Douglas Niles has created a rich and complex new trilogy filled with centaurs, goblins and trolls, druids, elves, and other fantastic beings who live in a world of peace--until now.
Starlog magazine raved that Niles "writes so well that his characters come to life after only a few sentences."br>"Absolutely nobody builds a more convincing fantasy realm than Doug Niles." --R.A. Salvatore, New York Times bestselling author. -- PUBLISHERS WEEKLY.
There are no customer reviews available at this time. Would you like to write a review?
December 17, 2003
Number of Print Pages*
Adobe DRM EPUB
* Number of eBook pages may differ. Click here for more information.
Excerpt from Seven Circles 1: Circle at Center by Douglas Niles
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:
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.