morning and this is all you brought me, sprite?” Despite the words, the man’s blue eyes glinted with mirth.
Barim grinned back. “Get down off that high horse and say that to my face.”
“I’d have to kneel down for us to be face to face,” he retorted with a chuckle. “So, who are these recruits, Garold?”
Garold responded with a nod, “We’re making up for quantity with quality, Captain. This is Nasser and Jodan, local farmers.” He said the last part with a wink that only the Captain could see. “And this here is Harvir, a blacksmith.” Harvir nodded up at the Captain and looked him in the eye with a hesitant smile. “Gentlemen, this is Captain Logaire, the leader of the Bannermen.”
Logaire removed his helmet and wiped his brow as he assessed the men. After a minute he turned to Barim. “I’m assuming Nasser and Jodan will go with you.” Harvir noticed that by calling the men by name Logaire was trying to make them feel at home, while simultaneously locking their names in his memory. ‘Sign of a good leader.’
Logaire continued, “As for Harvir, introduce him to Orryn. Let’s get them working together as soon as possible.” Another dull THUD erupted from the hillock. The horses didn’t flinch at the sound, showing their experience and training.
Barim snickered to himself and looked sideways at Harvir. “Oh, you’re in for a treat. As for you two,” he turned toward Jodan and Nasser, “come with me. We’ll get you kitted up and introduced to the rest of the company. Then we’ll see where to put you. The Captain is right that you’d probably do well in the line, but I think I have other ideas for you.”
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As Harvir approached the hillock, it occurred to him that it was vacant. He saw the cannon, and a cart full of supplies, but he didn’t see any people. Despite that, he heard the banging of metal on metal and the occasional sound of voices, muffled by distance. As he got closer to the top he could hear two distinct voices, talking to each other above the clamor. The voices were high pitched, but not feminine, more like children.
Suddenly, he heard one of them yell out, “Go! Go! Go!” and a pair of Halflings came running out from behind the cart as fast as their little legs could carry them. The one in the lead was dressed in blue breeches, a gray shirt, a leather apron and a leather cap with a pair of goggles. He was festooned with belts, bandoliers, and pouches. A myriad of tools hung off his belt, and they clanged and tinkled, swinging wildly to and fro as he ran. He noticed Harvir and urgently shouted to him, “Get down! Get down!” as he dove for cover behind a boulder. The other Halfling was dressed similarly to the first, but instead of tools, he had scroll cases and wands hanging from his belt. He abruptly turned, raised his hands, and a gust of wind shot forth from his outstretched arms toward the cannon. And it was just in time, as the cannon erupted with a roar, then another, then another, all in quick succession. There were five explosions total. Bits of metal, soot and powder came billowing out of the war engine, only to be deflected by the wind. The last BOOM was accompanied by the clash of metal and an awful screech. Harvir barely had time to duck and cover his ears.
After the sound and the fury, Harvir and the Halflings stood up in silence and looked toward the war engine. Now that he was closer Harvir noticed that it wasn’t a cannon. It was five smaller cannons, all strapped together onto a single chassis. Well, it used to be. Now two of the rightmost cannons seemed to have burst from their bindings, and the right wheel had come off the axle. Harvir looked from the wrecked machine to the two Halflings, and the Halflings turned to him.
“That was fantastic!” shouted the Halfling with the tools from behind the boulder. “Excellent work with that blast of wind, Parrin! Without you our new friend here,” he pointed with his thumb toward Harvir, “would have taken some shrapnel. And that would have made for an awkward introduction.” The Halfling approached, wiping his hands on his soot-covered apron. He didn’t accomplish much besides smearing some grease around before offering his ‘clean’ hand to Harvir. “I’m Orryn. Orryn Wren. That’s my brother Parrin.” Parrin gave a lazy wave Harvir’s way.
Harvir looked down at Orryn, who stood about three feet tall. “My name is Harvir. I’m a blacksmith. Barim sent me up here to meet you. He didn’t say anything about almost getting killed on my first day.” Harvir said the last part with a nervous smile.
Orryn’s eyes narrowed as he looked up at Harvir. “A blacksmith, you say?” Orryn abruptly turned and started walking back to the remains of the cannon, and Harvir had to hurry to catch up. Orryn shouted over his shoulder, “You fix weapons and armor? Can you make weapons from scratch?”
“Yes, sir. I can repair most things, and I can make spear tips, axes. Swords are just at the limit of my ability.” Harvir noticed that Parrin was already rummaging through the cart for supplies. ‘How do they move so fast with legs so small?’
“How about heavier stuff? Ever repair a cannon? Here, catch!” Orryn lobbed a wrench back over his shoulder toward Harvir, who took a quick step forward and caught it. Orryn went on without waiting for a reply. “Come over here and help me remove these broken brackets. Once that’s done, you’ll take the bent pieces down to the forge and straighten them out. They’re useless for the cannon, but we can find uses for them to fix carts and such.” Harvir nodded his assent.
Parrin shook his head and smiled at the blacksmith. “Don’t let him push you around like that, Harvir. My brother has a tendency to get bossy when he gets fixated on a problem. His obsession would make him a terrible mage. Gotta have a wider vision of the world.” At that, Perrin ducked a flying wrench from Orryn’s direction and jumped down off the cart with a giant scroll. He unrolled the parchment on the grass, revealing a schematic for the cannon. The original plan had three barrels on the cannon. Two more seemed to have been added, and revisions were shown with different color ink. There were lots of notes, written in clear block print, but there was another set of notes scribbled all over the margins in small, frenetic handwriting. Harvir read one scribble, “If 3 is good, 6 is better!” The 6 had been scratched through and replaced with a number five. “So, Orryn, where do you think we went wrong this time?”
Orryn’s hands practically flew over the chassis, and in a few moments the bent and broken pieces had been removed and thrown in a small pile. “Based on the damage, I’d say I need to change the firing order. Instead of left to right, maybe start with the middle cannon and then progress outward. That will keep the pressure even and reduce the torque on the main axle.” As Orryn dictated, Parrin wrote as fast as he could in the margins.
‘Apparently Parrin is the scribbler,’ thought Harvir. He looked down at the plans and walked over to the cannon. “If you remove the locks on the axle, and use wooden blocks behind the wheels, that should help as well.”
Orryn turned to look at Harvir. He pulled his goggles off from his eyes and squinted up at the blacksmith. “How did you know that? If you were just a blacksmith, you wouldn’t know that.”
Harvir looked a little sheepish. “I was a soldier in a former life before I learned an honest trade.”
Parrin laughed at that. “Ha! Did you hear that, Orryn? Soldiers don’t earn an honest living. The irony is thick!” Parrin put his hand out and he pushed a gust of air to knock Harvir’s hat off. “Looks like you’re about to earn some dishonest money, friend.”
“I didn’t mean it like that,” protested Harvir as he bent to pick up his hat. “I meant that I chose a more peaceful life. Wouldn’t either of you two trade fighting for a mundane life?”
“Nope!” shouted Orryn.
Perrin chimed in, “Not a chance! Why would I have the mundane when I can have magic?”
Harvir looked over at Orryn. “Fair enough. Are you both sorcerers?”
“He wishes!” snorted Parrin. “He doesn’t have a lick of talent!”
“I certainly don’t!” Orryn snorted in feigned disgust. “Better that way. I’ve had to be smarter than Parrin. Made me the best mechanic and inventor in the Petty Kingdoms. Now I can do all the same tricks as him, without all the mumbo jumbo.”
“Sure, Orryn,” answered Parrin, “but what happens when you run out of gunpowder?”
“Same thing as happens to you when you run out of breakfast,” Orryn smirked back.
Parrin smiled at that. “Here’s to giant casks of powder and giant baskets of eggs!” Perrin continued, “What Orryn has failed to appreciate is that I’m every bit as smart as he is, I just use my brains a different way. With the Talent, I can use physics and motion the same way he does…I mean that wind blast trick is just me building up pressure here and pushing the air forward.”
“Same as in a cannon barrel,“ said Orryn, “just over a wider area, which means that if you can concentrate the pressure in a small enough area, you should be able to superheat the air and shoot it to a target.” Parrin mockingly mouthed the words while Orryn spoke, as if he’d heard that lecture a hundred times. Orryn went on, “I mean, aiming would be tough, but with enough practice…”
Harvir was busy piling the broken pieces into the cart. He watched as Orryn cycled through the tools on his belt, and his hands flew across the chassis. Parrin even picked up the side of the cannon with the broken wheel, pushing out a whoosh of air to boost it up while Orryn put on the new wheel. Once it was in place, he let the chassis back down and winked at Harvir. Parrin looked over at Orryn and shot a gust of air at a nearby rock, which flew up to hit his brother in the leg. Orryn jumped in the air and yelped in surprise, then turned and began throwing tools at Parrin, who used gusts of wind to deflect the wrenches away.
Harvir looked at the brothers as they laughed. What had he gotten himself into?
