As they approached the front of the castle, the wagon abruptly stopped causing the horse to stagger. Before them was an expansive building with a single, relatively small entrance. A few men in uniform had been loitering around the doorway but jumped to action when they spied the wagon. One went inside and raised a shout. Within a minute, litters were rushed out and the injured soldiers carefully unloaded and carried within. Nevin and the others stood by the wagon, cautiously quiet until beckoned to enter by one of the ranking Guardsmen.
Inside was a huge room obviously assigned to military purposes. Along one side, there were at least two dozen tables with benches, apparently serving as a mess area. Several doorways marked the walls on both sides, along with a few open casements that looked into adjacent rooms. Everywhere there were weapons, shields and other accoutrements of soldiering. In two corners, there were practice areas with mats covering the stone floor, one area being utilized for swordplay and the other for some kind of wrestling or hand to hand fighting. The room was full of sounds from soldiers chattering, wooden practice weapons clattering, and blows being landed with accompanying shouts of encouragement or derision for their respective skill. Orris, already ill at ease about being in the proximity of enemy soldiers, looked about and made a noticeable doubletake.
“What’s wrong?” Nevin whispered.
“They’re training girls! They got’em suited up to be soldiers,” he hissed.
Nevin pointed a finger to his lips to silence Orris, making a mental note to talk with him later about what the future has in store for the equality of the sexes. It was probably fortunate there were a lot of women about so the soldiers would pay less attention to Corissa.
Off to their left, some medical personnel quickly appeared and started removing splints, examining injuries and barking orders for new supplies. At first ignored amid the hubbub, Nevin and the others stayed close together. Corissa came close and whispered in Nevin’s ear.
“Nevin, I think you should speak for us. I need to draw as little attention as possible. I don’t think I will be recognized, but if I am we will be lost.”
Nevin nodded agreement just as he was approached by a sandy haired youth, who stopped a few paces away apparently trying to figure out to address him. Wearing clothes that suggested he was a page or possibly a military cadet, he looked nervously at them but kept returning his gaze to Nevin. Finally, he stammered to no one in particular and scuttled off. “All of you are to stay here. The First Minister is coming to see you personally.”
Nevin exchanged looks with Anson, the mage’s tightened lips indicating the importance of the moment. Before they could discuss any strategy, Nevin saw a stout woman enter from a doorway and head straight for them. Her passage was notable by the sudden halt to conversations and practice activities throughout the huge room. She walked with a very erect posture, head held high, arms gracefully swinging as she moved. As she passed some soldiers nearby, they acknowledged her with sharp nods that passed for salutes and practically jumped out of her way. She barely noticed them as she kept her eyes on Nevin and the others. Her figure was hidden by a maroon caftan that dropped straight to her ankles. She had dark hair, cut short and streaked with gray. Her clothing was not particularly ornate, nor did she have any jewelry that indicated rank, but there was no doubt she was a person of high status. She stopped a few feet from Nevin, and looked at him straight in the eyes before giving each of the others a momentary glance. She turned to the side and nodded slightly to the Gilsum soldiers who watched her, a silent order for them to continue their business while she conducted hers. Looking back at the four from Antrim, she spoke in a quiet tone that still conveyed her command of the situation.
“I am Camrel, First Minister to King Meire,” she said, announcing herself to them as a group. To Nevin’s surprise, she chose to address him directly. “I assume you speak for the group. What is your name?”
“Uh, Nevin, Miss. I mean, Nevin Reasoner.”
Frowning slightly, as if disappointed with the name, Camrel raised her head and spoke loud enough for all in the room to hear. The buzz of myriad conversations and scurrying stopped again as she spoke.
“On behalf of the King and the people of Gilsum, I thank these good citizens for rendering aid to our Guardsmen. These good people have saved lives and eased the suffering of our injured comrades. Is their good will appreciated by all?”
With that question, a clamor broke out as the dozens of men and women in the room, soldiers and servants alike, gave a hearty cheer and rapped on tables with anything at hand.
As the cheers abated, Camrel stepped closer to Nevin and spoke in a quieter tone not meant for others to heed. The other Gilsum people in the room immediately went back to their business, giving Camrel wide berth to resume hers. Speaking to Nevin but taking in the others with a furtive glance, she whispered, “State your business in Taunton, Nevin Reasoner.”
It was now or never. Nevin took a deep breath without trying to look too nervous. “We came to see the King.”
“For what purpose.”
“We wish to speak to him about the war with Antrim.”
Camrel hesitated, contemplating the request. “Do you mean you have information to help us? You know some secret of theirs?”
“Well, actually we have a lot of things to tell the King. About what happened in the village of Stedt, for one. And how that poses more of a threat to your good people than Antrim—”
“You speak as an outsider, but that is no surprise, at least for you. About the business in Stedt, do you wish to tell us how to better use this weaponry?”
Camrel’s question made Nevin pause. Everything they had gone through hinged on his response. Should he be truthful or not? Decry the horrible, obscene use of such destructive force and be seen as a desperate mewler for the enemy? He swallowed hard, but before he could speak, it was Orris who stepped forward.
“Good Minister, we come to tell you of the evil of the device that destroyed Stedt, and how the poisoned air that lingers would inflict terrible suffering on your people if merely the wind should change direction. We came to plea with King Meire to end its use and consider a truce with Antrim before there is nothing left for winner or loser. Anson, show her the Hiroshima pictures.”
Amid the noisy, bustling activity in the huge armory, Anson brought out the pictures safeguarded under his tunic. “This is the horror that device creates,” the mage said dolefully.
Camrel took the pictures, now heavily creased and soiled from the journey. She carefully looked at each one, her face grim but betraying no opinions. She handed the pictures back to Anson. Her face still grim, she made eye contact with each of them in turn and quietly affirmed, “You are a delegation from Antrim.”
Nevin, Anson, Orris and Corissa nodded in unison, each fearful that this identity would mean their demise.
Camrel drew a breath as she pursed her lips, then exhaled slowly, her proud demeanor broken for an instant. Before she could talk, a young woman ran up to her, panting but beaming at the same time.
“Mother! I placed in the sword competition! I am half-way to earning my field uniform. Are you proud of me?”
Camrel looked into the face of the eager trainee, who looked no older than sixteen. Not returning the smile, but softening her tone to respond, the First Minister said, “I see that you are proud enough for both of us, daughter. But now I am conducting court business and you should not interrupt me.”
The young woman frowned and started to walk off, stopping for a second to look up at the unusually tall man standing there with three other common folks. Deepening her frown at the lack of military bearing in such a large man, she sulked off.
Camrel stared after her, made another sigh and whispered barely audibly, “Half-way to your uniform or half-way to hell, my child?” The Minister recaptured her bearing, still speaking in hushed tones not meant for others to hear, and said, “We have been informed that 946 Guardsmen were killed at our Grayflood River encampment several d
ays ago. Do you know anything about this?”
Nevin froze. The memory of his fight with some of these men and so many deaths struck him with a double edge of guilt and fear. Not knowing what to say or do, he started to panic. This time, it was Anson who responded. “We saw the encampment, Minister. They chose to invade and desecrate the Elvenwood, and the elves would not let them pass. I tried to warn your Guardsmen. I went to General Levant and begged him not to cross the river for the sake of his men. But he would not believe that elves could be a force to stop them. It is my greatest failure that I could not find a way to prevent this loss.”
“Are you trying to say that we are at war with elves, as well?” Camrel responded with a shake of her head. Composing herself again, she spoke directly to Anson. “The dispatch I received from Levant said nothing of a warning…but…that is not surprising, is it? How would it make the general look to lose so many men when he had foreknowledge of their risk? I questioned the dispatchman myself, so that I might be better informed to bear this unfortunate news to the King, and the man spoke of a visitor to the general’s tent. ‘Man-of-the-Forest’ the general called him, and some thought him a spy while others overheard him bring the warning you claim. This unfortunate man was supposedly bound to a tree and tortured to reveal whether he was a spy or nothing more than the simple pacifist he seemed. Let me see your wrists.”
Anson looked away but offered his arms for her to see. Everyone remained frozen while Camrel inspected both of Anson’s wrists, gently dropping his hands after drawing back his sleeves to see the rings of tortured flesh. Thinning her lips in a tightened grimace, she asked, “Your back, too, has been scarred?”
Anson remained silent, head bowed but unable to keep tears from falling. Corissa moved over to put her arm around Anson and hugged him gently. Facing Camrel, Corissa spoke with tenderness as she grasped Anson’s hand. “Anson would have died, First Minister, and nearly did, to save those men. Now they are gone but the grief their families will suffer never ends. You can see the importance of our mission, from the measure of this man’s commitment. King Lucan acknowledges the need to end this war and wishes to negotiate terms with Meire.”
To Nevin’s surprise, the First Minister forced a smile through pursed lips. To his relief, she waited a long minute and said, “I hope you are not too late. Follow me.”
Chapter 20
Meire
Camrel led them along a labyrinth of brazier-lit corridors. Despite her bulk, the First Minister moved rapidly, but their pace afoot was nothing to match the racing hearts of the four from Antrim.
Keeping a close-ranked single file behind her, they followed Camrel, turning on their heels when she turned. Whenever they met someone walking the same corridor, whether coming or going, that person would immediately jump to the side to let the line pass unhindered. It did not matter whether it was a guard, servant or courtier, upon recognizing Camrel under a full head of steam, the way cleared for them.
Finally, they reached the King’s Council Room. The room, or more closely described as a hall, was huge and ornately furnished with tapestries and lush carpet framed to provide a gold-colored runway to the king’s throne. There were many guards stationed around the room and a line of petitioners, about twenty or so, queued before the throne. There were no courtiers milling about. A middle-age man wearing a crown occupied the elegant high-backed throne straight ahead of them. He was thinly built, with a narrow mustache and goatee, and his robes of office were opulent with gold brocade on red velvet.
Less obvious for his station, the occupant of a simpler chair to the King’s right was a stocky man, larger in all aspects of height and weight than anyone in the room except Nevin. He wore local clothing including common trousers, a long tunic with short sleeves, fine leather shoes with buckles, and a short cape.
Camrel faced the four from Antrim at the entrance and spoke softly, “Follow me and do not demur. Show courage for your petition, but do not speak unless beckoned.” She led them directly to the King’s presence, waving the line of petitioners out of the way. She curtsied and spoke, “Your Highness, please forgive the abruptness of this intrusion, but I have intercepted a delegation from Antrim who seek your council.”
“Forgiven, Camrel.” Turing to the man on his right, he said, “Perhaps your demonstration has quickly prompted a wish for surrender, Lord Stryker, as you predicted.” Stryker said nothing, so the King turned to the delegation and asked, “Who speaks for you?”
“I do, your highness,” Corissa spoke, stepping forward.
“You bear more likeness to Gilsum ancestry than Antrim. You look familiar. Ah, I believe I know who you are. Corissa, is it not? Who left our fair land to marry an officer in Antrim’s army?”
“Yes, your highness. I am Corissa, born in Gilsum. I did marry an Antrim officer, now dead. I am King Lucan’s emissary. ”
“Of course you are, my dear. What did my cousin bid you say to us?
“We petition for peace. We ask for an immediate halt to all fighting, then to negotiate a treaty to ensure peaceful accord between our two kingdoms.”
“Well, my dear Corissa, I also wish for peaceful accord but my plan to ensure it is by combining our two kingdoms into one. What would my cousin say to that?”
“We cannot negotiate the end of Antrim, your highness.” Corissa answered calmly. “Treaty terms should be discussed between you and King Lucan. Our immediate aim is to ask that both armies withdraw and all fighting stop at once.”
“My friend, Lord Stryker, here,” the King said, casually pointing to his right. “has provided our side with the means to destroy Antrim or any future enemy of Gilsum. Are you and your friends aware of his recent demonstration of this power?”
“Yes, your highness. We have seen a small measure of the horror it wreaked when we aided some Guardsmen who survived. We came to tell you that about the destruction that comes with this—”
Anson interrupted as he stepped forward holding up the Hiroshima pictures, “Your highness, please permit me to show you these pictures of the devastation that will occur from—”
“Stay where you are! Guard, bring me those items!” the King barked. A guard rushed forward brandishing a sword, taking the pictures from Anson and handing them to the King. After quickly looking them over, he turned to the man next to him, “Stryker, is this an accurate portrayal of the power I can wield?”
Stryker nodded.
Nevin was aghast at the implications of Stryker’s complicity. He could no longer hold back and blurted, “Your highness, this scale of destruction of life is not only an abomination, but you risk your own people to suffer the after effects of radiation. You must realize—”
“King Meire, if I may advise you.” Stryker imposed. “Perhaps further discussion should take place in more private quarters. I suggest you separate these visitors and question each of them to compare their responses for truthfulness.”
“Yes, a good suggestion, Stryker. Take them to separate rooms.” A squad of soldiers rushed forward and led the four petitioners briskly out the door.
* * *
Nevin grew tired of pacing the room but still fidgeted in worry over the status of his friends. He took a seat at an undersized set of table and chairs; the room had no other furnishings and was well suited for interrogation purposes. The wall opposite the door had two windows to allow daylight for illumination; the windows looked out on a grassy area in the interior of the castle, meaning an escape outlet was far away.
He did not know what to expect for himself, other than questioning about their mission. Would he be tortured? If they suspected Anson was a mage, his friend would surely be killed. Maybe he could win over Stryker. The man obviously had influence over Meire and could advise the King toward a peaceful settlement. That seemed unlikely, since Stryker was obviously trying to benefit himself by tipping the balance in favor of Gilsum. King Meire’s peaceful inclinations may be lost to his obvious delight at having explosive armament. His wish to combine the tw
o kingdoms into one, undoubtedly under his sole rule, could be another sign of megalomania. There was also his paranoia about mages to the point he put bounties on their lives.
The sounds of muffled conversation outside the door interrupted Nevin’s musing. A release of the door latch preceded the entrance of John Stryker into the room. He nodded to the guards outside and quietly closed the door. Gliding slowly with his hands clasped behind his back, he stood over Nevin and spoke, “I hope you were not too roughly treated, Reasoner. I told the guards not to restrain you. We can be gentlemen about this, can’t we?”
“I appreciate your concern for my welfare, Professor Stryker. You mind telling me what is going on? I am sure I saw a nuclear explosion!”
“Still polite with the honorific address? You always were respectful of protocol. Too bad some of our envious colleagues had it in for you. You actually were quite good at promoting scientific inquiry. Ironically, I saw you as quite similar to myself as a young man. Idealistic and such. However, my time as a “professor” is over, at least in this place. Although I could possibly resort to it again, if and when I return to Hempstead. To obtain a Nobel prize, perhaps. With some secrets from this place I could easily get one, you know. I found violets that cure cancerous lesions. They wouldn’t propagate, though, and I haven’t had time to pursue it further. On other matters, you must be fascinated by the so-called deliverance here. Have you figured it out yet?”
“I think it involves ley lines and some kind of electromagnetic power sink that travels point-to-point—but what about the explosion?” Nevin pleaded, “Don’t you realize what harm has been done? And the scale of destruction to life and the environment?”
The Chronicles of Nevin Reasoner: The Complete Duology Page 34