Douglas Niles - Circle at center

More centaurs and several giants charged into the stream, and the druids hastily churned the water high, driving the aggressive Crusaders back to their shore. But Natac could only watch in helpless dismay as Darryn Forgemaster was lashed to the back of a big centaur. The blacksmith was hauled away even as the magic torrent churned through the streambed with renewed force.

The elves from the battle at the inn, battered, sooty, and defeated, streamed onto the causeway in the wake of the fleeing gnomes. Owen, Fionn, and the giants fell back from the bridge as Natac, too, joined the rearguard. A minute later they formed a living barrier across the terminus of the causeway, the Tlaxcalan standing with Rawknuckle Barefist and two other giants, as well as the other two human warriors, and Karkald and Tamarwind.

The Crusaders milled about at the bridge, hesitating to follow, and quickly Natac saw why. Churning out of the darkness came a solid front of black armor and swirling, vicious blades. The eyeless dwarves attacked like an unthinking, unfeeling machine. Sensing where the lake waters blocked them, directed by the shouts of their leader, the Delvers intuitively formed a wedge and drove down the road straight onto the causeway. They advanced shoulder to shoulder, a wall of steel breastplates and helmets. Every dwarf clutched a blade in each hand, and these deadly short swords whipped back and forth in front of the line like so many slashing scythes.

Natac stabbed and parried, with a lunge driving his blade through the breastplate of a Delver’s armor. Any further thoughts of aggression were curbed as he saw his companions forced back to either side, with the Unmirrored continuing their advance unimpeded. It quickly became clear that the only thing they could do was retreat faster than the Delvers could follow.

And so the warriors of the rearguard withdrew toward the city, staying just out of reach of those deadly swords. Around midnight, near the middle of the causeway, the eyeless dwarves finally abandoned the pursuit-to be safely underground by the Lighten Hour, Karkald speculated. Exhausted and wounded, the battered defenders could only look across the lake, where the flames still consumed the Blue Swan, and smoke and fire seemed to rise into the sky as a funeral pyre for the world.

Natac stood in the prow as Roland guided the Osprey into the sheltered cove. The stars sparkled above them, and the night was so still that the sailor had used a wind of his own casting to glide them silently, quickly across the lake. By following a circuitous route, tacking far in the direction that was neither metal nor wood, then approaching this anchorage along the lakeshore, the Osprey had avoided the heavy Crusader galleys that controlled so much of the water.

“That’s half of the job,” Roland said in a hoarse whisper as the boat glided to a halt within a few paces of the grassy shore. “And if we can get out of here before dawn, I can outrun those hulks back to the harbor.”

“I’ll be back before then,” Natac promised. “I hope she’ll come with me…” He sighed and shook his head.

“I know,” Roland said sympathetically. “But she’s always lived here… and who knows how much longer-” He stopped, but the question lingered in Natac’s mind as he slipped into the shallow water and waded ashore. He heard a splash behind him as Ulfang, too, sprang from the deck. The white dog swam to the shore and then, conscientiously turning away so that the warrior didn’t get sprayed, shook himself vigorously until he was nearly dry.

Roland whispered encouragement and then, with the aid of his small crew, pushed off. Natac knew he would keep the Osprey waiting in concealment against the Tlaxcalan’s pre-Lighten Hour return.

Natac and Ulf climbed the hill to Miradel’s villa. Still the night yawned around them, vast and utterly still. Far away the lights of Circle at Center blinked across the city’s expanse. Great houses and fabulous museums stood outlined in yellow illumination, while the fortified towers at the ends of the causeway were surrounded by the bright, white light of coolfyre. Even at this distance the Metal Highway stood outlined in clear relief-and Natac knew that, on the other side of the city, the causeway on the Wood Highway was similarly protected.

The camps of the enemy armies were for the most part invisible from this vantage, but he knew that within the valleys and lowlands along the shore there were ten thousand or more fires burning. The blazes marked the great city-camp of Delvers and Crusaders, the two armies that, in uneasy alliance, had worked so ceaselessly to breach the defenses of Circle at Center. The sprawling encampment had, through the years, grown to include the shoreline ends of both causeways, effectively cutting the city off from the rest of Nayve. Preventing those attackers from gaining a foothold on the island had become a life’s work for the Tlaxcalan, and it was a task that had no foreseeable end.

But now Natac’s thoughts turned inward, a mixture of melancholy and delight as he and Ulf approached the white-walled villa. Candles and torches glowed around the outer walls. Halting just beyond the periphery of brightness, Natac knelt down and looked into Ulfgang’s bright, intelligent eyes.

“You’ll keep an eye out here?” the human asked.

“All night,” promised the dog. “I’ll be a ghost on the hillside.” And just like that he was gone, vanishing into the shadows to commence a circuit of the slopes below the villa.

Natac climbed into the corona of light surrounding Miradel’s house, following the path toward the wide front stairway. He was not surprised when Fallon met him at the top. The elf, as always, had been keeping watch-indeed, Natac wondered if he ever slept. Now Fallon spoke very quietly.

“Warrior Natac… I thought it would be you. She is waiting.”

“Thanks, old friend. How is she?”

“The same.” The elf’s eyes were sad, and Natac touched him on the shoulder, then crossed the veranda to enter the house.

He saw her immediately, sitting upon a wooden chair near the fireplace. A blanket, a weave of many bright colors, was pulled over her thin legs. Her face was a relief map of wrinkles, creases radiating until they met the scalp of snowy white hair.

But the smile that brightened her face was as familiar to Natac as his own skin. And her eyes of violet, still as bright and colorful as they had been on the night so long ago, when she had sacrificed her own future to bring him life here in Nayve, pierced his heart with that mixture of joy and sorrow that seemed always to mark his visits to the villa.

“Hello,” she said, almost shyly.

“Hello.” His voice was thick, and he leaned down to kiss her on each cheek. “You’re as beautiful as ever.”

“And you’re as big of a liar,” she said with a tart laugh. “The Goddess knows, I can barely lift myself out of bed on these chill Lightens. But come, let’s eat-and talk.”

He helped her up, let her lean on his arm as they walked, very slowly, toward the large wooden table. As he did upon each of his visits, he noticed now that her steps seemed shorter, her stance more frail and halting, than ever before. Her hands trembled slightly, an effect he had witnessed in the elders of his birth world, but something that seemed monstrously out of place in Nayve.

“It has been a long time since you visited,” she said, and though there was no accusation in her tone, he felt a stab of guilt.