Countdown to Armageddon by Edward M. Lerner

Author:Edward M. Lerner
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Wildside Press LLC
Published: 2012-02-05T16:00:00+00:00

PART III

Only our concept of time makes it possible for us to speak of a Day of Judgment by that name; in reality, it is a summary court in perpetual session.

—Franz Kafka

ON THE FRANCIA/SAXONY BORDER, 730

Karl, Pepin’s son, was a vigorous man in his early forties: for him the prime of his life. In these rough and perilous times, lesser men—if they survived—were old and wizened. Only Karl’s hair, shot through with streaks of gray, gave any suggestion of his age.

The major domus shunned court dress, favoring plain linen breeches and tunic, and a simple fur jerkin beneath his cape. Only his jewel-encrusted belt and scabbard hinted at wealth and power. The famous ring of Arnulf glittered on one hand; the other bore his own seal ring.

The Frankish leader projected an aura, a presence, the like of which Harry had never known. Karl’s gaze was intense, focused, penetrating.

Right now, that stare was aimed straight at Harry, and he found it most unsettling.

Karl had listened intently to news of the permanent Saracen base in Aquitania. Then, the strangers’ information absorbed, he seemed ready to set it aside. The pagan Saxons and Frisians massing to the north and northwest of the kingdom were more pressing concerns. Aquitania, the major domus had declared, must wait.

That tepid reaction was exactly what Harry and Terrence had feared. Reluctantly, Harry had then described a great weapon possessed by the Saracens, a weapon that made the Moslems, indeed, the bigger threat. This explanation had been met with skepticism.

Harry’s only option had been the double-edged sword of a demonstration. A successful exhibition might convince Karl to pay more attention to the Saracens. Would a too-compelling demo lead to accommodation with the coming invaders?

Karl turned to look at the campfire at the center of the snow-covered clearing. “We would be more comfortable beside that blaze.” It sounded more like an order than an observation.

Harry followed Karl’s gaze toward the fire. Crackling flames leapt and danced around a large crockery container. Was it Harry’s imagination, or had the vessel begun to wobble? The water inside the sealed pot had started to boil. It was going to work, but they had to stay back for their own safety.

Terrence had suggested that Harry whip up some gunpowder. That would have been easy enough to do—which was precisely the problem. Gunpowder, if invented centuries too early, could not be uninvented. With explosives, the Franks would alter history just as radically, if perhaps not as dramatically, as whatever Faisel planned.

Harry well remembered the swordsmith in Metz. It took no great feat of imagination to picture that craftsman fashioning a catapult-deliverable bomb or a primitive cannon. No, gunpowder must stay unknown a while longer. His demo would be effective without any direct military application.

“Just a moment longer, my lord.” Indeed, the crockery was rocking vigorously as the water inside seethed. Steam pressure was building within the inch-thick baked clay. Feeling silly even as he did it, Harry crossed his fingers. The demonstration would be much

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