Douglas Niles - Circle at center

It was some time before the surface was dry, with the exception of a few standing puddles. Then the human slammed the butt of the staff to the ground, and the rock raft advanced, sliding smoothly through the short distance between itself and the shore. Finally it nestled against the rocks of the coast, and the druid gestured to the elves, signaling that they should advance. The Argentian delegates came forward hesitantly, but Ulfgang showed no reluctance. Indeed, the dog bounded onto one of the shore rocks, then sprang through the air to land on the raft. As the elves stepped cautiously aboard, the dog was already racing back and forth, sniffing at the puddles, splashing through, then shaking himself in the midst of a shimmering cascade of spray.

The druid made no acknowledgment of his passengers as he stalked regally from the shore across the surface of his raft. Tam knew this was not because of rudeness. Rather, the human needed to maintain his full concentration on the magic-a focus that he would maintain throughout the twenty hours required to cross the strait.

The other elves maintained a proper separation, each party finding a vantage somewhere around the edge of the great raft. The giant, however, didn’t seemed to understand the propriety of this, for as soon as he had tended and hobbled his ox, he strode around the flat surface of rock, his bearded head thrown back, his great bucket of a mouth wide open as if to gulp down the sea breeze. He spoke to one of the silent elf couples, but neither slender, yellow-haired figure made any response. Apparently undaunted, he ambled toward Tamarwind and Ulfgang, who were watching the sea just a few steps away from the huddle Argentian elves.

“ ’Tis a great day for travelin’, or my name’s not Rawknuckle Barefist!” the giant declared, his booming voice thundering in sensitive elven ears.

Still, after the refined and dignified company of the elves, Tamarwind was surprised to find that he welcomed the garrulous approach of this fellow traveler. He looked up at the giant, smiling as he saw that he-a tall elf-came only to the middle of the big fellow’s chest.

“Yes, it is, good sir,” the elf replied, as Wiytstar pointedly looked away. “Do you, too, follow the Metal Highway from Circle at Center?”

“Aye, but only for a few days from the far landing.” He tilted his chin in the direction of metal, toward the stately raft’s destination. “My lodge, ’tis in the Greens.”

“A good road through there,” Tam remarked, remembering the smooth highway flanked for unending miles by tall trees. In places, great leafy branches arched over the broad road.

The giant scowled, apparently at some private memory. “Y’know, ’tis not the same as it used to be,” he suggested, with the gravity that flavored any talk of change in Nayve.

“How so?” inquired Tamarwind. He thought back to his own recent trip, on the way to Circle at Center from Argentian. The only unusual feature had been an inn that was closed down, which forced them to walk an extra few miles one day.

“Well, this:” the giant replied. “On my outbound leg I found meself a nice clearing for my bed. Wouldn’t you know but that a lot of elves-fellows like you, only scruffier… like they lived outside-came out from the trees and told me to move on. Said the clearing was theirs-in the Greens, it was!”

“And so you left?” Tam asked, startled by news of the confrontation.

The big traveler shrugged. “There were twelve of them-and I wasn’t in a mood for a fight.”

“I’m glad,” answered the elf, with an appraising look at the brawny shoulders and tree-trunk legs.

“But it was a vexation, for all that. And who ever said anyone could own a part o’ the Greens?”

“I never imagined,” Ulf put in.

“Whoops, there-did ye speak, dog?” Rawknuckle scowled suspiciously.

“Well, yes,” replied Ulfgang.

The giant nodded. “Well, and yer right, too. Who ever imagined such a thing?”

The giant appeared to have worked out his irritation, and for the next few hours engaged in pleasant conversation with Tam and Ulfgang. He even offered the dog a swig from the firebrew that he finally dug out of his pack. Ulfgang declined-wisely, it turned out, as Tamarwind instantly regretted the friendly impulse that caused him to take a drink of the burning, stomach-churning draught.

Rawknuckle showed no discomfort, and finished the bottle himself. He spent the rest of the crossing snoring prodigiously, a rumble that at its peak drowned out the sounds of the wind and the water spilling away from the majestic raft. Most of the elves, accustomed to silk sheets and fine inns, spent an uncomfortable night on the wet rock of the raft-though Tam, for his part, found that he enjoyed this night spent under the stars. For hours he watched the shifting patterns of the dazzling lights, and finally, with his knapsack for a pillow, drifted off to a few hours’ sleep.

By the Lighten Hour the far shore was a fringe of green on the watery horizon. A few hours later the raft lodged itself against a bank that was dense with forest. Birds and monkeys chattered in the treetops, and a fringe of undergrowth choked the ground along the shore. A traveler’s inn called the Hooting Squirrel stood at the landing, and from here the Metal Highway scored a straight line into the woods.

Given the early hour, most of the Argentian elves felt like continuing on, and the party immediately resumed the trek along the road. Rawknuckle, too, announced that he would be off immediately, and Tam hoped to enjoy the giant’s company for a few days. However, the big fellow set a rigorous pace for himself and his oxcart, and soon disappeared down the tree-shaded road.

The elves maintained their more deliberate progression, and Tam found himself increasingly irritated with their lack of speed. It wasn’t that he was particularly anxious to get to Argentian. More to the point, it was the company of these stultifying traveling mates that was grating on his nerves. Once he understood that, he made it a point to swallow his impatience, and face the routine of the trip with at least the outward appearance of serenity.

Ulfgang was little help. Now that they had reached the Greens, he seemed to come alive. He dashed through the brush, occasionally returning to the road so that Tam could remove burrs and brambles from his fluffy coat.

“You know, the woods are really much more open once you get past the fringe along the road,” Ulf said. “You could come with me-we’ll explore!”

Tam only laughed at the preposterous notion. Though his feet were tough and his muscles hardened by the recent weeks of travel, he had no inclinations to make himself extra tired. And the journey through the Greens passed without further incident, except that the elves were somewhat flustered to discover three inns that had closed, instead of the one that had been shut down the previous cycle. Each of these was boarded up, and the party hurried past the vaguely forbidding facades.

The innkeepers they met at other establishments were as mystified by the closures as were the travelers. “They just closed up one day and vanished into the woods-no word on where they went,” was the routine comment, before the host invariably steered the conversation around to more mundane matters.

This lack of information didn’t surprise Tamarwind. He knew that all these wayside inns, as well as the occasional smithies, farms, and orchards they passed, were the holdings of Wayfarer elves, and they naturally tended to be somewhat clannish. These were people who claimed none of the elven realms as a homeland, but instead drew their heritage from the long lineage of a particular, and large, family. Each displayed its family tree, a detailed chart going back ten or twelve generations-all the way to the Dawning, in most cases-on the wall of their inn’s great-room.