Chapter No. 49 Maleficus saltpeter

And I saw when the Lamb opened one of the seals, and I heard, as it were the noise of thunder.

Grimsy sat on his throne uneasily, suffering from a melancholy that ate into his soul. He felt that the Empire was slipping from his control and he was impotent do anything about it. He needed a plan, and he needed it now.

"Sire," the Royal Administrator Falst said. "What are we to do about this witch that breathes dragon fire?"

"She strikes at our heels," Grimsy said, "and we strike at her head."

"This witch is turning the tide of war against up. If we don't find a way in which to eliminate her, we are doomed."

Sir Vallen, Grimsy's Military Advisor, thrust a finger into the air. "We are in need of an efficacious weapon against her."

The Royal Administrator blew a disgusted breath. "Many men have tried to dispatch her, but all have failed. She is most difficult to kill."

"What of this new villainous saltpetre?" Grimsy asked him.

"Yes," Sir Vallen replied, "this new device is most mortal to knights. But, it is difficult to apply in battle."

Grimsy stood up. "I have heard that a hand-gun man can bring down a fully armored knight with this weapon. Is this true?"

"Yes," Vallen said. "But only in the hands of a skilled man."

"We need the best," Grimsy said. "The fate of the Empire depends on his skill."

Vallen grinned. "I know of one who will fulfill your plan."

"Good. Employ him so that my plan can proceed."

"As you wish, my lord," Vallen said, bowing confidently.

After Vallen departed, the Royal Administrator approached the throne.
"I trust that your plan will not involve the Emperor's safety."

"You reflect the omissions of my father's reign. As Emperor, I must be an instrument of the destruction of this most grievous threat to imperial rule."

"Agreed. But, how will you fulfill this duty without harm?"

Grimsy sat down. "I will rehearse my role in this drama until my safety is assured."

"Where and when will this deed take place?"

"Where is the Castle of Vell. When is as soon as possible."

"How will you entice the witch and her army to this conflict?" the Administrator asked.

"Ah," Grimsy exclaimed. "The Lady Tara will become the bait in my trap."

"The Lady Tara?"

"Tara is a friend of Estard who is a friend of Mara. I will announce the escape of Tara to Vell. The rest will be history."

"Your plan is well conceived, my lord. For the well being of the Empire, may it be successful."

"It will," Grimsy promised. "I am confident that the gods will smile on us."

###

The wiry man with a narrow hawkish face stared with a harsh intensity at his Lord. He had short red hair that stood on end and his hands showed signs of a rough service.

"This is how we will proceed," Grimsy said. "I will charge the witch with you," He pointed at Wistmal, "directly behind me. When she is in range you will stop and take your shot. If you miss, I will veer off and you will retreat."

"I will need time to aim," Wistmal said. "The weapon is only effective up to fifty yards. That does not leave much time for a retreat."

"If that is the case, you will not miss. Your skill is legendary."

Wistmal nodded. "If it is your wish, my lord."

"It is not only my wish," Grimsy said with a wrinkled brow. "It is what is necessary for the survival of the Empire."

"Understood, my lord."

"Go and practice your art," Grimsy ordered him.

He bowed and hurried out of the throne hall with a wide gate.

"Your plan has much dependence on that man," Falst said.

"Yes," Grimsy said. "But, he is the very best of a new breed of soldier. Soon he and men like him will dominate the battlefield and the age of knights will be but a nostalgic memory."

"All things change, my lord." Falst said. "It is especially the way with the art of war."

"Nevertheless, it is a sad passing."

"Agreed, my lord."

Grimsy smiled sheepishly when he spotted Falst bouncing up to him. Falst elected to keep a poker face even when he knew that his lord in the midst of an obvious anxiety attack.

"You're right," Grimsy said. "I can't resist seeing my man practicing his art."

"Your concern is warranted, my lord. You risk much on his art."

When Wistmal saw Grimsy and Falst approaching, his heart rate increased. Even though the practice of his art involved a certain element of danger, having the Emperor watch him was a more unnerving danger.

He greeted his lord with a gallant bow. "Welcome, my lord."

"I'm curious," Grimsy said. "I would like to see this gun that I am risking my reign, not to mention my life, on."

Wistmal held up the handgun so that Grimsy could inspect it. The weapon was much larger than a modern handgun, a round tube thirty inches in length and at least six inches in diameter mounted on a wooden stock. The diameter was not uniform along its length, tapering into a bulbous shape at the ignition end. Basically a hand held cannon, the heavy weapon consisted of an iron core secured with straps to a substantial stock.

"The weapon fires a lead ball, my lord," Wistmal said, holding up a ball with a diameter of three quarters of an inch. It has a good heft to it."

He handed it to Grimsy, who turned it around in his hand and judged it weight.

"I find it hard to believe that this can penetrate armor."

"When propelled to an efficacious velocity, that is quite capable of penetrating the heaviest of armor, my lord."

Grimsy looked around to Falst. "We need to conduct a test. We need to place steel plates at a distance and see if this handgun can do proper damage."

"Yes, my lord," he replied before he ordered a guard to go and secure some armor plate.

"Show me how you charge this weapon," Grimsy ordered Wistmal.
Wistmal poured a black substance into the barrel from a cylindrical container. "This material is called gun powder."

Grimsy smiled. "How appropriate."

"The amount of gun powder that one uses is dependent on several factors. Too much and the weapon will rupture with disastrous consequences. Too little and the projectile will not have enough velocity. This important decision is more an art than a science."

"I'm not surprised. That's why we chose you for this important task."

After nodding his appreciation, Wistmal placed a piece of cloth into the barrel and rammed it home with a wooden rod. "This helps pack the powder tight so that when it burns it will impart more force."

He allowed the lead ball to roll down the barrel and then packed it tight with another piece of rag. He then poured some powder into a small hole at the bulbous end, allowing some to spill into a small cupped-shaped pan near this hole.

"When ignited, this powder causes the fire to enter the main charge."

Falst and the guard returned with two breastplates that had been riveted together. They placed the makeshift target on an old stump approximately fifty yards away. Wistmal held his weapon by a wooden handle about half way along its length. After some consideration of his target, he touched a smoldering length of cord to the cupped pan. The powder contained in it flamed up, blowing a cloud of smoke, before the main charge exploded in a thunderous roar. Flame and smoke erupted from the barrel, kicking the weapon crazily, nearly knocking Wistmal off of his feet. The ball smashed into the breastplates, knocking them off the stump.

Like a kid seeing a new toy, Grimsy ran to the breastplates, which had been thrown several yards back of the stump by the shot.

When he picked the target up to examine it, he grinned at Falst. "This gunpowder is most interesting."

After he examined the hole that the projectile had made, Falst gave him a toothy grin. "The evidence is unequivocal. This weapon will bring down the witch."

Grimsy laughed convulsively. "No doubt about it."

Wistmal smiled, but his smile was still tempered by concern.