“What can be done for these folk now? Is there water to be had?” asked Orris.
Orris’ question was the one everyone had in mind. All eyes were on Nevin as the people inched closer, showing some life at the knowledge this man expressed so convincingly. No one made a sound until the Lorekeeper stepped forward and spoke.
“Is there water, man? Is there water enough to save the Dwarves of Glorhumm?” The sincerity in his eyes belied Smeker’s gruff manner.
“Yes, Lorekeeper. I think there is water enough. It lies exactly where you said it was. It lies beneath the limestone caprock at the bottom of the cistern where your well is now. It has to do with gravity. Under the hard caprock there should be a more porous, softer rock layer that contains an abundant aquifer.”
“But Nevin, they have already dug a long way into this well with no success,” said Orris.
“Let’s check that out right now.” Nevin had Orris accompany him over to the main well where they dropped the pail until it hit the hard caprock bottom. Orris slowly pulled up the rope and Nevin measured it according to his own height. Then they carried out the same measurement of the newly dug shaft that Stryker had identified. Nevin compared the two distances and broke out in a broad smile.
“In the main well you have dug sixteen feet from limestone into caprock. My guess is it rates a seven on the Moh’s scale.” Seeing questioning glances all around, Nevin went on, “The Moh’s scale classifies minerals by hardness. Your fingernail is a two, glass is about six, and quartz is a seven—”
Smeker interrupted, “We know well about the hardness of stones, like your friend Moh. What is it you know about our well?”
“OK, what I am getting at is, if my estimates and calculations are close, it should be less than four feet before hitting an aquifer in more porous rock.”
“But Sir Nevin, even if what you say is true,” said Bekar excitedly. “It would take a week to dig a dwarf’s height if our workers were in normal condition. Now we have no one strong enough for such hard work.”
“Yes, I see that, Bekar. When first dug, your well was soft limestone. As you went deeper over many years you reached caprock that probably has a lot of quartz in it. You went from a hardness of three to seven at least, but it a marvelous feat to dig as far as you did. Perhaps Anson and I can find a way to finish the job.”
“Will you resort to magery?” Bekar asked.
“It looks like we may have to. What do you say, Anson. Any ideas?”
Anson and Nevin stood over the well and discussed how they might break through the last few feet. Anson knew of no spell for this or a similar purpose.
“We don’t have any kind of drill. Is there any way we could propel a ram or something similar at high speed,” asked Nevin. “All we really have to do is crack it.”
“The only spell I can think of that will move an object is levitation, but that spell moves an object upwards,” answered Anson.
“Couldn’t we reverse it, like we did other spells?”
“I suppose we could try, but it would not have much force to slam against the rock.”
Nevin saw the lack of force as the problem to overcome. If they could get a ram flying fast enough, they might crack the caprock. Anson was doubtful because any ram they could contrive would shatter, but Nevin reassured them it was force not hardness that mattered. Nevin explained that gravity would help their cause and tried to explain how a tornado could force a piece of straw through a telephone pole. Bekar sheepishly asked if “Gravity” was another of their friends still lost upground. Nevin sighed.
“What about Orris’ sword,” suggested Anson. “It is made of swordwood which is quite hard and it has a keen edge.”
Orris overheard the suggestion and clutched his sword protectively. “Why not ask the old Lorekeeper where he got his walking stick. It is made of the same swordwood and grows in this region. Maybe he can find you a more suitable limb that has not been fashioned into a fine weapon.”
Smeker, as expected, was hanging nearby keeping an eye on things. Nevin called to him, “Is your walking stick made of swordwood, Smeker?”
“Yes, the hardest grade that can be found. Very hard.”
Since the Lorekeeper’s status was improving by the minute, his tone had become almost friendly. Nevin still maintained a safe distance from the reach of the walking stick. “Do you know where we can get another piece about as big around as my arm or leg? I want to make a ram.”
“Yes, we hoard swordwood whenever someone finds its tree downed by landslide or such. How long should it be?”
“About as long my height, maybe a little longer,” said Nevin, his own excitement rising at the opportunity to test his hypothesis.
“I believe I can find such a piece stored somewhere. Does it need any shaping?”
“Yes! That would be important. Can you have a point made on one end with a covering of metal over it? The hardest metal possible.”
“Of course, Tall One. I take it you mean something judged harder than a seven by your friend, Moh.”
Nevin chuckled. “That’s basically right. Not iron, though. That’s only a four. I’ve seen some hard metal implements around here, like your picks.”
“Yes, you are heedful, Sir,” Smeker answered with a sly grin. “What you request shall be made for you, it shall.”
* * *
While Smeker went off to get the swordwood ram prepared, Nevin arranged with Bekar to have someone lowered into the well to remove as much of the muck at the bottom as possible. This was necessary to allow the ram to strike directly on the caprock without a cushion of soft sediment. Next, Nevin and Anson reviewed the levitation spell and calculated how to reverse it. Word of the request for a ram spread and the resident dwarves gathered around as a sense of excitement roused them from their lethargy. When Smeker returned with two dwarves carrying a seven-foot piece of timber, cheering erupted.
Nevin whispered to Anson, “I hope you can perform in front of a crowd.”
The swordwood ram was placed on the cavern floor. Nevin examined it and the metal cap riveted over the pointed end. When he pronounced it fit for duty, another cheer rose and the metal smith who contrived the cap was given a round of friendly backslaps.
Anson, meanwhile, tried to concentrate and prepare for the spell, but it was difficult for him. He remembered what Zamora had said about modifying spells and he was unsure whether to go ahead with it.
Nevin raised his hands, signaling for the buzzing crowd to be quiet.
Anson swallowed hard and tried again to focus his mind. Finally, he felt ready. After a moment’s wait, he quickly spoke the spellwords to levitate the ram. The ram obediently rose and remained suspended at shoulder height, where Anson had leveled his hands. The crowd gasped. Anson pushed the levitated ram over to the well, then spoke additional words. Steeling himself, he gave a gradual upward movement with his hand and the ram slowly turned to a vertical position, pointed end down. Once again, Anson pushed the suspended ram until it was centered over the well. He took another deep breath as he concentrated to increase his power. He canted the spellwords again, this time with one of the elements changed to reverse the levitation effect. With a sudden downward wave of his arm, the ram flew down the well and punched into the bottom with a resounding blow that echoed throughout the cavern. Anson raised his hand and the ram quickly returned to the surface. After repeating the same action two more times, Anson turned to Nevin.
“Nevin, I cannot get enough force. You must help me. You must add your power.”
“All right. Let’s try it together.”
Nevin and Anson stood side by side. They said the spell together and Anson once again waved his arm in a sharp downward motion. The ram flew with greater force and when it struck the bottom. Anson called the ram back to the surface and was ready to send it down again when Nevin shouted.
“Wait! I forgot something! Anson, hold the ram in place. Bekar, your people have to dig a narrow trench around the well. We need to run
a canal over to the second well.”
“What is wrong, Sir Nevin?” asked the dwarf leader, showing a mixture of apprehension and exhilaration.
“Nothing is wrong, Bekar. I just realized that the water under the caprock is bound to be under pressure. It has to do with the long downhill flow out of the far mountains and energy potential—but we don’t have time for an explanation! It’s just that once we break through, the water is likely to spout up with a lot of force and we could have a flood. Hurry up and get that trench dug! I’ll show you where.” Nevin then grabbed the ram and he and Anson wrested it to the floor.
Anson dusted off his hands and gave his tall friend a grin, slyly asking, “Since we are merely digging a hole, would this be considered ‘high’ or ‘low’ magery’?”
Nevin returned the smile. “Technically speaking, perhaps it is not magery at all.”
* * *
Meire, the King of Gilsum, walked along a line of troops standing at attention in the castle courtyard. At his side was a sharply dressed red uniformed officer, listening attentively. Behind them walked a taller, barrel-chested man clad in a dark green cloak.
The King spoke earnestly to the officer. “Captain Lovas, I want nothing to go wrong with this exercise. Be certain all the people are removed from the village. I only wish to make a demonstration, not lose any more lives. It would not sit well for a king to kill his own subjects, even that rebellious hoard in Stedt. And take care for the safety of your men as well. We can afford no casualties. Do you understand?”
“Yes, your highness,” the soldier replied firmly. The king nodded and walked away toward the castle’s main entrance.
“Listen, Lovas,” said the barrel-chested man who stepped forward. “Are you sure you understand all the instructions?”
The captain looked over his men, avoiding eye contact with his questioner. After giving a quick nod of assent, he asked, “May I have leave to depart now? It is nearly seven leagues to Stedt and we must leave now to make it by dusk. As you know, we cannot travel such a meager road at night. Especially with wagons.”
“Yes, yes. By all means, Lovas. Get started. But remember, once that copper spring is bathed with the nitric acid, you cannot halt the process. You have twenty-four hours to make your retreat after triggering the mechanism, give or take an hour. Be sure you have evacuated the residents where I showed you, and you and your men must be at least five miles away.”
“Five miles, Sir?
“Yes, five mi—, uh, make it at least three leagues.
* * *
Nevin supervised the digging as dozens of townspeople responded to the call from Bekar. The dwarves worked industriously with pick and shovel to crack and break up the cavern floor. Within a short time, a narrow moat was dug and a channel cut to divert excess water to Stryker’s second well.
When Nevin was satisfied with these preparations, he returned to Anson’s side. “Okay, my friend. Let’s show them what a little magic and science can do.”
“Nevin, you must recast the spell with me. I cannot do it alone.”
“All right. Let’s do it!”
Together they recanted the reverse levitation spell as they had improvised it. With a wave, Anson sent the ram flying down the well into the caprock. The vibration from the blow made their knees tremble, and some of the children grew scared and started to cry. The mage repeated the action a second and third time, but with the last blow, the ram did not return. It grew deathly quiet in the huge cavern except for the whimpers of a few children. Nevin and Anson looked at each other, puzzled by the failure of the ram to return to the surface with Anson’s command.
Before anyone spoke a word, Nevin felt a shudder reverberate in the floor. He frantically waved his hand to get everyone’s attention, then yelled, “It’s gonna blow!”
A few seconds later, there was a tremendous boom and cracking sound as the ram flew like a missile up the well shaft and impaled itself in the cavern ceiling. Following the ram was a spout of water that hit the ceiling and showered down over the people. For a moment, nobody realized what had happened. Then, almost simultaneously, everyone knew they had struck through the caprock and reached the aquifer below. The assemblage of dwarves shouted and frolicked with joy as they felt the lifegiving drops of water fall on them like upground rain. Smeker, Bekar, Swiggum and Milseth held hands as they danced around in a circle.
Orris gave Nevin a congratulatory pat but seemed a little perplexed.
“What’s the matter, Orris?” Nevin asked.
“I was just thinking. Do you think this is the first time these folks have experienced rain?”
Nevin laughed heartily. “That’s a bold scientific question, my friend.”
In a short time, the moat began to fill and people splashed each other in delight. Nevin and Anson laughed at the sight and slapped each other on the back, dwarf-style.
Orris and Corissa joined the celebration, but after a few minutes Corissa huddled them together. “We must make ready to leave in the morning,” she shouted over the din. “We cannot delay any longer. I will arrange for food and water. We should be up at first light.”
Nevin would have liked to enjoy the celebration a little longer, but he did not speak against Corissa’s urgency to return to their original purpose. He and Anson went to the hall to prepare their packs and make ready for the final leg of their journey.
Chapter 17
The Device
While the rest of the Alliance started down the dwarves’ mountain, Nevin waited at the upground entrance to the Glorhumm cavern. Bekar, Swiggum and Smeker were there to bid a short and sincere goodbye. The three dwarves did not try to convince Nevin and the others to stay, knowing their feelings of urgency for their mysterious mission. Anyway, no dwarf, with the possible exception of Swiggum, wanted to mix with human politics. These humans would always be welcome if they ever needed a place of respite or sanctuary.
Swiggum, holding his skull cap with both hands at his chest, said, “Sir Nevin, your mission is a bold one, it is; fraught with danger, I fear. Though Stryker gave the pretense of helping us, I doubted his motives. Take care should you meet. He seems a dangerous man, he does.”
“Aye,” Smeker concurred. “He struck me as a man up to no good. Bodes evil intentions, that one. I hope to never see his dark face again.” The old Lorekeeper hobbled over and used his stick to give the tall man a rap on the leg, though not as sharp as previously. “Now whenever your leg hurts, boy, perhaps you’ll remember the Dwarves of Glorhumm.”
Nevin winced but managed a smile, too, at what he assumed was a friendly gesture. “We’ll be careful. So long and thanks for the provisions,” Nevin gave them a friendly wave and turned away. As he started to leave, Bekar caught his arm. “Sir Nevin,” the dwarf leader said seriously. “About your lady, Corissa. She is not well.”
“What do you mean?”
“She is both warm at the brow and achy in the joints, she is. I told her she was welcome to stay for the rest she needs, and the children did not want her to go, but she would not hear of it. I gave her some medicine to ease her ills, but it is a bitter herb. You must see that she takes it morning and night or she will not last the journey to Taunton.”
“Thank you, Bekar. I’ll see to it,” Nevin replied, already aware that Corissa was not herself for the last few days.
Nevin scurried down the mountain trail to catch up with the others, torn between the conflicting concerns of Corissa’s health and the imminence of their arrival in Taunton. When he reached them, Corissa was last in line. He caught her arm to stop her, his look of concern evoking a mild protest.
“I know you are worried about me, Nevin, but I will be all right. I have a bit of the grippe is all,” she huffed.
“A bit of the grippe is it? Look, Corissa, we have a tough trek ahead of us and we need you. You have to take it easy—” Nevin started to admonish her.
“You are like a mother bird, Nevin! I said I will be all right.”
“Wel
l, excuse me for caring. What would you expect, anyway? I’m just the dimwitted troll half-breed who doesn’t know any better. At least let me carry your stuff,” he crabbed.
That brought a weak smile to Corissa’s face, who handed over her parcels lest he should insist on carrying her next. “And if it will make you feel better, half-breed—tonight you can rub the soreness from my feet as well.”
* * *
Captain Lovas ordered his men to assemble in Stedt’s village center. After taking a count to assure all his troops were present, he barked to his second in command. “Windt! Take your squad and follow these villagers to see they remain secluded in the designated place. Our orders are to be sure all of them stay on the far side of the next mountain. Take your wagon and dole out the King’s wine and staples in a timely fashion so they will have incentive to remain with you. Let none of them out of your sight before noon tomorrow.
Windt saluted and quickly joined his squad of four soldiers. One of them mounted a wagon, its box half laden with bundles and large clay jars sealed with wax. A stout draft horse responded immediately to the slap of the reins and the wagon creaked as it moved off. After a few minutes, they were out of sight headed down a narrow, rocky ledge of a road that connected the village of Stedt with the adjacent mountain.
Captain Lovas turned to his final task in this remote highland village. This isolation was well suited to the independent thinking of the locals, as they were known for their rebellious ways. When they refused to send any more men or goods for the war effort, King Meire had little choice but to make an example of them. Whatever demonstration the King had arranged for these townspeople was their own doing. Lovas went over to one of the remaining wagons and started removing the tarpaulin that covered the Device.
Lovas knew very little about the contraption they kept under cover. However, he did know it was too heavy to lift off the wagon, being made primarily of lead. This meant he would have to leave a perfectly good wagon behind, which he considered terribly wasteful. He even went to the trouble of reinforcing it to stand the heavy load. When he had the tarpaulin completely removed, his remaining men gathered around to stare at the metal apparatus. Shaped like a large milk can, the Device was about three times as tall as it was in diameter. A lid was permanently bolted on the top, securing its mysterious contents from view. Fastened to the lid was a spring-loaded metal arm with a glass jar covering the spring mechanism.