Anson responded with a shrug, “I do not know of such laws, Nevin. Mages are taught to memorize spellwords exactly as their teachers had learned and practiced through the ages. The only laws that govern the success of a spell is how perfectly you say the words, execute the movements if there are any, and whether you generate sufficient mindpower to bring about the desired outcome.”
“There’s another thing I’ve wanted to talk with you about,” Nevin shot back. “Those spellwords. I’ve noticed a lot of similarity among the spells. Your spells are made up of parts, like elements in a chemical equation. Take the indifference spell, for example. Some of the phrases refer to an element of relaxation, one poses figure-ground relationships and another imbues quietude—all three elements working together produce the effect you call indifference. And another thing: all the spells have targets, or better yet, let’s call them coordinates, for their action. It is possible that the coordinates in some spells refer to a sort of central energy source—maybe the sun, or the heat trapped in a nearby area of ground, or possibly a source like a campfire. And your neural energy—your mindpower again—might be a catalyst that allows access to the energy source. If I had some good thermometers I could test that theory.”
“I have never examined the parts of a spell in the way you describe,” responded the puzzled mage. “As apprentices, we did memorize them part by part, but I thought that was to make the task easier. No one has ever treated a spell as other than a whole entity.”
“How many spells are there?”
“I know of twenty, not counting their reversals, but there are probably more in old spell books somewhere.”
“Only twenty? Has anyone ever mixed up the parts of different spells to create new ones? Like making an invisibility spell out of parts of a deliverance or, say, a reversed luminescence to make things darker?”
Anson eyes grew wide with this suggestion. It had never occurred to him, or any other mages he knew, that new spells could be created. “Nevin, you talk of things which are beyond the skills of an ordinary mage. Even a High Mage could not likely do such things as invisibility. Spells are not so extraordinary…although I did notice how you altered the luminescence for your demonstration in the King’s throne room.”
They each winked at their remembrance of that experience.
“Well, Anson, I don’t know what goes into being a ‘High Mage,’ but after what you did with the horses and restoring light in Lucan’s castle, I’d say you were pretty ‘high’ up on the magery scale yourself.”
“Your words are flattering, Nevin, but my skills are only modest.”
“You certainly are modest, all right. I don’t think you realize just what you can do, or maybe what the two of us together can pull off. Some day perhaps we’ll find out just what we can do, entropy notwithstanding.”
Nevin was glad to see Anson drop the “Sir” as their friendship grew. It was a welcome feeling that the camaraderie of this little band was drawing them closer together. Feelings like this were new for Nevin, who had always kept pretty much to himself. Changes in friendship among their party was evident to others as well. After walking over to join Corissa, Anson excused himself to allow the other two some privacy.
Corissa sat on a blanket spread next to Nevin’s bedding area. With the combination of light from the fire and the waxing moon, Nevin saw that she had cleaned up and changed her clothes. No bruises and scratches from the troll’s attack were visible. He stared at a chain of small star-shaped flowers arranged in her hair. She was lovely.
“You noticed the flowers?” she said. “The elves thought I should add a little color and fragrance to my appearance.”
Nevin only stared.
“The flowers?” she said.
“Huh?”
“In my hair? The elves arranged these flowers for me. They fussed and pampered me, and even provided warm water for washing. I think they were trying to cheer me after our awful...adventure.”
In the subdued light, she was utterly beautiful.
“Sir Nevin? You are staring at me.”
“Oh! Sorry. It’s just…that…I mean…you…Oh, I wish everyone would drop this ‘Sir’ business. Just call me Nevin. Or anything you want.”
She laughed at his awkwardness. They sat there for some time, saying little, each enjoying the presence of the other. For Corissa, though, this was a very confusing moment. She could not deny her feelings of friendship for Nevin. She also wanted to tell him about the ring she had hidden, but her King had sworn her to secrecy. Yet, if she had been killed by the troll, the secret of the ring would have died with her. Someone else should know of the importance Lucan attached to his heirloom. He told her she would have to figure out when to reveal it, but this did not seem to be that time.
Orris and Anson joined them for friendly companionship. She forced the travails of the journey out of her mind, putting off thoughts of their mission and how little they had actually accomplished so far. Tonight she wanted to free her mind of worry and enjoy the company of her comrades. She would use this time to get Nevin to talk more about his land and his life before coming to Antrim. She knew very little about him. Her plan succeeded and Nevin talked freely. They chatted and bantered for quite some time, well after everyone else had gone to sleep save the few on watch.
Chapter 5
Surprises
Orris poked at the dying ashes in the campfire, privately biding his time like a soldier awaiting orders. Corissa checked the contents of a pack, but her anxiety was thinly disguised after the pleasantness from the previous evening had waned. Nevin watched her, recalling the pleasure of her company last night but still hesitant to ask what bothered her now. Anson attempted to converse with each of them but got little response, leaving the mage concerned that the group was losing its focus.
Finally, Zael walked up with a small escort of his people. All four humans quickly came together because it was evident from the Elf-Lord’s demeanor that something was happening.
Zael carried a bow with a full quiver of arrows slung over his shoulder, plus a swordwood blade and dagger in his belt. He looked as stern as Nevin had seen him, much like their first meeting when he issued a death sentence for their little band. Fortunately, this time it was not the four from Antrim who were the target of Zael’s concern. All were eager to find out what trouble was brewing. While Zael usually spoke to them with an authoritative voice, this time his tone was quiet, almost hushed, but still deadly serious. It made things seem ominous.
“Last night we were alerted that something was amiss in the Wood. The trolls’ behavior was one sign, but we also saw that many deer had traveled far out of their normal range. Birds that normally rest at night were active and their calls bespoke distress. I dispatched scouts and they have returned with disturbing news. Red-shirted soldiers have gathered on the far shore of the river bordering Gilsum, many of them. A thousand, perhaps more. They are making preparations to cross.”
“Do you mean the Grayflood River?” Corissa asked.
“Yes, Lady. A barrier you must cross to reach Gilsum.” Zael studied her reaction before continuing. “A few Red Shirts already crossed the river some days ago and have since cut down trees and been careless with fires. This assault on our Wood has greatly disturbed the creatures within and is a sinister omen for the Elvenkind.”
Zael paced and addressed Orris, “What do you say is their purpose, Soldier of Lucan?”
Orris answered directly. “If there are a thousand Gilsum Guardsmen, as you say, then they have massed half their entire army. That is far too large a force for their usual attacks on towns and villages. They must have some special assignment. I would guess they plan to march on the city of Sartell.”
“That is my thought as well,” said Zael. “Despite our lack of interest in your war, we are again drawn in. We know that Gilsum soldiers do not seek to attack us; few, if any, even suspect we inhabit the Wood. They will think of us as little more than a small band of dainty forest dancers, but
we will stop their intrusion.” Zael turned to Corissa, a Gilsum-born woman, to see if her reaction betrayed any knowledge of this situation. Sensing no indication, he continued, “Therefore, I must act. You must understand it is neither for your King nor to save your army that I act. I move to protect the Elvenkind. This assault on our Wood must be thwarted. I wish to punish the Red Shirts. You may choose to face them with us or not. There will be no ill feeling if you stand aside.”
Before anyone else responded, Anson spoke, “Zael, can we accompany you as we have and still stand aside when we reach the Grayflood River?”
“If that is what you wish. Does the mage speak for all of you?”
No one was willing to argue, least of all Nevin who wanted nothing to do with armed fighting. He would have liked more information and a discussion of their options, but Zael grew impatient and it was best to let Anson or Corissa take the lead.
“I have no time to tarry,” Zael said. “It is several leagues to the Grayflood River and we must reach there before night. If you wish to go with me, then follow. Do not take time to bear your parcels. I will have them brought by others. You are already as slow as a plodding bear, so you must travel as lightly as you can. I leave now.” There being no need for further words, Zael strode off.
With his senses sharpened from his recent experiences, Nevin detected blurred movements of a large number of elves moving through the forest cover. Anson, Orris and Corissa quickly jumped in line behind Zael, with Nevin’s start delayed as he hopped along trying to put on his boots. After getting on his footwear, he had to run to catch up with the trail of marchers before they moved out of sight in the dense pathless cover.
* * *
Their column kept up a quick pace for two hours before stopping for a bite of sweetened rusk and a sharply stimulating herbal drink. Zael allowed only ten minutes before they were off again. This pattern was repeated two more times before they finally stopped for a proper rest. Zael offered a note of encouragement when he told them they were making much better time than their previous efforts. “Even a plodding bear can move swiftly for a time, it seems, if the need is great.”
Nevin, still sore from the unaccustomed physical demands, appreciated the word of support even if it was faint praise.
Before taking off again, Zael made a surprising remark to Corissa.
“You do quite well, Lady. You disprove the stories that women of the King’s court are pampered and helpless. You make it seem that a determined woman can outdo…even the strongest man.”
All eyes turned to Nevin, who was sitting on the ground with his boots off, rubbing one of his feet, displaying an anguished look of physical discomfort. “What did I do?” he asked, at the querulous looks.
A while after they resumed their march, Anson was the only one of the Alliance who could keep up the frantic pace. Orris developed persistent leg cramps, plus Nevin and Corissa’s growing weakness and thirst made it necessary to stop once an hour. Zael decided these frequent delays meant they would have no breaks longer than a few minutes and they would not eat until the end of their trek.
They reached the western end of the Elvenwood, where the ground became much more uneven, almost hilly, but the forest growth was still dense. Less than half a league from the Grayflood River, they finally stopped. Nevin and Corissa were spent and collapsed where they stood. A camp was set up in a tiny glade and small groups of elves congregated around the area while those with assignments to set up the camp did so. No fires were allowed.
Nevin looked around the glade, thinking it unusual to find another open grassy area surrounded by such dense forestation. Noting the perfectly circular pattern of the area, like a few others he had seen previously, he guessed that these places were purposely cleared as designated meeting places or strategic markers, though he had seen no evidence that elves actually cut trees down.
Nevin and Corissa sat on the ground to rest, leaning on opposite sides of a burr oak, when Zael brought Anson and Orris to join them. Zael knelt on one knee and spoke in a rare hushed tone, which Nevin took to mean their situation warranted some care over detection. “It is less than a league to the Grayflood River and we have an hour of daylight left,” the Elf-Lord spoke softly. “I am going ahead to survey the Red Shirts and have asked Orris to accompany me. The rest of you can remain here and recover from your trek. Brune will stay with you.”
As they exchanged nods, Nevin recognized Brune as one who was frequently at Zael’s side.
Nevin, who was not about to disagree with the suggestion that they stay put, gave a weak wave as Zael disappeared into the trees without a sound. Orris followed closely behind, his sword bobbing as he ran on cramped legs, with the sound of breaking twigs and scuffed leaves marking the soldier’s trail.
Nevin turned his attention to Corissa and both realized at the same time they were very thirsty. Anson agreed that he could use a drink, too. The elf, Brune, instinctively understood their need. In somewhat stilted use of common speech, he said, “Water you can get. Brune will show.”
Both Nevin and Corissa were practiced at conversing with some of the elves by this time, and they understood that Brune wanted them to follow him.
Brune took a step and waited for the humans to rise, then said something about how unpleasant it must be for humans to have such heavy feet. Nevin and Corissa replaced their footwear and painfully righted themselves with a hand from Anson. Brune took the lead and the three humans followed him until they came to a nearby tiny rivulet that barely flowed. Mosquitoes buzzed annoyingly around them.
“Take water only from top. See?” The elf set down his bow and quiver, knelt down on both knees and used his hands to sweep away some flotsam and scoop small amounts of water just at the surface. Nevin understood the point of the demonstration as a technique for avoiding potentially unhealthy sediment or floating debris, but he wondered if Brune thought this advice was necessary because humans were as slow-witted as they were slow-footed.
After drinking their fill, they started to leave when Brune alerted and motioned for them to stand still. Anson was the second to alert, then the others. They all responded to a strong odor carried by the breeze.
“What is that awful sm—” Nevin did not finish his question when they were suddenly confronted with the source of the odor. Stepping from between the trees was a large scaly animal, about the size of a pony. In its mouth was the badly blistered carcass of a deer.
“What the hell is that?” Nevin called.
“Dragon,” said Brune, who had recovered his bow and nocked an arrow. “Do not move. If it attacks, then run different ways. I will stay. You will escape.”
A dragon? Though Nevin was coming to terms with the enigma of spellcasting, the appearance of a mythical beast actually annoyed him, until he took a good look at it.
The “dragon” dropped the deer carcass and nonchalantly stared at the two-legged creatures, occasionally blinking an eye and moving its head as if to examine each of them. The scaly skin, short toe-nailed legs and darting forked tongue marked this animal as a reptile. Nevin thought it looked a lot like a very large monitor lizard, except it had a membranous hood, currently retracted, and a longer neck. The dragon picked up the carcass and rapidly shook its head, though it appeared to be more of a yawn than a gesture of aggression. With the yawn came a repeat of the odor, but this time it was so strong it caused them to turn their heads and cover their noses. Nevin was struck with a recollection.
“I know that smell,” Nevin said quietly, not wanting to disturb the animal. “That’s formic acid. This animal secretes formic acid. We don’t want any contact with that stuff.”
Nevin immediately realized the absurdity in his understatement. Any contact at all with this carnivore would be dangerous, but formic compounds were especially corrosive to flesh. Many animals and plants produced formicary substances for defensive purposes, like some ants and bees, but this reptile was more formidable than any swarm of insects. The affect of this animal’s secretions w
as evident from the deer carcass, which looked like it was burned with cold fire. Nevin would later enjoy this discovery as a basis for the mythical fire of dragon’s breath, but at the time he was more concerned for the safety of his companions.
“What should we do?” whispered Corissa.
“I shoot. You run,” said Brune as he raised his bow. One arrow would do little damage to this sturdy animal, but it was clear that the elf had decided to draw the dragon’s attention and allow the humans to flee. Before Brune could release the shaft, his bowstring snapped.
“It is not necessary to draw the animal’s blood. It would not attack with Anson in your company.” The voice came from a man standing twenty feet to their right. He had appeared with a suddenness that even startled Brune.
“Who are you?” Corissa asked.
“I am Hillister.” He was a normal looking man, light skinned with very short hair, almost to the point of baldness, and very lean features. He wore a tan robe, sashed at the middle with a white belt made of rope, and was barefoot. It was difficult to estimate his age, though he was clearly not a young man. In fact, Nevin thought he appeared almost ageless with no facial wrinkles or other common signs of aging.
“Leave us,” Hillister spoke firmly to the dragon and further bid its departure with a wave of his hand. The dragon took a step and hesitated, then made another wide-mouthed yawn and shook its head.
“All right. Take the carcass. It will do the deer little good to leave it. Then be off with you.”
At Hillister’s command, the dragon picked up the remains of the deer and sauntered off. The stranger walked over and shared a brief stare with Anson, although the man calling himself Hillister showed no emotion and barely blinked.
“Did you sever the elf’s bowstring by magery?” Anson asked.
Hillister nodded.
“Most mages are known to me, but you are not. Are you of this land?”
“I was born in Antrim like you, Anson. We have much in common, including our love for this land and its people. Like you, I also want them to be saved from the horror of this interminable war.” Nevin could detect only the barest hint of emotion in those weighty words.