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The king’s eyes lit up with interest and, more importantly, hope.

«But what will this shelling do for us?»

«Uh, I’ll explain later. „If you’re not sure, don’t promise,“ as my teacher used to say, bless his bones. If it works, then it works.»

Gafarro stood up and clapped the mage on the shoulder.

«All right, I’ll trust your knowledge, my friend. Besides, what else can we do? So, you say, hit the dragon?»

«Yeah, in the muzzle, in the eyes – the best.»

From behind a narrow door in the wall, a panting soldier ran out, carrying a crate of sweetsmelling orange fruits like the sun. He was followed by another.

«Here, Your Majesty, your wisdom, is all there is.»

«Over there,» the king waved toward the two tall trebuchets that occupied most of the third tier below the observation tower. «Mix it with the gravel. I’ll be right back,» he glanced around. «May your wiles work, wizard,» and he hurried toward the stairway that led straight down.

Dorrenoi, grunting and barely moving his legs – knees, be damned – headed out the same way, but bypassing the inner galleries and passageways. When he finally reached the vast and terrifyingly large, crane-like, overgrown killing machines, they were all ready. It was just a matter of waiting until the target was at a calculated distance.