Fawkes

Imbuka stood at attention as the King approached the firing range. With the sound of the General’s heel hitting the dirt the soldiers around him followed suit, dropping whatever they were working on to salute Dilyniant.

“Sire!” the General shouted, his body otherwise still until he was relieved of his address.

“General. Show me what you’ve discovered,” the Sire said.

Imbuka turned to wave his hand over what he had prepared. Standing on wooden legs at the beginning of the firing range was no bow, but instead a long wooden tube with a single rope sticking out of a hole in the top. Roughly three meters from the tube stood an archery target, recently dragged from the back of the range to the much closer position where the men now stood.

“My Lord, I would like to introduce you to the beginning of a much more powerful tool. This tube here was carved out and filled with the blastpowder you showed us. Inside I have placed a chunk of metal,” Imbuka explained. He reached for the divider of the range and pulled from it a torch, holding it out to Dilyninant.

“Here, light the rope,” Imbuka said. Dilyniant took the torch with excited curiosity, lowering the flame just under the dangling rope. The flames lit it almost instantly, the fire crawling rapidly up the rope before vanishing inside the tube. After a beat of silence the tube erupted at its open end with a burst of sparks and black smoke. The tube itself ruptured, peeling back on all sides akin to how one would prepare a banana to be eaten. In the same instant the small particle of metal Imbuka had placed within the tube was sent rocketing towards the wooden archery target, blasting into the mid section as splinters spiraled across the air around the wound. The noise of the small explosion drew eyes all around to settle on the King and his General, as Dilyniant grinned wide.

“Fascinating… but the tube, it cannot be used again?” He asked, handing the torch off to a nearby soldier.

“Correct, Sire. I imagined you would want to see a more permanent iteration, and so I have ordered the local smiths to craft a more durable structure. One that can be ignited multiple times,” the General said with a nod. Dilyniant patted Imbuka’s shoulder as he smiled.

“Well don’t stop there! I want them bigger. If something so small and fragile can pierce wood, imagine what a larger blast could accomplish,” the King said. Imbuka nodded, offering the King a second salute.

“I will see to it at once, Sire!” he exclaimed. The General turned and began to direct orders to the soldiers behind him as Dilyniant again peered at the destroyed tube.

“This legacy will change the course of war forever…”

—

“You’re not Fuly,” Stella repeated.

All thoughts stalled as Fulcher watched the young girl. He offered an awkward laugh to Councilor Frederick before crouching down to look at Stella at eye level.

“Alright,” he began, “No more joking around, we’ve got to go.” His attempt to diffuse was met only with Stella raising her hand towards him once more.

“Do our shake,” she muttered gently. Fulcher shifted on his toes, standing up again and patting Stella’s shoulder, attempting to guide her towards the stagecoach.

“Alright, Stella,” he said, feigning a smile to the Councilor. “Kids, right?” Frederick offered little comfort beyond an awkward smile.

“You’re not real! Schon!” Stella shouted. The young girl bolted to the coach, disappearing inside.Fulcher peered over to Frederick as he rubbed his wrist nervously.

“Sorry Councilor, but we should get going. I will send a courier back here when I can so that we may continue our correspondence,” Fulcher said. The Councilor nodded.

“Very well, My Prince. Safe travels,” he said. Vardia climbed back onto the box seat as Fulcher approached. He whistled sharply as he climbed into the stagecoach, holding the door open for the bounding Arrow to leap in before the coach began to move. As Fulcher sat in one of the seats he peered over at Stella. The young girl had grabbed Schon, hiding her face in the curls of Schon’s pink dress.

“What did you say to her? She keeps mumbling that you’re fake…” Schon said, looking over Stella with concern.

“I don’t know, I didn’t play some game she likes I guess,” Fulcher said. His words seemed to cause Stella to shrink further into Schon’s clothing, trying to hide from the outside.

This is bad, I can’t keep Stella around if she keeps shouting about how I’m not her real brother. What if some wizard decides to check with some freaky mind reading spell? Or whatever the Matron Mother did? Fulcher thought. He frowned as he looked out the window.

The various farmers of the small hamlet had gathered near the opening between the two hills, waving at the stagecoach as it rattled along the unpaved path. Councilor Frederick stood in the front, a warm smile on his face.

Whatever. It’s clear I’ve got to help these people. Maybe we can find somewhere to keep Stella when we reach Corvidrop. Fulcher thought. His heart ached suddenly, his hand reaching up to clutch at the fabric covering his chest. He did not enjoy the thought of leaving Stella behind, but it was the only thing he could think to do.

Besides, he thought, I can’t have her march to war. She’s far too young. We will find somewhere safe to keep her until we can return her to the Capitol.