Edward’s cannons were different from most cannons being built by other nations. His were designed to fight not only men on the ground but also dragons in the air, and thus his cannons could be cranked up to fire into the sky. Mounted on a revolving table, they could also be swiveled about in order to follow a moving target. This day, the cannons faced the ground. He considered his most formidable foe the dragon warriors. If a dragon appeared, the cannons could always be realigned.

The sun climbed toward noon. Everything was in readiness. Archers and men-at-arms lined the walls. The gunners stood by their cannons with their ramrods, six men to a gun, each man assigned a different task from placing the charge to ramming home the cannonball to sighting the gun in on its target.

“Here they come!” one eagle-eyed youngster cried from his perch in the top of the tallest tower. “Marching across the fields!”

The enemy rippled over the land, their scaled armor glittering like the river that flowed past the castle. The dragon army marched directly on the castle itself, bypassing the city walls, flowing down into the valleys and up the hills. The warriors took their time, not yet attacking. The hands of the warriors were empty, but this time no man laughed. Some had been present at the ill-fated Battle of Aston and had seen for themselves that the empty hands of the “demon” warriors carried death. Those who had not been present had heard the stories. All watched in grim silence as the army advanced, silence broken only by the nervous jingle and rattle of armor, the hissing and sputtering of the torches, and, here and there, muttered prayers.

The army was not yet within range of the cannons. The King himself would give the order to fire.

“Stand ready,” said the cannon’s commander.

Inside the palace, the few people who had chosen to remain were gathered together in the great hall where the knights could protect them, in case the walls were breached. Queen Ermintrude was among them. Edward had argued and pleaded with his wife to flee to her father’s castle in Weinmauer. The Queen had most indignantly refused.

“How would that look, me running home to Papa, crying that my husband cannot protect me?”

“He can’t protect you,” Edward had replied glumly.

“Nonsense.” Ermintrude had clasped his hand and pressed it to her bosom. “We have the cannons and brave men.”

She had sighed, then said softly, “We’ve seen bad times before, Edward, my love, and we’ve come through them together. We’ll come through this one just the same.”