Then he broke the gun in half. She squinted. No, not broken. The device opened on hinges.

“The cartridges breech load,” he explained.

From a satchel at his waist, Cade withdrew brass cylinders and started pushing them into holes in the halved gun. Karigan closed her eyes to cut the glare and relieve the headache. It helped, but she still couldn’t hear Cade clearly until he asked. “Is something wrong?”

She opened her eyes and made a point of looking at his face and not the gun. “Keep going. I’m fine.”

He hesitated, then nodded. “I need to make sure you are listening. These weapons can be dangerous if misused.”

“Weapons are supposed to be dangerous,” she said.

“Which only accentuates my point.” He snapped the two halves of the gun back together. She heard it and saw his movement more than witnessed the two pieces joining. “I am going to demonstrate the firing of the Cobalt. Here is how you sight the target.”

His words once again competed with the hive of hornets exploding in her ears. He raised the weapon, arm outstretched with elbow slightly bent. She watched his face and not the Cobalt, how his brow furrowed and eyes squinted at the target, his head slightly tilted. His intensity reminded her of an archer.

“I’m exceptionally good at fifteen yards,” he said, “and proficient at twenty-five. Long-arms are more accurate at greater distances. Now I cock the hammer like this. The trigger will release it and the percussion will . . .”

His words were drowned by the buzzing. His gaze never left the target. Karigan’s gaze never left his face. Thunder blasted beside her and nearly knocked her off her feet. She cried out, heart pounding wildly.

Cade lowered the gun, blue smoke drifting from the tip of it. Slowly he turned his gaze to her. “Told you it was loud.”

This time it wasn’t the buzzing that muffled her ears, but the shock of the blast. She shook her head trying to clear it.

“What is the advantage of the noise?” she demanded. “To deafen your comrades?”

“Can’t help the noise, but the reach and force of the weapon is its value. In your day, such a weapon would pierce the stoutest armor better than any arrow. Come see.”

He strode toward the target, and she hurried after him. She saw a hole in the center circle.

“Your gun did this?”

“Haven’t you been listening?”

Even though she’d had such a hard time hearing and observing his demonstration, she put it together that the gun had sent a small projectile through the target. She looked beneath the target and saw that the projectile had traveled through the bales of hay and into the mound behind. If only she could take knowledge of such weaponry home with her!

It’s a concussive, she suddenly thought. Or something like. The Arcosian Empire had used weapons called concussives in its attempt to conquer the New Lands. Did the mechanicals and guns of this time represent a natural progression of invention over the generations, or had Amberhill somehow acquired the information to create such tools from some unknown documentation of Arcosian engineering?

She kicked her heel at the dirt around the hole where the projectile had entered the mound, and found it not too deeply buried. She tried to pick it up, the small chunk of lead, but it scorched her fingers.

“Ow!”

“Bullet still warm, eh?” Cade asked, a bit of a smile on his lips. Karigan scowled. He started to walk away, and then paused. “Want to give it a try?”

Karigan nodded, though she did not know how it would go with her unable to see the gun or hear Cade’s instructions.

“We’ll start at ten yards,” he said.

He paused some distance from the target and waited for her. She joined him, fingers still stinging. When he passed her the gun, she did not look at it. Just held her hand out to receive it. When the metal touched her palm, it seared, burning all the way up her arm, lightning flashing through her head. She screamed, the ground rushing toward her, the gun tumbling from her hand.

THE WILL OF THE GODS

Karigan curled into a fetal position when she hit the ground. She groaned. Her outstretched hand felt like it was on fire.

“Miss Goodgrave?” Cade patted her cheek and alternately sprinkled water from a canteen on her face.

“My hand!” she shouted. “Pour it on my hand!”

“It’s burned red,” he murmured.

She sighed as cool water flowed over burning flesh. The sensation eased, as did the throbbing in her head. When the canteen was emptied, Cade helped prop her into a sitting position.

“What happened?” he asked anxiously.

“Not sure. The gods. I don’t think they want me to know about guns.” She gazed at her hand to see the angry red color quickly fading, along with the pain, to a more normal shade.

“What? What do you mean the gods?”

“What else could it be?” It had been the shattering of the looking mask that had propelled her into the universe, but it was Westrion, god of death who had delivered her to this time. She could only conclude that the gods were blocking her and did not want her to bring the knowledge of such powerful weapons back home with her. In one way, it was a hopeful premise, because maybe they expected her to find a way home. In another, it was unfortunate they did not wish Sacoridia to obtain an advantage in weaponry over its enemies.

“We were forced to give up the gods over a century ago,” Cade said. “It was a very bloody episode in our more recent history. We were forced to worship the emperor and his machines.”