The Chronicles of Nevin Reasoner: The Complete Duology

by Thomas Lombard

  “Don’t be overly dramatic, Reasoner. You are correct about the explosion. It was a little test that went quite well under primitive circumstances. I expected that little village would be destroyed, but a new one can be built. Some place else, of course. But I made sure the local inhabitants were marched far enough away to avoid the concussion; they were located away from the prevailing wind, as well. So they were not wiped out, as you imply.”

  “What about the people who live farther away, where the radiation falls out? Have you gone crazy? How did you get the components here to make the bomb?” implored Nevin.

  “I told you, it was just a little test. This land has rich lead mines around here, so it wasn’t hard to find uranium. Soon after I got here, I observed some mine workers with signs of radiation sickness. Even my good King Meire suffers from it, although he doesn’t know it. He likes to tour his holdings. I am certain it left him sterile years ago. With these lead mines, I had a good supply of U-238. You must know that ore would have a tiny percent of the U-235 isotope needed for fission.”

  “Yes, I know. 0.716%.”

  “You would know the exact percentage, wouldn’t you, Reasoner. Uh, you will forgive me if I don’t return the professorial honorific? After all, protocol is still protocol and status does matter. Now, back to you. It will go better if you answer my questions. Have you figured out how to use the deliverance spell to get back to Hempstead? I haven’t mastered the spellcasting talents some have here. What about you?”

  “Never mind that. If you wanted to impress King Meire with a big boom, why would you risk a nuclear device instead of a conventional explosive?”

  “Simple. I don’t know how to make conventional explosives with the materials at hand. With so much U-238, I just had to figure out how to enrich a smidgeon of U-235, and, basically, bang the rocks together.”

  “You were tickling the dragon’s tail? You overcame the fizzle?”

  “Tickling the dragon’s tail? Well, I haven’t heard that expression since the early days of stockpiling nuclear arms back in...our previous realm. The answer to your questions is, yes. And no. The fizzle was a problem. When you start clapping radioactive rocks together, you can get a predetonation. At first, we got some small fizzle reactions when we brought samples too close together. The dragon roared, as it were. It took a while to rig up a crude device to overcome the fizzle, once I was sure we enriched a tiny bit of U-235. Unfortunately, the fizzles gave us a few casualties along the way. But let’s get back to the magic? Have you figured out how they do it?”

  “I don’t believe in magic,” Nevin replied cautiously. Given Meire’s paranoia, it was best not to reveal Anson’s spellcasting skill. Or his own.

  “Looking for scientific explanations, are you?” Stryker asked, slyly. “Enough chatter. We have a more urgent problem in appeasing the King over your little group.”

  “Can’t you help us try to negotiate some kind of peaceful settlement to their stupid war? I don’t think they even know what they are fighting over. Maybe a simple ceasefire?”

  “It’s probably too late for that. The King is quite taken with his new military superiority. He also wants me to come up with a way to identify mages so he can prevent some kind of prophecy. He thinks they will cause his downfall or death. Some silly prophecy he believes. My assurance that I can do that keeps me in good graces; it forges a dependency for my services, you see.”

  That was more bad news. Increasing the witch-hunt for mages by some identification scheme was another sign of Meire’s delusional madness. Nevin grew more desperate. There had to be some way to help their cause. “Stryker, in the name of decency! Help us!”

  “You are mewling, Mr. Reasoner. That is unbecoming to a scholar.” Stryker started pacing, bringing a hand to his chin for a moment before responding further. “Though I can see how you might feel terribly threatened. Meire has been quite brutal when it comes to magic-related matters. He is very civil, otherwise. Hmm. I’ll see what I can do. Come with me.”

  Stryker stood aside and waved Nevin through the doorway. Once in the wide hallway, Nevin found himself between several armed men. “Which way do we—” Before he could finish the question, he received simultaneous blows to his knees from behind, instantly dropping him to the floor. A club to the back of his head knocked him unconscious. He was quickly tied up and dragged back into the room.

  * * *

  In another room, similar to the one where Nevin was restrained and confined, the other three sat at a table arguing their fate. Corissa said, exasperated, “Please, let us keep our wits. Unless you can use your spellcasting somehow, Anson, there is no immediate action we can take.”

  Orris replied, “The Lady is right, my friend. We need to be clearheaded so we can act if an opportunity comes to us.”

  “Of course, of course! I just wish I could do something. I wish Nevin was here. He is most resourceful.” Anson sat dejected, forlorn with their lack of success and loss of hope. “Is there nothing we can think of?”

  Corissa placed her hand on Anson’s arm to comfort him. She sighed, “I wish I could. I thought this silly ring could help us somehow.” She took out Lucan’s ring and set it on the table.

  “What is that, My Lady?” Orris asked.

  “Lucan entrusted it with me in secret. He said I would know when it would be useful. If it has any uses, now would be prosperous.”

  Anson picked up the ring and examined it. The shank appeared to be made of gold. The center stone was red, brilliant in hue, surrounded by a setting of smaller red stones that were extremely vivid. “These stones are rubies. Very rare. I have only seen a few before, but these are stirring in their radiance. Did Lucan tell you anything about its use?”

  “No, Anson,” Corissa replied. “He said to keep it secret and use it when necessary. I don’t know what could be more necessary than our current dilemma.”

  “The ruby is rare, as I said. It is supposed to be reserved for royalty. It is regarded as having intense energy that encourages the wearer to feel high spirits. One mentor taught me this crystal nature emits energy that seeks…something. I cannot remember what, or how.”

  “Can you give a boost, man? With your spellwork, I mean,” Orris suggested with rising enthusiasm.

  “I do not know.”

  “If you have never tried, now is the time!” Corissa said. “Do you sense anything?”

  “Not really,” Anson answered. “Just the hum.”

  “What hum?” Corissa questioned. “I never felt any humming from it.”

  “Oh, it is quite pronounced. I assumed you would detect it. It does not seem extraordinary.”

  “Try your spellwork on it. Concentrate like Nevin does,” Corissa suggested.

  “I am familiar with the art, My Lady,” Anson responded with a hint of annoyance. “I will try.” Anson took the ring in his palm and stared at it, focusing on the consistent humming. It was not actually an auditory sensation, more an emanation or minute vibration. It gradually reacted with greater intensity that startled him and he dropped it, clanking on the table.

  “What’s wrong? What happened?” Orris asked.

  “The sensation suddenly increased. It seems so powerful. Like a stream of pulsations. What Nevin calls mental energy. Except it seems to have a direction. Like I was releasing it.”

  “Try it again, man! Maybe you can control it and blow down the door,” Orris offered.

  “I will try.” Anson picked up the ring and repeated his focus, accepting the burst of energy as it increased again. He could not actually guide this energy, but it seemed to take its own course like it was plugging a hole. After a few minutes, it faded. He set the ring on the table. “It does not appear likely to break the door,” he said with resignation. “I do not know what this has accomplished.”

  Their disappointment was palpable. Orris muttered a curse. For several minutes, they sat in silence and deep dejection. None of them noticed the latch slide and the door slowly open.

  Chapter
21

  Retribution

  Anson was the first to recognize them. “Zamora! Hillister! How did you find us? Are you in peril here?”

  The two High Mages softly entered the room. Hillister spoke, “It was the ring, Anson. We knew you were somewhere in this castle and in serious peril yourselves, but the emanation from the rubies led us here. While we have tried to avoid interfering in squabbles between kings, we are here to act. Our bonds with you are too strong to risk your life. We could not let you be killed by Meire’s madness.”

  “What do you mean by bonds, Sir?” Anson asked.

  Zamora smiled and said, “You are one of us, my dear.” She stepped forward, placing her hand on Anson’s shoulder. With unmistakable affection, she looked at him and said softly, “…And you are my son. I gave you up at birth so you could be raised in a normal family. But we have watched you from a distance all your life. I will tell you more of this later.” She gave him a tender embrace and continued, “We have few children over the years, and they are greatly dear to all of us. We are very proud of you and the reverence for life you have learned. We hoped your success with King Lucan would be matched here, so both rulers could rebuild healthier kingdoms from the ravages of their war. We realize that is not to be. Meire has irrevocably lost his way.”

  Anson was as stunned as he could be. Powerful questions were surging through his mind, but a comforting look from Zamora told him he would get his answers. One simple question did leak out from him, “Do I call you Zamora or Mother?”

  “In time, you will answer that question yourself,” she responded tenderly. “First, we must deal with this havoc. Hillister?”

  Hillister nodded and responded firmly, “The explosive contrivance that obliterated Stedt has forced our hand. We have to deal with Meire in a way that will end the war between the two kingdoms. We expect Lucan will be cooperative. For now, we will rely on Corissa to carry this message to him and explain what transpires here. Next, we must get Camrel and Meire to this room. Also, Mr. Reasoner.”

  “How are we going to do that?” asked Orris.

  “Zamora will bring Camrel and Meire here.”

  Orris seemed incredulous. “How is she going to do that? What about the guards? I will go with her. I need my damn elvish sword!”

  Hillister answered, “You are a good man to offer your service, Orris, but Zamora will not need your protection. And, we hope you learn a new trade that does require such loathsome tools. The guards outside are asleep and Meire will be made to follow. Camrel is devoted to him, but is a far more reasonable leader in her own right so we expect her to cooperate willingly.” Turning to Zamora, he said, “It is time.”

  Zamora nodded and left.

  Anson asked, “What about Sir Nevin?”

  Hillister responded, “He is tied with rope in a room a short distance away. He is steaming with mental energy in his frustration, so you should easily detect his location. That man practically thunders with spellpower. There are only two guards outside that room, and they will not notice who passes if you use the indifference spell, Anson. One has Orris’ sword, so take the Armsman with you to recover it. I know you do not like to handle weapons. Go now and bring Nevin here quickly.”

  Anson and Orris left, as instructed.

  * * *

  Nevin was too large to tie to a chair, so he was left on the floor to struggle against his bonds. The rope was tied too tightly to loosen by physical means, so, in frustration, he tried spellcasting but every attempt failed. He knew he was not doing it correctly amid his turmoil. It bothered him that he resorted to it in the first place because he still thought it was not magic at all, but displacement of energy in some form, and his mastery of it was hit or miss.

  His wrists were tied frontward to his ankles, allowing him to scoot over to a wall and rest his back in a sitting position. He tried over and over to think of options for escape, but came up blank. He recalled the ignition spell Bartram demonstrated in lighting candles. Perhaps he could figure that out and burn the ropes binding him. That made him laugh out loud. If he succeeded, it would at least burn his skin and maybe set the room on fire. He leaned back against the wall and sighed.

  After a while, he heard voices outside his door. Must be relieving the guards, he thought. The voices grew to a shout, which abruptly stopped to the sound of something slumping against the door. The door opened and Anson poked his head around it, asking, “Are you well, Nevin.”

  “Yes, yes! Untie me! How did you get away?”

  Orris followed Anson into the room brandishing his regained sword, and deftly cut Nevin’s rope bonds. While Nevin rubbed his wrists to restore circulation, Orris tittered, “Anson used Corissa’s ring to lead those High Mages here. They had the bilious spit to summon the King and his minister for a reckoning. Oh, and would you believe it, Sir Nevin, they say Anson is one of them!”

  “Used the ring? How? Anson is what?” Nevin asked, confused.

  “The rubies in the king’s ring are crystals that give off emanations,” Anson said. “The High Mages sensed it when I livened it by spelling.”

  “What emanations?”

  “Have you never sensed—what you call energy—from crystals? I recall you explaining something about shining an intense light through a ruby to concentrate this energy. I think you called it a laser.”

  “Oh, that’s different, I mean, uh…” Nevin muttered.

  “The rubies are not all of it, Sir,” Orris added, helping Nevin stand up. “The woman, Zamora, is his mother.”

  “Huh?”

  “It is, as well, an unexpected surprise to me, Nevin,” Anson shrugged. “I am sure it will all be explained, but now we must return to the others.”

  “Your mother? What the—Oh, what about Corissa! How is she? Is she hurt or anything?”

  “She is well enough. Please, let us hurry.”

  * * *

  “Welcome, Mr. Reasoner. It is good to see you unharmed,” Hillister said, as Nevin and the others entered the room. Strangely, no Gilsum guards were encountered on the way, nor were there any protecting their king.

  Nevin looked around in bewilderment. King Meire sat at a table with Camrel standing at his side. The king’s posture was erect and his bearing was regal, but there was an unmistakable appearance of confusion in his eyes. Nevin stared closely at the King, now noticing physical features that reminded him of something Stryker said. Despite Meire’s well-groomed appearance, there were signs his hair was treated to cover up small bald splotches. Around his mouth, sores were masked with makeup. There was marked bruising around his hands and wrists, and his overall complexion had a pallor compared to other residents of Gilsum. There was no doubt he was suffering some form of systemic illness.

  Hillister waited in front of the table. Corissa and Zamora stood to his left, both with solemn expressions. Anson and Orris joined them, completing the audience. Nevin made eye contact with Corissa, who nodded slightly and tightened her lips to reflect the gravity of the situation.

  “Now that you all are here, I will explain our presence and intentions,” Hillister said calmly.

  Meire responded with a deferential look, then declared, “Whoever you claim to be, I have not decided whether I should even respond or have you removed from my sight. I will only admit to some confusion over the request of your companion—” he said, pointing to Zamora, “—to bring myself to this room. Nevertheless, I am here and I expect you to address me befittingly.”

  “Meire,” Hillister’s tone turned grave. “Except for Camrel, none here are your subjects. Zamora and I are part of a council of observers that live in isolation around this kingdom and other lands. These others represent Antrim, who came here to plead for the end of your war before their kingdom and yours is sundered to nothing but anarchy and ruin.”

  “What do you mean by observers?” Meire asked grimly. “Explain yourself.”

  Hillister hesitated, as if he was uncertain how much he should say. He finally spoke, his tone soft but det
ermined, “Over the ages our council has not interfered with the governance of kingdoms, cities and such. That does not mean we are disinterested. Quite the contrary, in fact. For years, we have found it difficult to remain aloof over your actions, Meire, while many died from your pointless war. Our neutrality was especially challenged by your cruel campaign to murder anyone suspected of having spellcasting ability over some foolish prophecy. Your decision to use an explosive contrivance finally forced us to act, though we abhor doing so. Zamora and I are here to judge you and halt your course.”

  Meire looked away, sniffing his disregard at this impertinence.

  Camrel, looking distressed, jutted her chin forward and asked, “May I speak?”

  Hillister nodded.

  Camrel took a deep breath. “I believe I know who you are, Hillister, and your companion, Zamora. You are High Mages, if I am correct. I also believe it is your intent to do harm to my king. I will not argue for either his innocence or his sovereignty. It is obviously too late for that. I beg that he be judged as well for the good he has done. A good king is a servant to his people, and this man has spent his life governing Gilsum with fairness and devotion to the welfare of his people.”

  Zamora stepped forward to acknowledge the Minister’s plea, “Your devotion to your king is admirable, Camrel, but, as you say, it is too late. Whether a ruler or common person, one’s heinous acts are not easily absolved by the number or size of good deeds. A tyrant who is a loving husband and father is still a tyrant.”

  Meire stirred and laughed derisively, “Ha! I should have guessed. You are mages come out of hiding to fulfill the prophecy of regicide.”

  Hillister frowned, “The prophecy that spawned your delusion about mages has no merit, Meire. There is no underlying magic or compulsion to make such predictions come true. Prophecies like this arise from ignorance, fear and chance.”