Queen Of Glass

Book 2 Chapter 8

"What do you mean: 'They've made a new weapon?'" Prince Galan Ashryver looked up from his lunch and gave Fanur, his long-time friend and advisor, a questioning look.
Fanur dropped the two pieces of parchment down upon the marble table and took a seat beside the Crown Prince. The wrinkles on his old face showed signs of worry. "Your father said in his latest letter," he motioned towards the paper on the table, "that Adarlan seems to have developed a new weapon of war—and not just a simple adjustment on a sword, mind you."
Galan put down his fork and straightened up. "Go on, tell me about it," he said, a sense of dread forming in his stomach.
Fanur sighed. "There isn't a name for it yet—or at least one that our spies have picked up on—but it's unlike anything this world has ever seen. It's this...long, shaft-like thing, about the size of your desk, made of iron. Inside is this tube —a tube that gets filled with some sort of grayish powder that seems to ignite with flame. Our information was very

minimal on the mechanics of the device, but here is the most important part: because of the reaction of the flame and powder, it shoots forth these...melon-sized balls of iron or lead that can smash through wood, stone, or flesh. Adarlan's been testing them on abandoned towns and cities on their borders, checking to see how far these balls can travel in the air...checking to see how much damage they can cause."
Galan shook his head, unable to get a clear mental picture of it. "Do they carry these things around with them on their shoulders? Is it a foot weapon that every soldier can handle?"
The old man glanced down at the letter. "Thankfully, no. They stay on the ground—or are propped up on wooden wagons—and require two to three men to handle. From what our sources are saying, they believe them to weigh at least a thousand pounds, which make them not the easiest weapons to use in a heavy battle."
"But they can do significant damage?"
"Your father says that they can blast a hole in a ship that will sink it in a matter of minutes." Galan bit down on his lip and pushed his lunch tray away, his appetite gone.
"What of magick? What kind of defense would it be against these balls of fire and iron?"
Fanur shrugged his shoulders. "Your father didn't mention it, but you should ask him in your reply. But I suspect, Galan, that magick will be of little use against this kind of a weapon...even a fully formed shield might not be strong enough to repel it." He stood up and walked to the large glass windows that lined one wall of the room. Galan watched him, noticing the weary air to his walk and the way his frail shoulders seemed to sag beneath this new tide of ill news.
"This will not be a war of magick, Galan," Fanur said in a strained voice, his back to him. "This will be a war of mortal weapons and machinery and wealth. Magick will be of no use for us. Their world is done with it—they chose to throw it away."
"Their king chose to throw it away," Galan said, "not the people."
"I didn't see much fighting going on from their perspective." Fanur turned to face the young prince. "Galan, you have to understand that they have a very different culture—these people are not like us—they have accepted the changes that their king has made to their countries and have accepted their position in the world as—"
"As his slaves, you mean." He leaned back in his chair and propped his head up with a hand. "I can't believe that a people—especially those of the countries that Adarlan has massacred—would willingly bow to him! He forced his culture upon them—he destroyed their magick! Why, if he hadn't believed that it was his divine right to rule the world, Trasien would probably still be—"
"You forget that he is the rightful ruler of Trasien."
"Like Hell he is! You and I both know that he had them killed—he killed my kin to gain that throne!" He didn't know why he had brought up Trasien—it had always been a sensitive subject for him, one that made his blood boil and his heart pump with anger.
Fanur gave him a sympathetic look.
Galan felt his upper lip curl into a silent snarl. "The people of Trasien know it too. They knew it then and they know it now and they do nothing." His temper was rising too quickly—his frustration and grief were beginning to transform themselves into hatred and rage, and Fanur saw that, and started to worry.
Concerned about his charge's growing anger towards Adarlan, Fanur walked back over to Galan's side and sat down once again, placing a hand upon his. "Your time will come, Galan—you will have your own time to face Adarlan, but for now..."
He picked up the parchment and handed it to the prince. "Allow me to summarize your father's words about your current situation: find a bride soon."