“I didn’t realize you traveled with a dog,” Deltan said as Ulfgang followed Tamarwind toward the light, airy tavern.
“This is Ulfgang. Lady Belynda has asked him to help out with a local problem.”
“That name!” Deltan’s eyes sparkled. “You saw her, then?”
Tamarwind nodded, blushing, and thrilling to his own memories.
“Well, greetings to you, Ulfgang-and come in, both of you,” offered Deltan. “I must hear more.”
Ulfgang was willing enough to experience another inn. They settled at a small table outside with a good view of the water, the elves ordering mugs of wine and the dog a dish of fresh milk.
“So what’s this desire for distraction?” Tamarwind asked curiously. “Are you getting tired of the monotony of Silvercove life?”
“Actually, I’m at work on a new epic… and it’s not going very well.”
“Did you finish your last project, about the adventure to Loamar across the Worldsea?”
Deltan shook his head. “No… I started a fresh work. It’s an adventure about a crossing of the Worldsea-to Lignia, this time. But I got a hundred lines into it and feel as though I’m writing the same thing I wrote last year.”
“Maybe you need a bit of travel,” Tam suggested.
Deltan shrugged. “Perhaps… It’s been too long since I’ve spent time out of the city. I envy you, my friend-journeys to the Center, and back.”
“And we’re off again tomorrow, at least I am,” Ulfgang said, turning to Tam. “Though I’d rather hoped you would come along.”
“Certainly,” Tamarwind said. “The fields of the hill country are some of the prettiest lands I’ve ever seen.” Noting the curiosity on Deltan’s face, he explained. “We’re going to see about the shepherds-the dogs that are supposed to be watching the cattle and sheep. It seems that they’ve been negligent about doing their jobs lately.”
“It’s more than myself and some dogs that are getting restless, I must say,” Deltan observed. “If you’ll note, there are more boats starting up the river… all of them carrying young elves, and some of them never intending to return.” He used his chin to point out the window.
Tam saw that two riverboats were even now departing, and each was crowded with passengers-perhaps thrice the number that his own boat had carried on the return trip to Argentian. “Where are they going?”
The teacher shook his head. “I don’t know… toward the Greens, for the most part. But I can’t imagine that so many are joining the clans of the Wayfarers. In truth, it’s a trend that’s become pronounced over the last several years.”
“I haven’t noticed,” Tam admitted. “Though perhaps because I spend most of my time in the countryside.”
“None of Argentian has-at least, so far as anyone wants to admit,” Deltan countered. “You know how it is: We want things to stay the same as they’ve always been. Perhaps it’s just because I’ve worked with so many of these youngsters that it’s come to my attention. But they’re leaving even before they reach the breeding age.”
“They don’t say why?”
“I don’t think they even know themselves. It would make for a tale, I imagine.”
For some reason the news caused Tamarwind an unseemly agitation. He and Ulfgang departed the inn after their single drink, and he looked at the elves he saw meandering along the streets or tending their hedges and gardens. There seemed to be as many people here as ever, but he couldn’t dismiss the bright teacher’s suspicions so lightly.
Ulfgang seemed to take a great interest in the elven city, prancing along with ears perked and head held high. Several of the fox-faced wolfish dogs favored by the elves barked or sniffed at him, but Ulf remained aloof, the long white plume of his tail waving proudly in the air.
They reached the massive arkwood tree which included Tam’s house in its many apartments, and rather than using the central lift, climbed the long outer stairway toward his rooms. The wooden steps were comfortingly solid, and circled the tree trunk in an ascending spiral. As the ground fell away, they were dazzled by the hanging gardens of the middle terrace, and finally climbed out of the foliage to the balcony of the upper trunk. Here they were higher than most of the trees and buildings of Silvercove-only a few dozen arkwood trees and several ivory and glass towers jutted above the forest canopy. Long bridges of rope, beribboned with flowers and frequently supported by small balloons, connected some of the lofty realms into a giant spiderweb of walkways.
Tamarwind maintained his apartment just above treetop height, and soon they had reached the door. They found the rooms musty, since they had been closed up for several cycles, but otherwise clean and… lifeless. The scout was surprised by the realization. He had his artworks, numerous paintings and sculpture, his crystal and silver and soft furniture, with little gardens beside the windows and a small fountain in the water room. Yet somehow, after the splendor of Circle at Center and the changing scenery of the road, he found his walls stifling, his possessions gaudy and irrelevant. As he walked from room to room, or gazed listlessly at the magnificent vista from his balcony, his mind kept returning to Belynda. Odd how that recent visit had reawakened long dormant emotions. Their time of coupling together was long past, hundreds of years away now… yet he found himself wishing that she was here with him. Her presence would have brightened the view of towers and trees, added luster to the burnished gold decorating his walls.
Perhaps she would even have quickened the beating of his old, old heart.
E very day Natac learned more about Earth, and about Nayve. He was frequently surprised to realize that facts about his own world seemed far more amazing than details he absorbed about this place to which Miradel had brought him. The Seventh Circle was a wild and untamed place, and he remained horribly fascinated by the inexorable energy of great nations. He knew from Miradel’s displays of the tapestry that these powerful states were on courses of inevitable collision, and he spent fascinating hours watching the intrigues in the courts of England, France, and especially Spain. He followed the ships of the exploration, the surging outward that was carrying the influence of Europe into all corners of the globe.
He was also impressed and awed by the variety of combat techniques that had been developed on his world. Diligently he studied these every chance he got, observing wrestling and boxing, watching other men fight with whirling hands and lashing feet. The steel swords of the Europeans struck him as the deadliest of all weapons, though the booming arquebuses showed the potential for great lethality as well.
But despite the sessions in the darkened room, with the candle flaring and the Wool of Time transformed into magical pictures, Natac spent most of his time learning about the place that was his new home. There were times when, amid the activity and new experiences, he almost forgot about the life of blood and sacrifice that had been his previous existence.
Then he would lie in bed at night, well after the Hour of Darken, and he remembered the hearts, the captives. He relived the sensation, an awareness in sinew and nerve and perception, of driving his obsidian blade through soft flesh and brittle bone. And always, when at last he slept, his dreams were haunted by the image of Yellow Hummingbird.
All he could do was apply even more energy to the next day’s activities, and it was in this fashion that he drove through the tendays and amassed an increasing body of knowledge about this place called Nayve.
Much of his time was spent in exploration, starting with the view from Miradel’s hilltop villa. He learned that the city and island in the middle of the great lake was called Circle at Center, and that the metal spire rising from the island was at the Center of Everything. There were two great causeways connecting the city to the lakeshore-one in the direction of metal, the other running in the direction of wood. He saw many splendid structures in Circle at Center, but when he speculated that these must be temples and palaces, Miradel informed him that they were simply the houses and halls of the city’s elves, as well as museums and galleries displaying a host of wonders. The place seemed vibrant and compelling, but for the time being he resisted the urge to go there.