Laodicea

Zachar fiddled with the head of his staff as he sat in the great hall. He had arrived as quick as the summon had been received, yet he was still in the dark about what the Sire had called them all for. From the looks of the other royal advisors, it was a shared sentiment. General Imbuka sat silent and vigilant to Zachar’s right. Across the table the court Jester Bobagem fluttered tarot cards between his fingers, trying desperately to impress Sister Gwyn who sat at the Matron’s seat with general apathy to the fool’s magic tricks. The seat usually reserved for the Huntmaster was left vacant.

Zachar’s fingers ran along the wooden fish at the top of his staff, his nail threatening to carve into the tip. He leaned forward, desperate for some conversation to ease his uncertainty.

“Sister, where is the Matron Mother this morning? I hope she is not sick,” Zachar said with a smile. Gwyn looked at him, relief in her eyes at the reprieve from interacting with Bobagem.

“She is resting. Late in the day yesterday she fell in the chapel garden, so I am here to represent the Order,” she smiled sweetly. Despite her assurance, Zachar noticed how uncertain Sister Gwyn seemed to be. It was not her first time filling in for the Matron at a meeting of the King’s Council, and yet she seemed to be more nervous than the first time he had met her. Her unease did little to help the tension Zachar himself was feeling.

“Right, well, I do hope she recovers soon enough. The people rely on her charity and insight,” Zachar said with a nod.

“Ironic, isn’t it?” Bobagem piped up, craning his neck towards Zachar. “All the power of the Mother Above to heal the wounded and cure the sick, yet they cannot seem to stop the aging of the old blue crone!” The jester leaned back in his chair as he broke into a fit of giggling. Gwyn seemed ready to respond when the doors to the great hall swung open with Dilyniant’s arrival. He looked well rested considering last night’s disturbance. Zachar flinched as General Imbuka shot up from his chair and saluted. Dilyniant waved him down as he settled in his seat, flanked by his Kingsguard.

“Sit, General. I’ve called you all here to hear your words on a discovery we were able to make last night,” The King said. He waved a hand and the Kingsguard stepped forward, placing small bowls in front of each of the advisors. After each had been placed he retrieved four small pouches, placing each beside the bowl at each seat.

“Before my son fled the keep with my daughter he used this mixture at the Beast Pens. We were able to track down the shop he bought it from, and recreated the alchemic mixture. Please, empty the pouches,” The Sire said. Those assembled did as ordered, untying the pouch and pouring the black powder into their bowls as the Sire continued.

“Please, sit back as we show you what my renegade son created,” Dilyniant said. Four servants hurried to the table with candles, leaning down to place the flames into the bowls. Zachar watched in awe as the powder caught fire, quickly spreading the candle’s flame across the rest of the pile until the flame burned higher and higher. It burned bright and fast, a plume of smoke rising from all four bowls before any of them had much time to react to the presentation they had just received. Bobagem clapped loudly, bouncing in his seat.

“Oh-hoo-hooo! What a charming little display Sire!” The jester exclaimed. Imbuka leaned forward to smell the smoke as Sister Gwyn clutched at her chest.

“So fast… Zachar, what method of fire magic was this?” She asked, peering over the table. Zachar himself remained with eyes fixated on the bowl in front of him.

“This was no magic, Sister. This reaction was purely… chemical,” he stated, waving a hand over the burnt remnants before him. “I sense no elemental enchantments, nor even any alchemical mixtures.”

“That is because there is no alchemy at play here, wizard,” Dilyniant said with a grin. “These materials harbor no magical qualities. Anybody could mix this together and summon forth the flame you saw…” The King’s eyes stayed on Zachar for a time as he let the words settle. The General was next to speak, turning to the King.

“Sire, if you approve, I’d like to test if we can use this new mixture for our ongoing efforts in the East. Perhaps this material can be used as some kind of propellant,” he said.

“Indeed,” the Sire responded. “We will get you the materials you need. Zachar, how long does it normally take you or one of your apprentices to enchant a crossbow?”

Zachar looked up at the King, flinching under his smile.

“Well, Sire, my students can enchant weapons within a handful of hours on most days. I myself need only two,” Zachar assured.

“Very well. General, find a way to improve our weaponry with this material. Whatever you discover should be quick enough to improve our crossbows in under two hours of work,” the King said as he stood.

“With this new blastpowder, not a single kingdom would have the strength to match us!” he exclaimed.

Imbuka and Bobagem clapped excitedly while Sister Gwyn hesitantly clapped softly, her worried expression locked on the bowl in front of her. Zachar simply sat motionless, his grip around his staff tightening. If the King had found a way to wage war without needing magic, then perhaps Zachar’s time was running short.