The Chronicles of Nevin Reasoner: The Complete Duology

by Thomas Lombard

  “Do you know which way to go?” asked Nevin.

  “The Public Road to Gilsum twists and turns to the west. There is a lesser route west by northwest, but it is rough and seldom used except by local folk for short distances. Either route will take us to Gilsum, where we must eventually turn to the northwest toward the highest mountains.”

  “I have not traveled this other route before, Corissa,” said Anson. “What terrain lies northwest off the Public Road?”

  “Elvenwood,” Corissa answered. “The lesser route skirts the edge of it.”

  “Ahh,” Orris remarked. “We have a friend who resides there.”

  “Will your friend aid us?” Corissa asked, surprised they would know anyone who lived there. She had never talked with anyone who met an actual elf living in this woodland, or anywhere else in fact.

  Nevin could not resist answering, “That depends on whether he thinks he is our friend.”

  Anson was unsure about venturing into Zael’s territory again, although this area of the Elvenwood was a good distance from their previous encounter with this Elf-Lord. He asked how it would affect their travel, since he would not agree to a plan that would delay them further. Corissa said with no hazards and without getting lost, it could actually be a shorter journey because it lay on a straighter line to the Gilsum border. She added, “The one thing uncertain is whether we can travel by horse through this Wood. If we have to walk, the way will be shorter in distance but perhaps not in time.”

  “I would rather take our chances in that Wood than face the kind of characters we have met on this road,” offered Nevin. “I vote for changing course.”

  No one chose to disagree, so they ate a quick meal and made ready to depart. Nevin changed clothes, donning the breeches and blouse Corissa brought for him. With a knowing smirk, Orris remarked that he looked much better and was more likely now to turn the eye of a pretty lady. Corissa gave a muted laugh, but avoided eye contact with the scholar unknowingly dressed in a troll costume. Oblivious, Nevin was pleased by her laugh and how much it brightened her face. It made her quite attractive, even radiant. It was too bad that her relationship with Lucan was a barrier between them.

  After mounting their horses, Corissa took the lead and the four riders veered off the Public Road toward a dense green line barely visible to the northwest.

  Chapter 3

  Clarion call

  After riding all morning, the Alliance for Antrim, as Orris continued to call their troupe, reached the edge of the area locally called Elvenwood. While much of the nearby countryside was dotted with trees, the Elvenwood had an unmistakable border. Its trees were more dense and tall by far, and the colors exceptionally deep, forming a remarkable border that disguised any prevailing pathway through it.

  Despite its apparent barrier, it did not strike Nevin as a forbidding or morbid place. On the contrary, it was exceptionally fragrant and healthy looking. The trees appeared to be all broadleaf temperate species with no conifers. The autumn foliage must be spectacular, Nevin thought. Each of his companions looked ahead, thinking about something other than fragrant trees and radiant fall colors. The men had fresh memories of Zael’s willingness to slay anyone who posed a threat in the Elf-Lord’s province, but Corissa would not know that. She did not hesitate to prod her horse forward into the wood. After a short pause, the others cautiously nudged their horses on.

  The going was extra difficult for the mounted travelers due to heavy undergrowth and low tree branches that scratched both horse and rider. In order to move forward, they had to maneuver around trees. Corissa called for a stop and complained that they would soon lose their sense of direction from having to zigzag so much.

  Anson leaned over for a private word with Orris; the soldier reacted with a sharp disagreement.

  Corissa observed the exchange and edged her horse over to theirs. “Do you have advice for us? Speak so we all can hear.”

  “Anson thinks we should use Zael’s horn,” said Orris. “He would ask Zael to guide us, or at least lend us one of his elves. I fear the horn could alert others we’d be better off avoiding.”

  “This is the one you call the Elf-Lord? Are we to have another creature of legend come to life with this company?” Corissa sighed.

  Nevin was uncertain whether Corissa’s terse reply indicated impatience or skepticism, but it was at least ironic that she also showed some disbelief about beings in this land. Now that he thought about it, Nevin had encountered little people before, so perhaps that was not so astonishing here, unless people started to fly or disappear. Real live little people could be called by any name like dwarf or elf or anything else, and it was believable for them to have long beards or pointy ears and distaste for items made of iron. In fact, he knew that 10% of the population in his world has a vestigial tubercle in their outer ears that doctors call Darwin’s ear points or “elf ear.” Facts like this helped make some of the remarkable things he had seen so far rather believable. He thought they should be for Corissa as well.

  “My Lady,” said Anson. “Have you ever seen any elvenkind?”

  Corissa said that she had not and granted there could be small-sized people who inhabited this area, so she relented somewhat, though stopping short of apology. “I meant no offense. Like most people, I had grand ideas about the wonder of High Mages and Elf-Lords. But after my time with you, those skilled in magery seem more like common folk than different. The practice of magic holds less wonder for me now, and I expect the elves are little more than a small collection of wispy fellows whose lives are made mysterious by living in this secretive place.”

  “Here, here. The lady makes a good point.” Nevin said, with a wave.

  Corissa responded with a slight shake of her head, not approving of Nevin’s affirmation.

  Anson was growing impatient at the delay. “If we can agree to use this horn, My Lady, you may soon find out. What do you say, Nevin?”

  Nevin shrugged. Orris still thought it was too risky, leaving Corissa with the deciding vote. As she gave her vote to blow the thing, Anson already had the horn out of his pack. Raising it to his mouth, he produced an unexpectedly loud and high-pitched blare. The horses pawed the ground as they waited. Anson blew again and cocked his ear.

  “What are we waiting for?” asked Nevin.

  “Another horn blast in return, I expect,” answered Anson. He raised the horn to his lips to blow again when they heard someone say, “That is enough, Mage. You will cause the leaves to fall from the trees if you keep blowing. We have had you in sight for some time.”

  They all looked behind them where Zael appeared less than twenty feet away, walking out of the gorse toward them. He was not armed, but Nevin was sure there were others around who were.

  Corissa gave a short but audible gasp at the sight of the Elf-Lord, then quietly uttered, more to herself than for others to hear, that she should be more willing to believe the stories of legend.

  “Why did you call?” Zael asked.

  “We need some help getting to the Gilsum border,” Nevin answered.

  Zael pursed his lips and reflected for a moment. “You have much to explain before we would give you such help. Follow me. There is a place near here where you can dismount and we can talk more easily.”

  In single file, they followed Zael for a distance through the trees that Nevin estimated at three hundred yards. Zael made his way without difficulty as if a path seemed to exist where none could be seen, making it much easier to guide the horses. They came upon a small grassy hillock so undetectable that the first rider could see it but the second could not.

  “Dismount and join me over there. Your horses will be looked after,” said Zael, pointing to a very large oak tree. No sooner had the riders stepped to the ground when several camouflaged elves appeared out of cover to take the reins of the horses.

  The band of four sat on the ground as Zael sat with his back against the tree, one leg slung over the other. Corissa started to explain that they were a deleg
ation from the Farmer’s Grange to meet with local tenant farmers, but was curtly interrupted by Anson.

  “No, My Lady. We must speak the truth to Zael. We do not have to fear him as we do some of our human fellows.” Zael looked at Anson but remained impassive, giving no indication whether he appreciated the mage’s truthfulness or resented Corissa’s fabrication.

  Zael said nothing for some time after Anson finished explaining the entire story of their mission.

  Trying hard to control her impatience, Corissa finally blurted, “Will you help us or not?”

  Zael barely turned his head toward her to respond. “Lady, would you be so impudent with your King Lucan? I think not. You should show the same respect when in another’s kingdom. I have heard your request and I will give you an answer when I am ready. I must first finish hearing the views of my elves.”

  Nevin frowned slightly because no one seemed to be within earshot.

  Zael let a faint smile slip across his face. “Yes, Large One. There are elves around you. More than one hundred. Some only a spear’s length away.”

  Nevin believed it. And it would not require “magic” to explain it. These odd little fellows were masters of camouflage and it was entirely possible they could communicate at a sound pitch that was inaudible to him. They could also communicate with hand signals. Intuitively, he looked up the nearest tree and spotted at least two pairs of eyes concealed in the foliage.

  Zael oriented his head toward faint high-pitched buzzing and finally nodded his head as if a conversation ended. “My elves are divided over your request. We do not like humans roaming about our Wood and it matters not to us whether the Red Shirt soldiers kill off the Blue Shirts or the other way ‘round. We have always been uninterested in the affairs of humans.” Zael’s impassive face changed slightly, giving away some consternation. “Despite these reckonings of many of my elves, I must change from what would be our usual course. We are, regrettably, drawn into your conflict. Let me tell you what happened one night ago.

  “There is a small human village called Dalbo which borders our Wood and also lies close to the Gilsum border. The Red Shirts of Gilsum attacked Dalbo and took several human lives, but there were greater concerns for us from the fires that nearly spread to our Wood, and, worst of all, a change occurred in the air before the attack. Borne on the wind was a poison that spread over Dalbo and blew into the Wood. It had a foul, acrid smell and was deadly to breathe. One elf has died and others remain ill. The trees and grass are smitten with a yellow dust that kills the leaves and burns at the touch.”

  Zael hesitated for a moment. His impassivity gave way to a look of sorrow as he finished the story about the attack on Dalbo. After lowering his head for an instant to recover his lordly composure, he faced Anson and quietly asked, “Tell me, Mage. Was this spellwork? And what can be done to shield us from these effects?”

  Anson knelt forward on one knee and faced the Elf-Lord. Without speaking, there was no doubt that Anson shared the sorrow felt by Zael. This act seemed to raise a hopeful look from Zael. Anson said, “I have also experienced this fouled air, Zael. It is not the work of magery, but of—some kind of alchemy. Sir Nevin is more knowledgeable and can tell you more.”

  “Speak then, Sage. Tell me what I asked.”

  “Your people experienced something we call ‘gas warfare,’” Nevin explained. “It was probably made by some method of combining solutions...uh, potions you might call them, made from powders mixed with water. The vapor forms when the potions react together and is spread by the wind. The yellow residue of dust makes me think it was some type of mustard gas, which is lethal unless highly diluted. It would have to be concocted by someone who really knew what he was doing. The worst is over, though. This dust will wash into the soil with the next rain and there should be no permanent damage to the trees. I am very sorry this harmed your people, Zael. It’s possible that elves are especially sensitive to these chemicals. As far as shielding yourself, once you smell the gas it is too late. The best thing you can do is get up-wind from an impending attack and avoid an area that becomes contaminated until the wind disperses the gas.”

  “What can be done to aid those who remain ill?”

  Nevin thought about it, then reasoned out at least one mode of treatment that should help. “If they are experiencing internal reactions like stomach cramps or nausea they should drink lots of water, as much as they can take. Cold water is preferable, the colder the better. This will flush out the chemical. I’m sorry, but I’m not sure what to do for external reactions.”

  “Would their skin turn red and burn, Nevin?” asked Anson.

  Both Nevin and Zael nodded, with Nevin adding that severe blisters could also occur.

  The mage sighed with relief, “For that, the leaves of aloe lilies should provide an effective treatment. Zael, you must crush the leaves and smear the bitter ichor on the afflicted parts. If you cannot find these flowers, then burdock root is next best. To use burdock, you must first boil the root to make a strong liquor and swab it on the blistered skin.”

  Zael turned to his left and sharply spoke a few words unintelligible to the humans. After a final nod to his unseen listeners, he faced Nevin and the others again, this time with his eyes showing a hint of relief on his own part. “We will have to go outside the Wood to find the lilies because they are not a growth we commonly see, but burdock is plentiful here. Your words have been passed on and will soon reach those in need near Dalbo.”

  Zael stood up and paced a bit before speaking, “Not only am I grateful for your council, but it seems we now share a concern over threats posed by the Red Shirts. I have decided to guide you myself to the Grayflood River, which you must cross to get to your destination in Gilsum. That is where I will leave you to finish your quest. You must leave your horses here because they would slow our progress. You will be under my command and must do as I bid. Is this acceptable?”

  Anson and Nevin were quick to say yes, as was Orris. Corissa hesitated until Anson convinced her that they were completely safe in the hands of the elves. By this time, several of Zael’s band had melted out of the brush and gathered around them. They seemed especially taken with Corissa and eyed her with admiration, which pleased Nevin but seemed to make the woman uncomfortable.

  “What of the horses?” Orris asked.

  “Some of my elves have already grown fond of them. Your horses will be well treated, surely better than the hard ride you planned for them.” Zael rose. “Hie, now! We have several hours before night and you expressed a need for haste. We should begin immediately.”

  The four from Antrim stood to follow the Elf-Lord, but before stepping out, Zael asked them a puzzling question. “What of your follower? Shall he join us openly?”

  Follower? No one knew what Zael meant.

  “The one who follows Anson. He is known to us as Gren. What men call a droll.”

  Orris asked, “Anson, do you know what he’s talking about?”

  “I know there are such beings and did encounter one some months ago, but…” Anson was equally puzzled.

  Zael smiled openly for the first time. “You must walk with your fingers in your ears if you were not aware that Gren followed you on your last visit to the Wood, as he follows you now.”

  Orris asked what seemed the obvious question, “Is he invisible?”

  Zael laughed this time. Nevin could also hear high-pitched tittering all around them and chuckled himself when he realized they had provided great amusement for all.

  Zael turned to his left, toward the direction they had walked. He cupped his hands around his mouth and called out.

  “Gren! Come forward and show yourself so these travelers can see that you are flesh and bone.”

  All eyes looked toward in the direction of Zael’s call, but nothing seemed to be happening. Except for the slight hillock where they stood, it was impossible to see anything clearly through the forest growth until Anson was the first to detect some movement. The density of the tree
s and their dark coloration obscured any figures, but Anson was sure he saw something move. Someone was there, but was obviously reluctant to leave the cover.

  “I see him!” Anson pointed and stepped toward the cover. “Zael, please bid him to come forward.”

  Zael pointed to a pair of elves, who sprinted into the thick cover. A minute later, they came back leading the “follower” out into the open. Each elf had hold of a hand, like two children trying to coax a large adult to come along. This mysterious being complied reluctantly as the elves pulled him forward until he stopped fast upon coming into full view of everyone. It was a striking sight to see the large creature being affectionately led by elves lone-half his size. Corissa moved over to stand next to Nevin. Her eyes wide with astonishment, she said, “A third legend come to life.”

  Since his arrival in this land, Nevin had taken his introduction to elves and dwarves in stride. But a “droll” was a different matter. This creature, Gren, was at least six and a half feet in height. His head, chest and limbs were disproportionately large. Wearing only a ragged leather breech at the waist and a crude vest for clothing, his body was more or less covered with a thick mat of hair. Most distracting, however, were his facial features: a large mouth with a jutting lower jaw that displayed big incisors, thickly set lips and a bulbous nose. Nevin thought he looked like an oversized caricature of a figure he once saw in a Mardi Gras parade.

  Gren’s appearance was unnerving to Nevin and his cohorts, which was a sharp contrast to the reaction shown by the elves. As Gren shyly stepped closer, Nevin saw depth in his large sloe eyes that unmistakably revealed sentience and not some kind of demon or goblin. The elves obviously liked him. The pair that pulled him along affectionately encouraged him to come forward, one now pushing him from the rear.

  Anson understood the situation immediately. He knew that the droll’s reluctance stemmed in part from shyness, but also from a well-founded fear of humans. Anson went up to face Gren. Staring deeply into Gren’s eyes, there was a spark of recognition as the droll returned the gaze.