“Did you just build this?”
“No, of course not, you silly man. I am a professor at Sheridan. That’s in Ghent, by the way. You know, the same place as the seat of the Nyphron Church? Well, being brilliant, I bribed some church officials, who let slip the true nature of the competition. It would not be a ridiculous bashing match between sawdust-filled heads, but a challenge to defeat a legendary creature. This was a puzzle I could solve, one that I knew did not require muscle and a lack of teeth, but rather a staggering intellect such as mine.”
Hadrian walked around the device. A massive center beam rose a good twelve feet, and the long thick arm was a foot or two longer than that. It had a sack bucket joined to a lower beam with torsion-producing cords. On either side of the wagon were two massive hand cranks connected to a series of gears.
“Well, I must say, I have seen catapults before and this doesn’t look much like them.”
“That’s because I modified it for fighting the Gilarabrywn.”
“Well, he tried,” Magnus added. “It wouldn’t have worked the way he had it set up, but it will now.”
“In fact, we fired a few rocks already,” Mauvin reported.
“I’ve had some experience with siege weapons before,” Hadrian said. “And I know they can be useful against something big, like a field of soldiers, or something that doesn’t move, like a wall, but they’re useless against a solitary moving enemy. They just aren’t that fast or accurate.”
“Yes, well, that’s why I devised this one to fire not only projectiles but nets as well,” Tobis said proudly. “I’m very clever that way, you see. The nets are designed to launch like large balls that open in mid-flight and snare the beast as it is flying, dropping it to the ground, where it will lie helpless while I reload and take my time crushing it.”
“And this works?” Hadrian asked, impressed.
“In theory,” Tobis replied.
Hadrian shrugged. “What the heck, it couldn’t hurt.”
“Just need to get it in position,” Mauvin said. “Care to help push?”
They all put their backs to the catapult, except, of course, for Tobis, who limped along spouting orders. They rolled it to the ditch that ringed the bottom of the motte and within range to fire on anything in the area near the old manor house.
“Might want to get something to hide it—rubble or burnt wood, maybe, so that it looks like a pile of trash,” Hadrian said. “Which shouldn’t be hard to do. Magnus, I was wondering if you could do me a favor.”
“What kind?” he asked as Hadrian led him back up the hill toward the ruins of the manor house. The grass was gone, and they walked on a surface of ash and roots that made Hadrian think of warm snow.
“Remember that sword you made for Lord Rufus? I found it, still with him and his horse on the hill. I want you to fix it.”
“Fix it?” The dwarf looked offended. “It’s not my fault the sword didn’t work; I did a perfect replica. The records were likely at fault.”
“That’s fine, because I have the original, or part of it, at least. I need you to make an exact copy of what we have. Can you do it?”
“Of course I can, and I will, in return for your getting Royce to let me look at the Alverstone.”
“Are you crazy? He wants you dead. I saved your neck from him once already. Doesn’t that count?”
The dwarf stood firm, his arms crossed over the braids in his beard. “That’s my price.”
“I’ll talk to him, but I can’t guarantee it.”
The dwarf pursed his lips, which made his beard and mustache bristle. “Very well. Where are these swords?”
Theron agreed to the plan as long as he got the piece back, and brought the broken blade to the manor’s smithy, which now consisted of no more than the brick forge and the anvil. He would hold the blade during the exchange and hand it over immediately should the ruse be discovered.
“Hrumph!” The dwarf looked disgusted.
“What?” Hadrian asked.
“No wonder it didn’t work. There are markings on both sides. There’s this whole other inscription. See, this is the incantation, I bet.” The dwarf showed Hadrian the blade, where a seemingly incomprehensible spiderweb of thin sweeping lines formed a long design. Then he flipped it over to reveal a significantly shorter design on the back. “And this side, I’m guessing, holds the name that Esrahaddon mentioned. It makes sense that all the incantations are the same; only the name is unique.”
“Does that mean you can create a weapon that will work?”
“No, it’s broken right along the middle of the name, but I can make an awfully good copy of this, at least.”
The dwarf removed his tool belt, hidden beneath his clothes, and laid it on the anvil. He had a number of hammers of different sizes and shapes, and chisels all in separate loops. He unrolled a leather apron and tied it on. Then he took Rufus’s sword and strapped it to the anvil.