Conscious now of time passing, she made her way to the terrace. The streets were crowded, as they always were just before the Hour of Darken, but the crowds gave way readily at the sight of her sage’s robe. She found Tamarwind waiting before the terrace, leaning on a railing above the lake with his back to her. Touching his arm as she joined him, Belynda suddenly felt comfort in the physical contact with another person. Her fingers lingered for a moment as he turned around and smiled broadly.
“No prettier sight in Nayve than twilight across the lake,” he proclaimed, putting his own hand over hers.
“Indeed.” Belynda tried to relish the beauty, saw the fringe of darkness cresting the mountainous horizon as the sun began to recede. Highest of all the summits was the Anvil, with its flat, gray-black top and the narrowed neck of cliff below the broad summit. Now the fading of daylight had rimmed that massif in purple and vermillion, a combination that should have been breathtaking.
Instead, she felt only that pervasive numbness.
“Shall we get a table?” the sage-ambassador asked, trying to sound bright.
“I’ve reserved one-though I think it was your name that got us the location,” Tamarwind said with a smile.
She kept her hand on his arm, and he seemed to welcome the contact as the black-robed host-a tall elf with an expression of utmost serenity-glided across the plaza to give them a small table at the very edge of the terrace. The lake, now a brilliant lavender, sparkled and lapped below them.
Several officious gnomes brought glasses of iced water and presented each of them with a loaf of warm bread and dish of sweet butter. Tamarwind gawked at the splendor of the surroundings, permitting himself a smile of pleasure as he inhaled the aroma of the fresh bread. He took great pride in ordering an Argentian wine from an elven steward, and informed Belynda that it was a vintage regarded as one of the finest in Nayve. “Though of course each vineyard in the Fourth Circle has different strengths and weaknesses,” he allowed.
“Hmm… I’m sorry.” Belynda was embarrassed. “What did you say?”
“It’s not important,” Tam replied seriously. “But something is, I can see. What is it that’s bothering you?”
She drew a breath, collecting her thoughts even as she tried to answer the question. “I learned that Caranor died… by fire.”
“Caranor the sage-enchantress?” Tamarwind’s eyes widened. “How could that happen?”
“No one knows… she was mistress of fire, of all the elements. And yet she and her house were burned to ashes.” Even as she described the news, Belynda couldn’t bring herself to believe that it was real.
Tamarwind thoughtfully chewed on a piece of bread. He turned to look at a nearby table as a ripple of laughter wafted through the soft air on the terrace. Belynda looked too. The eight diners there were dressed as elves, in robes of green and white, but there were distinctive differences: These people were slightly larger than elves, and had as many different hues of hair color as there were individuals at the table. A woman at the end had tresses of flowing red, while near her sat a stout maid with short brown hair. Two men and another woman had hair with various shades of lightness, but none approached the gilded blondness of elven locks. Another man and two women had hair that ranged from chocolate brown to the purest black but was tightly kinked, complemented by a rich dark skin color.
“Druids, aren’t they?” Tamarwind said, politely averting his eyes from the strangers even as he asked the question.
“Yes… they live in the Grove, that great network of trees beyond the Senate.”
“They’re beautiful, in a rough sort of way.”
“Most of them are,” Belynda agreed. “Somehow humans seem more solid than do we elves… and many of our people, especially the males, find them appealing.”
“A sight you won’t see elsewhere in Nayve,” Tam noted. “Eight humans together. It must be ten years since even a single druid visited Argentian.”
“They rarely leave Circle at Center, or at least these lands around the lakeshore. They have everything they need here.”
“Do you know any druids?”
Belynda nodded. “I have become friends with several-one, in particular, called Miradel. The Goddess brought her here perhaps two hundred years ago.”
“From the Seventh Circle?” Tamarwind seemed very interested, and Belynda was relieved to have something to talk about, to take her mind off Caranor.
“Yes… the place they call Earth, where all humans come from.”
“Are they all so beautiful, so tall and proud?”
Belynda shook her head ruefully. “Hardly. The druids are only the most splendid examples of the race… they are brought here by the Goddess only after they have lived many lives in their world, and through them demonstrate goodness and virtue. They are very tame and wise examples of humankind.”
“Why do you say ‘tame’?”
“Humans are a dangerous breed, for the most part,” explained the sage-ambassador. “In many ways violent-not to mention prone to disease, and to incredibly rapid aging. Of course, here in Nayve they are not faced with those curses.”
“It sounds like a good thing that the Goddess is selective… and that other humans stay on their own circle!” Tam declared with feeling.
Belynda felt she had to explain further. “There is another way that a human can come to Nayve… without the will of the Goddess. Fortunately, it is a costly procedure… very rarely used.” Already she regretted opening this avenue of conversation. Though she herself had learned of the major druid spells during her centuries at the College, it was clearly not the sort of thing that ordinary elves needed to know, or should be encouraged to talk about.
“How?”
She felt herself blushing. She knew the particulars of the magic involved, but it was not anything she cared to discuss. “A druid can use her own power to summon a different kind of human… one who has made himself into a supreme warrior over the course of many lifetimes. These can be men of violence and impulse… If the druids are ‘tame’ humans, you might say that warriors are the opposite.”
“Sounds frightening-but rare, you said?”
“Yes.” Belynda felt uneasy. “The spell involved is costly… in a sense, it means doom for the druid who casts it.” She hoped that Tamarwind wouldn’t ask any more questions about that particular kind of magic.
Fortunately, at that moment the server approached with the dinners they had ordered-a roasted lake trout for Tamarwind, and a pepper stuffed with cheese for Belynda. She was relieved at the good timing, and amused by the smile of frank anticipation that curled her companion’s lips.
Abruptly Belynda felt a lurch that roiled her stomach and rocked her on her bench. The server stumbled, fish and stuffed pepper cascading across the table. Glasses shattered-not just here, but across the terrace. The sage-ambassador seized the edge of the table, wanting to hold onto something, and was shocked as the heavy slab twitched and tilted in her grasp. Tam’s face had gone white, and she heard screams and sobs coming from across the plaza, cries of alarm from throughout the city. As she looked into the night, she saw pitching waves roil the surface of the lake. Still Belynda could not accept the truth, not until Tamarwind shouted the unthinkable words:
“The world is moving!”
T he tremor rocked the floor beneath his feet, but Natac merely flexed his knees and waited for the earthquake to pass. It was not a violent temblor, though he knew that it might presage more significant jolts-perhaps in the very near future. He looked around the terrace, saw water splashing out of the bowl of the fountain, the leafy treetops swaying back and forth through the night air. In a sense the movement was almost a relief-it distracted him from the solitary brooding that had occupied him since twilight.