Feathered Dragon mt-3

by Douglas Niles

  “The Big People are our enemies, and they will kill us unless we kill them first. They go to their deaths to appease the gods, and the gods are pleased, and the Little People will live on.”

  “But the killing must end sometime, to that same tale,” argued Kashta. He, too, spoke the rote of long-taught prophecy: “ ‘There will come a man, a giant even among the Big

  People, who will turn night into day and lead us into the peace of a new age.’”

  “Is this man a giant?” demanded Tabub.

  “He is tall, even for a Big Person. Yet truly I could not call him a giant,” Kashta admitted.

  “Then he will be fed to the Cat-God.” Tabub, his pronouncement final, turned with studied arrogance to inspect his newest wife. Kashta knew that the interview was over.

  The small garrison of Helmsport, some thirty men, rushed to the shore, shouting hurrahs, at the appearance of Don Vaez’s fleet of carracks. Their delight swiftly turned to chagrin when, after landing his troops, the commander of the relief expedition ordered them thrown into irons and imprisoned in the very fort they had guarded for so many long, lonely months.

  Helmsport was in fact little more than a huge, rectangular earthwork. It stood upon a low hill, commanding the sheltered waters of Ulatos Lagoon, where first Cordell and now Don Vaez had anchored their fleets.

  The wall itself enclosed a rectangular compound, although a low gate had been built, a notch in the earthen wall where horses, men, and even carts could pass through. The rest of the rampart loomed some thirty feet above the surrounding ground and supported a wide walkway at the top. Any defending force occupying the top of that wall would have a commanding advantage over an attacker forced to scramble up the steep outer slopes.

  The base of the wall within the fort was lined with wood and grass huts, with roofs of thatch. Several wooden barns had been erected plus one framed structure, much like a house, that had been intended to serve as Cordell’s headquarters. Several smaller, but solid, wooden buildings served as storage sheds. It was to one of these that the captain ordered the garrison members, still chained, to be confined.

  “What’s the meaning of this?” howled Sergeant Major Tranph, the burly veteran Cordell had left in command, when Don Vaez confronted them in their rude dirt cells. “What manner of enemy are you?”

  “Cautious,” explained the blond-haired captain, unruffled by his prisoner’s outburst. “You are suspected of treason, of betraying the charter of Amn. Rest assured that you will have ample opportunity to defend yourselves. It may be that you were duped by the real villain in the affair.”

  “Cordell?” Tranph gaped at Don Vaez, understanding his meaning but disbelieving just the same. “Surely you jest! What has he done to arouse the ire of the merchant princes? Why, his profits after conquering Ulatos alone would pay for the expedition tenfold!”

  “Those profits have not been delivered into the proper hands. Indeed, we have evidence that he is concealing them from the just owners. Where is the eminently loyal captain-general? Why does he not appear to defend himself?”

  “Profits delivered? To Amn? By Helm, man, we haven’t had contact with the Sword Coast since our landing a year ago!” Tranph sputtered, indignation wrestling with outrage.

  “And that, in itself, may be at the root of the treason,” Don Vaez suppressed a yawn. “But come now, my good sergeant. Where is your general? Surely he is the one who must provide the ultimate answers.”

  “1 tell you, he has marched on the capital of this land-a city reported to hold more gold than you can possibly imagine! Our last message from him told us that he had entered the city and was engaged in negotiation with their ruler. We have heard nothing else from him for these last four, maybe five months.”

  “Nor will he hear aught from you,” promised Don Vaez with a tight smile. “When he returns, we shall have a quiet reception-call it a trial, if you will-and he will have ample opportunity to answer the charges against him. Perhaps if his mission is a success, he will return with enough gold to convince us of his noble intentions.

  “Then he will accompany us-in chains, of course-on a return to Amn.” And then my own triumph shall be complete! he added silently.

  Don Vaez, in a flurry of blond curls, turned on his heel and marched from the cell. A burly guard slammed the door shut behind him, while a company of trusted watchmen stood as sentries about the small building.

  Rodolfo, the veteran navigator, stepped over to Don Vaez as he left the shed. “Beggin’ your pardon, sir,” he began, “but I wonder if we’re bein’ a bit hard on these lads here.”

  Don Vaez’s eyes flashed, and he fixed the man with all the glare his clear blue eyes could muster. “You’re not being paid to wonder but to follow orders! If I were you, I’d have a care to remember that!” he barked.

  Rodolfo met the gaze in those blue eyes for several seconds, but Don Vaez couldn’t read the look he saw there. He held his own gaze firm, and the navigator finally nodded slightly.

  “As you wish, Captain,” he replied softly. Rodolfo turned and disappeared into the darkness collecting in the fortress. Don Vaez watched him go, pleased with the result of the confrontation. He knew that he had gone far to secure his position as unquestioned leader of the expedition. The only question now was what to do next.

  Still, it was a fine start to the mission! Don Vaez congratulated himself as he crossed the compound within Helm-sport, toward the large wooden building-the only permanent structure here-which he had claimed as his headquarters. Within that house, he knew, Pryat Devane worked his auguries, trying to determine with the aid of Helm what would be the appropriate course of action. That was useful, thought the commander, but not essential. He had time now, and could afford to wait.

  He took no notice of the eagle soaring in serene circles high overhead.

  “We have folk like this where I come from,” Halloran explained. “They’re called halflings.”

  Do they lack clothing and take your people prisoner?” Erix wondered.

  Hal chuckled grimly “No-they’re more of a nuisance! than a threat. Most of them live among humans, in the same cities and towns and villages. Sometimes they’re brave, sometimes cowardly, They’re just like other men, except a little smaller.”

  He and his wife sat on the ground within a small cage fashioned from sturdy wooden bars lashed together with toughened strands of hemp. Around them, the Little People settled down to their evening’s cooking. The village was a collection of straw huts, with overhanging roofs of heavy thatch and low, rounded doorways. Racks in the center of the structures held a variety of meats over low coals.

  Night settled across the surrounding jungle, a night filled with the heavy drone of insects, punctuated by the shrill howls of monkeys and birds. Every once in a while they heard the rumbling cry of a jaguar, and for a few moments afterward, the forest fell still.

  Several children advanced cautiously toward the cage, watching them with wide eyes. Erixitl smiled at them, and they quickly scampered back to the shelter of their parents cookfires.

  If Erix was frightened, Halloran thought, she didn’t show it. He tried to hide his own fear, even though he didn’t fear for himself. But what kind of hope was there? What were their prospects of flight, even if they could get away, with Erix carrying the burden of their child within her.

  “What do you think they’ll do with us?” she asked.

  Halloran could only shrug, “At least I don’t see a pyramid or an altar. But who knows what their plans ate? Have you heard of these folk before?”

  “In the same sense as the ‘Hairy Men.’ the desert dwarves,” she admitted. “The Little People are told of in ancient legends, and some claimed that they dwelled in the deepest jungles of Far Payit. But like the desert dwarves, no one seemed to take the stories seriously. I have never heard of anyone who has seen them before.”

  “We are the lucky ones,” Hal remarked dryly.

  For a time, they lapsed into an uncomfortable silence
. Finally Erixitl shook her head and offered her husband a wan

  smile “Still’ believe things will be all right,” she said. “1 don’t know why, but I do.”

  “Me, too,» Hal agreed though neither of them believed him. He had to do something, he knew-but what?

  “Big People, you come with me now.” The remark drew their attention, and they saw the same warrior who had been the first to accost them at the waterfall approaching.

  “Where are you taking us?” asked Erixitl as the little man opened the cage door. Several other warriors stood well back from the pair, carrying the short bows with deadly-looking arrows, ready to shoot.

  The native didn’t reply, instead commanding them with a peremptory gesture to follow him. They walked among the small grass huts of the village to a clearing on the far side. A dozen warriors, each bearing a blazing torch, stood in a ring at the center of the area.

  Halloran’s chest tightened in fear, again for Erixitl and the unborn child. Instinctively he understood that the prisoners would be at the center of the evening’s activities. He wondered what rite these diminutive warriors had prepared for them.

  “Go here,” commanded the warrior who led them.

  As the ring opened to allow them to pass, Halloran saw a circular pit, perhaps twenty feet across, in the center of the circle. He couldn’t see the bottom until he and Erix were prodded to its edge. Then he saw that it was about twelve feet deep.

  Opposite their position, at the base of the pit, he saw a door made of heavy wooden bars. Something dark and shadowy moved beyond those bars, and his fear grew to sick horror.

  “Go in now,” ordered the warrior. His voice carried a trace of reluctance, but he displayed no hesitation as he raised his weapon menacingly

  No ladder or other means of descent presented itself. Halloran knew that a twelve-fool leap might very well prove deadly to Erixitl or the baby.

  “Wait!” he objected. “Leave her out-let her alone! I’ll go in there by myself!”

  The warrior looked at him, and Hal thought he saw sympathy through the garishly painted lines on his face. But then another of the Little People came up, with a peremptory air that made Halloran suspect that he was some sort of chief. This one had the same war paint as the others, though his was drawn in vertical lines and he had long feathers tied to his ears and his wrists.

  The stocky leader raised a hand and gestured toward the pit. A group of archers behind him raised their weapons, and Halloran looked at the bristling row of arrowheads.

  Suddenly the chief pushed Erixitl in the small of her back. With a startled scream, she tumbled forward off the edge of the pit as she twisted to face Halloran. His heart froze at the look of terror on her face.

  But his body remained mobile.

  “My hand!” Hal shouted. Erix spun in the air as he tumbled to the side, seizing one of her hands in both of his. He fell prone at the lip of the pit as she dropped and grunted in pain. But he held firm, arresting her fall halfway down. J

  “I’m okay,” she gasped. “Let me down.”

  Halloran gasped as another warrior kicked him in the ribs, pushing him toward the edge. He felt Erix slip from his grasp and drop the rest of the way to the floor of the pit. Then he rolled off the edge, twisting in the air to land on his feet beside her.

  Erix threw her arms around him, trying to choke back her terrified sobs. “Are you hurt?” he asked her, and she shook her head, sniffling.

  Then they heard, from the darkness across the pit, a deep and very menacing growl.

  The surviving Itza warriors pressed through the dense tangle of the valley bottom, pushing their way toward the heights above. Gultec, at the rear of his army, saw that the ants did not pursue after the bloody skirmish.

  That, at least, was something. He hadn’t had time to count their losses, but he knew that more than a hundred of the

  Itza warriors had fallen in the short, violent engagement. But they had accomplished their objective. The man-bugs had apparently paused to regroup. If the rest of the people had the opportunity to gain the pass because of the sacrifice of some, the warriors had not died in vain.

  He remembered, with a cold chill, the pale white monster who had lashed out with magic against them. Once again he thought of the battle against the foreigners at Ulatos and how the magic of the albino sorcerer had broken his army.

  Could there be a connection between the two powerful spell-casters? He didn’t see how, and yet the distinction of their whiteness seemed too obvious for coincidence. One had been a humanlike elf, the other was a grotesque and unnatural beast. Yet something about the beast’s face seemed similar, in its alluring femininity, to the elf.

  He pushed his speculation aside, focusing instead on the rigors of the climb. The warriors straggled across a swampy valley bottom, a flat depression that marked another barrier in their long march up the pass.

  From here he could look before him into the black dome of the star-speckled sky and faintly see the outline of the narrow pass above. It looked impossibly remote and distant, yet somewhat closer than the last time he had seen it. Most of the Itza people should be passing through it even now.

  “You have made us a good plan,” said Zochimaloc, appearing out of the darkness to walk softly beside Gultec. “The high route must be the safest.”

  The Jaguar Knight sighed. “I wish it were true. But I fear no place is safe from the kind of enemy that pursues us.”

  “You must know that your attack was successful,” countered the old man, stepping nimbly over a low vine. “They have fallen behind us now, and this gives us time to escape.”

  “Time? Can it be enough time?” Gultec wondered. “Is there enough time in the world?”

  Zochimaloc chuckled, a patronizing, grandfatherly sound that somehow made Gultec feel more confident. “There is time, now, for the old people, the children, and the mothers ° go through the pass and over the mountains. Perhaps there is time, too, to have faith.”

  The warrior looked up at the pass, still outlined against the stars. Perhaps Zochimaloc was right. Indeed, many of the Itza must have already reached the far side of the mountains. By morning, the warriors would reach the summit of the pass. Once there, they would have to turn and face the inevitably pursuing enemy. There they would make their stand.

  From the chronicles of Coton:

  In wander at the mysterious ways of the One True God.

  Around me the dwarves pace and grunt in agitation over our missing companions. Lotil, too, fears for his daughter. He tries to work, but his fingers cannot perform their pluma-weaving. Instead, they tremble in a way I have never seen before.

  And in truth, the disappearance of Halloran and Erixitl is sudden and mysterious.

  Yet I find it difficult to express fear for them. There is too much of destiny about the woman for her to suffer a random mishap in the jungles, this short of our goal. She may not triumph, J know, but her ultimate resolution will be countered at Twin Visages. Of this, I am certain.

  Wherever she has gone, it is good to know that she has Halloran’s strength with her. Whatever her lot on this dark and impenetrable night, I feel certain that it has a purpose in the pursuit of our goal.

  The dwarves will seek them in the morning, and I will wish them well. Perhaps my optimism is but the senile dodderings of an old man. My companions may be correct in their assessment of danger.

  In any event, we must wait for the morning to know.

  14

  NIGHT OF THE CAT-GOD

  Halloran placed one arm around Erixitl’s shoulders and moved himself between her and the source of the rumbling growl. He felt very conscious of the baby within her and terribly vulnerable in his own unarmed state. He was determined to die before allowing harm to reach Erix.

  The couple stared across the darkened pit, and slowly their eyes adjusted to the dim light. The stoutly barred door remained closed, but again they saw shadowy movement beyond it.

  Then that resonant growl rolled t
hrough the pit again.

  “It’s opening!” Erix gasped. They saw the barred door rise slowly, and then the black shape beyond it crept forward with an oily smooth motion. Ft crept toward them, slowly moving away from the shadows around the wall of the pit. As it reached the center of the enclosure, they saw its sleek black pelt, its ears laid back along a broad, flat skull.

  “A black jaguar!” Hal hissed, shocked at the horribly menacing visage of the great cat. Its yellow eyes burned through the darkness like glowing spots of hellfire, while its jaws gaped open just enough to reveal long, wickedly curved fangs. The animal’s shoulders equaled Hal’s waist in height, even as the creature crouched. It stared unblinking, the dark tail flicking hack and forth in excitement.

  “Its too huge. It can’t be a jaguar!” Erix objected, though she couldn’t imagine what else menaced them in this night-mare pit.

  “There are other great cats in the world-tigers, lions, even more horrible things like displacer beasts,” Hal whispered, desperately seeking a plan of action. “Maybe it’s something like that.”

  “I am the Lord of the Jaguars.”

  For a moment, the voice shocked them into stillness. It flowed with oily smoothness, yet it contained traces of the deep growl that had already raised their hackles in fear. The great cat blinked, and Halloran swore those jaws twisted upward into a horrible caricature of a smile.

  “I am the Lord of the Jaguars, and you are mine.”

  “It talks!" Hal hissed. He tried to shield Erixitl, staring into that monstrous, leering face.

  “I talk. I talk before I kill.”

  “Who-what are you?” Erixitl demanded. “Why do the Little People keep you here?”

  “I stay because I choose to stay,” rumbled the black beast. “They do not keep me. No one keeps me!”

  “Why do you choose to threaten us, then?” Halloran asked. “We offer you no harm.”