Douglas Niles - Circle at center

At last, a tenday after the ferry landing, the road broke from the canopy of the trees, and the elves cheered up at the sight of the Lodespikes rising snow-capped and jagged on the horizon. A few days later the lower ridge known as the Silver Crest came into view, and they knew they had almost reached Argentian.

“Ah-you can smell the Sweetwater in the air,” Ulfgang said with a delighted sniff.

Tamarwind, too, noticed the fresh air that was the harbinger of Argentian’s great river.

“About time,” Wiytstar sniffed. “I was beginning to think this journey would never end!”

Tamarwind was no longer irritated by his companions’ complaining. Instead, he cheerfully led the way in booking them passage on the Balloon Fender. They boarded the riverboat, relieved that the arduous part of the journey was over.

This was a vessel of wood, though, like the druid raft, it was powered by magic. Several elves took turns at the helm, a pair always playing flute and harp. The music flowed into the single sail, and eased the craft down the cool, clear water. After the Darken Hour magical lanterns sparkled into light along the rail, and Tam found himself relaxing into a mood of serene contentment. Ulfgang curled up near the flautist, and barely moved for the three days of the voyage. Trees, somehow softer and brighter than the looming trunks of the Greens, flanked each bank, and the river swept through many curves, always providing a new vista.

The city of Silvercove, Argentian’s great capital, came upon them suddenly, towers of marble and silver rising among the trees to form a network of balconies and houses swaying above the top of the forest. Songs from a variety of gardens and plazas wafted over the water, somehow mingling with the music of the flute and harp into a mellow symphony. Massive arkwood trees rose far above the oaks and pines that carpeted most of the verdant city. Vines drooped from the numerous arching branches, some of the tendrils extending nearly to the water along one bank or the other. Flowers of many colors brightened the vines, and lined the boughs of many smaller trees.

The riverboat passed under an arched span of colored glass draped in ferns, one of the two bridges spanning the Sweetwater. Shortly thereafter, the Balloon Fender nudged into a small harbor, poking between several other blunt-prowed craft to nestle in a dock formed of gnarled roots. The twisting branches perfectly matched the gunwale of the ship, and like the missing piece of a puzzle the riverboat came to rest against the shore of Silvercove.

Beyond the dock stretched a broad, sunlit garden of hedges, fountains, and flower beds. Nearby, fish were arrayed on a linen cloth. Taken by the fishers, the catches were placed here for any hungry elf desiring to take one. All around there were cafes and inns, each with its own musicians, each playing its own song. Tamarwind was struck by a sense of familiarity, knowing he’d been hearing the same songs from the same places for hundreds of years.

At ground level the city was a maze of tree trunks and the bases of the high towers, so, after debarking from the riverboat, Tam’s companions disappeared from view in a matter of moments. Ulf was trotting back and forth along the docks, and the scout was in no particular hurry to start for his own solitary residence. Instead, he ambled along with the dog, taking in some of the sights.

A dozen boats were anchored here, and an equal number of slips were empty. Elves puttered here and there, some mending sails and scrubbing decks with mundane means, others patching hulls or weaving rope with the use of simple craft spells. Such magic, Tam knew, was the special province of elves, the reason his people could make the greatest creations, the most beautiful artworks, in all the Seven Circles. It was an ability in stark contrast to the crude natural power of druid magic, the kind of incantation that could raise a raft from the sea bottom, control the wind, or repair the damage wrought by a landslide.

“Back from the Big City, I see.” The friendly voice drew Tam’s attention to the door of a cozy inn, a single-room tavern that occupied the base of one of the city’s lofty towers.

“Deltan Columbine… good to see you, my friend. I trust your life is unchanging?” Tam couldn’t resist a laugh as he said the words, for if there was any elf likely to explore new avenues, to experiment, to create, it was this one.

“I have enough to keep me busy,” the poet and teacher replied. “Come have a cup with me, and share the story of your journey,” Deltan continued, inviting Tam into the inn. “I need some diversion.”

Tamarwind remembered with a flash of guilt the way several of the delegates had complained about this young teacher. Even if his methods were a trifle unorthodox, the scout could find no fault with him-Deltan was a genial and talented elf, and his students were undoubtedly the better for having studied under him.

“I didn’t realize you traveled with a dog,” Deltan said as Ulfgang followed Tamarwind toward the light, airy tavern.

“This is Ulfgang. Lady Belynda has asked him to help out with a local problem.”

“That name!” Deltan’s eyes sparkled. “You saw her, then?”

Tamarwind nodded, blushing, and thrilling to his own memories.

“Well, greetings to you, Ulfgang-and come in, both of you,” offered Deltan. “I must hear more.”

Ulfgang was willing enough to experience another inn. They settled at a small table outside with a good view of the water, the elves ordering mugs of wine and the dog a dish of fresh milk.

“So what’s this desire for distraction?” Tamarwind asked curiously. “Are you getting tired of the monotony of Silvercove life?”

“Actually, I’m at work on a new epic… and it’s not going very well.”

“Did you finish your last project, about the adventure to Loamar across the Worldsea?”

Deltan shook his head. “No… I started a fresh work. It’s an adventure about a crossing of the Worldsea-to Lignia, this time. But I got a hundred lines into it and feel as though I’m writing the same thing I wrote last year.”

“Maybe you need a bit of travel,” Tam suggested.

Deltan shrugged. “Perhaps… It’s been too long since I’ve spent time out of the city. I envy you, my friend-journeys to the Center, and back.”

“And we’re off again tomorrow, at least I am,” Ulfgang said, turning to Tam. “Though I’d rather hoped you would come along.”

“Certainly,” Tamarwind said. “The fields of the hill country are some of the prettiest lands I’ve ever seen.” Noting the curiosity on Deltan’s face, he explained. “We’re going to see about the shepherds-the dogs that are supposed to be watching the cattle and sheep. It seems that they’ve been negligent about doing their jobs lately.”

“It’s more than myself and some dogs that are getting restless, I must say,” Deltan observed. “If you’ll note, there are more boats starting up the river… all of them carrying young elves, and some of them never intending to return.” He used his chin to point out the window.

Tam saw that two riverboats were even now departing, and each was crowded with passengers-perhaps thrice the number that his own boat had carried on the return trip to Argentian. “Where are they going?”

The teacher shook his head. “I don’t know… toward the Greens, for the most part. But I can’t imagine that so many are joining the clans of the Wayfarers. In truth, it’s a trend that’s become pronounced over the last several years.”

“I haven’t noticed,” Tam admitted. “Though perhaps because I spend most of my time in the countryside.”

“None of Argentian has-at least, so far as anyone wants to admit,” Deltan countered. “You know how it is: We want things to stay the same as they’ve always been. Perhaps it’s just because I’ve worked with so many of these youngsters that it’s come to my attention. But they’re leaving even before they reach the breeding age.”