Douglas Niles - Circle at center

“A dog?” Tamarwind looked skeptical. Wiytstar, meanwhile, seemed stunned into speechlessness.

“He’s very well-schooled, I assure you. And it could be that he has some insight into the current problem.”

Still dubious, the elves of the delegation regarded the great canine. Ulfgang strolled up to them and sat on his haunches, turning chocolate eyes toward Belynda.

“You heard some of the concerns, about digging… and uncontrolled, er, procreation,” the elven ambassador began. “Can you tell the delegation what you have learned?”

“Hmph… yes.” The dog smacked his lips and passed a long tongue back and forth around his narrow snout. “It seems that there has been a… well, a discovery.”

“You mean-something new?” demanded Wiytstar, his pale face blanching even whiter.

“Hmph, hmph… yes, in a sense.” Ulfgang shook his head once, then looked at Belynda again. As gently as possible, she encouraged him to continue-though she herself was not keen on hearing him once more articulate his shocking revelation.

“It seems that the discovery-there’s no easy or delicate way to say this-Some of the dogs have discerned an effect-my apologies, I hope you understand-of a certain ingredient found in the dung of some of the larger herbivores.”

“Dung?” Wiytstar looked as if he was about to faint. Fortunately, the matronly elf took his arm and guided him to a nearby bench.

“Precisely. The effect seems to be, er, that a dog who rolls in the stuff becomes virtually irresistible to a prospective mate. At least, this is the case among the uneducated hounds of the countryside. Unfortunately, the discovery of such a powerful aphrodisiac, a discovery which has occurred in several parts of the Circle, has had an untoward effect on the population of my people.”

“But-but this is awful!” the petite elfwoman spluttered. “Nothing like this has happened before!” The others gasped in sympathetic furor, exchanging worried looks.

“Do you have a suggestion for what we can do about it?”

Belynda gently prodded Ulfgang with the question. Unlike the other elves, she had been trained to search for solutions. The delegates, so unaccustomed to anything resembling a problem, would most likely only dither and cluck disapprovingly.

“I have a suggestion.” The white dog smacked his jowls a few times, waiting until he had the attention of the elves. “I could go to Argentian, out to the pastures, and have a word with some of the shepherds. They’re not educated, of course, but they’re usually a pretty responsible sort of dog. With a little persuasion, they should be able to keep the riffraff out of the fields.”

“Could you?” asked Wiytstar, momentarily enthused. As he recovered his dignity, his expression grew bland. “That is, please do so.”

“It would be a pleasure,” the dog replied, with a polite dip of that white-tufted head.

Belynda knew that Ulfgang wouldn’t mind making the trip. For all his refinement, he enjoyed the company of the simple, uneducated dogs of Nayve-and there were very few of those to be found in Circle at Center.

“And when will he come to Argentian?” asked the wire-thin elfwoman, turning to the sage-ambassador.

“He will travel with your party, of course,” Belynda snapped, allowing a hint of her true power to glare from her eyes. “Now, I assume you will stay for a few days before you commence the journey home?”

“Of course, Belynda-my lady Sage-Ambassador,” declared Tamarwind smoothly.

“Ahem.” Wiytstar spoke hesitantly. “There is the other matter…”

“Certainly.” Belynda was terse now, tired of the complaining, seemingly helpless elves. “As to the problem of rambunctious children, I have counsel for you: The recent census shows that we have an unusually large number of offspring in their development just now. The condition is temporary, but will persist for several more decades. The solution, of course, is to wait.”

“Wait. Yes, of course,” echoed the elder male from his seat on the bench. This was a tactic that he, and every other elf, could understand.

“We thank you for your response,” Tamarwind added. “It has been a pleasure to see you in the Center.”

“And to have you visit, as well,” Belynda replied. She wondered fleetingly about the children that she and Tamarwind had parented-he undoubtedly encountered them now and then in Argentian. Too, his company had been pleasant. In fact, she had considered herself fortunate to have mated with one she could also befriend. The elfwoman went to his side as the other elves turned their attention back to the fountain, which once more blossomed into a wide-winged imitation of flight.

“Perhaps we could have a chance to visit more informally,” he said politely.

“I’d like that. Why don’t we meet for the evening meal?”

“I’m at your disposal.” Tamarwind was clearly pleased by the suggestion, though his features remained carefully cool.

“Meet me an hour before Darken at the Mercury Terrace-the one beside the lake.”

“Very good, my lady.” Tamarwind smiled and bowed. Belynda once more felt that flush creeping upward from her throat.

Accompanied by the regal dog, who went along to make some travel arrangements, the elven delegates withdrew from the garden. Finding that her irritation had only been increased by the meeting, Belynda turned up the hill, climbing toward the Senate.

She thought momentarily of teleporting back to her chambers and was surprised at her own impatience. Chiding herself, she resolved to take the long way, walking the whole distance. The rays of the sun, spilling from straight overhead, now seemed harsh and unrelenting. The white columns along the facade of the grand structure sometimes reminded her of ghostly trees, yet now they seemed more like the bars of a dungeon, or the wall formed by some kind of gigantic fence.

She hadn’t taken a hundred steps when she saw Nistel coming down the path, and she forced herself to take a seat and smile in welcome as the gnome approached. Yet as he drew closer she quickly perceived that the friendly overtures passed unseen by her frowning, preoccupied assistant.

“Blinker-what’s wrong?” she asked, using the gnome’s nickname as he halted before her.

Stammering, he shifted his weight from one curl-toed boot to another. “My lady-it’s trouble! Real trouble!” he blurted.

Belynda’s stomach churned as she tried without success to imagine what could be causing his agitation.

“They’re talking about it in the Senate already, and I came to find you as soon as I heard! It’s Caranor-she was found by a centaur!”

“She’s fine, isn’t she? What was her news?” Belynda stammered the questions, dreading to hear what Nistel would say next. She remembered her sense of unease when she had been unable to reach the sage-enchantress earlier that day.

“She’s not fine,” the gnome said, with a grim shake of his head. “She’s not even alive anymore! And the centaur said she was killed by fire!”

N atac was acutely conscious of his erection, but only gradually did he realize that, somehow, his loincloth had been removed. Perhaps he wouldn’t need the garment in Mictlan. But, except for the pervasive darkness, this was nothing like the realm of death he had always imagined-or that the priests had invariably described.

Primarily, there was that female aura, a scent that seeped into his pores, that had brought him to this profound arousal. He tried to reach out, sought the touch of womanly flesh, but he felt no motion in his arms or legs-Indeed, it was hard to recall the reality of limbs, of sight or sound or other sensation.

There was only the compelling smell and a massive, pulsing desire.