The Chronicles of Nevin Reasoner: The Complete Duology

by Thomas Lombard

  The water shortage was at a critical stage when Stryker came upon the scene a year ago. He studied their problem and offered two solutions. After the one involving upula did not work, he told them to dig at a spot about thirty yards away, which they did eagerly. They had to dismantle a house to start the new well, which was disturbing to some as it was one of the oldest homes in the village. With a large crew digging nonstop into a hard rock layer, they did reach new water and thought their problems were solved. Unfortunately, this water supply proved even grittier and more unwholesome than the main well, and, even worse, was depleted in a matter of months.

  Now, each pail from the main well brings up a solution of muddy consistency that does not readily settle out. The population is limited to one drink a day per person. No one is allowed to wash clothing or person.

  Tharbor added that the limited ration of poor water was having very serious effects. Their population is declining, both in numbers and lost interest in labor. Once proud of their workmanship with metal and stone, the pleasant sounds of a hammer and pick are seldom heard any more because workers will not exert themselves. The rising smell of waste and poor hygiene has started some to talk of leaving the city for a life on the surface, a tragic fate for a Glorhum dwarf.

  A commotion off to the left interrupted the meeting. All heads turned toward someone noisily making his way toward the circle of chairs. It was a male dwarf, bent over with age and hobbling with the aid of a walking stick. So that he would not have to veer from his path, he whacked anyone in his way with his stick to move them aside.

  “Smeker!” exclaimed Tharbor. “You have not been invited to this council.”

  “I am the Lorekeeper,” the old dwarf said defiantly. “I will attend any meeting I choose, even a congress of lackwits.”

  Smeker took a few more steps and looked over the circle before returning his glance to the dwarf leader. “There is little reason to abide your foolish forbiddances, Tharbor. You and these other dotards still plan to ignore me and heed the advice of outsiders who have never heard of Glorhum, no doubt. It is a wonder there are any dwarves left to hear you at all, it is.”

  “This dwarvish relic is Smeker, our Lorekeeper,” said Tharbor with more than a hint of exasperation. “He does not approve of outsiders.”

  Smeker made his way into the center of the circle and eventually tapped over to Anson and Nevin. “Another oversized human,” he spat. “That can bode no good fortune.” The Lorekeeper spoke ostensibly to himself, but loud enough for all to hear. “‘Tis not outsiders I disapprove of anyway. More ‘tis insiders who follow accursed outsiders.”

  Smeker banged his walking stick against the rock on which Nevin was sitting. The resulting sound was startlingly loud and made Nevin flinch.

  “Is this tall human full-witted enough to behold the truth?”

  Nevin grimaced and whispered to Anson, “Why does everyone here expect large people to be stupid?” Anson shrugged.

  Tharbor rebuked Smeker for the intrusion. “You are not entitled to address anyone at this meeting!”

  “Please, Mr. Tharbor,” said Nevin. “I would like to hear what your Lorekeeper has to say, that is, if it is all right with you and him.”

  “You’ll hear what I have to say whether it is all right with that white-haired old gowk or not,” snapped Smeker. “There is no great secret at work here. There is water to be found in the same place we have always had it, save we must go deeper. Deeper, I say. These old fools will not believe this lore of their ancestors. What do the new fools believe?”

  “I think you may be right,” answered Nevin. “But then, what does it matter what any fool thinks?”

  Smeker raised his head in notice of Nevin’s retort, then snickered before replying. “Hmmm. ‘Twould be twice foolish not to listen to what you have to say, it would. Even a blind squirrel finds a nut now and again, he does.”

  Nevin did not take offense at the surly dwarf’s reproval. He was deep in thought, mulling over a method to locate the aquifer that had to exist if there was rainfall in these highlands. Right now, he needed more information and less political sniping. “Tharbor, could we take a look at the old well? I need certain information to formulate a plan,” said Nevin, then adding, “It might prove helpful to have Smeker along as well. Someone who knows the long history of the well could be helpful.”

  Tharbor thought a minute then sniffed his assent as he and the rest of the Moot rose from their seats.

  The group reconvened at the well, including the old Lorekeeper who had limited himself to barely audible mutterings as he used his stick to keep his position next to Nevin. The well itself was about six feet square with smooth masonry walls serving as a fence to keep debris and dwarves from falling in. Nevin asked Tharbor how often in the past they noticed the water level decline.

  The Lorekeeper interrupted, further exasperating Tharbor, by saying that it was the his duty to keep a history of such things. Without waiting for the invitation, he proceeded to explain. As long as he could remember, the water level had gradually declined but without causing concern. They had even evolved an annual rite in the winter when they replaced the pail ropes with ones slightly longer.

  “Hmmm. I need to know exactly what Stryker did before he told you to dig a new well,” said Nevin. “If possible, I would like to trace his steps if you can remember.”

  Tharbor said, “He was guided both upground and down by Smeker. Since Lorekeepers are practiced in the art of long memory, he should be able to repeat the same steps.” Smeker merely frowned at the rebuke.

  Nevin was unsure how to respond. He did not want to cause the old Lorekeeper embarrassment by expecting him to make a strenuous walk, but he wanted to move quickly. Before he could say anything, he received a painful rap on the shin from Smeker’s walking stick.

  “I know your doubts about me, troll man,” Smeker snapped. “Let your sore leg be a reminder not to underestimate the endurance of an old dwarf. We shall not waste any more time. The troll man shall follow me, he shall.”

  Nevin limped along as he followed Smeker around the huge cavern. He saw the separate tunnels where all their industry involving fires was carried out. A prevailing draft drew all the smoke away from the village, thus protecting the ubiquitous white coating of calcite. Along the way, Nevin saw storage grottos, workshops and nurseries, plus many interesting facets of life in this underground city, but he had to contain his curiosity to concentrate on the geological features of this fascinating place.

  After a few hours the underground tour was finished. Nevin was very tired, but Smeker showed no signs of failing under the strain of walking and Nevin’s unending questions. Smeker left Nevin at a building used by the townspeople for festive purposes. It was the only structure large enough to accommodate Nevin, Orris and Anson. Corissa had chosen to spend the night at one of the nurseries.

  “I will return at the first hour of dawn and we will trace Stryker’s steps upground. Be ready,” Smeker said as he tapped away, showing no interest in exchanging even gratuitous good-nights.

  Nevin rubbed his bruised leg as he entered the hall, finding Orris and Anson already asleep. His bedroll was laid out for him, but Nevin’s mind was too active to allow for sleep. He was full of thoughts and calculations about the structure of the cavern and the possible location of water to support such a large population. He finally dozed off while attempting to calculate the volume of water and length of time required to erode the limestone walls which formed the huge cavern. His trailing thought was “the aquifer has to be there…”

  * * *

  A loud rap at the entrance of the building startled Nevin so that his whole body twitched. Smeker was outside calling for the “troll man to make haste!” Nevin stretched before shambling toward the door. Half-awake, he banged his head on the top of the doorway.

  “That is a painful way to clear the sleep from your head, even one hardened by troll ancestry,” said Smeker with thinly veiled amusement.

  Nevin
followed the Lorekeeper into bright sunshine as they left the cavern out the opposite side of the mountain from where they entered yesterday. After an hour, Smeker said they had covered exactly the same paths taken by Stryker a year earlier. Nevin stopped at a precipice where he could further survey the surrounding geological formations all the way to Adel’s Mountain looming in the distance.

  Noticing that Smeker was having difficulty enduring the trek, especially from the harsh sunlight, he insisted that the dwarf stay put. Smeker hissed a complaint but willingly sat down in some shade created by a large overhanging rock. Nevin made sure the old dwarf was all right then scurried down the side of the relatively small mountain. He spent another hour walking around the mountain’s base, taking time to survey and visualize the travel of water he knew must be present somewhere. Finally, he climbed back up to the spot where he had left Smeker and they returned to the cavern.

  When they returned and the central square of the main street, the elders of the Moot had grouped together awaiting Nevin’s return. Orris and Anson were seated and Corissa stood to the side holding Bisi. Gathered around in lethargic inactivity was the entire population of Glorhum.

  Tharbor stood when Nevin reached them, but it was Anson who spoke, “What have you discovered, Sir Nevin. We are all anxious to hear.”

  “I understand what Stryker figured out. He knew there had to be more water around here because this is a limestone cavern that sits halfway between the higher mountains to the northwest and the river valley we crossed to get here. You have not been getting your water from a true aquifer. When a river originally formed this cavern, some of the water percolated into a very large cistern. The Glorhum well was dug into this cistern and eventually the water got used up. The grittiness and cloudiness of the water is due to calcite suspended in the water. That’s the same white stuff that coats these walls. The solution became contaminated with sediment as the water level got lower.

  “What of Stryker finding the second well?”

  “I figured that out last night. From the location of those tunnels over there,” Nevin pointed, “Where you do all your burning, you can see by the formation of the cavern that there could be some small cisterns near the first. In effect, these are smaller bubbles that held the same water for many years without flowage. That explains why the second well was even more highly concentrated with calcite.”

  “What can be done for these folk now? Is there water to be had?” asked Corissia.

  Her question was the one everyone had in mind. All eyes were on Nevin as the people inched closer, showing some life at the knowledge this man expressed so convincingly. No one made a sound until the Lorekeeper stepped forward and spoke.

  “Is there water, man? Is there water enough to save the Dwarves of Glorhum?” The sincerity in his eyes belied Smeker’s gruff manner.

  “Yes, Lorekeeper. I think there is water enough. It lies exactly where you said it was. It lies beneath the limestone caprock at the bottom of the cistern where your well is now. It has to do with gravity. Under the hard caprock there should be a more porous, softer rock layer that contains an abundant aquifer.”

  “But Nevin, they have already dug a long way into this well with no success,” said Orris.

  “Let’s check that out right now.” Nevin had Orris accompany him over to the main well where they dropped the pail until it hit the hard caprock bottom. Orris slowly pulled up the rope and Nevin measured it according to his own height. Then they carried out the same measurement of the newly dug shaft that Stryker had identified. Nevin compared the two distances and broke out in a broad smile.

  “In the main well you have dug sixteen feet from limestone into caprock. My guess is it rates a seven on the Moh’s scale.” Seeing questioning glances all around, Nevin went on, “The Moh’s scale classifies minerals by hardness. Your fingernail is a two, glass is about six, and quartz is a seven—”

  Smeker interrupted, “We know well about the hardness of stones, like your friend Moh. What is it you know about our well?”

  “OK, what I am getting at is, if my estimates and calculations are close, it should be less than four feet before hitting an aquifer in more porous rock.”

  “But Sir Nevin, even if what you say is true,” said Tharbor excitedly. “It would take a week to dig a dwarf’s height if our workers were in normal condition. Now we have no one strong enough for such hard work.”

  “Yes, I see that, Tharbor. When first dug, your well was soft limestone. As you went deeper over many years you reached caprock that probably has a lot of quartz in it. You went from a hardness of three to seven at least, but it a marvelous feat to dig as far as you did. Perhaps Anson and I can find a way to finish the job.”

  “Will you resort to magery?” Tharbor asked.

  “It looks like we may have to. What do you say, Anson. Any ideas?”

  Anson and Nevin stood over the well and discussed how they might break through the last few feet. Anson knew of no spell for this or a similar purpose.

  “We don’t have any kind of drill. Is there any way we could propel a ram or something similar at high speed,” asked Nevin. “All we really have to do is crack it.”

  “The only spell I can think of that will move an object is levitation, but that spell moves an object upwards,” answered Anson.

  “Couldn’t we reverse it, like we did other spells?”

  “I suppose we could try, but it would not have much force to slam against the rock.”

  Nevin saw the lack of force as the problem to overcome. If they could get a ram flying fast enough, they might crack the caprock. Anson was doubtful because any ram they could contrive would shatter, but Nevin reassured them it was force not hardness that mattered. Nevin explained that gravity would help their cause and tried to explain how a tornado could force a piece of straw through a telephone pole. Tharbor sheepishly and asked if “Gravity” was another of their friends still lost upground. Nevin sighed.

  “What about Orris’ sword,” suggested Anson. “It is made of swordwood which is quite hard and it has a keen edge.”

  Orris overheard the suggestion and clutched his sword protectively. “Why not ask the old Lorekeeper where he got his walking stick. It is made of the same swordwood. Maybe he can find you a more suitable limb that has not been fashioned into a fine weapon.”

  Smeker, as expected, was hanging nearby keeping an eye on things. Nevin called to him, “Is your walking stick made of swordwood, Smeker?”

  “Yes, the hardest grade that can be found. Very hard.”

  Since the Lorekeeper’s status was improving by the minute, his tone had become almost friendly. Nevin still maintained a safe distance from the reach of the walking stick. “Do you know where we can get another piece about as big around as my arm or leg? I want to make a ram.”

  “Yes, we hoard swordwood whenever someone finds its tree downed by landslide or such. How long should it be?”

  “About as long as my height, maybe a little longer,” said Nevin, his own excitement rising at the opportunity to test his hypothesis.

  “I believe I can find such a piece stored somewhere. Does it need any shaping?”

  “Yes! That would be important. Can you have a point made on one end with a covering of metal over it? The hardest metal possible.”

  “Of course, Tall One. I take it you mean something judged harder than a seven by your friend, Moh.”

  Nevin chuckled. “That’s basically right. Not iron, though. That’s only a four. I’ve seen some hard metal implements around here, like your picks.”

  “Yes, you are heedful, Sir,” Smeker answered with a sly grin. “What you request shall be made for you, it shall.”

  * * *

  While Smeker went off to get the swordwood ram prepared, Nevin arranged with Tharbor to have someone lowered into the well to remove as much of the muck at the bottom as possible to clear a space for the ram. This was necessary to allow the ram to strike directly on the caprock without a cushion of soft sedi
ment. Next, Nevin and Anson reviewed the levitation spell and calculated how to reverse it. Word of the request for a ram spread and the resident dwarves gathered around as a sense of excitement roused them from their lethargy. When Smeker returned with two dwarves carrying a seven-foot piece of timber, cheering erupted.

  Nevin whispered to Anson, “I hope you can perform in front of a crowd.”

  The swordwood ram was placed on the cavern floor. Nevin examined it and the metal cap riveted over the pointed end. “Hmm,” he said to no one in particular. “Someone here knows how to combine iron and carbon in Martensitic transformation.” When he pronounced it fit for duty, another cheer rose and the metal smith who contrived the cap was given a round of friendly backslaps.

  Anson, meanwhile, tried to concentrate and prepare for the spell, but it was difficult for him. He remembered what Zamora had said about modifying spells and he was unsure whether to go ahead with it.

  Nevin raised his hands, signaling for the buzzing crowd to be quiet.

  Anson swallowed hard and tried again to focus his mind. Finally, he felt ready. After a moment’s wait, he quickly spoke the spellwords to levitate the ram. The ram obediently rose and remained suspended at shoulder height, where Anson had leveled his hands. The crowd gasped. Anson pushed the levitated ram over to the well, then spoke additional words. Steeling himself, he gave a gradual upward movement with his hand and the ram slowly turned to a vertical position, pointed end down. Once again, Anson pushed the suspended ram until it was centered over the well and the muck free space. He took another deep breath as he concentrated to increase his power. He canted the spellwords again, this time with one of the elements changed to re-direct the levitation effect. With a sudden downward wave of his arm, the ram flew down the well and punched into the bottom with a resounding blow that echoed throughout the cavern. Anson raised his hand and the ram quickly returned to the surface. After repeating the same action two more times, Anson turned to Nevin.