Douglas Niles - Circle at center

How could she have fallen? What fighters had the capability, the audacity, to break a Delver phalanx? Human, he knew, had sensed in Kerriastyn’s last thoughts, final sensations.

Even more surprising was the sense of loss twisting and growing within him. Kerriastyn had been merely a tool, a useful and attractive tool, but nothing more. She had served him well, but that was no more and no less than he deserved. The fact that she had given her life in that service was only appropriate, since it now seemed clear that she had been incapable of attaining immediate victory-the only other outcome Zystyl would have accepted.

Still, she had been precious to him in her own way, and now she was gone. The Delver arcane vowed, very solemnly, that she would be avenged.

“We will build a palace here,” Sir Christopher said, sweeping his hands around the broad, flat expanse of the Mercury Terrace. At his side was Darryn Forgemaster, though the blacksmith seemed to take little note of the knight’s expansive gesture. The Nayvian night still loomed dark and starlit above them, and the sounds of battle marked skirmishing a half mile or more away.

“I tell you this,” Christopher went on, turning to address the smith, “because you will be doing much of the work. Our troops are well-armed now, and the war is nearly concluded. With our ultimate victory I will raise an edifice that will be a monument to God!”

“You need carpenters and stonemasons, then-not a blacksmith,” retorted Darryn.

But the knight was not paying attention. Instead, his eyes narrowed as he watched his ally approach from the darkness. Zystyl, accompanied by a dozen of his faceless Delvers, strode up to Christopher with that disquieting directness, confirming for the knight that the blind dwarf knew exactly where the human was standing. The knight put his hand upon his chest, feeling the comforting Stone of Command under his tunic. He let the power of his talisman infuse him, renewing and readying him for the meeting with his horrible partner.

“We need to erect shelters, awnings across this terrace, before the Lighten,” declared Zystyl. “A pavilion that will protect my warriors from the murderous sun. We can use the tarpaulins from the raft.”

“Of course, yes,” Christopher said irritably. “But beyond that, we need to create something lofty, permanent, glorious. Your troops are skilled with stone, are they not?”

The dwarf nodded, sniffing with those grotesque nostrils as if he sought the spoor of the knight’s thoughts. Christopher shuddered, squeezed the stone more tightly, and tried to keep the revulsion out of his voice.

“And our goblins work well with wood. I shall assign a thousand of them to the building task. The blacksmith shall make himself available as he may be needed.”

“Don’t you think we should complete the conquest, first?” snapped Zystyl. “And perhaps there will be a better place for your palace-in the Center of Everything, I suggest.”

“That land is blasphemed by the presence of the demon’s loom,” retorted the knight. “No, this shall be the place. When that foul temple is destroyed, I intend to salt the grounds and make the land around it a waste.”

“Very well.” The dwarf shrugged. “But before we move on with your plans, let’s get some shade up. My troops can use a day of rest-so tomorrow night we shall take the rest of the city.”

T he captains of Natac’s army met their general on the Avenue of Metal, a hundred paces from the place where it emerged from the Mercury Terrace. The Nayvians had withdrawn to the edges of the great plaza, but thus far the attackers hadn’t broken into any of the city streets.

“How are we holding?” Natac asked. He addressed his question to Fionn. “You first.”

“We’ve got gnomes and the rest of the goblins dug in on Marble Hill,” the Irishman reported. “The only way they’re comin’ over the top is when the last of us has died.”

Natac looked into his fellow warrior’s eyes and knew he was being truthful. At the same time, both men were aware that the suggested eventuality was a real possibility. So many were already gone… Miradel, Owen, Deltan Columbine, Roland… the names could roll on and on. How many more would fall before they were done?

Tamarwind spoke next. “I’ve found enough elves to block off the Avenue of Metal and the surrounding streets. We’ve garrisoned the walls and fortified the roofs of the Hall of Granite and the Gallery of Crimson-they’re big, stone buildings rising to either side of the road. The Crusaders and Delvers might push through on the avenue, but we’ll make it pretty bloody for them. We’ve got arrows and stones, even oil-bombs, ready to throw down from above.”

“Good.”

“And I’ve got a little surprise for the bastards,” Karkald announced. “Gallupper and his centaurs have it now-they can make a good mobile reserve.”

“Now can you tell us what the new invention is?” Natac pressed.

The dwarf nodded smugly. “It’s a mobile battery-three guns, on wheels, that can be pulled around by centaurs or horses. They’re smaller even than the batteries on the caravels, of course, but they can still toss some nasty fireballs into the enemy ranks. And the centaurs have had a little practice now-they seem pretty good at lining them up, aiming, and reloading.”

“Let’s get them into place in the rear, then,” Natac said. He looked at the sky, which remained fully dark, many hours away from Lighten. “I have a feeling that our respite is just about over.”

T hree women-two of them elves, their companion a dwarf-sat in the darkened chamber, their faces illuminated only by the pearly light of Belynda’s scrying orb. The image in the glass globe was faint, a poor source of light, but even so, the sage-ambassador and the others could follow each movement, study the people and locations thus revealed.

Sir Christopher stood at the center of the image. His hand was held at his throat, and Belynda sensed that he clutched the Stone of Command there, while his eyes followed the form of the hideous dwarf, the one called Zystyl. So intent was her hatred of the knight that, for a time, Belynda had paid little attention to the dwarf. Instead she watched Sir Christopher, saw the outline of the great rooms he would make his headquarters, scrutinized his mannerisms and his defenses as he stalked from one part of the plaza to the next.

Much of the stronghold was formed from buildings already existing at the edge of the plaza, including the two towers at the end of the causeway, and several great warehouses and gathering halls that had housed numerous elven functions during the last centuries. Outside, great tarps were being pulled across the spaces between the buildings, awnings that would create shade by the time of Lighten. Darann had reminded them that the Delvers, all except the few who had the bright, mirrored armor such as worn by Zystyl, would have to spend the day sheltered from the rays of the sun.

Sage-enchantress Quilene touched the globe, and in response to her magic the image pulled back, until the figures were small, even antlike, and the view encompassed the whole of what would be the invaders’ makeshift palace.

“By Lighten, that whole enclosure will be packed with the Blind Ones,” Darann noted. “I reckon that we have perhaps three hours to go.”

“Do you know where you want to arrive?” Quilene inquired.

“There,” Belynda said, indicating a small alcove where a basin held a steadily dripping birdbath. Once part of a small garden, it had become an enclosed room as the awning was pulled overhead. “With luck we won’t be noticed, and will be able to move into position to…” She couldn’t quite finish the statement, wasn’t ready to articulate the fact that she fully intended to kill a man before the Lighten Hour.