Through the leaves of a low thicket, Anson knelt and spent several minutes surveying the activity about the camp. There were hundreds of A-frame tents, all red in color, situated in an organized system of avenues. Red-uniformed soldiers milled about in small groups giving the camp an appearance of idleness.
Anson eventually sighted one tent that was bigger than the rest and located furthest to the rear of the camp. The big tent was large enough to house a meeting of twenty people. Four guards were stationed around it. That this must be the general’s tent was confirmed when a portly man emerged, and, with little sign of effort, had several men scurrying about to do some bidding. As the general went back inside his tent, Anson was certain this was the man he must get to see.
Anson came up with a plan to sneak half way around the camp’s perimeter, then approach the guard stationed at the backside of the general’s tent. This way Anson thought he could attract the general’s attention, plus it would appear that Anson had travelled from an inland direction and not from the Antrim side of the river.
Walking in this terrain was easy, compared with the arduous travel through the Elvenwood. Anson shortly reached the rear of the camp and faced the back of the general’s tent. The mage took a deep breath and stepped out in the open, hailing the guard. “Halloa! I have news for your General.”
“Stand fast and identify yourself!” The guard ran up to Anson with a pike pointed at his chest.
“What is this news you have for General Levant?”
“I will only speak to Levant. Take me to him.”
“The General is a busy man. You had better tell me your business or you’ll get a taste of metal to loosen your tongue!”
It was evident that this sentry was close to making good his threat. Since the general was in his tent, Anson decided to court his attention directly. “General Levant! Levant! Levant! There is news for you but the guard won’t let you hear it!” shouted Anson through cupped hands.
The guard became flustered at this action and did not know what to do, short of assaulting an unarmed man who claimed to have important news for his commander. Deciding the prudent action would be to march the stranger into the camp at pike point with a show of control over the situation, the guard ordered Anson to cease his shouting and prodded him forward to the front of the tent. General Levant turned back the tent’s entry flap with a flair of annoyance. “Who is this man, guard?”
“He just walked up to my post, Sir, and requested to see you. He claims to have important news for your ears only.”
The general walked over to Anson, looked him up and down and said, “All right, man. Out with it.”
“It is a private matter, General. May we speak in your tent?” asked Anson.
“I have no time for privates or private matters. Guard, take this man to your Sergeant to find out his business.”
“No! General Levant, I must speak with you alone. It concerns a grave danger facing you and your men.”
Becoming somewhat more interested, the general replied, “What danger is this? Speak! Do not tarry. I am not a patient man.”
Anson grew more anxious as he leaned forward and nervously whispered, “My news concerns your plan to march through the Elvenwood. There is danger ahead for you, but it is not wise to speak of this so openly and give rise to rumor among those who overhear.”
General Levant scratched his goateed chin as he weighed Anson’s words while studing this stranger’s demeanor. Finally, Levant spoke as he turned to a small group of men who had gathered. “You two subalterns search this man and then escort him into my tent. I wish to question him further.”
Levant immediately returned to his tent as the two men sprang forward to follow orders. Once inside the tent, Anson was lead before the seated commander who waited some time scanning a map before cueing Anson to speak. The subalterns stood behind Anson, keeping a watchful eye.
When finally signaled to speak, Anson explained that the Gilsum soldiers would meet much bloodshed and loss of life if they went forward. It was not the Antrim army that waited for them, he said, but a more potent force that could fight without being seen. When questioned further, Anson said only that the wood was inhabited by elves who would show no mercy and slay the invading Gilsum Guardsmen to the last man if necessary to forestall their march. The subalterns snickered at the allusion to elves as a threat.
In response to further questioning, Anson would not give his name. He only described himself as a recluse who lived in the forest and did not wish to see the wood defiled with the spilled blood of any man or creature.
Levant returned to his map and waited a long time before responding further. His earlier sneer and look of impatience was replaced by a visage of concern. “I am intrigued by your story, Man-of-the-forest. But I am more troubled by your knowledge of our plans to march through this so-called Elvenwood. We have not travelled this way before and there could be surprises and threats which we do not anticipate, but I cannot abide your story of ‘warrior elves.’ Surely you do not expect me to believe a small cohort of little creatures could cause havoc with such well-armed, experienced men?” Levant continued to study Anson, as if looking for a sign that would betray deception. Anson was visibly trembling.
“However, I do sense some slight need for caution,” Levant said, as he rose to stand face to face with Anson. “But I have been given orders to move forward and I see no reason to countermand them from the little you have said. But as to caution, I will have you bound so that I may question you further after we have moved our men across this infernal river.”
With this response, Levant was done with the matter and took his seat again. Anson panicked.
“But, General Levant! You must heed my warning! The lives of your men—”
“Take this man from my tent and tie him securely to the nearest tree,” interrupted the general.
Before Anson could say anything further, he was dragged from the tent and roughly placed with his back against the trunk of the nearest tree. His arms were pulled back and wrists tied tightly together so that any attempt at movement brought a painful strain on his limbs and shoulders. A single sentry was stationed with him.
Distraught at his failure, Anson was now a captive of the men he had tried to save. Though he pleaded with the guard and anyone who passed near, no one responded. It seemed all had been ordered not to listen to this raving man.
After a time, a small group of men walked past Anson, paying slight attention to the captive on their way to the general’s tent. By their dressier uniforms, they appeared to be officers and entered the tent as a group. Anson could hear Levant’s voice as he repeated the mage’s warning. When the general finished, there was a brief but loud burst of laughter, followed by an exit of the officers. Later that morning several soldiers came by to jeer at Anson for his portrayal of the elves as warriors. The men feigned fear that they might be done in by the “formidable littlefolk.” Anson did not reply to the taunts. He lowered his head, disconsolate at his failure to stop these men from going to their deaths.
* * *
In early afternoon, the idle appearance of the camp changed dramatically. Anson could not tell what was going on, but he guessed that preparations were being made to transport soldiers across the river. A buzz of activity persisted for some time until the drone was punctuated by shrill shouts and flurries of manic excitement. All the men in the camp, including the one assigned to guard Anson, surged toward the shore in a bustle of mass confusion. After a while, the chaos subsided and more orderly sounds of movement and activity were heard, but Anson was too far away and too subdued by pain from his bonds and mounting thirst to figure out what happened.
By late afternoon, another outburst of shouting and mania occurred, but it was a brief episode followed by angry shouts and curses. Shortly after this frenzy, General Levant came before Anson followed by a small contingent of soldiers who had looks of rage about them. Levant spoke in a quiet, almost whispered tone, “Man-of-the-Forest, I was a
lmost persuaded by you to delay the march of my troops across the river. But my officers would not hear of any postponement because they thought they held an advantage with our strategy. They wanted to cross the river straight away, then proceed with a forced march. There would be nothing to deter them, they thought. We would be ultimately victorious and rich from the spoils. But this obsession has cost many lives today, just as you had warned, Man-of-the-Forest.”
Anson was stunned at the news.
Levant studied Anson’s response, looking for signs that this man knew more than he said. Then the general described how their rafts had been cut loose in the swift water and many men drowned when the rafts broke up. More than a hundred additional men eventually did cross the Grayflood River by rowboats, but they were cut down by unseen archers at the edge of the trees, just as the stranger had said would happen. The general had no doubt now that these casualties were caused by the elves that inhabited the mysterious wood, a fighting force they had completely failed to account for despite Anson’s warning.
Levant said, “One of the sprites was caught on this side after he cut loose the tow line and caused the demise of the rafts, but he was impetuously killed without a thought to his value as a hostage or source of information. I will not make that same mistake with you, Man-of-the-Forest.”
General Levant believed that Anson was nothing more than a common man with no military bearing or affiliation, but his prophetic warning meant he knew something about the unseen enemy that caused so much havoc. He repeatedly asked Anson to reveal all he knew, but the mage dared not say more because he would not betray his companions, nor would he divulge the identity of the Elf-Lord who was reluctantly drawn into the war between Gilsum and Antrim.
Even though his life was now in grave danger, Anson had to resist the temptation to use spells to protect himself, since he would be put to death immediately upon any signs of magery. When it was clear that Anson was not going to answer any more questions, Levant ordered his hands and legs beaten by the blunt end of a pike. A soldier jumped forward immediately and began striking the prisoner with relish.
After a few rounds of painful blows, Levant asked again, “How did you know we would be attacked? How many of these elves are there? Can they fight by means other than archery? Spare yourself, man! Tell me something so the beatings can stop!” Anson tried to look up, but his head fell wheezing quiet groans from pain and disorientation.
Levant stepped closer to Anson. So that no one else could hear, he whispered in Anson’s ear, “Tell me something, you poor wretch, before these hot-headed fools kill us both for their need for vengeance!”
Anson struggled to raise his head and face Levant. With great effort, he tried to talk but could only get out a fractured whisper that the general could not make out.
“What? What did you say? Speak up, man,” the general implored.
“P...pl...,” Anson mumbled, barely conscious. The strain of keeping his head upright took all the physical effort he could manage. “Pl…please, save…your…self…” With that plea, the mage from Huxley lapsed into unconsciousness.
General Levant bit his lip and slowly shook his head. He turned to go to his tent, but before leaving he said sadly to the nearest guard, “If that man revives, refresh him with water and call for me. If he dies, bury him and leave no sign of the grave.”
Chapter 10
Plans to make
Beneath the last glow of a pink and gray marbled sunset, flickering lights marked the campfires of the Gilsum troops on both sides of the Grayflood River. On the Gilsum side, there were far fewer fires than the night before. As these men tried to sleep, they divided their thoughts between lost comrades and their own good fortune after the day’s carnage. They believed their army was too large and well-provisioned to be defeated. Yet today, these men realized their chance of dying with no way to defend themselves was more than possible, it was likely. Many wondered what odds the next day would bring.
On the Antrim shore of the river, barely twenty Gilsum survivors, none of them officers, regrouped to lament their losses and await their orders. Half of these survivors huddled around a single large campfire and the other half stood watch, nervously peering into the growing darkness for signs of a mysterious enemy which had devastated their ranks.
* * *
The spectacular sunset lingered in the western sky. Nevin tried to appreciate the beauty of it, but could not. He stared at the emblazoned western horizon wondering what was ahead for him. It was not a family farm in Ohio that lay beyond that beauty, but an unknown land called Gilsum.
So much had happened to him in so short a time. He had been willingly swept along with this adventure—the deliverance, mages, elves, trolls, an unknown agrarian society—like some sort of fantasy that challenged his scientific precepts. What he saw today was too cruel to be dreamt, too senseless to be fantasized by a healthy mind. He could not have imagined it. Gilsum was a real land. John Stryker was here, somewhere, a real man with a known history but unknown motives. Gilsum soldiers who died today were real men, hundreds of them; one of these deaths was by his own hand. It did not matter that he fought for his own or Corissa’s defense. He had killed a man. “Professor” Nevin Reasoner had taken a life in the pursuit of saving lives. He winced at the irony. Tears rolled down his face.
* * *
The sun was completely down when Corissa joined him. She was another reason this adventure could not be imaginary. He did not know what to make of his attraction to her; he had such a mixture of feelings and little experience to help him figure things out. Her relationship to King Lucan was a barrier, for sure, and he certainly never dealt with royalty before.
Corissa was also uncertain about any personal feelings for Nevin, but she felt friendship growing with him as well as Anson and Orris. She had held herself back from intimacy for a long time, but she was attracted by his gentleness and decency. Her husband would have gloated over today’s demise of so many Gilsum Guardsmen with so few losses on his side; he would have reveled in his own glory at having slain men in hand-to-hand combat. Nevin was completely opposite; he was repulsed and shamed at having caused another’s death. Could she reconcile feelings for two such different men? This was a hard question to answer, but she had reached her own conclusion that Nevin’s way of thinking, and Anson’s, was the right way. There was no defending the inhumanity and indignity brought by the war.
Nevin finally spoke, “We’ve barely started out and suffered so much, Corissa. I was beginning to question the worth of this task we had taken on until the death of these men today—so many men—for no more purpose than to say they followed orders. Will you help me stop this insanity? We have to do whatever we can to end it.”
“I will go with you, Nevin. I want to do what I can. It seems ordained that we must proceed. Zael and the elves have played their part. So has poor Gren. We have played only a portion of our role; our task is only half done. Now, you and I and Orris must cross the Grayflood to finish it.”
“You’re right, of course, Corissa. But we must find Anson first. We need him. He started this and he must finish it. As you say, it seems ordained that each of us has a stake, but there is more in this for him than just convincing Meire to call a truce. I do know how we can succeed without Anson.”
She reached out her hand and he clasped it gently.
A voice interrupted their accord. “You are a perceptive man, Professor Reasoner.”
Nevin saw a figure walking toward them from the darkness of the trees. As it got closer, Nevin recognized it was Hillister, the one Anson called a High Mage.
“What do you want?” Nevin demanded. “What do you know about this? Do you know where Anson is?”
“I want what you and Corissa want. What Anson wants. As for Anson, he did try to stop the bloodshed as you surmised. He crossed the river and made his way to their general, but as you can guess he did not succeed. He has been taken prisoner and restrained, tied to a tree by the general’s tent. Since An
son will not tell them what they ask, they will kill him soon because of their need to take vengeance. He has already been beaten to unconsciousness. He needs your help to escape and as you say, your task will not succeed without him.”
“Can’t you help us?” Nevin said angrily. “If you are a High Mage, you bastard, you can rescue Anson and help us get to Gilsum! Where were you when we needed your help?”
“I told you before, I am bound not to interfere. You do not need my help when among your alliance you have resources yet unused. You have used some powers to get across the land of Antrim, but you will have to be more resourceful when you cross the river. There is greater danger for you and dark deeds are being done in the west by a man from your land. You must stop him as well as convince Meire to live in amity with Lucan. Remember, you have potential powers at your disposal. Use them.”
“What are you talking about? Aren’t you the one with great powers?”
“While I cannot help your alliance materially, I can offer you information. Downstream there is a boat left by the Guardsmen. You can use it to cross down river where it widens and is less turbulent. Once you reach the other side, you will meet with another of my kind. Her name is Zamora. Like me, she cannot intervene but can share information as I have. If you succeed in rescuing Anson, Zamora will travel with you as an observer.”
“What would she be observing?”
“I should think you would have guessed that by now. I must leave you. Make your plans with haste for time grows short. If you do not go forth with your mission and succeed, neither Antrim nor Gilsum will know peace before their kingdoms are ravaged.” Hillister stepped back, but stopped to look directly at Corissa. “Do not hold back, Lady. You must trust each other.” With a few backward steps, he slipped into the darkness among the trees.
Nevin and Corissa looked at each other. In their eyes was the mutual strength borne of the success of their mission thus far. In their hearts was a mutual resolve to cross into Gilsum and see things through to the end.