Karn went to the first dead warrior. “Rjen,” he said. “A good swordsman. Did you have to let the giant kill them?”
“This is not a game, Karn.”
He stood over the second slain elf. “Mesk. He and I trained together.”
Li El rubbed her slim white hands together. “Stop being such a child,” she said tersely. “I had to test the strength of the illusion I've cast on Riverwind. And so I did.”
Karn's shoulders sagged. “So what is next, Highness?”
“When the barbarian wakes, I want you to muster two cohorts of the Host. You will take them out and scour the cavern for Mors.” Li El adjusted the folds of her golden robe and slipped her hood up over her dark hair. “Oh, and find the soldier who ran away just now. What is his name?”
“Prem. His name is Prem.”
“Yes. Find Prem and put him under arrest. I won't have cowards serving me. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Highness.”
Li El swept from the room. Karn watched her go. His anger at Riverwind's usurping of his place was gone. He had buried it as he had buried countless other hurts inflicted on him by the ambitious, unstoppable queen of Hest. Li El was merely using the outlander to reach their goal. Once they had attained that goal, the barbarian would be of no further use and he would be discarded. He was merely a tool. Karn was still lieutenant of the Host. He was still the son of Li El. Her chosen champion.
Vvelz received Mors's permission to show Catchflea the Blue Sky People's collection of objects brought down from the surface. Vvelz believed there might be useful things amid all the junk, things to use against Li El. He hoped that Catchflea could sort through the debris and identify the artifacts of the Empty World.
Catchflea and Vvelz picked their way up an ancient staircase littered with loose stones.
They came to a cleft in the rock wall of the cavern. It wasn't an obvious opening; projecting rocks had been chipped in such a way as to cast shadows over the hole. Vvelz slipped through, beckoning Catchflea to follow.
A squarish chamber had been cut out of the rock. Blue globes were distributed along the wall in cut niches. Catchflea let his hand rest gingerly on the nearest one. The blue light within quivered and roiled around. Sadness gripped the old man. This feeble light had once been a living, breathing Hestite. He wondered if it had been male or female, good, kind, lazy, homely. Did it still live inside the sphere? Did it yearn for freedom or the release of death?
“Come along,” Vvelz urged. Catchflea took his hand away.
Stacked at the rear of the room were all sorts of things. Catchflea saw a stand of longbows, with only frayed bits of bowstring clinging to them.
“Those could be very useful,” he said, pointing to the bows. “If you had strings-and arrows to shoot.”
“What are arrows?” Vvelz asked. Catchflea blinked. He told Vvelz, with many hand gestures, the parts and practice of archery. The sorcerer was amazed.
“In the old chronicles, it was written that warriors could slay enemies at two hundred paces, but I always thought they threw spikes or daggers at each other!” He picked up a longbow of seasoned yew. “How could we make strings for them?” he asked.
“Well, I'm no bowyer, but I've seen men weave strong twine into bowstrings, then seal them with beeswax.”
“Twine? Beeswax?”
Catchflea mopped his brow. This wasn't going to be easy.
“Twine is string, combed out of fibers like cotton or flax.” Vvelz had no idea what he meant. Catchflea kicked about in the assorted goods and found a hank of rope. He showed this to the sorcerer. “Twine is thin, tough rope.”
“Can you make this twine from rope?” the elf asked.
“I might, yes, though I'm no craftsman.”
Farther along they found a few quivers full of arrows, though the feather fletching had rotted off most of them. Catchflea gave the quivers to Vvelz to hold, and they continued to poke among the piles of surface world goods.
Most of it was trash: leather shoes and belts so old they'd dried out and curled up into tight rolls, an assortment of rusty woodworking tools the Hestites had taken for exotic weapons.
“What is this?” Vvelz held up a nasty-looking device.
“A brace and bit. It bores holes, yes.”
“Pah, that's ghastly!”
“In wood, Master Vvelz, only in wood,” Catchflea assured him.
Then they came to a great selection of jars and pots. Catchflea squatted down and lifted one lid after another. Spices. Moldy nuts. Wooden buttons.
“Your scouts must have waylaid every traveler in Ansalon to gather this assortment,” Catchflea muttered.
“They had strict orders,” Vvelz said. “Never to take large items or those things that are highly valued above. There's enough gold and gems in Hest already.”
The old man found a jar full of chestnuts. They had dried, splitting their skins. He peeled one and ate it. It was so good, he grabbed a handful and nibbled them as he crept from pot to jar to pot.
“Tell me. Master Vvelz, who is Di An? She seems very close to Mors.”
“Just a digger girl, a barren child. She's quite adept at prowling tunnels and stealing small items. As for Mors's affection, I believe they have known each other a long time. There's a rumor that it was Di An who first found Mors after he was blinded and driven out of Vartoom. She took care of him until he was strong again.”
Catchflea spat out a chestnut shell. “And you, when did you join Mors?”
Vvelz dipped a finger in a pot of cracked pepper. He tasted the black powder and coughed violently. “Poison!” he gasped.
“No. Pepper.” Catchflea put a pinch in his mouth. It burned, but not very much. “We use to flavor food.”
Vvelz's eyes were watering. “You Empty Worlders must have iron stomachs!”
Catchflea chewed and swallowed the last of his chestnuts. “Master Vvelz, would you tell me how it came to be that you chose to work against your sister?”
“Ha-ha-shoo!” Vvelz sneezed and rubbed his nose. “Does it matter?” he sniffed. “Is it not enough that I risk my life to help Mors's cause?”
“It matters, yes. It occurs to me that if Li El wanted a spy close to Mors, you would be an excellent choice.” He folded his arms across his chest. “A spy, or even an assassin.”
Vvelz turned his left hand palm up. His eyes widened, and he uttered a short, archaic spell. Catchflea quickly stepped back from him. A spark glowed in the sorcerer's upturned palm. The spark grew into a small flame.
“You want to know, do you? Can you understand if I tell you? I have spent my entire life under the thumb of my heartless, ambitious sibling, who always considered me more servant than kinsman.” Vvelz spoke slowly and softly. “She crushed good and wise sorcerers, whose only fault was not realizing the power of their opponent. She took the love of a brave warrior, bore his son, and then raised that son to hate his father. Her crowning achievement was using Karn to betray Mors. She gave the diggers an entire half-day of rest so that they could attend the ceremony she had prepared for Mors's blinding. That day was-that ceremony was…”
Words failed Vvelz, and he squeezed the flame tightly in his fist. Sparks anddroplets of fire splashed to the floor. “I am ashamed she calls me brother. I will see the end of Li El, no matter who I have to side with.”
Both men were silent. Vvelz was lost in dark thoughts of his sister, and Catchflea, discomfited by the tragic tale, looked beyond the elf's shoulder at the pots. There were so many. Pots and pots of-
“Pepper!” cried Catchflea.
“What?” said Vvelz. “Are you stricken?”
The old soothsayer rushed by Vvelz. “No! No, pepper is the answer!”
Catchflea swept an arm around in a half-circle. “There must be fifty pounds of pepper here,” he said. “If all Hestites are as sensitive to it as you are-”
Vvelz's expression had brightened. “I begin to see! You mean to put this pepper in the warriors' food?”
“No, better! Throw it in their faces! They'll be so smitten with sneezing and weeping, your Blue Sky People
