“At least we caught up to the others before they got much farther into Carthya,” one man said.

“You idiot, we didn’t catch up to anyone,” his companion snarled. “They were ordered to wait for us here until Avenia arrived. Their king wants to know the cannon is solid before we drag it all the way to Drylliad.”

“I wish someone else was testing it. A cousin of mine was nearly killed when the last cannon exploded. The gunners were worse than killed, you know. Blown to pieces so their own mother wouldn’t know ’em.”

“Hush! If you talk like that, nobody will volunteer to test this one.”

“Not me anyway.” There was a shuffling of feet, and then he added, “I’m not going to wait here when the others leave. They’ll think it’s a sign I’m volunteering.”

“You’ll be punished if you leave this post.”

“But not blown up. I won’t agree to test it, and if you’d seen my cousin, you wouldn’t either.”

“All right, let’s go. It’s not like anyone could drag it off, eh?”

Laughing, the men walked back down the hill. Only minutes later, I heard their horses being ridden away. I waited in the silence, wondering if it was a trap. But when I dared to look, there was only the cannon on the road and the empty hitch. Behind them was another wagon that seemed to be carrying supplies for the cannon. No sense in bringing that along if it was needed here for testing, rather than at the camp.

Once I determined I was alone, I snuck the rest of the way toward the cannon. It was larger than a battle horse and cast in iron. I ran my hand along the rough, cool metal, and then ducked behind it to investigate the supplies being transported with it.

The second wagon carried instruments for the cannon’s use, including a ramrod, a sponge, and a dozen or more cannonballs. Tightly woven bags were stacked in the closest corner. A few empty sacks lay beneath three or four others that were packed full of black granules.

I knew what those granules were. When I had been with the pirates, they had captured a ship filled with mining supplies. When Roden and I left the pirates, we had taken with us a bag of this same substance so that we might learn more about its power and potential. Tobias told us it was gunpowder, capable of creating explosions that had never before been seen in these lands.

Roden and I decided to test it one night and invited Tobias along, but he flatly refused us and told us we were insane. Maybe he was right. Even the small amount we used downed several trees and created a fire that might’ve burned down half my kingdom if we hadn’t been saved by a passing rainstorm.

In the days after, Tobias began creating designs for us to build our own cannon. He explained how the gunpowder would be stuffed down the barrel of the cannon with the ramrod, followed by the heavy iron ball. When the gunpowder was lit through a fuse, it would explode and the ball would fire out. One shot could do all the damage of a battering ram and destroy fortresses that would take an entire army to topple. Even one cannon could change the course of a war.

The problem was that I had no hope of stealing it. Mystic was a strong horse, but on his own he couldn’t budge this weapon an inch. Worse still, time was not on my side. I had no idea when Mendenwal would return for their cannon, but I guessed it couldn’t be long.

If I couldn’t steal it, I had to destroy it.

I closed my eyes, trying to recall everything Tobias had taught me from his studies. The conversation I’d just overheard came to mind, of the soldier whose cousin was nearly killed while testing an earlier cannon model. Why? What had gone wrong with the test?

Back when I suggested to Tobias that we simply mold a cannon and see if it worked, he had warned me that the danger lay in how the metal was cast. If it wasn’t thick enough, or welded together well enough to withstand the explosion inside, it would fail. Perhaps the injured cousin had been too close to a cannon when it failed.

The problem was that the cannon in front of me looked very thick and very strong. It would take far more than a normal burst of gunpowder to destroy it.

Then I smiled. No, a normal burst wouldn’t be powerful enough. But who said it had to be limited to that?

I opened the closest sack of gunpowder and scooped a generous portion into the barrel, then rammed it into the breech. Once I was certain it was packed in tightly, I replaced the ramrod and scoop exactly as they had been before. I started to close up the sack, then realized I was passing up an enormous opportunity. I scooped as much gunpowder as I dared to steal into an extra bag, then refastened the bag and made my escape back to Mystic.

Unless they carefully checked their cannon, Mendenwal had no idea they were now testing a loaded weapon.

I rode away, retracing my ride back toward Avenia. Less than an hour later, as I reached the arch of another gentle hill, the ground quaked violently enough to startle Mystic to his hind legs, and a thick plume of black smoke rose into the air several miles behind me.

I turned to look back and grinned. Avenia and Mendenwal were still terrible threats to Carthya. But they no longer had a cannon.

It was early evening before I found the place where Imogen was being held. The hastily assembled camp lay just on the Avenian side of the border near Libeth, but a hill descending toward the camp allowed me a good view of the interior. The swamplands surrounding Libeth butted up to the camp’s northern boundary. Due to its reputation for thick underbrush and poisonous snakes, no one would dare attempt any crossing of the swamp by foot, and it wasn’t much easier by boat. The other perimeters were surrounded by tall mounds of earth or iron bars with razor ends. It was a larger camp than I’d anticipated, with several buildings and tents of all sizes.

“Your Majesty?”

I swiveled around, sword drawn, as two men approached me. Realizing they had caught me off guard, they raised their hands in a gesture of peace and then each quickly fell to one knee.

When I recognized them, I replaced my sword and asked them to rise. The man who had spoken was Henry Evendell, a talented archer with a good heart who often stood as a vigil at my castle. I didn’t know the second man well, but Evendell introduced him as Herbert, a new but ambitious soldier, also from Drylliad. Both men had bows slung over their shoulders and quivers on their backs.

“Where’s Mott?” I asked.

Out of respect, Evendell inclined his head before speaking again. “He entered the camp this morning, sire, hoping to get to a tent we thought looked different from the others. But we’ve seen no sign of him for hours, and we’re concerned that he may have been captured.”

“Show me the tent.” Evendell pointed it out to me and I squinted, trying to see it better. Several vigils stood around it now. Either a royal was inside, or more likely, a valuable prisoner.

“Did he leave you with orders?” I asked them.

Evendell and Herbert eyed each other, and then Evendell answered, “Before coming here, we secured a small boat near the swamp, on the north end of camp. Once Mott came out with the lady Imogen, we were to use our arrows to clear a path for their escape into that boat.”

“Has there been any sign of her?”

Both Evendell and Herbert shook their heads. Herbert mumbled something that I couldn’t hear and I told him to speak up. Then he said, “There was one more order, sire, but you won’t like it.”