The Chronicles of Nevin Reasoner: The Complete Duology
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“Nevin, I cannot get enough force. You must help me. You must add your power.”
“All right. Let’s try it together.”
Nevin and Anson stood side by side. They said the spell together and Anson once again waved his arm in a sharp downward motion. The ram flew with greater force and when it struck the bottom. Anson called the ram back to the surface and was ready to send it down again when Nevin shouted.
“Wait! I forgot something! Anson, hold the ram in place. Tharbor, your people have to dig a narrow trench around the well. We need to run a canal over to the second well.”
“What is wrong, Sir Nevin?” asked the dwarf leader, showing a mixture of apprehension and exhilaration.
“Nothing is wrong, Tharbor. I just realized that the water under the caprock is bound to be under pressure. It has to do with the long downhill flow out of the far mountains and energy potential—but we don’t have time for an explanation! It’s just that once we break through, the water is likely to spout up with a lot of force and we could have a flood. Hurry up and get that trench dug! I’ll show you where.” Nevin then grabbed the ram and he and Anson wrested it to the floor.
Anson dusted off his hands and gave his tall friend a grin, slyly asking, “Since we are merely digging a hole, would this be considered ‘high’ or ‘low’ magery’?”
Nevin returned the smile. “Technically speaking, perhaps it is not magery at all.”
* * *
Meire, the King of Gilsum, walked along a line of troops standing at attention in the castle courtyard. At his side was a sharply dressed red uniformed officer, listening attentively. Behind them walked a taller, barrel-chested man clad in a dark green cloak.
The King spoke earnestly to the officer. “Captain Lovas, I want nothing to go wrong with this exercise. Be certain all the people are removed from the village. I only wish to make a demonstration, not lose any more lives. It would not sit well for a king to kill his own subjects, even that rebellious hoard in Stedt. And take care for the safety of your men as well. We can afford no casualties. Do you understand?”
“Yes, your highness,” the soldier replied firmly. The king nodded and walked away toward the castle’s main entrance.
“Listen, Lovas,” said a barrel-chested man who stepped forward. “Are you sure you understand all the instructions?”
The captain looked over his men, avoiding eye contact with his questioner. After giving a quick nod of assent, he asked, “May I have leave to depart now? It is nearly seven leagues to Stedt and we must leave now to make it by dusk. As you know, we cannot travel such a meager road at night. Especially with wagons.”
“Yes, yes. By all means, Lovas. Get started. But remember, once that copper spring is bathed with the nitric acid, you cannot halt the process. You have twenty-four hours to make your retreat after triggering the mechanism, give or take an hour. Be sure you have evacuated the residents where I showed you, and you and your men must be at least five miles away.”
“Five miles, Sir?
“Yes, five mi—, uh, make it at least three leagues.
* * *
Nevin supervised the digging as dozens of townspeople responded to the call from Tharbor. The dwarves worked industriously with pick and shovel to crack and break up the cavern floor, until most were felled by exhaustion. Within a short time, a narrow moat was dug and a channel cut to divert excess water to Stryker’s second well.
When Nevin was satisfied with these preparations, he returned to Anson’s side. “Okay, my friend. Let’s show them what a little magic and science can do.”
“Nevin, you must recast the spell with me. I cannot do it alone.”
“All right. Let’s do it again!”
Together they recanted the reverse levitation spell as they had improvised it. With a wave, Anson sent the ram flying down the well into the caprock. The vibration from the blow made their knees tremble, and some of the children grew scared and started to cry. The mage repeated the action a second and third time, but with the last blow, the ram did not return. It grew deathly quiet in the huge cavern except for the whimpers of a few children. Nevin and Anson looked at each other, puzzled by the failure of the ram to return to the surface with Anson’s command.
Nevin pursed his lips and shook his head, murmuring, “I don’t know how we are doing this, Anson. I get that we are tapping some sort of energy sink, and that you and I have some aptitude to do it, but how are we combining this energy? Is it just simply additive, or are literally weaving…”
“Nevin! You need to focus!” Anson replied frantically. “Study this matter later. Right now we need to concentrate our efforts. One more time. Please!”
Chagrined, Nevin complied. Before anyone spoke another word, Nevin felt a shudder reverberate in the floor. He frantically waved his hand to get everyone’s attention, then yelled, “It’s gonna blow!”
A few seconds later, there was a tremendous boom and cracking sound as the ram flew like a missile up the well shaft and impaled itself in the cavern ceiling. Following the ram was a spout of water that hit the ceiling and showered down over the people. For a moment, nobody realized what had happened. Then, almost simultaneously, everyone knew they had struck through the caprock and reached the aquifer below. The assemblage of dwarves shouted and frolicked with joy as they felt the lifegiving drops of water fall on them like upground rain. Smeker, Tharbor, Swiggum and Milseth held hands as they danced around in a circle. Corissa danced in a circle holding a confused Bisi.
Orris gave Nevin a congratulatory pat but seemed a little perplexed.
“What’s the matter, Orris?” Nevin asked.
“I was just thinking. Do you think this is the first time these folks have experienced rain?”
Nevin laughed heartily. “That’s a bold scientific question, my friend.”
In a short time, the moat began to fill and people splashed each other in delight. Nevin and Anson laughed at the sight and slapped each other on the back, dwarf-style.
Orris and Corissa joined the celebration, but after a few minutes Corissa huddled them together. “We must make ready to leave in the morning,” she shouted over the din. “We cannot delay any longer. I will arrange for food and water. We should be up at first light.”
Nevin would have liked to enjoy the celebration a little longer, but he did not speak against Corissa’s urgency to return to their original purpose. He and Anson went to the hall to prepare their packs and make ready for the final leg of their journey.
Chapter 17
The Device
While the rest of the Alliance started down the dwarves’ mountain, Nevin waited at the upground entrance to the Glorhum cavern. Tharbor, Swiggum and Smeker were there to bid a short and sincere goodbye. The three dwarves did not try to convince Nevin and the others to stay, knowing their feelings of urgency for their mysterious mission. Anyway, no dwarf, with the possible exception of Swiggum, wanted to mix with human politics but these humans would always be welcome if they ever needed a place of respite or sanctuary.
Swiggum, holding his skull cap with both hands at his chest, said, “Sir Nevin, your mission is a bold one, it is; fraught with danger, I fear. Though Stryker gave the pretense of helping us, I doubted his motives. Take care should you meet. He seems a dangerous man, he does.”
“Aye,” Smeker concurred. “I sniffed a man up to no good. Bodes evil intentions, that one. I hope to never see his dark face again.” The old Lorekeeper hobbled over and used his stick to give tNevin a rap on the leg, though not as sharp as previously. “Now whenever your leg hurts, tall man, perhaps you’ll remember the Dwarves of Glorhum.”
Nevin winced but managed a smile, too, at what he assumed was a friendly gesture. “We’ll be careful. So long and thanks for the provisions,” Nevin gave them a friendly wave and turned away. As he started to leave, Tharbor caught his arm. “Sir Nevin,” the dwarf leader said seriously. “About your lady, Corissa. She is not well.”
“What do you mean?”
“Thank you, Tharbor. I’ll see to it,” Nevin replied, already aware that Corissa was not herself for the last few days.
Nevin scurried down the mountain trail to catch up with the others, torn between the conflicting concerns of Corissa’s health and the imminence of their arrival in Taunton. When he reached them, Corissa was last in line. He caught her arm to stop her, his look of concern evoking a mild protest.
“I know you are worried about me, Nevin, but I will be all right. I have a bit of the grippe is all,” she huffed.
“A bit of the grippe is it? Look, Corissa, we have a tough trek ahead of us and we need you. You have to take it easy—” Nevin started to admonish her.
“You are like a mother bird, Nevin! I said I will be all right.”
“Well, excuse me for caring. What would you expect, anyway? I’m just the dimwitted troll half-breed who doesn’t know any better. At least let me carry your stuff,” he crabbed.
That brought a weak smile to Corissa’s face, who handed over her parcels lest he should insist on carrying her next. “And if it will make you feel better, half-breed—tonight you can rub the soreness from my feet as well.”
* * *
Captain Lovas ordered his men to assemble in Stedt’s village center. After taking a count to assure all his troops were present, he barked to his second in command. “Windt! Take your squad and follow these villagers to see they remain secluded in the designated place. Our orders are to be sure all of them stay on the far side of the next mountain. Take your wagon and dole out the King’s wine and staples in a timely fashion so they will have incentive to remain with you. Let none of them out of your sight before noon tomorrow.
Windt saluted and quickly joined his squad of four soldiers. One of them mounted a wagon, its box half laden with bundles and large clay jars sealed with wax. A stout draft horse responded immediately to the slap of the reins and the wagon creaked as it moved off. After a few minutes, they were out of sight headed down a narrow, rocky ledge of a road that connected the village of Stedt with the adjacent mountain.
Captain Lovas turned to his final task in this remote highland village. This isolation was well suited to the independent thinking of these isolated locals, as they were known for their rebellious ways. When they refused to send any more men or goods for the war effort, King Meire had little choice but to make an example of them. Whatever demonstration the King had arranged for these townspeople was their own doing. Lovas went over to one of the remaining wagons and started removing the tarpaulin that covered Stryker’s device.
Lovas knew very little about the contraption they kept under cover. However, he did know it was too heavy to lift off the wagon, being made primarily of lead. This meant he would have to leave a perfectly good wagon behind, which he considered terribly wasteful. He even went to the trouble of reinforcing it to stand the heavy load. When he had the tarpaulin completely removed, his remaining men gathered around to stare at the metal apparatus. Shaped like a large milk can, the device was about three times as tall as it was in diameter. A lid was permanently bolted on the top, securing its mysterious contents from view. Fastened to the lid was a spring-loaded metal arm with a glass jar covering the spring mechanism.
Another thing Lovas knew about the device was how to set the spring-loaded arm and now was the time for this action. After climbing into the wagon box, he wistfully examined the springwork fastened on top. His task was to pull the arm back as far the spring would allow and set it. When the hammer tripped, it would strike a round button fixed at the center of the lid. With the strike, something was expected to happen but he had not been told what it was. There was not even a substantial rumor about the purpose of this device. Such details did not concern him, except the one about twenty-four hours to get two leagues hence.
Bothered by the element of uncertainty, Lovas took a deep breath to gather himself. Finally ready, he put one hand on the lid of the metal container for balance and with the other grasped the metal arm. He forced the arm back against the pressure of the heavy spring and reached for the securing pin. As he reached, the metal arm slipped from his grasp and shot forward. With a dull thud, it struck his hand and not the button in the center of the lid. Nothing happened, except for the simultaneous gasps of his men and the Captain’s bellow from his painful hand.
Lovas shook the pain from his hand, took hold of the metal arm again and pulled it back, this time securing it successfully. Next, he asked one of the men to hand him the bottle of aqua fortis from a cushioned box under the wagon seat.
“Careful, man,” said Captain Lovas. “Stryker says that nasty potion will burn your skin if it spills.” Lovas removed the glass stopper and poured the viscous liquid into the glass housing that covered the now tensioned spring. A moment later, a muffled burbling commenced.
The men flitted glances at each other. Looks of apprehension changed to mild frowns at the lack of drama. One man sniffed to indicate I-told-you-so and another sniggered at the lack of eventful action. Most of them started laughing out loud, kidding each other for faulty guesses and undue anxiety over what might happen. Captain Lovas took a very deep breath, fell back against the side of the wagon and exhaled through his teeth. Seeing his men start to grow rowdy at the innocuous device, he snapped, “Fun is over, men. Let us leave this blasted place.”
Realizing that their captain was in no mood for complacency, his troops gathered their gear and hastily loaded it into the two wagons they were to take back. One of the men asked about the horse hitched to the wagon bearing the device. Lovas said, “Unhitch the animal so it will not move the wagon. Then tie it up nearby. The villagers will make good use of it.”
“They are likely to think the horse is bewitched,” an old veteran whispered slyly to one of his companions.
“Aye,” the other answered. “From the big pother with this evacuation, these poor locals might expect some ‘magical’ wrath from the King’s displeasure. They will blame every new ill or mishap on this infernal whatever we’re leaving them.”
“Nah, plain to see it is not magical. Could be a brilliant move by the King, no doubt, since everyone knows he does not like the appearance of magical things. No one would blame him for arcane doings.”
“Lately His Highness seems to be a-changing that, too, with this Stryker fellow.”
“Aye, for a possible spellminder Stryker is a barrel of a man. Soft, though. No soldierly experience or hard work for him.”
“Claims to come from distant lands with greater learning than anyone the King knows. Seems to have the King’s ear.”
“Too much change going on, I say.”
“And I say you two better stop jabbering and get your rumps loaded up so we can be on our way!” bellowed Captain Lovas who had unknowingly come up behind them. At his expression of displeasure, both soldiers jumped into the nearest wagon. Minutes later the two wagons started back on the narrow rocky road to Taunton, leaving behind the horseless one loaded with Stryker’s device.
* * *
The return direction was into the prevailing wind, blowing hot and dusty straight at them. Several of the men shifted around, trying to get comfortable for the long ride. Taunton was six leagues distant and Lovas wanted to get as far as he could with the half-day remaining. He mulled over his options. The trip back would take the Gilsum soldiers past a couple way stations, each two leagues apart. Lovas decided to push his men hard so they could make the second one, leaving a much shorter, easier trip for tomorrow.
In turn, the drivers pushed the horses. By mid-afternoon, it was evident this strategy was not going to work. The stiff, hot wind slowed them down and dehydrated both horses and
men. Annoyed that they were making half the pace they did when the wind was at their backs, Lovas realized he had to change his plans. When the first way station came into sight, one look at the frothing horses was enough to confirm they had gone far enough for the day. Besides, they had stayed here a night on the inward trip so he knew the water was better compared with the next station. Although his orders were to get more than two leagues from Stedt before stopping, they nearly made that distance so he gave the word to stop. A few grunts and weak cheers followed.
“Say, Captain?” asked a young soldier who hesitantly sidled up. “Can we stay inside the station this night? They say they saw scorpions about the other night here.”
The young man was barely in his mid-teens, too young to know the older men were just trying to scare him with talk of scorpions. He was a new recruit, about the same age Lovas’ oldest son would be, were he not killed a few years ago in army action. Biting the inside of his lip to offset the memory, the Captain answered, “Okay, lad. Your name is Berl, right? Pass the word. Then water the horses and tie them up in that dell over yonder where they will be out of this wretched wind. And give them a good rub down for me, will you, son?”
Lovas acknowledged the young soldier’s awkward salute and watched him jog off, the Captain breaking into a smile at the exuberance of youth that still managed to pervade a handed down, oversized uniform. Better that boy should be at his father’s side, he thought, learning the family trade and why girls make better company than the neighbor lads. That is the proper business for him at his age. Not the army. With the thoughts about the young soldier Lovas began to realize why he was so eager to leave the village of Stedt. How could the villagers be blamed for refusing to give up their sons? Shaking his head to break this potentially mutinous thinking, Lovas gathered his gear and moved into the stout, oak-beamed structure to join his men.