Douglas Niles - Circle at center

“See,” Hiyram repeated through a drooling, triumphant grin. “Like I tole ya, they always goin’ up.”

Karkald nodded. “How far away is it now, to Nayve?” he asked Hiyram.

The goblin scratched his bald, wart-covered head. “Let’s say climbin’ for ten, twenty more cycles. Maybe some more and maybe some less. Maybe then we see.”

The dwarf nodded. This was more or less the same response that the goblin had been giving since the couple had made his acquaintance an interval ago. Even so, the goblin’s vague predictions had more basis than Karkald’s own wonderings, for Hiyram, at least, had seen the world called Nayve and its brilliant sun.

“We have to get there first,” Darann said firmly. “The Fourth Circle is a world that has known nothing but peace… the elves and their neighbors will have no preparation for a horde like the Delvers.”

“We will,” Karkald said, his own conviction strong in his voice. For a long time he had wavered in his own mind, but now he knew they had no choice.

Another truth lurked beneath the surface of his awareness: He felt a profound curiosity about this new world, the Fourth Circle. The whole notion of the “sun” was a compelling idea in its own right. Coupled with a plenitude of food and a great mixture of thriving races, the image in his mind became a goal that pulled him steadily onward. Axial was gone, in his mind if not in Darann’s, and Nayve promised the hope of peace and a future, a place they could perhaps even make a permanent home.

After a too-brief rest, they started out again, following paths that diverged from the main cavern followed by the Delver army. Hiyram was a good climber, and seemed content enough to stay with the two dwarves.

Some uncounted number of cycles later they paused for a bite of dried fungus and water. The coolglow had faded so that each of the three companions was a bare ghost in the darkness. And then it was that Karkald noticed the phenomenon before them, a glow of powerful brightness originating beyond a few more twists and turns of the cave. He stood, and Hiyram drew a long, snuffling breath and nodded.

“A breeze,” Darann said in wonder. She, too, sniffed the air. “And so many scents.”

But Karkald’s attention was all on the brightness. He was aware of the others trailing behind, but he made his way as quickly as he could, scrambling over rocks and through a shallow streambed. Rich moss coated the boulders, and he squinted against the steadily growing illumination.

He came around another bend and he saw it, finally. He was looking out of a cave mouth, into the shade of a forest. But everywhere there was dazzling brightness, flowers aglow as if burning, shafts of sunlight sparkling through the thick limbs overhead.

He had found it. He had reached the land of the sun.

Belynda ran beside Tamarwind, but looked over her shoulder as they neared the woods. Her eyes blurred with tears, anger and frustration combining to fill her with anguish. By the Goddess, she wanted him dead! And Natac had refused to kill him!

Vaguely she saw speeding shapes coming closer, realized that the centaurs were galloping toward them from all parts of Sir Christopher’s camp. Something flashed across her vision-arrows! Abruptly the galloping centaurs halted, one of them tumbling to the ground and others cursing or grunting in pain.

Then Belynda and her rescuers reached the trees. She saw other elves around them, elves with bows and arrows. These archers fired another volley, and the stinging missiles drove the rest of the centaurs into a hasty retreat, a pair of them dragging their wounded comrade by his human arms.

But more of Sir Christopher’s cohorts closed in, sweeping around the centaurs to form a line in the clearing. They brandished clubs wildly, and many waved crude, stone-tipped spears. The Knight Templar, now carrying his great staff, was in the lead.

“There they are!” shouted the knight, his voice a thundering roar. “Tools of Satan, minions of the she-witch. I compel you, Crusaders, in the name of God-kill them!”

Immediately five hundred throats echoed their leader’s cry, the wave of sound hitting Belynda like a physical blow. Her anger still burned, but for the first time a new possibility intruded into her mind: She had her proof now. She should carry testimony to the Senate, should alert Circle at Center to this very real threat.

“Go!” cried Natac, shouting to Tamarwind and Belynda. “Get away from here-we’ll hold them off!”

“No!” roared a fresh voice. “We’ll hold them!”

The sage-ambassador was stunned by the sight of a burly giant swaggering through the woods. Her first thought was that they were trapped, attacked from behind before they could make their escape. She was stunned when Tamarwind let out a whoop of recognition.

“Rawknuckle! Rawknuckle Barefist of the Greens!”

The black-bearded giant grinned darkly, greeting the elf with a gentle tap on the shoulder-a tap that sent the laughing Tamarwind stumbling to the side.

“What’s going on?” Natac demanded, sword drawn, his eyes on the looming newcomer.

“We’re friends o’ yours, and enemies o’ that lot!” snorted Rawknuckle, gesturing to the Crusaders, who were rushing closer. “Now, let us through!”

“My pleasure,” Natac replied, standing back as fully two dozen or more giants lumbered out of the woods after Rawknuckle Barefist. They bellowed fearsomely, and the mob of startled Crusaders hesitated as they were confronted by this new threat.

“Now-hit ’em while they’re mixed up!” shouted Owen. “Rout ’em with a Viking charge!”

“Yes!” Natac agreed instantly. “Stay here with the sage-ambassador!” he barked to Tam, as Owen and Fionn rallied the elves.

They swept from the woods in a quick rush, following the giants into the clearing. Belynda saw that there were many more elves here than the dozen or so who had rescued her from the camp. The two big, shaggy men and Natac led them in the attack, while others-following Deltan Columbine’s instructions-drew back long bows and launched steel-headed arrows into the mass of the Crusaders.

“Take the fight to them!” roared the Viking.

“For Ireland!” shouted the other human, his voice a bellow cutting through the chaos.

Those two brawny humans were clearly bold warriors. One bore a club, the other a staff-and with these weapons they cracked the heads of the elves and goblins who had skidded to a surprised stop in the face of the charge. The giants, too, kicked through Sir Christopher’s warriors. Rawknuckle swung his club and landed a crushing blow to the face of an enemy giant. Other elves rushed forward, wielding staves and a few stone-headed spears.

The shocking attack was too much for the disorganized Crusaders, and the mob turned as one and raced away. Under Natac’s shouted order, the giants, humans, and elves on their side halted almost immediately, then quickly started falling back toward the woods. Before they reached the trees, Belynda, Tamarwind, and the elven archers had already started away from the camp.

They moved in single file, along a trail. Though the sage-ambassador gasped for breath in her effort to keep up, she would allow no slowing of their pace. Deltan Columbine was directly before her, and Natac was right behind.

“Where’s Tamarwind?” she asked anxiously, when she couldn’t find the scout among the small portion of the column within her view.

“He’s picking out the path,” Natac said. “He is the captain of this company, and seems to have a good head for directions.”

“Tam… captain?” Belynda was nonplused. So many changes… and then her memory hardened again. Of course the world had changed-she herself had become a key instrument of that transformation just the night before.