Circle at center sc-1

by Douglas Niles

  Belynda suddenly broke away from Tamarwind Trak and made a dash for the knight’s tent. Natac managed to seize her wrist as she ran past. With surprising gentleness he pulled her back, until Deltan and Tamarwind had her again.

  “We don’t have time for that!” the warrior whispered, following her. “We’ve got to move!”

  And then they were running, the three humans and a dozen elves fleeing the camp of many hundreds. A roar quickly rose behind them, and Belynda knew that the battle was far from over.

  K arkald looked at Darann, the expression in his eyes urging her to remain utterly silent. She nodded, then looked past him, again staring into the ravine where the rocks themselves seemed to be alive, crawling steadily along the floor.

  But those numberless marchers were not rocks, Karkald knew. They were Delvers, an army of the Blind Ones that trailed into a column more than a mile long through winding cavern and trackless vault.

  “See-there, they goin’ up!”

  To Karkald, Hiyram’s voice was a blaring trumpet, though actually the goblin spoke in a breathy whisper. In any event, the Delver horde continued its inexorable march, working its way up the steep ravine toward another cave, still higher in the darkness.

  Karkald knew it was time to back away from here. His hands outlined in gentle coolglow, he signed that Darann and the goblin should follow him. Only after they had wormed through a hundred feet of passage, leaving the large cavern far behind, did they begin to relax.

  And so it had been for a full interval, now. Here, as they had done every few cycles, they had found a vantage from which to spy upon the marching Delvers. Always the Blind Ones had been moving upward, climbing through the complex network of caverns that honeycombed the world over the First Circle.

  “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.

  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.”

  “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.”