The Chronicles of Nevin Reasoner: The Complete Duology

by Thomas Lombard

  “You must forgo your personal needs now. Leave all parcels here. Carry only weapons. We will depart very soon to take our positions. We must walk at our quietest and speak only in whispers. Those of you armed with bows, save your swordwood arrows for those wearing armor. The best archers will be placed so that the enemy leaders will be the first struck. You have been told how to identify their leaders. If the Red Shirts succeed in getting many fighters across the river, you must succeed in felling your targets with one shot. Remember their vital spots.”

  Zael concluded his speech with a short expression in elven words that seem appreciated by the elves, and, in a quiet way, seemed to rouse them. Exhorting the troops to defend home and hearth, Nevin thought, a time-honored tradition before the big battle. He solemnly shook his head and surveyed the scene with grave disappointment, perhaps as Anson would have done if he were there.

  Almost instantly, the crowd thinned out and the large contingent of elves dispersed into the Wood, all moving west toward the river to take up their positions. Nevin was awed by the seriousness of the moment and humbled by his complete lack of experience in military matters. Using his staff as a walking stick, he moved over to Corissa’s side and asked her to accompany him. She seemed unsure at first, as if she intended to protest this decision.

  “Corissa, we cannot avoid this confrontation now. We have to be concerned with our safety. Please come with me so we find a spot to take cover.”

  He laid a hand gently on her shoulder and she acquiesced. The two walked west in the same direction taken by the elves. Gren stirred, but at Zael’s order was left to recover on his own.

  Although the Wood was not particularly dense in this area, Nevin noticed that he had gained some skill at walking quietly and with less difficulty through the tangle of briar, bramble and bracken amid the trees. There was nothing magical about it, merely selecting soft ground plants, particularly the ferns and bracken, which would muffle a footfall and cushion one’s path. Roots could also be avoided or lightly stepped on to avoid tripping. It was remarkable how fast he was adjusting to these barely believable circumstances.

  * * *

  It was easy to detect the very edge of the Wood because of the distinct tree line, but this line was now interspersed with a hundred stumps from trees very recently hewn. The offending Gilsum soldiers had dragged the tree trunks away to the river’s edge. Hidden by nearby bracken, Zael stood alone looking over the damage with a cold, stone-faced stare. Nevin and Corissa quietly walked up to his side, but said nothing. Littered everywhere were wood chips, saw dust, branches and the remains of tree crowns. Numerous small bonfires had burned down to embers and ashes, filling the air with the harsh scent of latent wood smoke. Knowing how the elves treated their land with the care and attention one gives a home, it was a ghastly sight that gave Nevin momentary pause to forgive Zael’s outrage.

  Zael turned his stare to Nevin. Without a blink the Elf-Lord spoke, his voice almost a whisper and feathered with sadness. “Look closely at what has been done. This has been a massacre of living beings, made worse because only young trees were cut for their uniform size. Can you feel the loss of life here, Tall One, as we do?”

  The Elf-Lord’s face showed grief, but his look quickly hardened again as he organized and located his troops. His intention was clear: This assault on Elvenwood would not go unpunished.

  Zael suggested that Nevin and Corissa move to a high spot amid a cluster of medium-sized birch trees. From there they could remain hidden and see down past the scrubby, bushier growth to the bank of the river. From this distance, they could already see about three dozen men milling around on the near shore, most of whom had taken off their red uniform tops as a concession to their manual labor. Several men were attending to a hefty rope, which they were trying to secure to some type of anchor post. A few soldiers were positioned as guards but they were nonchalant about their duty, engaged in banter or otherwise not alert.

  On the opposite side of the river, Nevin could see a lot of campfire smoke and barely perceptible movements of many red-clad men, though they were too far away to see distinctly what was going on.

  The river itself was the only whitewater Nevin had seen so far in this land. Except for the foamy tops of curling waves and rollers, the cloudy sky made the river appear almost black. The current was very swift, due to the narrowing of the river channel from much wider beds to the north and south. There were occasional large rocks in the river which produced some eddies and rapid backflows, and downstream the curling waves terminated at a large souse hole. Why would the army try to cross here, where the strength of the current could make their crossing perilous? Someone had said this was a deep river with fast drop-offs, which added another peril for those who tried to cross. Nevin concluded that some Gilsum general had undoubtedly picked this point because it was the narrowest crossing in proximity to the Wood, which had to be their destination as well as a supply of logs.

  The plan for moving the soldiers across was plainly evident. Two huge rafts were constructed from the hewn tree trunks and floated across to the far shore, where they were secured. A single, hefty rope was conveyed across the river and anchored at both ends from one shore to the other. The rope was strung through rings on hefty stanchions screwed onto the rafts so that men could pull on the rope through the rings and force their raft to move the length of their pull. The rope was heavily bowed where it fell into the swift current, but it was holding at both anchored ends and the plan looked to be a sound one. Nevin excused the Gilsum general for picking this turbulent location because ferrying a wider distance in this manner was far less practical.

  Nevin had a growing emotional response to this scene, a vague but still powerful feeling of anxiety unlike anything he had ever felt before. His fight with the soldier at the Hogshead Inn now seemed insignificant compared with an impending battle unsuspected by the red-shirted soldiers, but even his simple bout of fisticuffs at the inn had bothered him deeply. He was troubled by a blend of emotions—fear, guilt and worry—and a paralyzing uncertainty about what he should do. He was afraid for Corissa’s safety as much as his own, repulsed by the heightening prospect of manslaughter, and worried about Anson, who was still missing and certainly in great peril. All these feelings intensified because he was confused. What role would he have to play in these events?

  Chapter 8

  Battle

  “The time has come.”

  Zael came by for a last check and motioned for Corissa and Nevin to remain quiet and hidden in the small cluster of birches where they crouched. Zael was accompanied only by Brune. The Elf-Lord whispered to the humans, “They make ready to cross. I must leave you now. I am sorry about what must occur.”

  As Zael left, Nevin detected something different about him. It might have been his pace, or posture, or the inflection in his voice. Something about the Elf-Lord revealed a hesitancy that contrasted with his usual demeanor. Zael was always confident and decisive, even arrogant, and on the day of battle these qualities should be even sharper. Perhaps the Elf-Lord was influenced by Anson’s reverence for life. If so, it was a good sign. If Zael could soften, maybe the king of Gilsum might not be so hard a sell after all. It also showed how essential Anson was to their success.

  Zael and Brune were still nearby, partially obscured by the vegetation. Nevin could not make out what was said between them, but Brune responded with a stoic look and a sharp nod of his head. Zael placed his hand on Brune’s shoulder and touched his face. It was a moment of intimate regard between a sovereign and his subject, but it looked more like a stern father acknowledging affection for his son. Nevin later learned that Brune was indeed the Elf-Lord’s oldest son. Zael walked slowly away toward the tree line where his archers kept hidden. Brune steeled himself before spinning to face the opposite direction, toward the river. After a deep breath, the young elf dropped to the open ground and crept in a serpentine path toward the bank. As Nevin watched, he could see that Brune was heading toward the spot on t
he near shore where the soldiers had anchored the trolley rope for the rafts. The rope was tied to a small tree trunk driven in the ground like a stake.

  On the far side of the river, the two rafts bobbed in the current as they were securely held by the hefty towline. Gilsum troops started stepping cautiously onto the huge rafts. It only took several minutes for both rafts to be loaded with at least one hundred men each. Nevin saw that the men wore their armor and carried their weapons, evidently to make the logistics of their move more efficient. Because both rafts were secured with a single rope strung through stanchions, the swift current tried to push the crafts together, while men used poles to keep the crafts from bumping into each other. Their task became increasingly difficult as the number of passengers added up. A man gestured wildly trying to organize the soldiers in order to balance their weight and keep the rafts stable.

  The rafts were ready to leave. Under the direction of an officer, a column of men started pulling the rope in unison as they moved slowly away from the far shore.

  As the first raft reached the half-way point across the river, the trolley rope bowed further from the strain of the current but still remained secure. The second raft moved a little faster, almost pulling even with the other. For both crafts, water flowed over the sides as the leading edge dug in and out of the current. In time, the rope pullers better synchronized their task so the rafts maintained a safer distance from each other. The passengers apparently were instructed to stand in place and endure wet feet because they stood still as statues. Rows of soldiers remained steadfast, many of them using their pike to form a tripod with their feet, which enabled them to maintain their balance as they bobbed in the current. There was no conversation among them. Travel by water under these conditions was not a pleasant experience for these land soldiers, as evidenced by the fearful expressions on many faces.

  The first raft was three-fourths of the way across and the second was at mid-stream when shouts broke out. On the near shore, the anchor rope came loose and whipped like a snake as it flew through the stanchions of the closer raft. With the towline loose, the pullers shouted alarms. Many of the passengers started shuffling around, making the raft more unstable. Some of the pullers went upended into the water as they tried to hold on to the flying rope.

  On the far shore, crowds of men quickly gathered at the water’s edge but were helpless to aid their confederates because of the depth and cold temperature of the water.

  The first raft was now floating free, picking up speed with the current. Some soldiers jumped off in panic as the raft lurched further from the shore, guessing they could swim the relatively short distance to the bank. Many others made the mistake of scurrying around on the bobbing raft trying vainly to find something secure to grab. Shouts of panic rose as more and more men were either thrown or knocked into the water. About half of the passengers were still on board when that raft hit the large souse hole and broke apart, all going under.

  The men on the second raft had more success holding on to the tow rope. A quick-thinking soldier wound it around some stanchions, preventing the raft from coming completely free. This remaining raft bobbed in the current with one end of the rope still firmly fixed on the Gilsum bank. It looked like that raft would stay secured until it hit a large eddy-producing boulder in their path. With the collision, it tipped to one side and men tumbled into the water terrorized at their peril.

  Armored soldiers could not overcome the disadvantage of their excess weight. Others without armor were no less panicked by the turbulence, but some of them flailed enough to get to the shore. While a few made it safely out, the stark coldness of the water incapacitated many more whose numbed bodies impaired their efforts to fight the current. It was certain that less than a tenth survived overall.

  Lost in the chaos of the moment was a smaller commotion on the Antrim shore. A small group of soldiers converged on the area where the trolley rope had been tied to the stake. Spears and swords went into action as Brune was discovered after he cut the trolley rope. He had no chance for escape.

  Nevin watched the entire scene with horror as so many men and one elf went to their deaths with virtually no chance to save themselves. “I’ve never seen anything like this before,” he gasped. “It’s horrible craziness. A senseless waste.”

  “It is war, Nevin. You said yourself this confrontation could not be avoided.” Corissa’s explanation was not meant to be consoling, only realistic.

  Nevin bristled, disturbed that she did not seem to feel the same as he did.

  Corissa tried to get him to look at her, but he could not take his eyes from the scene. She shouted at him, “Is it more horrible to kill your enemy by a watery death or a sword? Soldiers know that death stalks them. There is little they can do about it when their time comes.”

  Nevin shot a look at her, angered by her justification for this carnage. “Maybe you are right, Corissa. These men may be helpless, but we are not. We can do something about this. We have to! Anson tried to do something and he’s probably going to die for it, if he’s not dead already.” A lump grew hard in his throat. “If he dies from this madness, we cannot let him die in vain. We must go through with his plan so this will not happen again! You do see that, don’t you?”

  “Nevin, please—”

  Nevin hid his face from Corissa and the massacre, leaning weakly against a tree. Still, the horror of the moment would not abate and he grew angry again. He lashed out again at Corissa, refusing to believe someone could try to justify these deaths. “More than soldiers are dying here today, Corissa. These men have parents and wives and children—and part of them dies, too. The ones at home still have to go on with what’s left of their lives, but they will never be the same. They will never be whole again. If we have it in our power we must stop this from happening again.”

  She was stung by his words. Bitterly stung. She could not face him. She wanted to tell him, scream at him: Don’t you know that I lost my husband this way? He died in a battle he had no chance of winning, yet he still chose to die with his men for honor and fealty to their King. With his death, I lost my husband and I have honored him by not allowing another to take his place. How could this be wrong? How could you say that their honor—and my honor—was so foolishly misplaced? The answer to that unspoken question bit with deep throes of grief for herself and the wives of so many soldiers dying today and before. Nevin and Anson are right after all. War serves dire purposes. The changes wrought by war are only degrees of misery.

  Stunned by confronting her own grief, Corissa realized that part of her had died with her husband. The way she chose to live with that prevented her from fulfilling what life she had left. She could not face Nevin now; he had hurt her, even though she knew it was not out of cruelty. She pushed her face against the tree that shielded them and lost the control she had built up over the years. She cried at her loss. She did not want Nevin or anyone else to look upon her during this moment of private pain.

  Nevin paced several yards away, supporting himself by stretching out a hand against a small tree. Leaning over, his head bowed, he was unsure whether to be sick to his stomach or sick to his heart. He cast a glance back at Corissa, who was still reposed in her grief. Instinctively, he left her alone. After confronting her as he did, and seeing how it had ignited painful memories for her, it was best to let her work through it.

  Corissa’s heartbreak was only one of the things that set him reeling. Many had just died horribly, given almost no chance to defend or save themselves. Brune sacrificed his life in a most gruesome way. Anson was still missing and if not dead already, he soon would be. Their meager, poorly planned mission was floundering. Nevin had never experienced anything like this before and his mind quailed at the thought that moments like this were a way of life for soldiers. It did not matter whether the place was Gettysburg, Viet Nam or some other far-flung land called Antrim. In a way, these were all places of fantasy to him, but not for those in uniform fighting for the cause that brought them
to those places.

  * * *

  Across the river, the great stir to rescue anyone who managed to get near the shore was over. It took a while for the shouts to subside as those in command instilled order. Here and there men dotted the far shore, their arms whirling as they threw hooks from long ropes to snag bodies floating in eddies or hung up on rocks. Nevin sadly surveyed the scene, wondering what recourses were being considered, since no army could suffer such an assault without thoughts of retaliation. Movements along the opposite shore soon revealed the next step.

  Four small bands of troops appeared at widely dispersed points. Each band had gathered around a small rowboat. These boats had two sets of oars, which meant the craft could carry a few troops plus two oarsmen. The boats were quickly loaded with as many soldiers as would fit, which looked to be about six to eight per boat.

  Muted, vengeful shouts echoed as the boats shoved off, the men at the oars rowing mighty strokes to overcome the current. It was surprisingly long before each boat made it successfully across, unloading their handful of passengers while the oarsmen remained to row the empty boat back to the other side. When the boats returned to the Gilsum shore, they were loaded again and the process repeated with a new set of oarsmen. By the fifth trip, nearly one hundred red uniformed soldiers were mustered on the Antrim side of the river. On the sixth trip, two of the boats went out of control and capsized from white water hazards. The remaining two boats stayed on the Antrim shore, the transport of soldiers done for the moment.

  Nevin heard the rising shouts as the newly arrived soldiers met with the few who were already across. The voices were so clear and tinged with violence and anger that Nevin tried to hide further behind heavy ground cover. It was still early in the day, so the possibility of more armed conflict suddenly loomed possible.