Thoroughly mystified, the girls went through into the Southern Hall where several squads of soldiers were working under the watchful eye of a team of carpenters. The soldiers all stopped to gawk at the girls, making them a little uncomfortable so they hurried through into the refectory. ‘Ah ladies.’ The Preceptor was standing waiting ‘Please prepare the tables. The king and several notables will be joining us for breakfast.’ To their astonishment the preceptor accompanied them down to the kitchen and helped ferry about twice as much food up to the refectory as they normally had. As the knights and the other boys arrived they all joined in. Once the tables were laid, the Preceptor beckoned them into the garden. ‘First of all, welcome back Camryn. It’s good to see you a little healthier than when we saw you last. I trust your friends will help you settle back in with as much efficiency as they helped you into armour this morning.’ His eyes twinkled. ‘Now, as you may know, we have ballistae on the walls around the palace to help force dragons to land. They were never very effective, being slow to load and even slower to aim, and are now in a state of disrepair. Jemryn has discovered a possible alternative which will be demonstrated here this morning. The guards will be using the Southern Hall for practice for the next couple of days, under the supervision of Sir Henrik and Sir Bern to ensure that no ladies get skewered. There will be more sessions with the heralds and the Lore Master and early morning drills out in the courtyard but the rest of the time will be your own. Let’s go and wait in the refectory.’
After about ten minutes, the king followed by the duke and duchess of Farrenreed, the dukes of all the islands and several other nobles, including Duchess Vaalea, who grinned at Camryn, made their way into the room via the kitchen entrance.
‘The squads are just setting up, your majesty’ said the Preceptor. ‘Shall we eat?’
‘Of course. I’m sure the young people here are famished, the young usually are as I recall.’ The king seemed in a jovial mood. ‘Please everybody, do not stand upon ceremony.’ He sat down on one of the plain wooden benches and everyone filled in around him. Jemryn found himself sitting opposite the king. He wasn’t completely overawed because he had taken several more letters to the king from both the Preceptor and Vann over the summer but he was still a little daunted when the king spoke to him. ‘I hear you are the brains behind this new weapon.’
Jemryn saw the Preceptor’s grin and his mother’s encouraging smile. ‘Er, um. Sort of, sire. I wondered why dragons would land to fight and how we could bring them down without the ballistae. The Preceptor said that repairing the ballistae might cause problems and that anyway they weren’t very effective, so I told him about what I’d read. But I didn’t help make them!’
The king smiled at him. ‘So you had the wit to see the problem and to help with it. I hear that you have a sharp mind. Do you play chess?’ Jemryn could only nod, covered in confusion. ‘Good.’ continued the king. ‘We shall play this afternoon. I will send a page for a board and pieces. No not you. Today you are a respected member of my court.’
About an hour later one of the carpenters came through from the hall and whispered in the Preceptor’s ear. ‘Your majesty, my noble friends and guests. I have just been informed that the demonstration is ready.’ He pushed back from the table and led the way into the Southern Hall where it looked as though a windlass had run into a large crossbow and then a hopper had fallen on it. Beyond it was a second, identical, contraption. ‘In your own time, gentlemen.’
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One of the squad closest to them grasped the handles of the windlass and began to crank them furiously. After a second, there was a loud ‘chunk’ and a heavy bolt appeared, stuck in the straw matting at the far end of the hall. The soldier continued to crank the windlass and, every second, another bolt hammered into the matting, forming a dense clump.
‘Traverse right’ bellowed the corporal at the back of the group. Two more soldiers grabbed ropes attached to the base of the crossbow stand and slewed the whole contraption so that a line of bolts appeared along the far wall.
‘Traverse left’ came the command. The two soldiers pulled the other way and more bolts appeared, going back along the previous line.
‘Elevate.’ The line of bolts went vertical.
‘Change.’ the first machine stopped firing and the soldier cranking the windlass staggered away from it, dripping with sweat. Behind him, the second one started running through the same drill. The last soldier in the squad rushed over and started to refill the hopper with the long heavy bolts.
‘Cease.’ The second machine stopped firing.
The Preceptor turned to face the audience. ‘These are polybolos. They don’t have the stopping power of a ballista, it’s true, but if you would care to examine the targets and the walls behind, you’ll see that they pack a serious punch.’ He led the way down the hall to the western end and pulled back the matting to show that the bolts had scored and chipped the wall. ‘Now, which of you would like to have a go cranking the handles?’
There was an immediate hubbub as all everyone started talking at once.
The king put his hand up for silence. ‘Farrenreed, Golniabar. Your towns have been raided in the past. I could see these on your walls. Benduil and Skarran can go next and the Preceptor and I will go last. Let’s not damage the walls further. Double up the mats and we will skip swinging the things around.’
Markur, the Duke of Golniabar was a huge man, a bit taller than average but with shoulders like a bull. Davorin, his son, was the biggest and strongest of the recruits by some margin; he might catch his father in size one day, but it was doubtful. Markur wrapped his huge hands around the handles before looking across at the Duke of Farrenreed. ‘A thousand tears for the first man to run out of bolts, Leander?’
The slighter Duke of Farrenreed grinned at him ‘You can pay me in salt. On your mark, Preceptor.’
As the preceptor bellowed go, the two men started to crank the handles just as fast as they could. After a minute the Duke of Golniabar was pouring with sweat and gasping for breath but couldn’t keep pace with the other man, who worked the handles like a man possessed. After around two minutes, Farrenreed’s machine dry-fired and he stopped, still looking remarkably cool. Golniabar continued to crank for a few more seconds and then stopped and shook hands with his opponent before collapsing on to the cold stone. ‘Good troops in your employ, sire. I haven’t worked that hard since them bastard pirates set fire to the warehouses and we had to empty ‘em of sacks in a hurry. I’ll put your salt on your account, Leander.’ He rolled out of the way of the machine to let the squads refill the hoppers and accepted a jack of cold ale, then sat with his back against the stone wall.
The dukes of Benduil and Skarran fired much more slowly than the first two and stopped after around a minute before moving out of the way to allow the King and the Preceptor to take their places. The Preceptor moved like an oiled machine, perhaps not as fast as the first two dukes but looking as though he could keep going for ever. The king was much less fit than any of the others and was slowing down in less than half a minute. He managed to finish the hopper but was gasping for breath by the end. ‘I believe I mentioned that spending some time in the practice yard would not go amiss.’ The Preceptor’s voice sounded amused.
‘I know, I know.’ gasped the king. ‘I’m not as young as I used to be and I will put some time in. Let’s go back to the refectory, have a drink and cool down. Where’s the page with the chess set?’