FIERCE: A Heroic Fantasy Adventure (BRUTAL TRILOGY Book 2)
Page 28
No wonder the Tultecacans think they are good luck. They have been nothing but good luck to me so far.
“Do you need rest, friend Gathelaus?”
“Nay, rest brings death. I will rest when I’m dead. Let’s go on.”
By nightfall Labna had selected a safe spot where they slept for a few scant hours. Before dawn’s light they were up and moving again. Gathelaus tried to count the little bearded faces, there were either fifty-nine or sixty. It was a start at least. Over the course of the day a dozen more would join here or there every few hours. The tiny obsidian spears could kill as well as big ones, and Gathelaus did not doubt their courage. They entered a valley in between two thickly forested hills where a multitude of the little people dwelt. In their new found joy, the tiny, deep-voiced men began to sing.
Today is the day, we will come out,
Yes, today is our day to shout,
To reclaim the day and hold the night.
This is our land, enemies take flight.
Come with us, oh giant of a man.
Take back with us our home and lan’.
Gathelaus could not match their tune to any he knew, but somehow it sounded familiar. Over a hundred more little Alux warriors soon joined them, some armed with weapons of copper or even iron. Those with iron seemed especially respected. Hours and many miles later they moved silent as ghosts again down trails Gathelaus could hardly see in the gathering gloom of dusk.
“We are very near, my friend. My men have slain whatever Sorcerer scouts were watching these outer perimeters. Please bless the rest of us now, that we may attack with the approval of the Lord God,” said Labna.
“I don’t think that will be very hard to get,” said Gathelaus. He led a blessing en masse upon the Alux. They repeated each line after he said it, their deep voices a near silent thrum in the night. When it was done, they crept through the last of the trees. A terrifying, thunderous dirge boomed in the distance.
A throb of drums and a deep chorus chanted an ominous black song. It burned like a deep fire of molten rock beating down the mountain. A cloud of amorphous proportions that wanted to eat away at their souls. A stench of death blew on the night wind. Gathelaus narrowed his eyes and thought, This must end now.
They stepped through the tumbled blocks of stone, wicked fire lights flickered against the shadows of the city. Every few moments the dark song climaxed and the fires leapt higher and higher. Gathelaus drew his war hammer and sword, despite the dread that threatened to creep over him. He and the Alux moved inside the city’s walls.
Revolution Out of the Underworld
An ominous air hung over Ixmal, city of the Sorcerer. The humid thickness spread over everything as if attempting to choke the life out of man. Mixamaxtla stood expectant at his cell door. He and his men had run out of water hours ago and the thirst of the oppressive air parched them. He called a number of times for the jailor who never responded. He sat and then stood again and led the men, even Niels, in a prayer of deliverance.
When the jailor finally showed his face, Mixamaxtla said to him, “My men and I need water, and if you have served the others as poorly as us, then they shall need it too.”
The bald man sneered. “Oh you want more water do you? Well, I’ll get you all some more water right quick then, my lords. We don’t want your blood to be too slow and dry.” He laughed as he left and returned shortly with a pail of warm water. The men quenched their thirst.
“This is the night the Sorcerers mean to murder us. Be ready, I have prayed long and hard for the old gods to open a way for us, and I know that such a route will be opened. Everyone retain your strength and be ready to act. For all we know, it may be something as simple as a way to escape back into the jungles,” said Mixamaxtla.
They didn’t wait long. Hormahotec returned with a troop of men and their jailor. They were ordered out one at a time and tightly bound. The Sorcerer Captain would not look upon Mixamaxtla nor speak to him. He seemed as if he wished to be anywhere else, but was duty bound to perform here.
“Have you thought on what I told you, Hormahotec?” asked Mixamaxtla.
The warrior captain stared at him wide eyed and stammered , “I… I know wh… who my master is. It is the Sorcerer alone. I f… fear you not.”
Mixamaxtla looked him up and down. “Lying does not suit you, you aren’t good enough at it.”
The captain raged at Mixamaxtla and struck him again and again until Mixamaxtla fell to the floor. Hormahotec kicked him again and then spit on him. “You’re the liar. You are the one who fears and will beg for mercy. Take them to the altar.” The Sorcerer warriors picked up Mixamaxtla and braced him against Xoloc and Ptemauc.
They led them out into the wide plaza before the dark pyramid. Great bonfires blazed with meteoric fury alongside the stairway all the way to the top of the black Necropolis. A low stage was set at the bottom with the prisoners off to the right in long trundled bindings. Many other prisoners were already there, including a goodly score of pale and marred women and girls. Mixamaxtla saw their faces for the first time. They were young for the most part but haggard and sad, frightened at the horrendous spectacle.
A toad-like demon of stone sat squatting with its belly up awaiting the blood of the innocent. A pair of harlots caressed and made lewd gestures about it. The crowd of Sorcerers and Tultecacans thronged about cheering and yelling drunkenly. More Tultecacans gathered every moment until the plaza filled with dusky bodies, the stench of smoke, sweat and wine intoxicated the air.
Some of the women finally noticed the other prisoners and seemed confused at seeing the Northmen Galen, Niels and Terah there, bound and gagged. As it grew darker, the full moon rose up above the trees and cast an eerie red glow. A blood moon, wrought from the awful fire and smoke of the wicked hungry flames. Cuauhtémoc appeared, walking stiffly with an awkward gait. Mixamaxtla recalled Gathelaus shearing off the Sorcerer’s foot right before the lightning struck.
“Gathelaus, where are you my brother?” Mixamaxtla said to no one in particular, not realizing anyone could hear him over the din and clamor.
“Did you say Gathelaus?” asked a woman of twenty or so.
“Yea, I did. He is my blood brother and he is out there somewhere. We lost him on the journey here. But I am sure he is out there and that he will bring the sword and fire to this place.”
“You lost him? Is he dead?” she asked.
It was then Mixamaxtrla realized it was the woman Coco. “I do not believe he is dead, I don’t feel that he is gone from this earth. I would know if he was. We lost him near Mayapan in a fight.”
“Why would you come here without him?”
“No, we came to rescue you and the others. Things didn’t go as well as we would have hoped.” He smiled at her.
She brightened at that. “You must speak the truth.”
“I am Mixamaxtla, I always speak the truth. We will save you somehow, the old gods will preserve us.”
A violent dusky fist smote Mixamaxtla across the face. “Do not listen to him, my dove. Tonight, your hearts will beat a solitary moment and smoke upon the altar while you watch before dying. You will appease our savage allies’ cruel gods of blood and stone. Look, even now the Grand Master ascends to begin your grisly fates,” shouted Hormahotec.
Coco gasped and Mixamaxtla braced himself up as the Sorcerer King strode up the raised platform and bade the harlots leave the demon stone alone for a moment. His right foot glistened in the fire light, the glossy black obsidian reflected what Mixamaxtla imagined his soul looked like. As the Sorcerer signaled them, the harlots cast large cups of oil upon the fire pots on the stage, sending up nightmarish pillars of flame to hold up the temple of evil’s domed roof of black sky.
“My brothers, allies, and kindred, I welcome you,” thundered Cuauhtémoc. Again, the flames flared. “We give thanks to the fire, to the stone, to the air, to water, and to the void!” The flames shot up each time he mentioned an element. The heavy throb of drums in the n
ight began. Dozens of skin covered kettle drums followed by deep bass drums. Low noted horns dirged while strange multi stringed instruments thrummed and reverberated in the air. The Sorcerer, with the voice of a god, began singing and shouting his mad song while the harlots cooed. The crowd of Sorcerers joined in the chant.
The prisoners stood wide-eyed at the insane spectacle of flame and song. A feverish pitch rose, the mass of bodies jumping and screaming with a wailing and gnashing of teeth—and still, the Sorcerer held control over it all. Galen, unable to take his eyes from the unholy ritual, finally asked Niels, “Why?”
“People like fire, the spectacle holds them in its thrall.”
And the beat went on with its murderous dirge. Mixamaxtla stood still, muscles tensed, as he watched, waiting for an opportunity that he was sure would come. Xoloc seethed as he strained against his bonds, eyes drawn to slits as he glared at the Sorcerers. Ptemauc seemed dazed, while Niels swayed back and forth with the throbbing beat. The drumbeats ended with a last great flaring of flame. Xoloc released a deep breath. Mixamaxtla glanced about with itchy hesitation. The Tultecacans and Sorcerers remained silent a frozen space of time and then the drums started again, the song not yet over.
Two burly Sorcerers grabbed the Northman pilot, Terah, from the front of the line of prisoners and brought him struggling to the fore of the stage. He was helpless against them.
Hormahotec approached Mixamaxtla and said, “I am going to save you for the last so that you can see the agony on all of their faces.”
The two guards held Terah’s arms at the wrist and elbow and slammed him down against the stone altar. He twisted and pulled against his captors, unable to free himself of their grip. He faced certain doom. The Sorcerer loomed above him, soon joined by another shadow—his consort, Tazcara, dressed all in black from her long skirt to her tight ebon corset and girdle. A black cloak was draped around her otherwise bare shoulders and her long black hair cascaded over them as well. Her wide, scarlet lips turned up in a vicious grin, the only color on her pale face. She grasped a long dagger in her left hand and as the poor struggling soul was held in front of her, she plunged it down. The Sorcerer, standing beside his dark bride, finished him off. Flames roared higher and higher as the drums continued their merciless beat. Terah wailed his last and drooped in his captors’ grasp.
“Take him to the peak. Let his blood mingle and stain our temple for all time!” came the thunderous voice of the Sorcerer King.
Mixamaxtla screamed, shouting for it all to end.
The harlots threw more oil onto the fires. “Bring another victim for sacrifice,” said the Sorcerer Grand Master.
“Just like the other one,” hissed Tazcara as she caressed the Sorcerer’s shoulder and cheek.
The two burly Sorcerer guardsmen trudged to the prisoners and, ignoring their cries of fear and anger and the threats of Mixamaxtla, grabbed the girl that stood beside him. Taking two steps, one of them let her go, mouth twisted into a confused grimace. He dropped, his ugly face slamming to the ground, an arrow jutting from his back. A dozen others fell or were wounded by the quick short shafts.
Strange small men with big heads advanced from all sides. Chaos reigned as they attacked the Sorcerers. Sorcerer and Tazcara bellowed threats and commands that were all but ignored in the hideous little maelstrom. A giant of a man strode out from the darkness ahead of the dwarves. Gathelaus. Mixamaxtla, heart soaring, shouted to him, but the Northman seemed not to hear. Gathelaus held his sword out, pointing it at the Sorcerer King.
“You! I have more pieces to cut off!” He charged the demon.
The Tultecacans scattered to escape from their diminutive killers, but the Alux came from all directions. They stole from out of the buildings, sewer systems, over the walls and down the palace steps.
We come to hold the day and take back the night,
This is our land, enemies take flight.
Lo, the awful black stained peak,
We will wash away its terrible reek.
So sang the Alux in a wash of primitive voices carrying terror and triumph, as they slew their generations old oppressors. Score upon bloody score of Tultecacans fell to them with nary a one fighting back. They ran screaming or cowered in frozen fear, all strength and bravery vanquished.
A number of the Alux ran to Mixamaxtla and the other prisoners and began to cut their bonds. “I am Labna, friend of Gathelaus,” said the one cutting Mixamaxtla’s bindings.
“The true gods are great indeed to deliver us, I thank you as well,” said Mixamaxtla.
“You are Mixamaxtla, yes? I am sorry I have no weapons that would suit you,” said Labna.
“It is alright, this is enough. I can fight back now that I am unbound.” The gladiator charged bare-handed, knocking the Sorcerers men asunder as he made his way toward the fore of the pyramid.
There, with a drawn scimitar, stood Hormahotec. “I said I would drink your blood from off the black steps, it matters not whether the priestess spills it or I do. I much prefer the latter.” He waggled his tongue at Mixamaxtla and charged.
Though beaten and worn, Mixamaxtla still had the speed and quickness from a standard among men who could run forever and not be weary, those that could fight and never faint. He caught the arms that held the deadly blade and he stared into the murderer’s eyes.
“I told you the time would come when your many awful transgressions would be known to you, and you would cry unto the Lord for your very soul,” said Mixamaxtla. “That time is at hand.”
Hormahotec snarled and pushed, muscles straining and blood vessels bulging. Mixamaxtla merely threw him back as if he was wrestling with a naughty child. The Sorcerer captain swung in hard and fast, but Mixamaxtla easily stepped offline of the blade’s strokes, grabbed the right hand holding the blade, and twisted. The scimitar dropped to the ground. The shaven headed Tultecacan gritted his teeth and tried to rake the giant’s eye with his left, but Mixamaxtla caught the other hand and forced the man to his knees, crushing him down until his back pressed against the stone.
Holding him down with one knee, Mixamaxtla laid his hands upon the Sorcerer’s forehead, covering the evil eye tattoo. A fearful look fell across the Sorcerer’s ashen face. “What are you doing to me?”
“Old gods of us all, help this man to see the error of his ways. Show him, show him that he will know. In the name of Light.” Mixamaxtla stood, freeing the man who had been Hormahotec, and extended him a hand up.
The man rolled over and wept. “You have the power; you have the power.”
Mixamaxtla searched for his comrades to see how they fared in the struggle. Niels alone seemed to have gotten hold of a sword and was using it effectively against a pair of Tultecacans. Xoloc ran to his side, spear in hand, and with one pushing and the other defending they beat back the two enemies. Gathelaus, halfway up the pyramid, traded blows with the copper sheathed Sorcerer King, his mistress behind him. She jeered at the burly Northman while both climbed steadily higher. Though the towering Sorcerer held the high ground, Gathelaus continually pushed him back as he cut and slashed the nemesis of men.
“Stay back, dog! Know you not that I cannot be slain by any such as you? I have been promised by my lord,” said the Sorcerer.
“Why do you give ground? Your masters are liars as you are. If I can cut off your foot, I can take your head,” shouted Gathelaus, raining blows on the Sorcerer’s now scarlet sprayed armor. Gathelaus also parried away the few thrusts Tazcara stabbed his way with her long dirk.
“A thousand curses upon you, Gathelaus, I’ll get you yet,” she screeched, flailing with her dagger wildly. With the head of the war club, he parried away the dagger again. The next time she thrust he hit the hand that wielded it. A clatter of steel on stone was masked by the howl of pain. It was more than enough for him to know he had shattered her hand.
“Can you conjure your demons now, with a broken vessel?” he laughed.
“Arrrgh, a million curses of Tanit upon you!”
Mixamaxtla grabbed a stout spear and ran to assist his blood brother. Two Tultecacan warriors came up against him, and just as quickly, Xoloc was beside him and they together dispatched the foes.
“We have all the women unbound and ready to go, should we run or finish this?” asked Ptemauc as he joined them.
“We finish it. I know we will prevail and clean this dirty city,” said Mixamaxtla.
The multitudes of the Alux cried out, “HuVula! Yod He Vau He!”
Not knowing what they were saying, Niels and Galen just nodded and together they chased down another pack of the remaining rogues.
The city plaza was now clear of all Sorcerers men except for the dead and the weeping Hormahotec. Taking charge, Niels commanded rations to be taken from the living quarters. “We don’t know if they will rally and return soon, so we must gather all the food and gear we can into these carts and move as swiftly as we can,”
“Take those sandals if they will fit, it’s better than barefoot on this land,” he told a sobbing girl of perhaps his own age. They took sandals off the dead if they could not find new ones in the living quarters of the Sorcerers. Some preferred to take them off the dead rather than enter the Sorcerers’ homes. Too many horrors had occurred to them inside those stone walls and touching an evil dead man was preferable to entering such a man’s home. Others took food stores from a cart that had been meant as offerings to dark gods of the earth who apparently would eat substances other than blood as well.