Douglas Niles - Circle at center

“The quake?” Tamarwind did some mental arithmetic. “We felt that here-that was five intervals, half of a year ago!”

“Intervals… ten per year,” Karkald mused. “They must be the same thing here as in the First Circle. We have forty cycles per interval… is that your pattern, too?”

“Forty days per interval,” Tam replied.

“Days are when you see the sun, right?”

Hiyram sighed. “I tole him about the sun, but he don’t believe… even saw it today, from cave.”

“It was terribly bright, even from inside,” Darann observed.

Belynda nodded. “Welcome to the Fourth Circle,” she said. “Please enjoy the warmth of our fire, and share our food.”

The three travelers wasted no time in sitting down, and were clearly famished-they ate as much bread as they were given, and quickly devoured the apples and dried meat that other elves, attracted by the visitors, brought over to the fire to share.

After they had eaten, the dwarves told their story. Karkald began bluntly.

“I regret to tell you that we bring warning of a grave threat to your world, an army on the march from our own circle, bringing the promise of violence and destruction.”

“You speak of the Unmirrored Dwarves, the Delvers?” asked Belynda.

“You guess correctly, wise elf. We fled the First Circle because of two things,” Karkald explained. “The attack of the Delvers, which drove us out of our home, and the destruction of Axial because of the quake.”

“Axial… gone?” asked Belynda. The great center of the Underworld was known to her only by reputation, but that reputation invariably labeled it as one of the great cities of the Seven Circles.

“At least… it looked like it disappeared,” Darann said, despair written across her features. “We could see the lights from the watch station, until the earthquake. Then there was just the darkness.

“And the Delvers were already on the march?” asked Natac.

Karkald replied. “They number in the thousands, and I believe their original objective was Axial. But in that they were thwarted by the great quake. Since then they have turned their march upward, through the midrock. We last saw them three or four cycles ago, and they did not have far to go before they reached the surface.”

“What are these Delvers like?”

“They wear armor of metal, and carry sharp blades in each hand. They fight shoulder to shoulder, and advance in an unstoppable line. Their master is an arcane called Zystyl.”

“What is an arcane?” Natac probed further.

“They are the cruelest, and mightiest, of the Unmirrored,” Karkald explained. “Arcanes are chosen for the talents of their senses… they are sightless, but possess the ability to feel the presence of living beings. There are tales that each arcane is tested at a young age… that they immerse their mouths and noses in molten steel. The effect layers the jaws in metal, and burns away the outer portion of the nostrils-presumably to enhance the creature’s sense of smell.”

“I only know that Zystyl is the most frightening thing I have ever seen,” Darann said with a shudder. “I thought of ending my own life when it seemed as though I would be his prisoner.”

It was a somber group of travelers that settled down for a few hours’ sleep, knowing that they would be back on the march even before the Lighten Hour. Tamarwind suggested that Belynda have the most comfortable bed they could find, a small, mossy niche between the burls of a great oak’s roots. Someone lent her a cloak she could use for a pillow, and Tam offered his poncho as a blanket. Nistel, Tamarwind, and Natac were all nearby.

In the darkness the sage-ambassador could not get warm, despite Tam’s heavy poncho. She shivered under the chill import of two grave threats now converging on her world. The future was as dark as the night, and seemingly equally dangerous.

Belynda tried to encourage herself. At least her testimony would force the Senate to confront the reality of the Crusaders. Nayve would have to take action! And the presence of the two dwarves would certainly provide evidence of their own story.

Even so, pain was everywhere in her body as she settled against the ground. And when she slept, too briefly, that pain twisted its way into her dreams, bringing nightmares that jolted her awake and left her trembling, anxiously praying for the sun.

T o Zystyl’s ear, the army of Delvers moved not so much with a cadence of marching feet as with the soft, scuffing slither made by thousands of leather soles. For this stretch Kerriastyn led the way so that the army commander could stand off to the side and experience the passage of this great horde.

First sense was in the sound, of course. For an hour he had relished the almost liquid noise made by the army’s passage. Considering their numbers, the Delvers were in reality very, very quiet. Occasionally a stone would rattle through the cavern, or a warrior would grunt or rasp for breath over a tricky part of the trail, but for the most part there was just that sibilant, dry rasp of moving feet.

And the smell of the army was a profound pleasure. The arcane absorbed every spoor, of sweat and grime, of urine and feces and blood and the hundred other taints that marked individuals and groups within the great mass of dwarves. If the sounds of his army established its vastness for the commander, then the smells individualized his men, brought them closer to him. Of course, he often reached out to touch the Unmirrored warriors as they passed-a pat on a shoulder, fingers stroked over an eyeless face, an arm firmly squeezed. Each contact provoked a shiver of pleasure in the dwarf so honored, and it reassured the leader that his role was secure.

Beyond the physical sense, Zystyl also perceived his men through the power of his arcane being. He felt the powerful hunger in all of them. Most pronounced, of course, was the yearning for food, for warm meat that would fill bellies and slake the gnawing aches that had thus far characterized this campaign. But he sensed a hunger for war, as well, and for violence and torture and plunder. He knew that once they reached Nayve and found enough food for a few good meals, his army would be once again ready for war.

No other Delver leader could have engineered such a march, Zystyl knew with pride. Kerriastyn was a skilled enough arcane-she had proven adept at finding a good, wide route through the caverns of the Interworld. But the female had no sense of the grand plan, and she lacked the power to bend a thousand wills to her own desires. In truth, she was content to let Zystyl lead, and as long as she remained that way, he would be content to let her live, and to use her skills in whatever way he desired.

Lost in his musings, Zystel’s attention snapped back to the present as a soft murmur of noise whispered along the line. The column slowed to a halt, and the captain was already making his way beside the file of men. By the time he reached the head of the line he knew why they had halted, though Kerriastyn told him, anyway.

“Smell the air… and feel its movement against your face. There are living things before us.”

“Nayve!” hissed the captain.

“I think you are right,” Kerriastyn said, a remark bordering on impudence. Still, in his excitement Zystyl would let it pass.

“Advance with caution!”

Now the two arcanes led the way. The cavern widened around them, and myriad new odors were carried on the gentle breeze. A number of scents were tantalizing, promises of food and nourishment. Others were strange, rich and unusual but not unpleasant. The cavern opened still wider, the Delvers pushing through a curtain of ropy strands that were clearly some kind of vegetation.

Abruptly Zystyl’s sensations were overwhelmed with heat, searing pain that scorched his skin and drew an involuntary scream from his throat. He heard Kerriastyn, beside him, similarly groan. Together the two arcanes tumbled backward, through the screen of vegetation into the tolerable coolness of the cave.