Despite the cold and the privation the work continued, the Forge produced weapons at a furious rate and Davern’s wrights had given her three more ships in less than a month, the pace of construction quickening as they grew accustomed to the new techniques. “You should forget the gold from the Reaches, Highness,” Davern advised one day with his customary grin. “When the war’s won this land will be made rich on shipbuilding alone.”
In truth she often wished she could forget the gold. Acting Tower Lord Ultin was a frequent correspondent with his demands for more miners and Fief Lord Darvus’s scribes were scrupulous in counting and weighing every ingot to reach Frostport, even to the point of delaying onward shipment to the Alpiran merchants. If Your Highness were to send more scribes, the old man had written in response to her gently worded rebuke, I feel sure the flow of gold would resume with all alacrity. She had resisted the urge to dispatch Lord Adal with a formal edict dissolving Darvus’s agreement with Vaelin and placing the gold trade under Crown control. However, as her Minister of Justice was ever keen to remind her, she had already exercised the Queen’s Word with a frequency that made her father appear the paragon of light-handed rule and was loath to earn a reputation for setting aside inconvenient laws.
Aspect Dendrish had taken on the unenviable task of hearing petitions, troubling her with only the cases of greatest import or complexity. He also had been obliged to reconstitute a system of courts in a land now severely denuded of lawyers or magistrates, obtaining her permission for a complete reorganisation of the Realm’s machinery of justice.
“Three Senior Judges?” she asked him on reading his plan. “Should the role of highest judge not fall to you, Aspect?”
“Too much power vested in a single office is often a recipe for corruption, Highness.”
She gave him an amused frown. Although possibly the least personable man she had met besides the blessedly deceased Darnel, the Aspect had quickly earned a reputation for sound judgement and rigid impartiality, reporting every attempted bribe and decreeing swift punishment on the transgressor. “You feel corrupted by your duties?” she asked.
“I will not hold this office forever.” There was a weight to his words that gave her pause, taking in the paleness of his skin and rapidly disappearing girth. She had noticed before how his words were often coloured by a faint wheeze and he would pause to cough with a disconcerting frequency.
“Three judges,” she said, turning back to the document. “To ensure their decisions are not deadlocked, I assume?”
“Indeed, Highness. All rulings to be subject to your approval, naturally.”
“Also, I note there is no mention of the Faith in your amended code of criminal transgressions.”
“The Faith pertains to the soul and the Beyond. The law pertains only to the Realm and its subjects.”
“Very well. I shall need time to fully consider this.”
“My thanks, Highness.” He hunched over, trying to suppress a cough and failing, a lace handkerchief held to his mouth, coming away spotted with red. “Forgive me.”
“I will. I’ll also order you to see Brother Kehlan immediately and abide by whatever instruction he gives you.”
He gave a reluctant nod as she set down the document, musing, “Neither my brother nor father ever attempted such radical change to the Realm’s laws.”
Aspect Dendrish drew a wheezing breath, his eyes slightly moist as he replied, “All in this Realm is changed, more than I would ever wish it to be. But wishes do not make a land fit to live in.”
? ? ?
“It’s based on a Volarian engine,” Alornis said, her slender arm working the windlass at the rear of the contraption, gears clanking and diagonally crossed arms drawing back. It did indeed resemble one of the ballistae with which the Volarians festooned their ships, but was substantially larger with a heavy iron box fixed over the central body. It stood on a wide base also of iron, but with a bowl-shaped aperture through which a supporting rod was thrust, allowing the entire engine to be swivelled about with surprising swiftness despite its size.
Lyrna had joined her Battle Lord on the Realm Guard’s main practice ground to witness the trial of her Lady Artificer’s first invention. The broad plain that played host to the Summertide Fair was mostly covered in snow now, troops of conscripts labouring through the drifts a good way beyond the row of targets placed at varying distances from the device. Each target consisted of four Volarian breastplates arranged in a square, Alornis having assured them the device had enough power to pierce their armour.
“The range, my lady?” Count Marven enquired.
“A Volarian ballista can manage about two hundred yards,” Alornis replied, locking the engine’s thick string in place and stepping back. “I’m hopeful we’ll better it. They use wood for their bow staves, we have used steel.” She took a moment to align the contraption then thumped her palm onto a lever. The bow arms snapped forward in a blur, the bolt flying free too fast for Lyrna to track its flight, though the tinny clunk from one of the farthest targets indicated it had found its mark.