Douglas Niles - Circle at center

Now Belynda felt a focus, a direction for the energy and agitation that had disrupted her sleep and brought her, awake and alert, into the garden. She looked fondly at Tam, gently caressed Ulf’s head and ears. She smiled at Deltan Columbine, saw that he stood taller, looked sturdier, than she remembered him. “You are very brave… all three of you. You must have been in terrible danger.”

“Actually, we did face down a giant,” Tam admitted, huffing slightly in embarrassment. With a shy grin he reached behind a bush to bring forth a stout spear, the weapon a good deal longer than Belynda’s height. “Ulf bit him, and I bopped him over the head-and then I took this away from him.”

The sage-ambassador was appalled at the tale, and she squeezed her hand tightly around Tamarwind’s arm. “Please-you must try to be careful!” she declared.

“I will. In any event, there won’t be any giants around this warrior’s villa.”

“Actually, it’s my friend’s house. Miradel is her name, and she will know where your company can make camp.”

“Can you show us the way to Miradel’s?” Tam asked, again smiling bashfully.

Belynda was strangely touched. “I will take you there in two days-there’s something I have to do, first.”

Natac and Miradel sat on the veranda, watching the lake turn purple as the sun receded overhead. They had eaten a splendid meal of cowsteak and beans, which Miradel had cooked together in a mixture of spices that still tickled about the warrior’s palate. With a few whispered words of magic, Fallon had cleaned up after the meal and retired to his own apartment. Now the elf strummed his lute there, and the gentle chords swirled and soothed through the growing night.

The druid and Natac had just spent long hours in the dark room, where she had displayed for him many pictures of humans using swords-for contests and combat alike. As he had been doing for many days, Natac practiced the moves he had seen, whipping his own blade around with speed and grace. Their session had closed with an hour spent watching the unarmed warrior who had unknowingly taught Natac so much. This man of the Orient was adept at the use of his hands and feet, and by now the Tlaxcalan had learned to exactly mimic his remote teacher’s movements.

Tired from the exercise, with his full belly seeming like an anchor as he sat in a comfortable wicker chair, Natac felt his eyelids start to droop. He sighed, and leaned back, watching as more and more stars came into view.

“The time is coming, very soon,” Miradel said suddenly.

His tiredness vanished in that instant, for he knew exactly what she meant.

“I will be ready,” he promised. He looked across the starlit vista, the sparkling lights of the city across the lake, the placid evening lying still and comforting about them. The promise welled up, and he thought of a yellow hummingbird. Unbidden, the vow came again to his lips.

“I will be ready.”

B elynda strode to the rostrum with every appearance of confidence, though inwardly she suddenly quailed at the prospect before her. The reality suddenly struck her like a blow: How could she expect to get this hidebound body to accept her warnings and, even more difficult, to actually take action in the face of danger?

For better or worse, the Grand Forum of the Senate was half empty. Belynda was not surprised, for despite an announcement of this special session having been sent to all the delegates, any break in Nayve’s routine was not likely to stir up a great deal of interest. She saw one friendly face and smiled at Nistel, who had done a good job of gathering the most influential gnomes. It had been her faithful assistant, too, who had helped her spread word among the other delegations in Nayve’s ruling body. She looked for Cillia, but the statuesque druid was nowhere to be seen.

At the last minute Quilene, mistress of the enchantresses, arrived in a soft twinkle of light. The elves accepted her teleportation with typical aplomb, but the gnomes on the nearby benches stared, goggle-eyed, at this evidence of powerful magic.

Only one giant, the rangy Galewn, had bothered to attend. And she saw that the goblins and faeries had not sent even a single delegate. Most distressing, however, was the sparse attendance of her own people. Barely half the members were here, and of these only one-the venerable Rallaphan, who all but dozed on his stool-came from the districts within Circle at Center.

Tall Praxian and rotund Cannystrius had taken their stations, and now both of the speakers of the Senate looked at Belynda. Each had a nervous expression, despite valiant-and obvious-attempts to appear aloof and unconcerned.

“Peoples of Nayve,” began the sage-ambassador, allowing her eyes to scan the entire chamber. Curiosity about the impromptu session, if nothing else, drew all eyes to her. She knew that she would have to startle them in order to make any headway toward persuasion, so she forced herself to speak very loudly.

“The Fourth Circle is entering a period of dramatic change. We face unprecedented dangers, threats of violence and destruction such as our world has not known in ten thousand years. I come to you now with a plea for action-we must organize, and prepare to defend ourselves against a horrible foe!”

Audible gasps and murmurs of disbelief punctuated her statement. Elves exchanged nervous looks while the gnomes chattered excitedly. Belynda saw that Blinker was holding forth among his comrades, that his companions were looking at him with expressions bordering on awe. Also interesting was the reaction of Galewn, who leaned forward on his stool to scrutinize Belynda skeptically. Quilene surprised her too, as she rose to her feet and raised her hand to her chin in the indication of one who wished to address the Senate.

But she saw more as the elven faces hardened to regard her with frank suspicion, even distrust. Old Rallaphan was glaring in open hostility. Perhaps she had miscalculated… perhaps she should have taken more time in describing the threat, before making her plea for action.

Praxian and Cannystrius exchanged nervous glances. After a moment it was the latter who rose, waddled forward, and curtly gestured for Quilene to proceed.

“I am glad my sister sage has brought this matter into the light,” the enchantress said. “For she states the conclusion of all among my Order. We have been striving to come to grips with an array of very dire portents, each seemingly more grim than the last. It is time that we take action.”

“Portents, dangers, threats!” mocked Galewn, standing and planting his hamlike hands on his hips. “Tell me, old woman… what are the portents? Where are the dangers?”

“In the Greens,” Belynda retorted sharply.

She was surprised when the giant bit back the outburst he’d been about to make. “Explain,” he demanded.

“A wild human lives there. He has corrupted elves and centaurs, even giants. He bears a powerful talisman that I believe to be the Stone of Command. This stone was held by the sage-enchantress Caranor, one of those who was killed by fire. It is powerful magic, for it can influence and weaken the will of all who behold it, or even sense its presence. I have spoken with witnesses who saw these outlaws burn a druid who was tied to a stake in the ground.” The blunt description of violence brought the chamber to a stunned silence. “Her death was painful, and horrifying,” Belynda concluded sternly. “And the wild human has declared his intent to bring the same fate right here, into Circle at Center!”

“Who are these witnesses?” demanded Praxian, standing tall and glaring down at Belynda.

She had already decided that she would not mention Ulfgang’s involvement-the haughty elves would immediately disdain the report of even the most educated dog. “Tamarwind Trak, a scout from Argentian. And one Deltan Columbine, a teacher and poet, also of my home realm.