“If you are a mage and born of Antrim, yet I do not know of your name or face—are you…a High Mage?” Anson reeled at this thought.
“We have been called that, among other things.”
“We? Then there are other High Ones?”
“Yes, but that it unimportant to you at present.”
“We need to get to the city of Taunton and meet with King Meire. Can you help us?”
“I know of your mission but I am forbidden to help you. You must help yourselves.”
Nevin deluged himself with questions. How did this man know of their affairs and just what did he mean by acknowledging himself to be a “high” mage? And why would Anson’s presence make any difference to a hungry reptile? Most of all, he was perturbed at this man’s cryptic refusal to help them.
“Anson is an accomplished mage himself,” Nevin sneered. “If you are one of his kind, why won’t you help us? Could you deliver us to our destination so we could meet with King Meire?” It was unlike Nevin to be so suspicious, but he was leery of this man.
“We know of Anson’s skills. He has powers, great powers, as it appears you do, Professor Reasoner—in raw form. But we are obligated not to interfere with this struggle between Antrim and Gilsum. Besides, the deliverance spell is not for such casual use. It has brought two men here who are out of their place, and you, yourself, have used spellwork frivolously on a dog. You are both forbidden to invoke any further deliverance, though other spells remain available to you.”
“How do you know all that?” asked Nevin, visibly annoyed. “And what did you mean about the dragon not harming us because Anson was here? And how could you know that I was a professor?”
“You can discover the answers to these questions later, but now you must focus your energies on the obstacle presented by the Gilsum army ahead of you. If you like, I am allowed to describe their actions although Zael will have discovered it all by now.”
With carefully chosen responses, Hillister confirmed that Orris’ guess had been correct. The Gilsum army was preparing to cross the river and march through the Elvenwood to eventually storm Sartell. It was an ill-advised effort, based on their assumption that the Elvenwood would be as manageable as other forests. The army’s main general and his officers underestimated the density of the Wood and made no allowance for Zael and the Elvenkind, whom they regard as a few powerless sprites, if they would even encounter them.
It started to grow dark and Brune became anxious about their rendezvous with Zael. Hillister agreed that their conversation was done for now and they must return to their camp, for they had much planning to do. Following Brune, the group departed. Hillister watched them leave without a wave or a spoken farewell. When Nevin looked back at the spot where the strange man had been standing, he was gone.
* * *
Zael was growing concerned about the absence of Brune and the three humans. The proximity of the intruding Red Shirts and the likelihood of battle made the Elf-Lord even more insistent that his orders be followed to the letter. When the missing group returned, Zale scolded the young elf for allowing the group to wander off. Nevin wanted to intervene on Brune’s behalf, but thought it wiser to stay out of it.
After the rebuke, Brune responded with a few words which Nevin could not understand, but which definitely startled Zael.
Turning sharply to Anson, the Elf-Lord asked, “Who did you meet?” Anson explained it was a man who called himself Hillister and acknowledged he was a High Mage.
Zael did not seem relieved at this news. “There are High Ones. They live in a secluded region and do not interfere with us, being neither friendly nor unfriendly. On only two occasions have I met one. It is most extraordinary that the High Ones have taken an interest. Tell me all that was said.”
They sat on the ground and formed a small circle where Anson recounted their experience with the dragon and meeting with Hillister. Zael acknowledged the report and ordered that everyone eat and drink their fill from the best of their provisions. The Elf-Lord remained pensive and consulted off to the side with Orris and Brune while the others ate from a hastily prepared setting. Shortly, Zael announced his plans.
“The Red Shirts have only a few small boats to move their large army across the Grayflood. Thus, they have built two rafts from felled trees and strung a heavy rope across the river to guide the rafts. With this arrangement, they could move all their men and provisions across in one day.”
“What do you plan to do?” asked Corissa.
“We have a plan to prevent them from entering the Wood, should they succeed in crossing all their men. I will arrange my elves in a wide half-circle surrounding the point where they have chosen to enter the Wood. We will hide where they will not see or reach us. When the soldiers march forth, my archers will cut them down. Should any get through, we will attack them singly while hidden by groundcover and slash their legs as they march.”
“What do you want us to do?” Anson asked, his face blanched over the certainty of bloodshed. Nevin knew Anson well enough by this time to understand how the mage felt about this talk of planned mayhem. Nevin, himself, was initially disturbed by Zael’s plan that many men would die, but the Gilsum soldiers were as yet unseen and Nevin’s concern over their fate was stifled by his need to see to their own safety.
Zael answered, “Orris has agreed to stand with me for council. Corissa should not be seen or engaged in the fighting, so Nevin should stand with her to the side. However, I would ask you, Anson, to use your spellwork to upset their rafts as they try to cross the river.”
Their responses varied. Orris showed the grim face of a veteran soldier planning for battle. Anson fretted over the impending fight and the need to complete their journey to the Gilsum capitol. Corissa was piqued that she was singled out to be protected. Nevin was fearful about the safety of all of them; to Zael this seemed an odd reaction by such an imposing man.
Zael responded first to Corissa, “Lady, my suggestion to hide you from view is not for the reason you suspect. It is not your bravery or courage that I question. If you, a Gilsum woman, are seen, you will draw much attention. You will lose your secrecy and your mission will be greatly jeopardized.” Corissa pursed her lips, but a nod acknowledged this point.
Zael turned to Anson and offered an unusual gesture of deference, a concession to a human not seen before. “I know that you have a reverence for the lives of others, Anson, and I would understand if you refuse my request for spellwork.”
Anson quietly replied, subdued by the inevitability of armed conflict. “Corissa says this river is cold, swift and deep. If the rafts are upset, the soldiers will be thrown into the water and many would drown. I am sorry, my friend, but I cannot contribute to such an act. How could I convince Meire and Lucan to stop their murderous actions if I was willing to do the same. Is there no other way to avoid this battle? Could we not talk to them? Appeal to them not to enter your Wood? I would be willing to go to their camp…”
“That is an honorable intention, my human friend, and also what I expected from you. But it would be certain death for you to show yourself, even if they did not discover you to be a mage.”
Orris stepped over and put his hand on Anson’s shoulder. “You are a persuasive man, Anson, but those soldiers will follow orders and not be stopped by reason or pity.”
“Orris is right,” said Zael. “I ask that you stand to the side with Nevin and Corissa. It would sadden me to have such a noble man suffer harm.” Turning to the others, Zael continued. “Anson will not take a weapon, but what of you Nevin? And Corissa? Would you like weapons in the event that you are overrun?”
Corissa said she already had a dagger and that was all she wanted. Nevin was oddly at a loss to answer the question about arming himself, but vaguely reasoned out that he would not do well with a short weapon like a sword. If any soldier got close to him, Nevin knew he did not have the skills to survive hand-to-hand combat. His lack of experience also ruled out a bow, so he asked for some kind of
staff. At least he could keep an attacker at bay until help might arrive.
Zael said their requests would be met and added darkly, “The rigor of the day’s journey has wearied me, as it has you. We must all get a full night’s sleep. In the morning we must be prepared to fight.
Nevin did not expect to hear Zael admit fatigue, but the Elf-Lord’s affirmation of the need for battle was even more disturbing. This clearly meant that men would die and he could see no way to avoid it.
From outside the glade, Gren watched through the trees and listened to their council. He could not understand all the words, but he could tell from the faces that something ominous was going on. In particular, there was something in the mage’s face that made the droll uneasy.
Chapter 6
Anson’s decision
Anson lay wide awake on his bedroll, rethinking the need to strike off on his own. Almost hoping for something to distract him, the night passed quietly except for the faint sleep sounds of his three human companions. Even with hundreds of elves retired about the camp, the night was darkly muted. The dozens of sentries were as noiseless as their sleeping comrades. Anson worried that if he left now, he would easily be discovered. On the other hand, even a successful departure would be dangerous. Very dangerous.
Every attempt to think through the situation ended with the same conclusion: It fell to him to take the next step before the main body of soldiers crossed the river. Anson had to find a way to prevent the Gilsum army from entering the Elvenwood. A clandestine departure, toward the red-shirted army, might look like an act of treason. In a way, maybe it was treason because he meant to warn the Gilsum side of the elves’ ambush. Has such a risk become so necessary?
To Anson, neither army was fighting a just cause. They had become so entrenched in age-long battle that their enmity had become the foremost business of each kingdom. For many years, there were only small detachments of soldiers that fought in “civilized” fashion with ritualized skirmishes that caused few deaths, but that had changed. Many soldiers have since died in battle, forcing the armies to enlist ever younger recruits until mere boys were conscripted. Widowhood multiplied while the birthrate declined, leaving too few workers to adequately carry on the business of subsistence. Farms became poorly tended. Banditry appeared. Neighbors turned away from neighbors. When his village of Huxley was attacked, even Anson was put in a life and death struggle with a Gilsum soldier, forcing the mage to use a death spell. Reverent for life, he never deliberately injured another person, nor would he even sacrifice animals for food. He was too ashamed to tell anyone about his despicable act; he could not settle his own mind over how easily events unfolded so that even he would kill another man.
The decision was clear. He had to try to avoid bloodshed.
The young mage fretted, wondering whether his friends would understand that his departure was not a faithless act. One at a time, his friends came to mind as they slept soundly around him. Among them, Orris was the only one who had known Anson long enough to fully understand the mage’s decision. Surely, this old friend would know that Anson could not simply stand aside while hundreds of men were slaughtered.
What of the others who had not known Anson before this sojourn with the elves?
The tall man, Nevin Reasoner, was either sage or mage or possibly both. He stood over six feet in height, but would not use his size or strength for a physical advantage. Like Anson, he was a man of mental pursuits who also deplored the degradation of war. Formerly a “professor” of what seemed to be obscure sciences in a far land, Nevin might also understand Anson’s decision. After all, this man had put aside his scientific biases and agreed to travel by spell to Antrim and aid Anson in this cause. Had Nevin come to know Anson well enough to understand that a warning to the Gilsum general was not a traitorous act?
And Corissa? She was King Lucan’s confidant and emissary. She was also a Gilsum-born woman, yet married to an officer of the Antrim army and widowed before the marriage flowered. She would be the one most likely to question Anson’s motives, though more from loyalty to her Antrim king than animosity toward Anson. Could the others make her understand?
There was no telling what the elves would think, especially Zael, the Elf-Lord. For generations the elves had remained aloof and disinterested over the war between the kingdoms of Antrim and Gilsum, but now Zael was reluctantly drawn into the conflict. Elven ways were mysterious to Anson, though there were moments when Zael seemed to approve of the goal for peace sought by this unlikely alliance.
In the end, what would it matter what any of them thought? Anson had no choice but to strike out alone. He dared not debate his plan with the others. If he did not survive, the others could still carry on. Better than anyone, Anson knew the soldiers would kill him and any comrades instantly if they had any suspicion he was a mage. The King of Gilsum had a paranoid fear of mages and put a high bounty on their heads. No soldiers would turn down the opportunity when there was no other way to obtain such riches. Anson finally sat up and quietly put on his soft leather boots.
He looked around to see if there was anything he should take with him, but this was only a semi-conscious attempt to divert his thoughts from the peril ahead. If he succeeded in getting to the Gilsum camp, he knew he must not reveal the existence of their mission under any circumstances. He would willingly die to protect the identity of his fellows of their so-call alliance, just as he might die anyway at the hands of the Gilsum soldiers he sought to warn.
A breeze began to rise and rustle the tall pines. It was time to go.
* * *
It was well before dawn when Anson quietly left the camp behind him. Aided by natural noise that disturbed no one, the leaves rustling in the breeze eclipsed the silence of the night. A body or two turned over in sleep, but the chorus of leaves made any footfalls less noticeable. Anson took no parcels or belongings and quickly reached the edge of the encampment. As he moved within sight of the sentries, he hoped he would not have to resort to spellwork to make his way without alarm.
Spellwork proved unnecessary. The guards immediately recognized Anson, but ignored him. They knew he was the human mage befriended by Zael, an uncommon thing for them to witness because their Elf-Lord had rarely shown respect to humans. Although elves did not engage in spellcasting, the guards knew that Anson was gifted at magery and held him in esteem for it. Because magery was a mysterious art it did not strike any of them as unusual for a mage to trip about in the night, although some might have thought it curious that Anson would walk toward the river. Still, none saw his actions as suspicious. Anson was allowed to pass without challenge and the mage quickly disappeared into the darkness.
Anson stopped when he reached the edge of the tree line where the elves would defend their Wood against the expected intrusion of Gilsum soldiers. He was close enough to the Grayflood River that the sound of the swiftly running current could be heard above the rustle of trees. The river was only a hundred yards ahead, across an open area from the tree line to the shore. He readied himself for a dash across this area.
Before Anson could take another step, a huge hand grabbed his shoulder from behind. He wheeled to face Gren, the droll. Though Anson had seen Gren speak with elves, it was a surprise for the droll to show that he had partially mastered human speech as well.
“Go where?” demanded Gren. The droll towered over Anson.
“I have got to get to the river, Gren. Let me pass.”
“River has danger. No pass.”
“You do not understand, my friend. I must find a way to get across and stop the Gilsum army from entering the Elvenwood.”
“No! Much danger! Stay.”
In the darkness, Anson could not clearly see the tall creature’s face, but there was no doubt that Gren was determined to stop him. “Please, Gren. If only there was a way I could explain this to you. You must not try to stop me.”
Gren understood the perils that lie ahead in attempting to cross the river plus the subsequent danger o
f confronting enemy soldiers. Anson took some steps backward, but Gren had anticipated his movement. With little effort, the droll grabbed Anson by the jerkin and with one hand lifted him up and set him in the crotch of a tree.
“Stay, good human. Have no danger.”
Looking down from this perch, Anson had two recourses. Either he could have Gren accompany him or he could resort to magery to get by the droll. Quickly he decided the best decision was to use a spell of somnolence, which would put the droll to sleep without causing him any harm. He canted the words and focused the spell at Gren. Because of the droll’s size and determination, Anson thought he would have reiterate the spell to work up enough psychic energy but that was not the case. The spell worked with surprising quickness.
Gren tried to shake off the strange cloudiness enveloping his mind, then fell to one knee and toppled over with a muffled groan. Anson climbed down the tree and knelt over the droll. Seeing that Gren was safely put to sleep, the mage gave him a gentle pat and a smile of appreciation for his friendship and protection, and started toward the riverbank.
* * *
After several minutes, Anson reached the near shore of the Grayflood River, still a safe distance away from a campsite tended by a small band of Gilsum soldiers who crossed the river days earlier. This small detachment was sent ahead of the main phalanx to cut trees to build large rafts for transporting more soldiers. As a result of their work, there were logs strewn everywhere with piles of wood chips. The air was heavily perfumed with the smell of resinous sap. In their makeshift camp, the men slept noisily, completely unaware of the stranger only yards away on the upstream shore. Two guards were posted, but both were also weary from a day of hard labor and dozed on their feet.
Anson left these men behind and made for a hulking object ahead on the shore. It was a small rowboat used by the men to cross the river, pulled up on shore completely out of the water. The boat was much too heavy for Anson alone to push off; besides, one person would not be able to control it in the swift current. Anson frowned at his situation. He had neglected to conceive a plan for crossing the river.