Douglas Niles - Circle at center

The knock at her door startled Belynda. She drew a breath and tried to stem the trembling in her hands, the tremors that arose, unbidden, every time she was surprised or frightened. Only after several deep breaths was she able to control her voice enough to speak calmly.

“Enter.” She turned as the opening door revealed the worried face of her assistant and friend. “Oh hello, Nistel.”

“Hello, my lady,” the gnome said, rising from a deep bow. His eyes wrinkled in concern as he surreptitiously studied the sage-ambassador. “How are you feeling?” he asked nervously.

She laughed-or tried to laugh. The sound that emerged was more of a bark, she realized. Short, nervous, warning. “As good as ever, I guess,” she admitted. “What about you… any word from Thickwhistle?”

Nistel’s face fell. “Thickwhistle is no more-there are only giants there, and so what was once Thickwhistle is just Granitehome now.”

Belynda knew that the gnomes of Thickwhistle had simply moved to a different part of the hill country, and she found it hard to share the gnome’s palpable sadness. Instead, she made vague noises of sympathy and turned back to the window.

“Did you see the war today?” Blinker asked.

“No… for once I stayed inside, thinking, trying to rest. I know the war will be there tomorrow-that’s one thing that doesn’t seem to change.”

“It changed a little today,” offered the gnome, advancing into the room, chattering enthusiastically. “Tamarwind went out there with a new weapon-and the caravels burned up a big galley, and sent the others packing back to port!”

Belynda sighed. “There’s always a new weapon. One side or the other burns up, or is torn to pieces. How is that a change?”

“The war has changed Circle at Center a lot,” Nistel continued. “I can remember when we didn’t have fortress towers by the causeways, didn’t have any warships on the lake.”

“But we still have concerts on every corner, people laughing and going about their lives like there’s no danger, like nothing’s wrong!” she retorted bitterly.

Now it was Nistel’s turn to slump his shoulders and hang his head. “You’re right-in so many respects the war hasn’t changed anything at all.”

Belynda spoke harshly, determined to prove her point. “The Senate meets once every interval, and during those forty days most of the city’s leaders seem to work very hard to ignore the danger. If it was up to them, we’d have simply let the Crusaders march in here, invited the Delvers to dig their tunnels under the Center of Everything.”

Indeed, many elves still hosted fabulous parties, and every day there were celebrations and festivals throughout the city. Some foods, and especially wines from the outlying realms of elvenkind, had been scarce or nonexistent, but most of the elves had preferred to make do with substitutes rather than make any changes in their lives that might acknowledge the difficulties raised by the war.

Of course, Belynda admitted, there had been some awakening. Many individual elves had rejected their clans’ complacency and joined Natac’s army. These included outlander companies from Barantha, Kol’sos, and other realms, as well as a number of recruits from Circle at Center. And still no elven land had sent as many companies as Argentian, the sage-ambassador thought with a touch of pride-pride tinged with sadness, for by the same token no realm had given as many lives to the war as her own.

Another knock sounded at the door, and Nistel hopped up to answer. He came back to speak to Belynda.

“Tamarwind is here to see you… maybe he wants to tell you about the battle. It was his ship, you know, that burned up that galley!”

Belynda shook her head, suddenly irritated. “I told you… I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Can he come in?”

The elven warrior was standing behind the gnome, and Belynda saw the eagerness, the high spirits in his expression. Tiredly, she nodded.

“It was a great day!” the warrior exclaimed, rushing into the room with un-elflike haste and taking the chair nearest to Belynda. She saw again how he was dark, weathered, hardened in ways that centuries of his earlier travels could never have done.

“What happened?” she forced herself to ask.

“Another weapon of Karkald’s,” Tam explained. “Like the tower battery, only mounted in the bow of a caravel. We burned three Crusader galleys!”

Belynda’s eyes narrowed, and her teeth clenched at the image of suffering and death. “Was he there?”

Tamarwind looked crestfallen. “Sir Christopher… no, of course not. He hasn’t gone out on the lake in years… but tell me, Belynda. Why do you always ask?”

For an instant the fires of hate welled up so strongly within her that she couldn’t speak, afraid the blaze would flash its awful truth from her eyes. But she kept her expression blank, saw that Tam was looking at her with sincere curiosity. And she knew, she had convinced herself, that solid logic lay behind her question.

“You should understand by now: If we can kill him, we will win the war. The Crusaders will fall apart… go home. Nayve will be as it was!”

Tamarwind shook his head, apparently oblivious as Belynda’s temper began to mount. “They still have that arcane Delver, Zystyl. Karkald claims he’s more dangerous than any ten human warriors could be.”

“That’s right-there are still the Delvers,” Nistel declared, his beard bobbing sternly. “I don’t think they would cease the war even if the Crusaders gave up.”

“The Delvers are not going to destroy us by themselves, whereas I fear, sometimes, that the Crusaders might do just that,” Belynda replied. “He keeps them in thrall with the Stone of Command, molds them to his will by ancient magic.” She fixed Tam with a direct stare. “Why can’t you just kill him, take the stone away, and be done with it! Natac had the chance twenty-five years ago, and he failed. Someone has to do it!”

“I-I have tried!” the elf declared, shaking his head in frustration. “We all have-but the knight no longer leads his troops in battle. He doesn’t expose himself to our weapons! But please, my dear lady, have faith and patience! We will find his weakness, and we will bring this war to a victorious end!”

Abruptly she felt monstrously tired, unwilling and unable to face up to Tam’s enthusiasm, or his attention.

“I’m sorry,” she said firmly. “I’ve been hit with a terrible headache… can you come back tomorrow?”

She felt a twinge of guilt as Tam’s shoulders slumped. Naturally, he agreed to see her the next day, and made the appropriate noises of concern before rising to depart.

“I will go, too,” Nistel said, bouncing to his feet. “Please, my lady, try to get some rest… and do not let your hatred sicken your soul.”

She wanted to snap at him-Who was he to tell her what to do? But she let him depart without another word. In her silent apartment she tried to go back to work, and had even made some progress when Darann came to see her an hour later. Belynda admitted the dwarfwoman with no pretense of headache or other discomfort. Moments later the two females were seated at her conversation table.

“Have you thought about my idea?” asked the sage-ambassador.

“Yes,” Darann replied quickly. “I’m thinking about discussing it with Karkald, but I’m not sure he’ll be ready to listen.”

“That’s not surprising,” Belynda said. “It seems counter to the way men think about war.”

“Still, I know you’re right.” The dwarfwoman met the elf’s eyes squarely. “And I’m ready to help you try.”

“Good,” Belynda said. “You know that if we succeed, we might be able to end this war.”