Feathered Dragon mt-3

by Douglas Niles

  “I’m coming with you,” he promised. “But everyone?”

  She shook her head. “Let the people go to the valley. They can stop there to rest. I believe Poshtli shows the path for me-for you and me-alone.”

  Halloran looked to the narrow ridge that loomed to the east, knowing of the bleak desert (hat lay beyond. Silently he vowed to do his utmost to see Erixitl safely through that waste. It was all another part of their search for a home, he told himself. And someday they would find one.

  As the Mazticans bestirred themselves, many already starting on the trail toward the southwest, Erixitl and Halloran found Cordell and Daggrande among the camp of the legionnaires.

  “We need your help,” Halloran began. Cordell’s eyes flashed at the news, and his hand went instinctively to the hilt of his sword,

  “Speak,” he requested.

  “We are leaving the trail, following Poshtli to the east. He flies over the bare desert.” Then Halloran described the lush valley that lay to the southwest, knowing that Grimes and some of the other riders had already found it as well. “Go with the people and keep an eye out for attack. If you can make a defensible position there, set up a long-term camp.”

  “Why do you think he’s taking you that way?” Cordell had known Poshtli as an adversary, and a courageous one. Too, he had witnessed the man’s appearance in the guise of the bird. But he wasn’t willing to let Halloran and Erix go without some plan.

  “Qotal.” Erixitl replied simply. “Somehow I am tied in to his return. He is the only force that can counterbalance Zaltec and his creatures. I must do what I can to bring him back to the True World”

  Halloran knew the resentment his wife felt for her enforced role in this game of the gods, yet he heard none of it in her voice. She spoke as a true believer, and Cordell accepted her faith without question.

  “Good luck to you, then,” he agreed. “I’ll get the company together. The Kultakans will stand bravely, and so will these Nexalan warriors. I’m sure we can hold the bastards at bay!”

  Cordell’s voice carried renewed enthusiasm at the prospect of battle and action, as Hal had known it would. He understood as well as anyone the heavy toll that the long retreat had exacted from the aggressive general. Still, to Halloran the commander’s optimistic assessment of his chances seemed almost reckless.

  “I’m coming with you,” Daggrande declared, facing Hal and Erix. He coughed awkwardly. “That is, if you think you could use some help.”

  Halloran looked at his old companion with deep affection. I know we could use your help, my friend.”

  “Don’t get mushy on me,” huffed the dwarf, his own voice gruff with emotion. “Just let me get my whetstone-my damned axe keeps going dull, what with all the dust and all!”

  Daggrande marched away, and Hal watched him with affection. A “dull blade” by the old dwarf’s estimate was still as sharp as a barber’s razor, he knew. The sturdy veteran’s presence would greatly enhance their chances of survival.

  Several Mazticans approached. Hal recognized the priest Xatli and the Eagle Knight Chical. Erixitl explained their plans and accepted their good wishes for their journey. The cleric of Qotal looked at her seriously.

  “Out there in the desert, sister, I sense that your destiny awaits. I would offer to accompany you, to offer whatever feeble aid I can, but I know this: You will have the aid of someone far greater than myself.”

  “Who do you mean?” she asked, surprised.

  The cleric shook his head. “1 do not know, but I sense it

  about you. You will lie carried to your final challenge on the wings of your friends.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Erix admitted with a shake of her long black hair. She pulled her cloak, growing brighter with each minute of increasing daylight, tightly around her shoulders.

  The great monolith looked like a living form as it moved. Two great legs, thicker than massive tree trunks, supported it and carried it cumbersomely forward. Two arms, humanlike in shape but tipped with wicked talons of crooked stone, swung at its sides.

  The form of Zaltec disdained the broken causeways that still connected the island to shore. Instead, the huge stone form waded into Lake Tezca. striding easily through the thick mud. The water came only to the monstrous form’s knees.

  Then it emerged onto the lake’s south shore, its heavy footfalls crunching into the ground. It passed the smoldering remains of Mount Zatal without a sideways glance. Instead, the glowering eyes, gray orbs of granite in a stark, stone face, remained fixed upon the desert, in answer to some distant and unknown compulsion.

  And Zaltec marched on, until a watcher on the rim of the valley could have seen only a huge, monolithic form, moving into the remote wastes of the desert, like a towering, sheer-sloped mountain.

  A mountain that walked.

  “Forward, beasts of the crimson hand’”

  Hoxitl urged his minions into a lumbering advance. Earlier, while darkness still shrouded the desert, the ogres bad stalked through the camp, kicking and cursing their charges awake. Now the ranks of ores stood armed and restless, ready to move.

  The route lay plain before them: the wide, flat-bottomed valley that curved gently through the desert, lb each side, ridges of windswept rock, red and brown in color, provided a jagged outline to the track of their quarry.

  “Today we will find more humans, and there will be more killing!” promised the beastlord.

  The assembled creatures snorted and stomped at the pledge, pounding spear-shafts against the ground or clashing macas and clubs together. The throbbing noise rolled across the desert, all the way to the camp of his hated enemies, Hoxitl hoped.

  HOW he hated the humans’. The anger that had spurred him from the ruins to lead his army on this great march seemed a pale flame compared to the fiery loathing that now consumed him. With each slain body, with each life claimed for Zaltec, his fury had grown.

  With an explosion of howls and roars, the beasts lumbered after Hoxitl as the great monster started to advance. They spread into a vast wave, moving down the same valley the humans had followed the day before, advancing at a steady trot. For an hour, the horde rushed forward, covering distances it had taken the humans four times as long to march.

  The first clue was an odor on the dry wind, the sweet scent of prey. Hoxitl howled, and the cry arose from the ranks behind him until a horrid shriek of bloodlust filled the air, reverberating across the desert like a killing gust from the north.

  Hoxitl searched the dry valley floor before them, but no sign of movement caught his eye. The humans had probably moved on early in the day, but his nostrils told him that they had been here, and very recently.

  Then he saw them.

  Atop one of the low ridges that bordered this desert valley, Hoxitl saw a flash of color. Squinting, he picked out several shapes-human, no doubt, though one seemed somewhat short and stocky.

  And then a hot, hissing spear of light lanced into his eyes. The colors! The brightness! Screaming in pain and rage, Hoxitl tumbled backward. His clawed hands scratched at his eyes in agony.

  Very slowly the pain faded away, and the beast, with a low growl, sneaked another look at the ridge. He blinked in confusion and fear, and red spots swam before his eyes, but no further blaze assaulted his vision. Yet he recognized it for what it was: pluma. Only the power of feathermagic could cause such pain to his powerful senses.

  Dimly he realized that the attack had come from the ridgetop, from that point of color up there. And with this awareness, all of his hatred, all of his rage, focused against that distant, slowly moving spot of color.

  Hoxitl’s heavy eyelids drooped over his wicked, gleaming eyes as he pondered this mysterious development. The great mass of humans, he knew, continued to flee along the valley floor. Yet the one who now climbed the desolate ridge must be one of special significance. Certainly the power of the pluma he had just witnessed indicated this.

  He could not ignore the mass of victims awaiting hi
s army. No, the taste of blood on the previous day had been too sweet, too tempting. Yet neither could he ignore the spoor leading to the east, into the desert.

  He gestured to his trolls, long-limbed creatures who were very fleet of foot. “Pursue those who slip away to the east,” Hoxitl ordered.

  The green-skinned creatures lumbered away, in groups of three and four, from the rest of Hoxitl’s army. Finally several hundred of the monsters-all of the trolls-broke away, heading for the sheer ridge. They lumbered forward in the rolling gait typical of the long-limbed creatures. The beastlord knew that they would move quickly and inexorably after the pathetic humans.

  Hoxitl turned back to the rest of his beasts, the crowded mass of ores and ogres. These he led toward the south, in the direction taken by the warm bodies that would make food for his hungry god.

  Jhatli sat beside the trail, watching the long columns of his countrymen march past. They followed the unobstructed route of the valley, toward the water and food that they knew lay before them. The sight of yet another sullen youth, apparently without friend or family, was no longer enough to stir their hearts, so the Nexalans passed Jhatli with neither a look nor a word.

  Running… fleeing! Jhatli looked at his countrymen in scorn. Was that all they could do? Why didn’t they stand and fight? This was no life for a warrior… or one who would be a warrior.

  Still, it was the life led by the Nexala now. The youth shook his head angrily, looking to the north, imagining the lumbering horde over the distant horizon. How long until they reached these people, until they forced them into a battle for which they were not prepared?

  Finally Jhatli cast a look back over his shoulder. The first thing he noticed was the great eagle, soaring high in the sky to the east. Looking down, he spotted the trio: Erixitl, the Lady of the Plume; and the two soldiers, Halloran and Daggrande.

  He didn’t know where they went, but he suspected that it involved the hideous beasts that pursued them all. His own promise for revenge still burned in Jhatli’s heart, and so he watched them carefully.

  He had heard the story that the eagle was in fact Lord Poshtli. Jhatli well remembered that noble warrior, proud and aloof in his feathered cloak and his great, beaked helmet. Such a warrior, in the guise of this bird, would be a powerful ally and a wise leader.

  Now Erixitl and her companions had broken away from the great bulk of the people to follow that eagle. It was only natural that Jhatli resolved to follow the eagle, too.

  He waited until the three had begun to climb the rugged ridge that bordered the valley. Then he turned away from the column and trotted toward the same ridge, but some distance to the left of where Erix and her companions climbed it. Again the people took no notice-another youth trotting off to a fruitless hunt in the desert. Too bad his parents didn’t keep him under control. Didn’t they know that danger lurked out there?

  Jhatli held his pace easily, quickly scrambling into a narrow, boulder-strewn ravine that seemed to lead up the ridge. For long minutes he climbed, sweat pouring from his wiry brown body. His footsteps fell sure, though, and his strong hands and arms pulled him through several narrow spots.

  Finally he reached a small gap in the ravine that allowed him to step out onto a small shoulder of the ridge. He had climbed most of the way to the top, he saw. Perhaps half a mile away, he saw the flaming colors of Erixitl’s cloak, already at the crest.

  Suddenly Jhatli felt very dizzy. He looked at the cloak again, and the colors began to spin, weaving an incredibly beautiful pattern, images of birds and flowers and butterflies of every hue, before his eyes. Shaking his head in confusion, Jhatli sat down and looked away.

  It was then that he saw the massive horde of monsters gathered on the valley floor, stretching to the far limits of his vision until they vanished into the rising cloud of dust made by their march. Unconsciously the youth recoiled against the rock, appalled at the extent of the horde.

  Then he noticed movement closer to where he crouched. He saw a small group of creatures-huge, gangly beasts with green skin and gaping, fang-studded jaws-moving steadily away from the mass. They came forward in long strides, toward the ridge he watched from. In fact, they came toward the very ravine he had followed in his climb.

  They came toward him’

  The colors faded as Halloran and Daggrande looked at Erixitl in astonishment. For a second, the pair had stood in the warm wash of light, very bright yet somehow vaguely cooling in the dry desert air.

  “How-how did you do that?” Hal asked softy.

  “It is the power of pluma” she answered, suddenly uncomfortable, “didn’t do anything. But look, it seems to have captured their attention!”

  Indeed, they saw the horde in the valley surge toward them. Even at this distance, they heard the shrieks and howls, felt the pounding of weapons and feet upon the

  ground.

  “Let’s go!” Hal urged, and they swiftly started down the opposite side of the slope. Though they could no longer see the beasts of the Viperhand, the presence of the monsters lurked like a heavy cloud just beyond the ridge. They knew that soon it would wash up and over.

  They saw with dismay that they descended toward a torturous landscape of jagged gullies, sharp outcrops of rock, and broad stretches of cracked and broken ground. Far away, blue with haze even through the clear air, stood another ridgeline.

  Above them, the eagle still floated effortlessly through the sky. The great bird circled slowly, always leading them eastward. If they followed him, they would have to traverse the bleak and tortured ground before them.

  “How are we going to cross that?” groaned Halloran.

  “There! Follow Poshtli” Erix pointed as the great eagle dove toward the ground. It appeared to follow the course of a twisting, broken chasm. From where they stood, they couldn’t see the bottom.

  Half-sliding, half-scrambling, they plunged down the steep slope. Their route took them right to the lip of the gully, and they saw a fairly clear floor of dirt. It took but another minute to find a negotiable route down into the gulch.

  They looked upward between a pair of steep, rocky cliffs and saw only a narrow strip of sky above. On the bottom, they felt a little more secure, since only something airborne or standing at the very lip of the little canyon would be able to see them. Puffing with exertion, they started along the level ground, relieved to see that the eagle followed each twist and turn of the canyon above them.

  For several hours, they pressed forward, not speaking, dripping with sweat, pausing only long enough to take a few drops of refreshment from their still-bulging waterskins.

  Fortunately the canyon floor followed a generally eastward course, with many small twists leading slightly to the north or south.

  It was at their third brief rest, as each rationed a few tiny drops from the skins, that Hal stiffened. Immediately the other two came alert. Daggrande’s eyebrows raised questioningly.

  “1 heard something,” Halloran mouthed silently. He drew Helmstooth, his keen longsword, and began to creep along the canyon floor. A few feet before them, the gully curved to the right, concealing the next stretch of its course.

  Crouching, Hal raised the sword before him as he approached the turn. Then he sprang forward, turning to the side and stabbing the weapon viciously.

  He almost fell as he suddenly twisted away, desperately pulling back before his thrust struck home. His initial astonishment grew into full-blown shock.

  “What are you doing here?” he demanded.

  Daggrande and Erix watched in amazement as Jhatli crept from behind the concealing rock.

  “I–I came to warn you,” the youth whispered. The urgency in his voice assured their attention.

  “Of what? Why did you leave the others?” Halloran’s anger filled his voice.

  “The others!” Jhatli’s indignation came through as scorn. “This is where 1 should be! 1 told you, I will be a warrior, not one who spends his life fleeing enemies like the rest of my people.”
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br />   “Warn us?” interjected Erixitl quietly. “Warn us against what?”

  “There’s an ambush up ahead. Monsters-big, green ones! They watched you enter this canyon, and now they wait at the rim to kill you!”

  Halloran squinted at Jhatli, but he believed the lad immediately. “Trolls. That was courageous of you. How far away are they?”

  “I will show you, but first let us get out of this low place!”

  They scrambled up a shallow draw in the slope. Once again on the slopes above the deep floor, they felt vulnerable. But they moved carefully, and could see no sign of the trolls as they emerged from the canyon.

  They crept forward no more than a hundred paces, however, when Jhatli pointed. They saw three of the green humanoids crouched at the rim of the canyon, peering expectantly downward.

  “There are more-six or eight-on the other side,” Jhatli explained. “But I saw only these three over here.”

  “Let’s try to slip away while they’re still expecting us down below,” Erixitl urged. The plan made sense, so they worked away from the canyon, slowly moving from one sheltering mound to another. Fortunately the rough ground made concealment easy.

  It was almost good enough.

  “Let’s pick up the pace a bit,” suggested Hal after they had left the trolls some distance behind. Accompanied by Jhatli now, they started toward the distant ridge, scrambling over, around, and through the many jagged obstacles in their path.

  The roar from beside them was their first warning of attack. A pair of massive trolls reared up on a boulder, howling and barking, obviously calling to others of their kind.

  Daggrande reacted instantaneously. He raised his heavy crossbow and let fly a thick steel bolt. The missile tore into the chest of the nearest troll, exploding from its back in a shower of gore. Bellowing, the creature toppled backward, out of sight.