The foe to his left attacked next, though he seemed shrunken and shorter than the Hollow-sky Riverwind remembered. There was no time for reflection, as this enemy scored a cut across Riverwind's cheek. Blood flowed, and sweat stung the plainsman's eyes. This Hollow-sky shrank further, and his ears grew points. Riverwind was confused. This was not his dead foe from Que-Shu. But still he fought; a terrible compulsion drove him to charge the smaller man and bowl him over. Riverwind raised his point high. The fallen warrior lifted his empty hands in a plea for mercy. Riverwind held his blade back.

“Kill him!” Goldmoon cried. “He would kill me if he had the chance!”

Riverwind stared at her. Though strong-willed, Gold-moon knew the quality of mercy well and cherished it. His beloved would never say such a thing. Riverwind stepped back. For an instant, Goldmoon, too, seemed to be shorter than he remembered. Then, she was her beautiful self again. A golden aura surrounded her and it reached out and touched him. His qualms were washed away. Goldmoon would never ask him to do anything that wasn't right. He must kill to save her.

With the second Hollow-sky dead, the third showed considerable reluctance to fight. His blade met Riverwind's only twice before he dropped it and fled. Riverwind, panting heavily, asked Goldmoon if he should pursue the fleeing Hollow-sky and slay him.

“No,” she said coolly. “He will do no harm.” She surveyed the bloody lodge hall. “You have done well. You are an excellent champion.”

“What?”

“Never mind,” Li El said. “Go and rest now. Later, we will find the plotters and wipe them out. You must be strong, my brave Riverwind. Only then will I be safe.”

He came to her and tried to take her hand. His fingers were stained with blood, and she avoided his touch. River-wind's face was troubled as he looked at his hands. “I'm sorry,” he said. He didn't wish to stain her white skin.

“Don't worry,” Li El replied, though she regarded his still outstretched hand with distaste. “I'll come to you later. Go now and rest.”

Still holding the sword of Hest, Riverwind wandered off in a daze. He passed through some golden curtains and spied a low stone couch. There were no such curtains or couches in the Lodge of Brothers, but still he did not question the illusion. The sword dropped from his hand, and he lay down on the couch, exhausted.

Li El surveyed the scene in the hearth room of the palace with satisfaction. Riverwind had fought and beaten three of her best guards. Her illusions needed some minor improvement, but by the time he went against the rabble led by Mors, Riverwind ought to cut quite a swath.

“He fights well, doesn't he?”

Li El broke out of her reverie and saw Karn lurking among the statues of Hest's dead heroes. “Why are you skulking there? Come out!” He did.

“The giant is just the tool you need to crush Mors,” Karn said bitterly. “I wasn't good enough.”

She looked toward the golden curtains. “Yes,” she said softly. “He will be perfect.”

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.”