“Mors is right,” Vvelz said. “You cannot help Riverwind. Better to stay with us and join our cause.”

“But what is your cause?”

“We are the Blue Sky People,” said the deep voice, which Vvelz had called Mors. “It is our sacred purpose to leave these dark caverns and dwell again under sun and sky, to live as free people, subject to no tyrants. We will cast off our chains and rise into the light, and no one will force us back into the ground.”

“Very admirable, yes?” Catchflea said dryly. “But who are you?”

“Yes, come out,” Vvelz said. He held his burning palm up high and clapped his other hand into the flame. Small spurts of fire flew from his fingers to all parts of the room, where they ignited stands of torches. These strange devices resembled young trees, skillfully wrought in iron. At the tips of their metal branches, a small blue flame appeared. As more and more were lit, their soft hissing filled the air.

The room was vast, and a large crowd of diggers lined the walls. Far off on Catchflea's left was an arched doorway and a set of broken steps leading out and down.

Catchflea heard a tapping, like metal on stone. A slim golden rod appeared from behind the stone face. It groped around, tapping against the wall behind the face and on the floor. An elf appeared, holding the end of the rod. Vvelz gave Catchflea a nod. The old man stepped forward.

Up close, he saw the Blue Sky leader was typically short in stature, but broad of shoulder and well-muscled. The most arresting thing about this Hestite were his eyes. Both were sealed behind layers of white scar tissue. Now Catchflea understood the tapping-a questing rod: the Blue Sky leader was blind.

“You stare at my eyes,” the elf said harshly. “They are a gift from Her Highness. When I was expelled from Vartoom, she had my eyes put out as a warning to other would-be heretics.”

“Who are you?” Catchflea asked quietly.

“My name is Mors, once Ro Mors, captain of the Host. You are the one An Di calls Catchflea?”

“An Di?” asked Catchflea, confused.

“I forget,” said Mors. “Being a barbarian, you don't know the nuances of our tongue.” He held out an arm, and Di An hurried to him. She nestled against his side. “Di An, An Di; it is a token of affection to call her so.”

Catchflea smiled at the girl. “Thank you for helping us,” he said.

She looked downcast. “Riverwind did not escape.”

Catchflea touched a gnarled, dirty hand to her cheek. “He doesn't submit easily. We will see him again.”

The old plainsman saw that more and more Hestites had emerged and filled the empty floor space. He was amazed; there had to be at least six or seven hundred elves huddled in the ruins. He asked Vvelz who they were.

“All the diggers who have run away,” the sorcerer explained. “They threw down their picks and plows and joined the Blue Sky People. They come to us because they are tired and hungry, and because they can't bear Li El's tyrannical yoke any longer. Someday soon Mors will lead them out of the caverns into the light.”

“So many!” Catchflea marveled. “Why don't you just depart? Surely Li El can't stop such a crowd.”

Di An led Mors to where the old man and the sorcerer were talking. “She can,” Mors said. His voice was deep and rough. “Running from her is not the answer. We must take the fight to Vartoom itself, seize the tyrant and lead all the people of Hest to the sky at once!”

Some of the diggers set up a cheer when they heard that. Mors scowled fiercely at them. “Be quiet, you fools!”

“Li El can't hear them,” Vvelz said with a sly, reassuring grin.

“Why not?” asked Catchflea.

“Long ago, this was a temple to one of the gods, now forgotten,” Vvelz said. “In ages past, the people of Vartoom came here to worship. The priests would inhale fumes from sacred incense and utter prophecies through the image of the god's face. Now, they wouldn't dare come near this place.”

“No one worships here now?”

“Even the god's name has been lost.”

“If there are gods, it is they who have forgotten Hest,” Mors said bitterly. “We do not need them. We shall take destiny into our own hands.”

“The temple is known to be a haunted place,” Vvelz continued. “In the reign of Great Hest's third son, Drev the Mad, the priests were massacred and the sacred hearth extinguished by the king's order. It is said the dying priests cursed the line of Hest and that their ghosts walk the temple, seeking vengeance.”

Catchflea's eyes were wide. “Do they?”

Vvelz looked left and right. “I have heard things-seen glimmers in the deeper sanctuaries.” He shrugged.

Once the Blue Sky People had adjusted to Catchflea's presence, they went about their routine business as if he weren't there. Food was passed around, ragged copper mesh clothing was patched, and teams of elves distributed items stolen from the surface. It was both amusing and touching to Catchflea to see the Hestites tugging on old leather shoes and felt hats as if they were silk and satin, and eating with worn wooden spoons and plates as though they were finest porcelain.

With Di An as his guide, Mors went to the stump of a broken column and sat down. Bread was brought to him, and a wooden cup, carved from a single piece of oak, was placed in his hand. Catchflea was given the same plain victuals, but his cup was Hestite tin.

“Master Mors,” he said, chewing the tasteless, dry bread, “what convinced you to lead this band up from the caverns? After all, it was by going underground that the Hestites managed to survive.”

Mors rumbled, “It was the willfulness of Hestantafalas that condemned us to live like vermin in the dark. Had he obeyed his sovereign and kept peace, none of this suffering would have come to pass.”

“You were not a digger, yes? How did you come to have such sympathy for them?”

“Let me tell him,” Vvelz interjected. Mors took a drink of mineral water and grunted his agreement.

“I shall have to go back quite a ways,” Vvelz said. He cleared his throat. “When the Great Hest and his chief magician, Vedvedsica, died, their children naturally inherited their fathers' places. The first son of Hest became king and the children of Vedvedsica his magic counsel. Before long there was rivalry between the royal house and the sorcerers. To augment themselves, each faction recruited talented ones from the common people. Those who served the royal family formed the Hall of Arms, a warriors' guild, and those who followed the Vedvedsicans were known as the Hall of Light. A system was established whereby children were tested at a very early age to determine if they were fit for either house. Those who were fit for neither, as you know, worked as diggers. A balance was reached, and for centuries the people of Hest flourished.

“Then, in the reign of Great Hest's second son, Jaen the Builder, things began to go wrong. Crops failed repeatedly, and the diggers went hungry. Several of the mines collapsed, killing many. Most strangely, fewer and fewer children were born. Many that were born were barren, and did not grow to adulthood.” Catchflea looked over at Di An. The elf girl sat at Mors's feet, her knees drawn up to her chin. She stared unblinkingly ahead, and her gaze did not waver when Vvelz spoke of the barren children.

“The Hall of Light blamed the warriors' greed for the failures,” Vvelz continued. “Too much time was spent digging for iron and gold, and not enough care was paid to growing crops, they said. The Hall of Arms blamed the sorcerers. They claimed the magicians weren't providing enough light in the cavern, making the crops sickly and thin.”

“Who was right?” asked Catchflea.

“Both,” Mors said suddenly. When he offered nothing more, Vvelz went on.

“Jaen died in a fit of apoplexy, and his younger brother, Drev, became king. Drev spoke darkly of magical plots against his brother's life. When he was sure of the warriors' loyalty, he tried to crush the Hall of Light. The temples were closed and priests were killed. Many of the elder sorcerers were imprisoned and executed, including Vedvedsica's daughter Ri Om. I was but an apprentice then, and my sister a journeyman.”