"I can't be everywhere." Stewart's words had no one but him to hear. He was standing alone in his tent, the maps his scouts had made laid out on the trestle in the middle. The enemy had a good position, though their force was outnumbered nearly six to one. Those odds might seem good, at first glance, but Stewart knew how important good terrain choices were—and the commander of the other army had definitely made some good ones.

  Walking around the table, Stewart tried to picture the terrain as it was marked. The long, narrow hilltop the enemy were on stood alone with gullies all around it. The ridge was dotted with cannons that would make every nearby hill untenable. Climbing up would entice his foe into rolling munitions or rocks down.

  There was one aspect that had his attention, though, but he needed to talk to some soldiers about it. Setting a little pin into a ridgeline he liked the look of, Stewart marched out of his tent, retrieved a bodyguard, and walked to where the cannoneers were making camp.

  "Sire?"

  Relieved his questing gaze had gotten the answer he wanted, Stewart nodded to the lieutenant that addressed him. "At ease, Lieutenant. I'm looking for the commander of the mortar teams."

  "That would be Captain Davidson, sir. If you'll follow me, I'll take you to him."

  "Go ahead," Stewart said, and followed the soldier wordlessly, only stopping when they were definitely in the right area. Huge weapons on flat wagons were spaced around at somewhat regular intervals. Of the sixty guns, one lay on the ground while a crew worked on its wagon. One of the men fitting a new wheel to the wagon jumped and turned before saluting him. "Captain Davidson?"

  Not exactly in his full uniform, but still wearing his officer's shirt, Davidson replied, "Yes, Sire."

  The man was built on a big scale. Looking nothing so much as a blacksmith but with a lower body to match, Stewart could recognize someone who had become so good at his job in the army that he'd been promoted almost beyond any position to continue doing it. "Do you need to finish that wagon? We can talk while you work."

  "Thank you, sir. If we plan to move tomorrow, I'll definitely need to finish this. The wagons aren't built to haul all this adamantine. These grand mortars need something bigger." Returning to his task, Davidson began hammering the new steel band onto the wooden wheel.

  "How far can you lob a shell?" Stewart asked, the numbers still fresh in his head. "I have a hill I need to empty out, and even the new long-range cannons will struggle to reach it. If you need more powder…"

  "It's not the powder. We can cram as much as we want into these and they won't break. It's the ammo. Too much powder behind it and the ball deforms. It'll fly off course or, worse, explode in the barrel." Davidson spoke as he hammered, his arm driving the heavy hammer to its percussive work.

  "What if I got you some of those adamantine cannonballs?" Relieved that he could surprise such a practical man, Stewart saw Davidson's eyes widen. "Would that work?"

  "You'd waste adamantine on cannonballs?"

  "Already have. We were saving them for the city walls in West Reaches, but they're no good if we don't reach those walls. How far could you launch adamantine shot?"

  Davidson paused his hammering as his mind raced through the usual artillery calculations. Though, this time, he didn't have to make adjustments for deformation. "With the big mortars, and solid shot, I could plant a ball a mile away."

  That was the kind of news Stewart appreciated: succinct, professional, and far in excess of his expectations. "We won't need you to fire that far, but we're going to spend some time on this and I'd like you to cover the hill with adamantine for me."

  "I've got two groups of three mortars that can do this. It won't be fast without explosive charges, but I'll turn your hill into a hole."

  Not taking chances, Stewart gave the men all the time they needed to get the four groups of the new cannons arrayed on the ridge with the two squads of heavy mortars, as well as a thousand soldiers digging fortifications to prevent cavalry charges from causing a rout.

  "You're actually going to use me if they don't agree?" Penelope asked, standing beside Stewart, her sharp eyes locked on the target nearly three-quarters of a mile distant. "We are sure they have word of our first skirmish?"

  "They should have. The officers that escaped by talisman would have reported to West Reaches within hours. They would have been debriefed and the information sent by train. It has taken nine days of marching to reach here—which is plenty of time for their train to arrive and the information reaching the tent of this commander." It had annoyed Stewart at first that he couldn't use the same trick twice, thanks to the size of his army and the time it took them to move, but that didn't mean he was going to let it distract him from his task. "I'll give them a chance to surrender."

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  Penelope smiled, not caring that anyone who didn't know her would think she was snarling. "Let's hope they do."

  Nodding, Stewart gave the signal and one of the young knights accompanying them raised a white flag to flap beside his own standard.

  A fountain of dirt shot into the sky, easily a quarter mile ahead of them. The sound of the cannon that fired reached them a moment later and Stewart felt his shoulders droop a little. "Captain! Show them they are within our range."

  Davidson, already on the right page, lit one of his fuses and used a gripper to push the tip of it into the breach of his mortar. As close as he was, there wasn't any actual sound from the artillery piece—it was all shock wave. Nonetheless, he felt in his chest when the propelling charge ignited and sent the ball of priceless metal on its parabolic flight.

  The plume of dirt shooting into the sky was a testament to the artillery team's experience, since it was the middle of the defenders' camp. A white flag was raised less than a minute after that.

  Turning her head, Penelope looked back at the mortar teams. "Your arguments seem to be persuasive." She lowered her shoulders and raised her left leg.

  Stewart wasn't inclined to interrupt the laughter of his soldiers, particularly since they'd earned it. Climbing up to Penelope's shoulders, he called down, "Raise our white flag, and keep my standard high."

  Once Stewart was settled, Penelope took off. This wouldn't be a jostling ride, or one meant to fill a scout's pants, but something to get from A to B without all the waddling. Gliding down the hillside, she passed the spot where the defenders' cannon had hit and began gliding up the hill to meet the on-foot delegation.

  Landing, Penelope was about a hundred yards from a young soldier and a pair of guards. When she felt Stewart move, she lowered her shoulder and raised her leg for him. "Be careful. If they try something stupid, use your shield and I'll get you out."

  "Of course, lady knight." Stewart wasn't sure he had ever seen a dragon blush before, but there was a slight darker color growing around the membranes of her eyes. He decided she was either annoyed at something she ate, or feeling a little proud of herself. "This shouldn't take long, I hope."

  Striding forward, Stewart didn't recognize the young man wearing a general's uniform from the kingdom's own army. "I don't believe we've met before. I am King Stewart Gallant."

  "First son of Baron Chelves, General Renard Chelves." The uniform was so new it still itched from the starch used in it. His horse, he noted, was oddly calm given the monster that Stewart had ridden on. "You appear to have us ranged. The only question is, how much adamantine has the kingdom raised that it can afford to make cannonballs of it?"

  "Enough we'd have a very good chance of hitting you on that hill. We could end this now. You're no idiot. Give the word and you can exit this war and your army will live at the capital for the duration. Upon cessation of hostilities, you can release all your men and women back to their jobs in the West." The likelihood of the West starving unless he got this war finished by the next winter was high, Stewart knew, and the prospect of returning to normalcy should be a good incentive—so long as the leaders of the various armies knew anything about their people, and cared for them. "I'm not going to charge your hill."

  "It's a nice hill though." Renard held his chuckle as long as he could. "This is all stupid. My father was training me for this, though, and he'd like to at least hear that his son had gotten so far as to cause the King consternation. Would you let him know that?"

  "The only reason I have you snookered is because an unbelievable amount of adamantine is rolling through the kingdom now. Without it, you would have cost me tens of thousands of lives getting up that damn hill—and you'll be able to tell your father that yourself when this is over." Doing his best not to make it a threat, Stewart nodded back to his formation. "You'll be allowed to carry your standard, if you lower it."

  "You leave no choice. If you truly have that much adamantine, you will level my lovely hill with my army a layer of frosting atop it. You'll come in and fetch back your fortune in spent ammunition and still use it to flatten West Reaches. I will not see my soldiers die for no reason." It was a hard decision, but one he'd make on Stewart's promise. "So long as you agree that none of my people are killed or maimed, I will answer as I must."

  "Don't think I'll let you hide in obscurity after this. You've impressed me with this location and your words." Turning, Stewart left the meeting and walked back, his rear exposed, to mount Penelope again. "I hope this doesn't bother you."

  "Seeing the fates of thousands in the hands of young scions I'd rather be teaching delving tricks to? Or the way you keep giving me commands as if I were a horse?" Penelope asked.

  "The… I do, don't I? I'll stop if—"

  "I think I figured out why it doesn't bother me. If you wanted to tell me to turn to the left, what would you say?" As Penelope reversed course, she kept her head to one side a little, her wide field of vision letting her see behind her.

  "'Turn left'?"

  "Exactly. That takes a lot more time than tapping your boot on my left side. Also, I can feel that while flying, but your words are a bit muffled by the wind sometimes." Stretching her wings, Penelope breathed out a sigh of joy as she pulled wind down with them and jumped upward. For as long as it took to get into the sky and stable, she held off further speech. Once they were level, though, she continued her line of thought. "So, since we both understand it and I can respond faster to it, why not use it? I draw the line at eating apples, though."

  "Sugar cubes it is," Stewart said, and fully appreciated the jostling for Penelope's reply—and was surprised at how comfortable he was with her playful motion. She was nothing like riding a horse, but he was fairly sure he had become the most composed dragon rider in the history of his kingdom.

  By the time they landed, Penelope could say for sure that she was comfortable with Stewart riding her. He never once voiced such a joke where anyone else would hear, and he took his medicine well. She set down by the mortar teams, and with a glance back the way they'd come, saw that the white flag was still up, but the general's was not. "Even better."

  Available at:

  This story is released under the license. If you are paying money to see this or the original creator, , is not credited, you are viewing a plagiarized copy of the story.

  Patreon or fuel my writing on ! Join me on .

  Canary in the Coal Mine

  Daremo

  shortskirtsandexplosions

  Sirion123

  Vi Watch

  Emtu

  Jeffh4

  Shi

  Istyatur

  Shelbo

  Treascair

  Joseplh

  Seinta

  Nidd

  HarmonySpent

  Purpleninja

  Lab

  Jeffh4

  Creative Commons BY-NC-SA license in addition to all other licenses required by the sites I post to.