Karn halted his soldiers. A corporal from the Emeralds lurched up to him and sagged to the ground at Karn’s feet.
“My captain,” the elf gasped. “I beg to report the Emerald Division routed!”
Blood suffused Karn’s face. “Routed by whom?” he screamed.
“Sir—Captain—they wore the arms of our Diamond Division!”
“That’s impossible. The Diamonds were attacked and defeated a few hours ago,” Karn said.
“There were hundreds and hundreds,” the elf cried. “Some were just diggers. Others wore warrior’s plate and carried swords. And—there was a wagon—”
“Wagon? What wagon?”
“Yes, sir. It was pushed by diggers with masks over their faces. Smoke came out of a pipe on the wagon, smoke that blinded us and made us weep and sneeze.”
Karn drew his sword and scanned the orchard. “How long ago was this?”
“Not long, my captain. Perhaps an hour or less.”
Riverwind laid the slain Diamond warrior down and came to Karn’s side. He’d heard what the elves had said.
“Shall we pursue these agents of Loreman?” he asked.
“Pursue?” Karn was quickly losing what little composure he had. “We’d better prepare to defend ourselves!”
“They won’t attack us. Not here,” the plainsman said.
“How do you know?” Karn’s body quivered with rage and his face was nearly purple.
“They ambushed two bands of warriors. They’ll not attack a fully warned group in the open,” he said. “Loreman would more likely sneak around us and head for the village.” This idea hit him with belated force. “Goldmoon! She will need us!”
“What are you raving about? Vartoom is still defended by the Host.” Karn took several deep breaths. The tremors in his limbs stilled and his color began to return to normal. “I have decided what we will do. The Emerald warriors can join us. We’ll skirt the orchard and try to make contact with the Garnet Division.”
“And then?” asked the Emerald corporal, still sniffling.
“Then—then I will consider what to do next,” Karn said stiffly.
About a hundred soldiers of the Emerald Division filled in the ranks of Karn’s troops. The Hestites marched on, keeping the orchard on their left and the city on their right. Fear was infecting the rank and file, fear made worse as the surviving Emeralds told their story to their brothers in Ruby.
“The choking clouds!”
“Javelins raining from the air—”
“Hundreds of armed diggers, and they weren’t afraid of us!” And that, more than anything, terrified the warriors.
Catchflea surveyed the mass of prisoners taken by the Blue Sky People in their first two attacks. Almost three hundred warriors knelt in a close circle, stripped of arms and armor, guarded by grinning diggers. The pepper fog had been successful far beyond the old soothsayer’s dreams. Two diggers, one a former miller, the other an expert forge-maker, contrived a bellowslike device that sprayed the pepper at the enemy. Mounted on a wagon, the pepper fog machine had ensured their amazing early victories.
The bows, however, were less successful. True, the Blue Sky’s first apprentice archers had hit several of the Diamond warriors in the first attack, but before the fight was over, all but one of the bows was broken. In their excitement, the diggers used their valuable bows as clubs, splintering them against the warriors’ armor.
Mors was in a buoyant mood. Di An led him to the place where the warriors were being held. Vvelz followed silently behind the blind elf.
“How do they look?” Mors asked.
“They weep,” Catchflea replied. “For shame and the pepper in their eyes, yes.”
“You proved your worth, old giant,” Mors said. He clapped Catchflea on the back. “Just think what we’ll accomplish together in the future.” Catchflea didn’t like the sound of that. Seeing the red-faced, weeping warriors made him sad. And the dead from both sides haunted him. He had been with the Blue Sky People only five days. What indeed would be the result if he continued to aid Mors? He thought of Riverwind and wondered where the tall man was.
Vvelz was unhappy, too. Formerly Mors’s most important advisor, he now found himself shunted in favor of Catchflea. Mors had begun to ask the old man’s advice on matters other than those concerning the surface world—like how to govern Vartoom once Li El was deposed. Catchflea tried to shy away from the subject, since Li El was far from finished, but Mors insisted, asking about the Que-Shu political system. Catchflea outlined his people’s method of electing a chief.
“A strange doctrine,” said Mors. “I can understand the part about choosing a brave and resourceful warrior to lead you, but what is that about marrying the previous chieftain’s daughter? What has that to do with finding a strong ruler?”
“We believe it important to have a chief who is close to the gods,” Catchflea said. “Our chieftain’s daughter is the spiritual leader of our people—our priestess.”
“Are your priestesses skilled in magic?” asked Vvelz.
“Almost never.”
The sorcerer’s light-colored eyes widened. “No?”
“The Que-Shu have little to do with the magical arts, other than healing and communing with the spirits of our ancestors.”
Vvelz assumed a look of deep concentration. “By your ways, then, the best thing Mors could do, once we defeat the Host, is marry Li El and rule with her.”
The blind warrior moved with remarkable speed. He jabbed the end of his staff into Vvelz’s stomach. The slender sorcerer doubled over in pain and shock.
“Why—strike me?” Vvelz groaned.
“You should not make such remarks,” Mors said stiffly. “And thank your destiny I didn’t have a sword in my hands.”
Vvelz backed away, shooting venomous looks at Mors. He slowly straightened, rubbing his bruised stomach. Catchflea offered to help him, but the sorcerer coolly declined the old man’s hand. The air was thick with tension. Catchflea wondered what would happen next.
A digger ran headlong into the scene, tripping on a stone and sprawling at Mors’s feet. Catchflea grasped the digger by the back of her black copper shirt and hauled her up. It was Di An.
“The warriors are coming!” she gasped.
Mors jumped up. “Where and how many?”
“Very many—more than we have faced before,” the elf girl said. She flung an arm out, pointing. “That way.”
Mors didn’t see her gesture, but he scowled. Standing well out of the reach of the blind warrior’s staff, Vvelz said, “Karn did not do as you expected. He did not retreat to the city.”
“No, someone has stiffened his spine,” Mors said darkly.
“The other giant is with Karn,” Di An reported.
“Riverwind is with him?” Catchflea asked. Di An looked to the old man and nodded once. “He would not help Li El willingly,” the old man insisted. “He must be under a spell.”
“It matters not why he is with them,” Mors replied. “If he fights for Li El, he must die as surely as any other warrior of the Host.”
“No!”
“I’ve no time to argue; there’s a battle brewing.”
“If you want my help, you’d better grant me this favor,” Catchflea said. “Riverwind is my friend, and he must not be harmed.”
“Are you holding me up?” Mors planted his fists on his narrow hips.
Catchflea measured the distance between them, hoping that Mors could not strike him. Quietly he said, “That’s the price of my assistance.”
Mors thrust out his chin. “You have been valuable to our cause,” he said. “I will tell my people to take the giant alive if they can.” Then Mors was off, shouting at his followers. Tired diggers appeared from the orchard and surrounding fields, their shirts stuffed with stolen fruit. Over a thousand diggers had been armed with everything from swords taken from dead Hestite soldiers to farm tools and mining equipment. The wagon with the pepper spraying device creaked out of th
e trees toward Mors. A few minutes after Di An had brought the news, the rebel army, such as it was, had assembled around its blind general.
“People of the Blue Sky,” Mors announced. “The tyrant Li El has not yet learned her lesson. As I stand here speaking to you, a large number of warriors is crossing the valley floor beyond the orchard. We must fight again today.” A loud murmur went through the crowd. “I know!” Mors said. “You are tired, but the task is too great to be done leisurely. We must smash the warriors wherever and whenever we find them, and only then will we gain our victory.”
Vvelz sidled up to Catchflea and Di An. “Do you believe in final victory, old man?” he said, barely above a whisper.
“More than I did before, yes,” said Catchflea. “We’ve beaten Li El’s troops twice already.”
“Small bands, greatly outnumbered,” Vvelz countered. “Ambushed and frightened by weapons they’ve never seen before. Those out there now know what to expect. And your friend is with them. What do you think our chances are now?”
The old man put his arm around Di An’s shoulders and looked Vvelz square in the eye. “Our chances are as the gods decide, yes. Just as it always was.”
Vvelz pursed his lips and turned away. He walked off among the scattered boulders and soon was lost from sight.
“What is his problem?” Catchflea wondered aloud.
“He is afraid,” Di An said. “Her Highness will do terrible things to him if she catches him.”
Catchflea ruffled his hand through Di An’s short, sparse hair. “Are you afraid?” he asked gently.
“Yes.” She shivered. “But not really for myself.”
“Oh? You fear for Mors, yes?”
The Blue Sky army broke up as Mors finished his speech. The weary diggers filed into formations, ready to meet the enemy as they rounded the orchard. Di An ducked out from under the old man’s arm and said, “Not only for Mors.”
Chapter 10
Blood and Gold
Once, when he was a boy, Riverwind witnessed the passing of a company of mercenaries through the forest south of Que-Shu. His father had warned him from the earliest age to beware of such marauders, so when the boy heard the menacing, unmistakable clatter of steel in the woods, he climbed a tall maple and hid among the dense leaves. The soldiers passed directly beneath him.
First came the horsemen. Fifty pairs of men on big animals, they wore rusty, dented breastplates and carried long lances. He could not see their faces, but coarse, dark hair hung down from beneath their helmets. The horsemen rode slowly and silently, eyes always scanning the trees for signs of movement.
On the riders’ heels came a marching contingent of foot soldiers. Riverwind saw them better because they had doffed their helmets and went bareheaded. They were great, burly fellows with yellow or red hair plaited in long braids. Fearsome, broad-bladed axes rested on their shoulders. They paid little attention to the woods on each side, instead laughing and talking among themselves in a language the boy did not understand.
After the hundred or so axemen there came a band of archers. They wore leather armor only, and their step was light and springy. Their longbows were fastened on their backs, and each man carried a spike-headed maul. They spoke in quiet, clipped sentences, a fashion Riverwind well knew. It was the way of the huntsman, who spoke only enough to communicate with his fellows and not enough to scare off game.
As these wondrous and frightening sights moved below him, Riverwind felt his grasp on a slender branch give way. The twig snapped. He saved himself from falling, but the twig fluttered down to the road. An archer saw it fall and retrieved it. Riverwind held his breath, but the man merely walked along, twirling the leafy stick between his fingers. Just before the archer had passed out of sight, and just as Riverwind had begun to sigh with relief, the man swiftly drew an arrow from his quiver, nocked, pulled, and released it in one smooth motion. The iron-tipped shaft struck the tree just beside Riverwind’s head. The shock and vibration shivered through the tree.
The boy nearly fainted with fright. The archer called out in clear Que-Shu: “Mind yourself, friend; a twig can kill as surely as an arrow.” And with that, the archer walked on. No one else had seen.
Strange that this old recollection should come to him now. Or not so strange; Riverwind’s mind was lost, wandering through deep corridors of memory. He encountered many phantoms there: childhood friends and foes, his father, his lost brother, Windwalker, as well as Loreman, Hollow-sky, Arrowthorn … but not Goldmoon. Where she should have been in his memory, bright and beautiful, he saw only shadows, heard only muffled voices. Where was Goldmoon?
“What are you muttering about?” asked Karn.
“Where is Goldmoon?” Riverwind said.
“You know very well she’s in the city. She’s waiting for us to root out and destroy these rebels.” Karn was weary of this stupid charade. He and his warriors had marched almost forty miles back and forth across the cavern.
“What city is that?” Riverwind said. The shadows in his mind were spreading, obscuring even the most recent parts of his memory.
“Vartoom,” Karn snapped. “Stupid barbarian.”
Vartoom. Riverwind sorted his motley recollections. “The underground city?”
The elf warrior did not bother to reply. The end of the orchard was in sight. There was a rocky gully to cross and, on the other side, the pit and workings of a deep gold mine. From where he was, Karn could see that the mine was empty. No diggers bustled about, pushing carts of gold ore to the smelter. The whole excavation was vacant. That was not right. Li El had ordered the gold mines to be worked continuously.
“Halt,” Karn said, raising his hand. Behind him, four hundred soldiers slowed and stopped in a long, straggling column. Riverwind swayed a little on his feet. He was so terribly confused. Around him were the fields of his homeland, green grass undulating in the breeze. But ahead, in the midst of the green, was a gaping hole. A rock-filled gaping hole. There seemed to be mine carts around it. He shook his head. Li El’s distance from the plainsman and her increasing preoccupation with the myriad problems caused by the spreading digger revolt were weakening her hold on Riverwind. Each small, conflicting bit of reality that managed to penetrate his befuddled mind only served to undermine her spells further.
“I don’t like this,” Karn muttered. “Where are the workers?”
Just then, a lone figure appeared on the other side of the gully. A warrior, wearing the armor of the Garnet Division. The figure raised a hand high in greeting.
“Ho-la!” Karn shouted, grinning. “It’s a scout from the Garnets!”
“A twig can kill as surely as an arrow,” Riverwind murmured.
“Overgrown idiot,” Karn rasped. “Her Highness has saddled me with an idiot.” He waved vigorously at the Hestite across the gully. Cupping his hands to his mouth, Karn called, “How far away is the rest of your company?”
“Half a mile,” said the distant warrior.
“Go back and tell them to stop where they are and be on watch for the rebels,” Karn shouted. “We will cross and join you.”
The figure waved a hand.
“That’s not a good idea,” Riverwind said.
“Shut up.” Karn turned to his tired troops and told them they would soon be joining the last of their comrades in safety on the other side of the ravine. The Hestites raised a cheer.
Riverwind clamped a strong hand on Karn’s shoulder. “It’s a trap,” he insisted.
“Get your dirty hands off me!” Karn snarled. When Riverwind was slow to comply, he broke the plainsman’s grip and stepped back. “I think Her Highness miscalculated. You’ve been as useful on this march as an ore cart. When I tell the queen how worthless you are, maybe then she’ll get rid of you once and for all.”
“Goldmoon will not listen to you,” Riverwind said. A trace of true emotion crept into his voice. “You’re being tricked into dividing your force. The rebels are near, and they will attack.”
“H
ow do you know this? How? Do you have magical sight? What is the source of this penetrating wisdom?” Karn said sarcastically. “Eh, giant? What do you say?”
“The one you hailed was not a flesh and blood person, but a shadow. I could see through him,” Riverwind said. “I could see—I saw through him.”
Karn snorted. “I’ll not waste any chance to crush the rebels. If they are near, it is my duty to give them the sword.” He waved his soldiers forward. The warriors made four single-file lines and started into the gully.
The elves scrambled down the loose gravel slope, skidding on their heels, sprawling in the trickle of water that flowed down the center of the gully’s bottom. Smeared with black mud, their armor dented by stones, the warriors reached the other face and started up. When about fifty warriors had gained the far side, Karn went down himself. Red boulders rose out of the mud like berries in a bowl of gruel.
Karn slipped and slid like his troops, but he climbed to the far side and yelled back, “Come on, giant! Or are you watching for people who aren’t there again?”
Riverwind dropped heavily down the slope. The rocks were rolling under his feet; he lost his footing and fell back. The polished helmet came off and clattered to the ground.
“Ha-ha-ha! The great warrior!” Karn sneered. “I’ve seen old crones who could walk better than you, ha-ha!” He was still laughing when the arrow hit him in the back.
Karn stumbled forward a step or two. He could feel the shaft in his back, feel the heat of his blood flowing out, but he could not accept what had happened. The giant’s shocked gaze was on him, then it slid past his shoulder to stare at something behind him. Karn tried to turn around, to see what was there, but a red haze filmed his eyes and he suddenly felt the rocky ground bang the back of his head. The brazen sun filled his eyes.
The Blue Sky People set up a concerted cry of fierce joy and fell upon the divided bands of warriors. True to their heritage and training, the Hestite soldiers formed ranks as best they could and presented shields and swords to the rebels. Several hundred Blue Sky People swarmed out of the rocks surrounding the gold mine. Those not armed with stolen weapons threw stones. The seventy-odd warriors on Karn’s side of the gully locked their shields together and hacked down any digger brave enough to close within sword’s reach. The warriors on the opposite bank shouted encouragement to their comrades and crowded forward to enter the gully, eager to join the fight.
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