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.
The enchantress didn’t have any such hesitation. “Remember, whether or not the knight lives or dies, you must get the Stone of Command from him. That is the only way to break the thrall in which he holds his Crusaders.”
“I know,” Belynda replied.
“Now is the time,” Quilene said. “If you are ready.”
“I am,” Belynda declared. She touched her waist, where she had a long, slender dagger concealed beneath her golden robe. The weapon was in a protective sheath, but she had already practiced, knew that she could draw it in an eye blink.
“Me, too,” Darann, who was similarly armed, added.
“Then come to the other table, and place your fingers in the bowl of water. I will begin the spell.”
Belynda thought that the water was pleasantly warm. She remembered the last time she had traveled by teleportation, and tried to prepare herself for the sudden disorientation as Quilene took up position and began to weave the words and gestures of her spell. Darann put her own fingers in the water, and met the eyes of her elven companion.
And then the magic crackled into life.
“W ait!” Ulfgang barked, rearing to scratch at the door to Belynda’s chambers. He yipped in agitation, and dropped to all fours again, shaking his head. His fur stood on end, and he could sense the aura of powerful magic- the same sensation that had lifted him from his slumber in the garden.
The white dog paced through a tight circle, then reared to paw at the door again. To his utter astonishment, it opened.
He recognized the sage-enchantress Quilene as he rushed past her to look anxiously around the main chamber. His claws skidded on the marble floor as he raced from room to room, finally coming back to Quilene, who still stood placidly by the door.
“It’s too late… they’ve gone,” she said gently.
Ulf sat with a heavy sigh, shaking his head. “She’s crazy… she’ll be killed,” he moaned, his words twanging into a sorrowful whine.
“Perhaps,” Quirene admitted. “But she’s brave enough to try.”
Suddenly Ulf hopped to his feet. He saw that the door was slightly ajar, and he pushed it wide with his nose. In a second he was outside, racing through the darkness. He could find Natac, or Tamarwind… perhaps they could help.
Or perhaps Belynda and Darann were already doomed.
T he magic took Belynda’s breath away. She staggered, gasping, as she felt a floor solidify under her feet. Her hands were in water, cooler than before, and vaguely she recognized the birdbath she had observed in her crystal. Darann, looking wide-eyed and a little queasy, clung to the opposite rim of the basin. Both of them held on for several moments, and at last Belynda’s sensations returned to normal.
“Are you all right?” asked the dwarf, in a barely audible whisper.
Belynda nodded, then raised her eyebrows in similar query. Darann, too, nodded, though she scooped up some water from the basin and touched it to her forehead. They saw that, just as it had appeared in the globe, a canvas tarp was draped across the entrance to the alcove. They heard the sound of footsteps from beyond the screen, listened as those sounds slowly faded away.
Touching the dagger, reassuring herself that it was still resting at her waist, Belynda reached for the tarp to pull it out of the way. Before she could grip it, however, the canvas was torn down, and sturdy hands grasped her waist and legs. She kicked, and tried to twist away, but more arms went around her, pinching painfully.
Only then did she notice that there were many Delvers in the room-small figures cloaked in dark steel, reaching for her with groping hands. Darann was somewhere behind her, and Belynda had a sense of things gone terribly wrong as she saw the warriors close in from all sides.
Three seconds later Darann had disappeared, but Belynda squirmed futilely in the grip of the Unmirrored Dwarves.
“W hy aren’t they attacking?” Natac wondered aloud. Karkald and Tamarwind, flanking him on the hilltop overlooking the Mercury Terrace, had no answer.
“If they don’t attack, can I?” Gallupper asked.
Natac shook his head. He had seen the batteries, the short, wheeled carriages that Gallupper and his small company had readied for battle, but he was determined to wait until the proper time to release what might prove to be a devastatingly effective weapon.
“No… for now, we’ll wait, and see what happens.”
And as the night moved into its final hours, the Nayvian warriors, the place that was the Center of Everything, and all of the Seven Circles waited, countless fates and futures in the balance.
S ir Christopher stalked into the chamber. His eyes narrowed as he recognized Belynda. “You-witch!” he hissed.
The elfwoman stared back at him, the full memory of his villainy flooding through her mind. She bit back her first instinct, which was to spit her hatred. Instead, she drew a breath, and forced her thoughts into order. A Delver held each of her arms, and their grip tightened as if the eyeless dwarves sensed her agitation. Zystyl was a few steps away-he had just taken her dagger, and was starting to question her as to her purpose and intentions.
