Zael and Brune were still nearby, partially obscured by the vegetation. Nevin could not make out what was said between them, but Brune responded with a stoic look and a sharp nod of his head. Zael placed his hand on Brune’s shoulder and touched his face. It was a moment of intimate regard between a sovereign and his subject, but it looked more like a stern father acknowledging affection for his son. Nevin later learned that Brune was indeed the Elf-Lord’s oldest son. Zael walked slowly away toward the tree line where his archers were hidden. Brune steeled himself before spinning to face the opposite direction, toward the river. After a deep breath, the young elf dropped to the ground and crept in a serpentine path toward the bank. As Nevin watched, he could see that Brune was heading toward the spot on the near shore where the soldiers had anchored the trolley rope for the rafts. The rope was tied to a small tree trunk driven in the ground like a stake.
On the far side of the river, the two rafts bobbed in the current as they were securely held by the hefty tow line. Gilsum troops started stepping cautiously onto the huge rafts. It only took several minutes for both rafts to be loaded with at least one hundred men each. Nevin saw that the men wore their armor and carried their weapons, evidently to make the logistics of their move more efficient. Because both rafts were secured with a single rope strung through stanchions, the swift current tried to push the crafts together, while men used poles to keep the crafts from bumping into each other. Their task became increasingly difficult as the number of passengers added up. A man gestured wildly trying to organize the soldiers in order to balance their weight and keep the rafts stable.
The rafts were ready to leave. Under the direction of an officer, a column of men started pulling the rope in unison as they moved slowly away from the far shore.
As the first raft reached the half-way point across the river, the trolley rope bowed further from the strain of the current but still remained secure. The second raft moved a little faster, almost pulling even with the other. For both crafts, water flowed over the sides as the leading edge dug in and out of the current. In time, the rope pullers better synchronized their task so the rafts maintained a safer distance from each other. The passengers apparently were instructed to stand in place and endure wet feet because they stood still as statues. Rows of soldiers remained steadfast, many of them using their pike to form a tripod with their feet, which enabled them to maintain their balance as they bobbed in the current. There was no conversation among them. Travel by water under these conditions was not a pleasant experience for these land soldiers, as evidenced by the fearful expressions on many faces.
The first raft was three-fourths of the way across and the second was at mid-stream when shouts broke out. On the near shore, the anchor rope came loose and whipped like a snake as it flew through the stanchions of the closer raft. With the tow line loose, the pullers shouted alarms. Many of the passengers started shuffling around, making the raft more unstable. Some of the pullers were upended into the water as they tried to hold on to the flying rope.
On the far shore, crowds of men quickly gathered at the water’s edge but were helpless to aid their confederates because of the depth and cold temperature of the water.
The first raft was now floating free, picking up speed with the current. Some soldiers jumped off in panic as the raft lurched further from the shore, guessing they could swim the relatively short distance to the bank. Many others made the mistake of scurrying around on the bobbing raft trying vainly to find something secure to grab. Shouts of panic rose as more and more men were either thrown or knocked into the water. About half of the passengers were still on board when that raft hit a souse hole and broke apart, all going under.
The men on the second raft had more success holding on to the tow rope. A quick-thinking soldier wound it around some stanchions, preventing the raft from coming completely free. This remaining raft bobbed in the current with one end of the rope still firmly fixed on the Gilsum bank. It looked like that raft would stay secured until it hit a large eddy-producing boulder in their path. With the collision, it tipped to one side and men tumbled into the water terrorized at their peril.
Armored soldiers could not overcome the disadvantage of their excess weight. Others without armor were no less panicked by the turbulence, but some of them flailed enough to get to the shore. While a few made it safely out, the stark coldness of the water incapacitated many more whose numbed bodies impaired their efforts to fight the current. It was certain that less than a tenth survived overall.
Lost in the chaos of the moment was a smaller commotion on the Antrim shore. A small group of soldiers converged on the area where the trolley rope had been tied to the stake. Spears and swords went into action as Brune was discovered after he cut the trolley rope. He had no chance for escape.
Nevin watched the entire scene with horror as all these men and one elf went to their deaths with virtually no chance to save themselves. “I’ve never seen anything like this before,” he gasped. “It’s horrible craziness. A senseless waste.”
“It is war, Nevin. You said yourself this confrontation could not be avoided.” Corissa’s explanation was not meant to be consoling, only realistic.
Nevin bristled, disturbed that she did not seem to feel the same as he did.
Corissa tried to get him to look at her, but he could not take his eyes from the scene. She shouted at him, “Is it more horrible to kill your enemy by a watery death or a sword? Soldiers know that death stalks them. There is little they can do about it when their time comes.”
Nevin shot a look at her, angered by her justification for this carnage. “Maybe you are right, Corissa. These men may be helpless, but we are not. We can do something about this. We have to! Anson tried to do something and he’s probably going to die for it, if he’s not dead already.” A lump grew hard in his throat. “If he dies from this madness, we cannot let him die in vain. We must go through with his plan so this will not happen again! You do see that, don’t you?”
“Nevin, please—”
Nevin hid his face from Corissa and the massacre, leaning weakly against a tree. Still, the horror of the moment would not abate and he grew angry again. He lashed out again at Corissa, refusing to believe someone could try to justify these deaths. “More dies here today than these soldiers, Corissa. These men have parents and wives and children—and part of them dies, too. The ones at home still have to go on with what’s left of their lives, but they will never be the same. They will never be whole again. If we have it in our power we must stop this from happening again.”
She was stung by his words. Bitterly stung. She could not face him. She wanted to tell him, scream at him: Don’t you know that I lost my husband this way? He died in a battle he had no chance of winning, yet he still chose to die with his men for honor and fealty to their King. With his death I lost my husband and I have honored him by not allowing another to take his place. How could this be wrong? How could you say that their honor—and my honor—was so foolishly misplaced? The answer to that unspoken question bit with deep throes of grief for herself and the wives of so many soldiers who died today and before. Nevin and Anson are right after all. War serves dire purposes. The changes wrought by war are only degrees of misery.
Stunned by confronting her own grief, Corissa realized that part of her had died with her husband. The way she chose to live with that prevented her from fulfilling what life she had left. She could not face Nevin now; he had hurt her, even though she knew it was not out of cruelty. She pushed her face against the tree that shielded them and lost the control she had built up over the years. She cried at her loss. She did not want Nevin or anyone else to look upon her during this moment of private pain.
Nevin had paced several yards away, supporting himself by stretching out a hand against a small tree. Leaning over, his head bowed, he was unsure whether to be sick to his stomach or sick to his heart. He cast a glance back at Corissa, who was still reposed in her grief. Instinctively, he left her alone. Aft
er confronting her as he did, and seeing how it had ignited painful memories for her, it was best to let her work through it.
Corissa’s heartbreak was only one of the things that set him reeling. Many had just died horribly, given almost no chance to defend or save themselves. Brune sacrificed his life in a most gruesome way. Anson was still missing and if not dead already, he soon would be. Their meager, poorly planned mission was floundering. Nevin had never experienced anything like this before and his mind quailed at the thought that moments like this were a way of life for soldiers. It did not matter whether the place was Gettysburg, Viet Nam or some other far-flung land called Antrim. In a way, these were all places of fantasy to him, but not for those in uniform fighting for the cause that brought them to those places.
* * *
Across the river, the great stir to rescue anyone who managed to get near the shore was over. It took a while for the shouts to subside as those in command instilled order. Here and there men dotted the far shore, their arms whirling as they threw hooks from long ropes to snag bodies floating in eddies or hung up on rocks. Nevin sadly surveyed the scene, wondering what recourses were being considered, since no army could suffer such an assault without thoughts of retaliation. Movements along the opposite shore soon revealed the next step.
Four small bands of troops appeared at widely dispersed points. Each band had gathered around a small rowboat. The boats each had two sets of oars, which meant the craft could carry a few troops plus two oarsmen. The boats were quickly loaded with as many soldiers as would fit, what looked to be about six to eight per boat.
Muted, vengeful shouts echoed as the boats shoved off, the men at the oars rowing mighty strokes to overcome the current. It was not long before each boat made it successfully across, unloading their passengers while two remained to row the empty boat back to the other side. When the boats returned to the Gilsum shore, they were loaded again and the process repeated with a new set of oarsmen. By the fifth trip, about one hundred soldiers were mustered on the Antrim side of the river. On the sixth trip, two of the boats went out of control and capsized from white water hazards. The remaining two boats stayed on the Antrim shore, the transport of soldiers done for the moment.
Nevin heard the rising shouts as the newly arrived soldiers met with the few who were already across. The voices were so clear and tinged with violence and anger that Nevin tried to hide further behind heavy ground cover. It was still early in the day, so the possibility of more armed conflict suddenly loomed possible.
Following another shout of orders, the troops massed and formed into a company at the spot where the trolley rope was tied. After posting a dozen guards, the soldiers broke into smaller units. Only a low murmur of a few voices sounded as they moved about, befitting the loss of so many comrades. The tone was mostly somber except for voices raised in anger and frustration that seemed to come from one particular area. Nevin stared from his hiding place, trying to make out what was happening. It finally hit him that Brune’s lifeless body hung from a tree and many of the soldiers stepped up to it and cursed him for what he had done. From snatches of comments and conversations, Nevin understood that their anger was doubly roused because their comrades were defenseless in their demise. This was a bad way for a soldier to die and these men were boiling for hand-to-hand combat to make up for their comrades’ indignity.
Even though Nevin had no experience in military matters, he figured it would be a mistake to let such emotionally-charged men go so soon into battle in unfamiliar territory with an unknown enemy. Heated emotions would make them prone to tactical mistakes. If their officers had any knowledge of psychology, they would wait a day. The action taken against them was a defensive one, so their unseen enemy could be made to wait. As a little time passed, it became evident that there would be no practice of psychology this day.
Nevin continued to watch from cover when the red-shirted Guardsmen mustered into formation again. The soldiers straightened their uniforms and gathered their weapons as they assembled into a close-order squadron, obviously eager to start out. Upon receiving orders barked at them by an officer, they spread out into a long double file that faced the edge of the Wood. Why they would take this formation was a mystery to Nevin, unless their intent was to secure a swath into the wood and clear the way for the rest of their army to follow. On command, the double line moved forward with pikes, spears, swords and a few crossbows at the ready.
The advancing line was not headed toward Nevin’s position, but the movement was still frightening to him. There was no way of knowing what would happen next, but it looked ominous. Nevin could hear his heart pounding as the red uniformed men shouted and brandished their arms to signal their coming. When the double line of soldiers reached within twenty feet of the tree line, a volley of bowstrings echoed like a hundred violins. A rain of arrows flew from the trees. Archers hidden among branches and ground cover had simultaneously responded to a command only they could hear. Most of the arrows hit their marks and men fell with groans and screams of agony. Within seconds, another flight of arrows hit their marks and more men fell. The ranks were broken as twenty or so soldiers who escaped the arrows retreated to the shore. Many of the fallen continued to moan until stilled by death or unconsciousness. It only took a few scant moments for the whole grisly scene to occur.
Nevin stared at the carnage, unbelieving that death and mortal injury could come so quickly to so many. He winced from shock from the sight. At that instant, a pike whizzed past his shoulder and lodged in a tree. He nearly panicked at the sight of the quivering spear just inches away, then immediately shook off this threat when he realized Corissa was not with him. Nevin ran, clutching his staff and calling to her. She answered, still lying low at the spot where he left her. He ran toward that spot but just before he reached her, a Gilsum soldier with blazing anger in his eyes charged out of the brush toward him, followed by a second man. Nevin thrust his staff at the first, who had become careless in his rage and knocked off balance. Nevin drove him to the ground with a blow to the midsection.
The second soldier grabbed Corissa as she kicked and flailed at him with her dagger. Without breaking his stride, Nevin ran at them. Swinging his staff nearly a full circle, he cracked the soldier squarely on the side of the head, dropping him as if shot.
To the left, a third soldier appeared from behind a tree with a sword pointed at Nevin’s breast. This man was apparently more experienced and did not foolishly rush headlong into hand-to-hand combat. There was no reckless abandon as he circled about Nevin looking for an opening. Nevin realized he had the advantage from his extra strength and height, so he charged. Using his staff to divert the sword, he grabbed the much shorter man by the collar of his uniform, tossed him to the ground and jumped on him.
As Nevin wrestled with the third soldier, a fourth appeared with a pike ready to throw as soon as he fixed on a target. Deciding to leave Nevin to his comrade, the fourth man took aim at Corissa who was backed against a nearby tree. Before the solder could release his weapon, he was grabbed from behind by Gren and felled by a single blow.
Corissa had gathered her senses and saw Nevin rolling on the ground with his attacker. The soldier had used some well-placed kicks to take down Nevin and had recovered his sword. In three strides, she was beside them. Without hesitation, she plunged her dagger into the man’s neck as he made ready to dispatch Nevin.
The droll stood over the man he had felled and let out a terrible roar as he picked him up with both hands and hurled him against a tree, resulting in a ghastly crunch. Gren glowered over the broken man and shook his fist, unaware that the first soldier had recovered and approached from behind. Gren issued a hushed groan as he fell forward to the ground with a pike sticking in his back.
The soldier who speared Gren came into view and cursed the fallen droll before turning to Nevin. This last standing soldier was now unarmed, as was Nevin. On the ground between them was a dropped sword. After an eternal pause, Nevin was the first to rea
ct and ran toward the weapon. Once again, his height was an advantage as he took two long strides, retrieved the sword and drove it into the breast of his adversary. The force of Nevin’s thrust made the man’s eyes bulge and mouth gape in painful astonishment as he was driven backward against a tree, where the sword impaled and held the man upright.
Corissa rushed to Nevin’s side and took his arm to turn him away from the sight that had him paralyzed with horror at what he had done. The danger was over for the moment, but the signs of their combat were everywhere. Three Guardsmen were dead and a fourth appeared so, and Gren lay fallen with a spear in his back. Two elves arrived and started tending to Gren. They struggled to remove the pike and feverishly tried to treat the bleeding wound. Nevin felt a glimmer of hope that Gren would be saved, but that was lost in his growing realization that he, himself, had killed a man. Zael and Orris came running up.
“Well met, Sir Nevin,” said Orris. “This is a day the Gilsum army will not forget.”
“Nor us, my friend.”
Chapter 9
Prisoner
Earlier that day, Anson screwed up his courage to go forward with his plan. He was on Gilsum soil for the first time in his life. He knew of no hiding places or havens, so he decided his best recourse was to walk straight into the Gilsum camp and seek an audience with the commanding general. It would not be difficult to find the main camp, for a thousand soldiers made a noticeable mark on the land. Anson walked inland a short distance then took a course parallel to the shore.
The landscape on the western shore of the Grayflood River was much less forested than the Antrim side. Occasional copses were clustered with small trees but the terrain was predominantly scrubby undergrowth. What cover there was did not do much to disguise Anson’s approach as he neared the outskirts of the camp. The nearness of the camp had become evident well before any soldiers were seen. The noise of workers moving equipment, preparing meals and receiving orders allowed Anson to measure his approach.