Page 88 of Elvenbred

He led the Probe down across the cave floor. He remembered his first time there, all those eight-days before, and how he had been so frightened. The looming metal statues, the junk of a century-old flight, that had seemed so terrifying, and now just looked sad and abandoned. Longer than ten centuries. One day home is about ten here, so this is a thousand years gone by. Guess these things are in pretty good shape after a thousand years. He crossed the cave floor, and the slight downslope that led water out instead of in. It hadn’t occurred to him until then that this one small detail might be why the Machina remained dusty and intact, rather than corroded and rusted. Such a small thing, a change in water flow, and yet it had made all the difference.

The obstacles thinned here towards where the cave mouth had collapsed, sealing the entrance. He opened the boxes he had staged there earlier, and set up a series of mage-lights mounted on staves. Each needed to be set into the ground, as deep as he could ram them. He assembled the first, walked to the center of his imagined line, and raised his arms up as high as he could, before ramming the pointed spade into the ground. It set, perhaps a forearm’s depth into the earth. He repeated the process with the remaining lights, then stood back to observe his handiwork. A couple leaned drunkenly, evidence that his upper body strength left something to be desired. Still, they stood upright enough.

He flexed his arms and shoulders. That will be sore in the morning.

He released the spell, and the mage-lights glowed to life. Each ’light had a small reserve that should last long enough for him to complete his experiment.

“That way,” he said to the Probe. He shone the light on the cradle. He had ensured that the bolt had been milled to the same locations as a Mecha. Provided the makers could follow instructions, then the shot furnace should slide into the cradle as easily as it did a Machina.

He made an impatient gesture to the Probe. “Put it up there.”

The Probe didn’t move. Haldeen swore to himself, then smiled. Not specific enough. Good. Still not able to work out what it needs to do.

He sat down on the broken remains of a wagon, and talked the Probe through the specific instructions on how to place the shot furnace in the cradle. He got it done quickly enough once he remembered to reverse his rights and lefts. Eventually, the Probe set the shot furnace correctly in place. Haldeen rose, and reached around it to tighten the fasteners that held the furnace in place. The Probe’s dry, scaled skin brushed his arm. The touch sent shivers up his spine.

He looked at the Probe and saw blood on its chest and hands, where sharp corners and edges had cut its scales. He wasn’t sure why, but that unnerved him a bit more. It’s under control, he told himself. A tiny seed of doubt whispered back. Are you sure?

“Rest,” he said. The Probe looked at him for a moment, then went into its rest position, squatting down on its ankles and wrapping its arms around its knees.

Haldeen turned his attention to the copper shot furnace, first making sure it had been properly fastened into place. The cradle stood chest height, and had gears and wheels that let it turn from side to side, and swing up and down. He loosened the fasteners that kept the cradle from rotating, and turned it bit by bit, sighting along the side of the ’furnace for the spot he wanted to test … a pile of rocks at the very top of the fall, where they might be blasted away by shot. Once he had the side rotation approximated, he tightened the fasteners and loosened the ones that controlled the up and down swing. He sighted along the top until he thought he had the elevation right. He squinted along the side of the weapon, thinking he had a pretty good estimate of where the copper slug would go. He double checked to make sure the fastenings were good and tight, then went to the box of copper shot he’d been given as part of his tests. The slug filled his hand, and he hefted it once or twice. It felt massy and heavy, with the dull copper sphere feeling the way a weapon should, smooth and round and dangerous.

He inserted the slug into the furnace’s shot-well, then went for the difficult part. He had six of the storage jars that furnace-makers used to charge and operate their weapons. Haldeen suspected their deep dark secret on how they filled the jars looked a lot like the ration makers on his estate … a bunch of barely-wizards sitting in front of gray boxes with their brows furrowed, working to coax magical energy into the jars, in exchange for a day’s ration so they could come back and do it again tomorrow.

He didn’t really know how they kept the magic trapped inside, but he suspected that secret would be about as mundane as how they got the magic in there in the first place.

He knelt down to study the closest of the seven jars. This jar looked to be a little larger than the others, smooth and gray ceramic on the outside, with no obvious holes or openings. It was heavy, out of proportion to its size, and he could only just lift it, feeling his back strain as he picked it up and cradled it in his hands. Its square corners dug into this belly as he carried it the few steps to the shot furnace, then slid it into the opening made specifically to hold the magic storage jars.

He saw the tighteners had a bit of play in them, to account for jars of slightly different sizes. He worked those down until the magical jar rested firmly in its well.

The shot furnace showed no sign of life. “Well, here we go,” he said to the Probe, which did not respond. He stood to one side of the furnace, then plucked the control rod from his belt and raised it to discharge the weapon. He was just about to say the spell when he paused, suddenly aware of just how vulnerable he would be to a fist-sized slug of molten copper. He wasn’t quite sure what would happen when the slug hit the rocks. “Aye, maybe a little further back.” He gestured to the Probe. “You too. Come on. Rise.”

The Probe followed obediently as he walked back a few dozen paces, and took shelter behind a group of sturdy-looking wagon wrecks. Once there, he raised the control rod again, and recited the spell. On the last word— “Engage”—things happened very quickly.

He heard a loud whirr that rose to a keening wail. He’d seen a fancy entertainer once who twirled knives on chains. The jongleur’s blades had made a similar sort of whirling, dangerous sounds … only this was a hundred times louder. The whirling, keening sound lasted a few heartbeats longer before being replaced by a loud snap, a roar of thunder followed by a giant boom, and a bright flare of red that left him blinking away afterimages. He winced at the sound and heard ringing in his ears. A hot wind rolled back across him and the mage-lights went dark as they were blown over. The cave went dark and silent except for the steady tick, tick sound of cooling metal.

His personal mage-light remained the only one lit. He used it to light his way back to where the shot furnace had launched its payload. Several of the mage-lights remained lit, but had been knocked over by the force of the shot, or the wave of sound and air that reverberated back. Other mage-lights appeared to have been damaged, either by the hot wind, or by rock fragments that had been blown off of the face of the pile of debris blocking the exit.

He stood the mage-light that still worked back up and reset it into the ground, then walked to study the results. He’d missed the cave mouth entirely and hit the ceiling, gouging a hole and shattering rock. He whistled to himself. Lucky you didn’t bring down more of the roof.

He checked the shot furnace carefully, and used a stylus to clean out the copper residue that had built up around the door. Just a tiny amount, but after the right number of shots, enough to jam the door and cause an explosion like the one that had killed that Manipulator all those eight days before. Once done, he realigned the furnace, revised his aim, reloaded it, and went to retreat behind the wrecks. This time he took the working mage-lights with him.

A dozen shots, and two aiming revisions later, he thought he had broken through. He had been nearly deafened by the repeated sounds of the discharge in the confined space of the cave. The last shot had sounded different, even to his ringing ears. Much quieter, as though muffled—or, just possibly, as if the impact had broken through and allowed some of the noise to go elsewhere. He retrieved the mage-lights.

He waited a good long time for the rocks to cool before he scrambled up the rock slope, carrying a ’light for illumination. At the top, he could see where the shots had smashed into the rocks. He’d expected the slugs to melt through the rock, but the force had been more violent than he expected. Here, the impacts had left sharp chips of stone, and little slag pieces of copper that cut into his hands and knees as he bent down to see the effects of his barrage. The air had a sharp smell, and he coughed a bit and waved his hand back and forth to clear the rock dust that still swirled. It settled after a few moments and he raised the light.

He could see a small tunnel blasted through the collapsed opening, right at the top, and along the natural cave ceiling, where the rock had been narrowest … much like at the top of a pyramid. The tunnel he had blasted looked to be a bit more than knee-height. He shoved the mage-light through, using the stave to push it along, so that he could inspect the hole he’d carved. He saw the tunnel would be too narrow for him, and most certainly for the Probe. A small child might be able to slip through, but not a full-grown elf male.

He extended his arm into the tunnel, holding the light as far as he could. The mage-light, which had shown on the walls of the tunnel, just illuminated an irregular, oblong exit. The light couldn’t quite reach the exit itself, but it did illuminate the rock around it. He felt excitement grow as he pulled his mage-light back in and snuffed it out, along with his personal light. He peered through the tunnel, trying to see into the other side.

It was certainly dark. Possibly night? He felt a wisp of cool air on his cheek and inhaled deeply. A resinous conifer? Is that a conifer I smell? While he couldn’t place the plant, he had no doubt of the fresh air and damp, foresty smell that came through the little tunnel he’d carved using the shot furnace. Fresh air. And then, as he strained his eyes he saw faint glimmers. Stars.

He descended the rockface carefully, suddenly very aware of the risk of triggering another rockslide or taking a fall down the face.

When he got to the bottom, he rose and dusted off his cut hands. He looked at the Probe. “Well, I did it. I have a way to store magic to use for later. I can use the furnace to carve a hole in the top, and with enough shots, I can make a hole big enough for you.” He looked back up the slope. “Or for me.” He picked a rock chip out of his palm, then watched as a dot of blood welled up on his dirty and abraded skin. “Or for me.”

He checked his inventory of storage jars and copper slugs. He’d used up all of the shot and all but two of the jars. He didn’t doubt that he’d been given jars that were nearly empty. He’d had to change each jar after a shot or two. He was wearily certain that the city’s defenders had fired dozens of shots before they had exhausted their stores. He felt suddenly frustrated by the restraints placed on him … both by the king, and by jealousies that kept him from receiving the support and respect that were his due.

He wanted to see what was on the other side of that fallen cave mouth, and he wanted to walk in a real forest again, without the fear of being devoured by a Predator. He needed more shot and more storage jars to open the hole further and widen it so he could go and see for himself. To see the sun in its glory, and not cast through the city’s shield. Wait … I have the Kings Writ, and the city walls have Mecha with shot furnaces … and will have extra storage jars, and extra copper shot.