“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.”

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 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.”