“I can’t say I’ve ever had that kind of ambition,” Tam acknowledged, eyeing the steep heights bordering the broad highway.
The range of rugged elevation surrounded Circle at Center. Barren of trees, with hunched brows of gray slate and here and there a glowering, wind-swept peak jutting far above the surrounding summits, they formed a barrier around the great lake and its precious island city. The route climbed and curved gently as it followed a valley that became the only easy pass through the rough terrain.
“These dry hills seem so barren-it’s not until we’ve passed the Snakesea that I really feel like we’re on the way home,” Wiytstar confessed when they stopped at a small inn for their next night’s rest.
“But there’s no hurry, is there?” Tam asked, still enjoying the sensation of freedom and adventure. “The hills are nice to look at-and as to the sea crossing, I’ve always felt the trip was its own reward.”
The elder delegate shook his head. “Personally, I like to stand on ground that’s not moving-I should think that tremor in Circle at Center would have been enough to convince anyone of that!”
Nevertheless, it was only a few days later that the party reached the shore of the Snakesea and had a chance to observe firsthand the magic that made a secure crossing possible. The elves gathered in respectful silence. There were a few others who would make the crossing with the Argentian delegates-a half dozen elves traveling in pairs, and a giant with a large, ox-drawn cart.
The druid ferrytender strode to the edge of the sea. The human was a tall man, broad-shouldered and long of hair and beard. His body was corded with sinew. He was naked, and carried only a stout staff of wood.
The shore here was a fringe of smooth rocks, scuffed by the steady drive of waves. These were not thundering boomers such as were hurled by the Worldsea against the shores of Nayve, but even so they crashed with some force, occasionally sending showers of spray cascading across the rocks and onto the grassy soil beyond. The elves were arrayed beyond the reach of these showers, but the druid stood atop a seashore rock and spread his arms wide, as if welcoming the salty splashes. He held the staff, gripped in both hands, horizontally before his chest, and then slowly raised his arms, bringing the shaft of wood to a position high above his head.
A surging wave exploded against the rocks and for a moment the human figure was lost in the cascading mist. In moments Tam could see that he still stood there, as firm as the stone upon which his feet were planted. And then the elf’s eyes were drawn to the surface of the water itself, as the bedrock of the Fourth Circle answered the pull of druid magic. No matter how many times he saw it, he was still entranced by the sight:
More waves pounded the shore, and a great shelf of seawater, rising above the level of the observers on shore, flowed to the right and left. Here and there a smooth rock jutted through the flowing seawater, and moments later the expanse was more solid than water. Blue-green brine spilled from a broad rocky raft, a surface that was mostly smooth, though marred by enough irregularities to prove its natural origin. The druid remained rigid for more minutes, and water continued to drain off the sides of the raft.
It was some time before the surface was dry, with the exception of a few standing puddles. Then the human slammed the butt of the staff to the ground, and the rock raft advanced, sliding smoothly through the short distance between itself and the shore. Finally it nestled against the rocks of the coast, and the druid gestured to the elves, signaling that they should advance. The Argentian delegates came forward hesitantly, but Ulfgang showed no reluctance. Indeed, the dog bounded onto one of the shore rocks, then sprang through the air to land on the raft. As the elves stepped cautiously aboard, the dog was already racing back and forth, sniffing at the puddles, splashing through, then shaking himself in the midst of a shimmering cascade of spray.
The druid made no acknowledgment of his passengers as he stalked regally from the shore across the surface of his raft. Tam knew this was not because of rudeness. Rather, the human needed to maintain his full concentration on the magic-a focus that he would maintain throughout the twenty hours required to cross the strait.
The other elves maintained a proper separation, each party finding a vantage somewhere around the edge of the great raft. The giant, however, didn’t seemed to understand the propriety of this, for as soon as he had tended and hobbled his ox, he strode around the flat surface of rock, his bearded head thrown back, his great bucket of a mouth wide open as if to gulp down the sea breeze. He spoke to one of the silent elf couples, but neither slender, yellow-haired figure made any response. Apparently undaunted, he ambled toward Tamarwind and Ulfgang, who were watching the sea just a few steps away from the huddle Argentian elves.
“ ’Tis a great day for travelin’, or my name’s not Rawknuckle Barefist!” the giant declared, his booming voice thundering in sensitive elven ears.
Still, after the refined and dignified company of the elves, Tamarwind was surprised to find that he welcomed the garrulous approach of this fellow traveler. He looked up at the giant, smiling as he saw that he-a tall elf-came only to the middle of the big fellow’s chest.
“Yes, it is, good sir,” the elf replied, as Wiytstar pointedly looked away. “Do you, too, follow the Metal Highway from Circle at Center?”
“Aye, but only for a few days from the far landing.” He tilted his chin in the direction of metal, toward the stately raft’s destination. “My lodge, ’tis in the Greens.”
“A good road through there,” Tam remarked, remembering the smooth highway flanked for unending miles by tall trees. In places, great leafy branches arched over the broad road.
The giant scowled, apparently at some private memory. “Y’know, ’tis not the same as it used to be,” he suggested, with the gravity that flavored any talk of change in Nayve.
“How so?” inquired Tamarwind. He thought back to his own recent trip, on the way to Circle at Center from Argentian. The only unusual feature had been an inn that was closed down, which forced them to walk an extra few miles one day.
“Well, this:” the giant replied. “On my outbound leg I found meself a nice clearing for my bed. Wouldn’t you know but that a lot of elves-fellows like you, only scruffier… like they lived outside-came out from the trees and told me to move on. Said the clearing was theirs-in the Greens, it was!”
“And so you left?” Tam asked, startled by news of the confrontation.
The big traveler shrugged. “There were twelve of them-and I wasn’t in a mood for a fight.”
“I’m glad,” answered the elf, with an appraising look at the brawny shoulders and tree-trunk legs.
“But it was a vexation, for all that. And who ever said anyone could own a part o’ the Greens?”
“I never imagined,” Ulf put in.
“Whoops, there-did ye speak, dog?” Rawknuckle scowled suspiciously.
“Well, yes,” replied Ulfgang.
The giant nodded. “Well, and yer right, too. Who ever imagined such a thing?”
The giant appeared to have worked out his irritation, and for the next few hours engaged in pleasant conversation with Tam and Ulfgang. He even offered the dog a swig from the firebrew that he finally dug out of his pack. Ulfgang declined-wisely, it turned out, as Tamarwind instantly regretted the friendly impulse that caused him to take a drink of the burning, stomach-churning draught.
Rawknuckle showed no discomfort, and finished the bottle himself. He spent the rest of the crossing snoring prodigiously, a rumble that at its peak drowned out the sounds of the wind and the water spilling away from the majestic raft. Most of the elves, accustomed to silk sheets and fine inns, spent an uncomfortable night on the wet rock of the raft-though Tam, for his part, found that he enjoyed this night spent under the stars. For hours he watched the shifting patterns of the dazzling lights, and finally, with his knapsack for a pillow, drifted off to a few hours’ sleep.