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 the 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 Ten
Once when he was a boy, Rivenwind 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
