He smelled shit on the nearest priest, and that made him sad, too.
Then the knife was there, blocking his view of the sky, plunging, cutting his chest with a shocking rip of pain. In a brief moment the agony was gone, and Natac felt only numbness as he stared into the grime-smeared face of the leering holy man. A filthy hand came forward, and he was vaguely aware of fingers penetrating, pushing into his flesh.
He strained for breath, but there was no air.
Blackness fringed his vision, a circle swiftly drawing tight. Then Natac saw his own heart, red and bright and dripping, pulsing with the last vestiges of vitality.
Finally, the darkness was everywhere.
And in the black infinity he sensed a woman. Her musk surrounded him, a tangible spoor that teased and cajoled, moving him with a raw and sexual summons. The feeling intoxicated Natac, drew him with a promise of unprecedented delight.
Even so, he was rather startled to find himself utterly, tumescently, aroused.
PART ONE
1
A Sage-Ambassador
Know that it is carved in the Tablets of Inception:
The Seven Circles remain, and in their balance stands the hope of all futures.
The First Circle, called Underworld, is the realm of rock; it lies below.
The Second Circle, called Dissona, is the realm of metal; it lies across the Worldsea, in the direction of metal.
The Third Circle, called Lignia, is the realm of wood; it lies across the Worldsea, in the direction of wood.
The Fourth Circle is Nayve, sacred realm of flesh. It is the center of the Worldsea, the center of all.
The Fifth Circle is Loamar, realm of dirt; it lies beyond the Worldsea, in the direction that is neither metal nor wood.
The Sixth Circle is Overworld, and it is the realm of air; it lies above.
The Seventh Circle is the universe called Earth, realm of water; it lies in the directions of everywhere and nowhere.
Belynda read the words again. She knew them by heart, but there was always comfort to be gained from the calm repetition, the silent mouthing of text reciting the fundamental order of the cosmos. Yet, for some reason, today even the massive, gold-bound tome-her personal copy of the Tablets of Inception-was not enough to calm a vague sense of disquiet. An edge of tension thrummed in the back of her mind, a sensation she was unable to banish.
She found her eyes drifting, seeking the cloudy globe that rested so snugly in its alcove. There was no glimmer of light in the milky glass, nothing to suggest the powerful magic she had worked only a few minutes before. But the memory of her failure lingered like a sour taste, casting a pall over the rest of the day.
Decisively she rose and crossed to the magical sphere perched on a marble pedestal of classic simplicity. Belynda placed her hands on the smooth surface, already cool.
“Caranor… hear me. Please heed my call,” she whispered, using the pressure of her hands to squeeze the words into the glass, vaulting her magical message into the distant wilds of Nayve. She placed extra force behind the summons, a nudge that should awaken the enchantress if she were sleeping-though it was unthinkable that any dignified and proper elf would be asleep this long after the Lighten Hour.
And the sage-enchantress Caranor was a particularly industrious elf. She lived alone, as did all the most powerful spell casters, but she was ever laboring to help the less fortunate members of her race. Yet even at her busiest, Caranor should have heard, and replied to, the magical call of the sage-ambassador.
The knock on Belynda’s door was like a sudden crash of thunder and she gasped, sitting upright with a start that put a crick in her neck.
“What?” she demanded crossly, and then immediately regretted her harsh tone. “Please, come in,” she said in a more inviting voice.
For a moment there was only silence beyond the solid oak door to her apartments and meditation chambers. Finally, she heard one soft word:
“No.”
She sighed, smiling in spite of herself as she recognized the speaker. She addressed the door politely.
“I’m sorry, Nistel. I promise that I’m not mad at you-or anybody, really. Now, won’t you please come in?”
“You won’t yell?” The voice was injured pride tempered by a tremolo of worry.
“I promise.”
The door opened to reveal a person who was reaching upward to turn the knob. His face was masked by a bush of white whiskers, a beard that hung straight down to a point just below his belly. He continued to cling to the brass doorknob while he scrutinzed Belynda, clearly ready to flee at the first sign of displeasure.
“See. I’m not yelling.” Belynda forced herself to smile, coaxing the gnome forward with a gesture. “Now, was there something you wanted to tell me?”
“What? Oh yes,” Nistel admitted. “The delegates… you know, the elves from Argentian? They’re here. They’ve come to the College to see you. They said you knew they were coming.”
“Yes, I knew,” Belynda replied, her sigh this time reflecting deep exasperation. The elves were her own people, but even so she had to admit that they spent overmuch time complaining. Of course, in her role as sage-ambassador she was compelled to listen to those complaints, soothing worries as much as possible. No doubt that was why she had begun to find them so irritating.
“Should I send them away?” asked Nistel, concerned.
“No, no. Of course I’ll see them. Have them wait for me in the Metal Garden, beside the Golden Fountains.”
“Very well, my lady.” The gnome bowed stiffly, his rigid formality telling Belynda that he would just as soon have sent the elven delegation hastening back to their homeland.
He hesitated for a moment, and the elfwoman sensed that something else concerned Nistel. “What is it, my friend?”
“Just… well…” The gnome fidgeted in a great display of reluctance, but Belynda knew that he wanted to speak. Finally he could contain himself no longer. “A giant came. To Thickwhistle. I just heard.”
The news was startling. “What would a giant want in a big nest of gnomes?” wondered the sage-ambassador, thinking aloud.
“No one knows,” declared the gnome. “But it’s pretty strange, and that’s for sure.” The little fellow shivered nervously-strangeness was an unfamiliar occurrence in Nayve, and experience had shown him that it generally presaged trouble and disruption.
Nevertheless, the ever-dutiful assistant withdrew to carry Belynda’s message to the elven delegation.
Listlessly she returned to her reading table, but left the massive volume of the Tablets open to the pages of the Cosmic Order. It would be comforting, she hoped, to see those verses before her when she returned at the end of what promised to be a trying day.
She took her time getting ready, for a while merely wandering through the sumptuous chambers of her ambassadorial residence, eventually pausing long enough to drape a shawl of white silk over her slender shoulders. A word of command whisked a door closed across the entry to the messaging globe’s alcove. The panel matched the deep wood grain of the wall, and was virtually undetectable. Slipping tiny feet into diamond-studded slippers of silver foil, she examined herself in one of the full-length crystal mirrors lining the wall of her reception room. The shimmering gold of her ambassador’s robe rippled over her skin, outlining a figure that might have looked frail to one who did not know her: slender limbs, breasts small and firmly pointed, a belly that was flat and framed by narrow hips.
Her blond hair-the color maintained by a mixture of herbal dyes-was swept back from a high, unlined forehead. Belynda’s ears were typically small, delicately pointed at the lobe. It was the chin that distinguished her elven face as one of unusual strength and character. Square and stern, it lacked the narrowness common in her race, and many had remarked that it was this straightforward visage that had allowed her to progress to a position of such high honor.