Douglas Niles - Circle at center

And how many more nights would pass before she had her revenge?

Her dark thoughts propelled her, gave strength to her legs and wind to her lungs, as the small band fled through the long day. Finally, as night approached, the column veered to the side. Belynda saw the vague outlines of a bluff rising from the woods, and then she saw a darkness that was surely a cave mouth.

All of those realizations faded away as she saw a familiar figure step into view.

“Nistel!” she cried, rushing forward to sweep the stubby gnome into her arms. She felt a sharp pain in her throat, and then her eyes were spilling tears, her mouth making strange, sobbing noises. The gnome, too, was sniffling, and when finally they stepped apart he blew long and hard into his handkerchief.

“I thought you were slain,” she said softly. “I am so glad to see you.” She stroked his long white hair, fussed over the spectacular bruise that blackened one cheek and eye. “But how did you escape?”

“I, er-I went to get help for you, and ran into Gallupper first. We were going to look together when we, um, found Tamarwind here. He introduced me to Natac, and I told them what had happened. They went to look for you.” Blinker burst into tears again. “Oh, lady-I wanted to go too, but they were too fierce. Gallupper and I waited here for you.”

“I understand,” Belynda said gently, deeply touched by the gnome’s devotion. Such loyalty… surely it had lain within him for years. She had sensed it, had come to take it for granted. “There’s no doubt that you saved my life,” she added, feeling a rush of affection for her assistant of so many years. He was more than that, surely! Belynda laid a hand on Blinker’s shoulder and looked into the moist eyes. “My friend.”

She saw Gallupper standing shyly just beyond, and looked up at him with fondness. “You, too, young centaur… you are the bravest of your clan, for you resisted the summons of evil. The knight has used powerful magic to bring warriors into his ranks-I know, for I felt that power myself. You did the right thing by staying away.”

Gallupper embraced her, and she sensed that he was holding back sobs, no doubt tormented by the knowledge that most of his clan, the family and friends of his life, had been thus corrupted.

Having received Natac’s permission to build a few small fires, the band of warriors made camp around the mouth of the cave and spread out to gather around the smokeless blazes. Tamarwind and Natac joined the sage-ambassador and Nistel as they shared a loaf of dry bread, washed down with sips of cool water drawn from a nearby stream.

“How far away from the camp did we get?” Belynda wondered.

“Fifteen miles, or more,” Tam offered. “Owen and Fionn and the giants are waiting back a mile or two, ready to give warning if they’re pursued.”

Abruptly the elfwoman turned to Natac. Her emotions had cooled, but the ember of hate still burned in her soul and she confronted him frankly. “You had that knight, Sir Christopher, right before you-and yet you didn’t kill him? Why not?”

Tamarwind’s eyes widened at the question, and Nistel gasped. Natac, however, lowered his eyes and shook his head. “I hesitated, Lady Ambassador, out of the memory of my own training. In battles such as those waged by Tlaxcala and Mexica, we never tried to kill the enemy commanders. Of course, we would capture them, if possible, and offer their hearts as sacrifice to the gods-but that was not a battlefield death.”

“And now you know that those gods do not exist!” she retorted.

Natac winced. There was some kind of deep sadness in his eyes that made Belynda regret her harshness. “Yes, I do know that. And as I think about it now, it seems that I might have accomplished much good by slaying the knight on the point of my sword. But in that, I failed.”

“Forgive me… You came to rescue me, to save my life. In that you succeeded, and for that heroism I owe you all. It is churlish of me to-”

“No!” the warrior interrupted. “You are right to speak to me of my errors. I must learn, and you must teach me what you can. We must all be teachers, and students, if the Nayve you love is to have any chance of survival.”

Belynda shook her head. “I can teach you nothing of war, except that perhaps now I understand the fury that can drive people to slay others. For in the case of that knight, I want very much to see him dead.”

“Why are you so determined?” Tamarwind asked hesitantly. “Did he hurt you?”

Anger surged again and the elfwoman whirled on the scout, ready to spew all the reasons for her hatred. But during her next intake of breath she saw the concern on Tam’s face, realized the hurt she would cause him, and Nistel, if they knew the truth of what had happened. Furthermore, she felt a sudden, engulfing shame that choked her throat and froze her tongue. She vowed that she would never reveal what Christopher had done to her, not to Tamarwind or anyone else.

“I… I could sense the power of his evil,” she began lamely, but then found more conviction as she continued. “He is the root of the violence in the Greens, in all of Nayve. If he didn’t kill Caranor and the other enchantresses, then the killers were his minions, operating under his orders.”

Even as she spoke, she formed the conviction in her mind: Christopher had certainly been the agent of Caranor’s death. She recalled the spark of worry she’d felt when she hadn’t been able to contact the enchantress through her seeing globe. Now that spark had grown into a blaze greater than any conflagration she could have imagined. And the knight would die, she vowed-but she would find a way to kill him with her own hand. It was not only a mistake, it was a great wrong, to expect Natac or someone else to do this task for her.

“He bears the Stone of Command, and is using it to bind the soft-willed among our people-and goblins, centaurs, and giants as well-to him. He tried to use the stone on me… I think it is only my long years as a sage that gave me the strength to resist.”

The others were still pondering her statement when they heard a soft sound from within the cave.

“Excuse me… Are you elves?”

Tam and Natac leaped to their feet, the warrior with his sword extended toward the shadows. Three figures moved slowly forward, to be gradually revealed as they approached the fire.

“Dwarves!” gasped Tamarwind Trak.

“And a goblin!” Nistel added, pointing at the figure that held back from its two companions.

The dwarf in the lead was heavily bearded, and carrying many items of equipment, including a spear that was pointed toward the ground. A thick rope was coiled from his shoulder to his hip, and a hammer and cleaver swung from his belt. Other less readily identifiable implements were slung from various parts of his tunic.

The other dwarf was a female, full-breasted with a pretty face that was quite round by elven standards. She carried a knapsack and several waterskins and strode confidently beside the male. When they paused near the fire, she took his arm in her hand.

The goblin grinned foolishly, at last coming around the dwarves so that he, too, could absorb some of the fire’s radiance. He nodded his big head atop its skinny neck, snuffled loudly, and then spoke to the dwarves.

“See. I tole ya. Here we are. Dis Nayve, I’m bettin’ fer sure.”

“I am Karkald and this is my bride, Darann,” said the bearded dwarf. “And this is Hiyram.”

“Did you come from the First Circle?” Belynda asked in wonder. There were no dwarves on Nayve, though the inhabitants of the Underworld were known from legend and the teachings of druids, who had observed them through the Tapestry. “How did you get here?”

“We climbed, at least we two dwarves did,” said the male. “For more cycles than we could count. Ever since the great quake.”