A brooding silence settled over the dark prison.
Finally, Preacher said, “You’ve learned a whole heap since you’ve been here, Audie.”
“The old priest I’ve been talking to is eager to practice his English, as I said,” Audie explained. “And I’ve picked up some of his language, as well, so we’ve been able to communicate quite a bit. Also, there’s really nothing to do in here except think about the implications of everything I’ve learned.”
Preacher nodded, even though in the thick gloom, none of the others could see him.
Boone said, “So you mean they’re going to continue”—he had to pause and swallow hard—“sacrificing prisoners, Mr. Audie?”
“That’s right. In the time that Nighthawk and I have been here, they’ve taken half a dozen out of here, and those men never came back. The conclusion as to their fate is inescapable.”
“How often do they do that?” Preacher asked.
“Well, it’s difficult to keep track of time in here . . . but I’d estimate they conduct a sacrifice approximately every two weeks.” Audie added, “By the way, son, you don’t have to call me mister. Out here we tend to be rather informal. In circumstances such as these, there’s even less need for it.”
Preacher said, “All right. Even workin’ folks to death like you say they’ll do, it’s gonna take a couple weeks to clean out that crack in the cliffs. Maybe longer than that. So maybe they’ll hold off on killin’ anybody for a while so as to make sure they have victims for a while longer.”
“Possibly,” Audie agreed, “but we can’t count on that.”
“I ain’t countin’ on nothin’ except we need to get loose and rattle our hocks outta here as soon as we can.”
“Don’t say too much,” Audie warned. “You never know who you can trust.”
That comment was enough to tell Preacher that the man called Talbot was still a prisoner. He had betrayed their earlier escape effort, and Preacher didn’t doubt that he would do it again if he thought it would gain him any favors from their captors.
It was enough to know what they were facing. A sacrifice had taken place earlier, so with any luck they would have some time before another prisoner was dragged off to a grisly death. That would give him and Audie the chance to work on an escape plan.
One thing he could do in the dark was check to see how good a job his captors had done of binding his hands. He twisted his wrists against the braided ropes, trying to get some play in them.
After several minutes he was forced to conclude that the Aztecs knew what they were doing. The bonds were secure enough that he would have to work at them for a long time to have any chance of loosening them.
He was doing that when he heard a loud scraping noise from outside. Somebody was taking the bar off the door. A moment later, it swung open. Torchlight spilled into the stone cell, and the glare was blinding to eyes that had become accustomed to the thick darkness.
Preacher squinted, and as his vision began to adjust he saw two Aztec warriors stride into the prison carrying burning brands. The flickering light filled the large room, and for the first time the mountain man got a good look at his fellow captives.
Four of them were strung up along the left-hand wall—Preacher, with Boone Halliday to his right and Audie and then Nighthawk to his left. All of them bore fresh marks of battle, and Audie and Nighthawk sported a number of old bruises and scrapes from when they had been captured. They hadn’t been in the prison as long as some of the others so they looked reasonably healthy.
The same couldn’t be said of the other prisoners, all of whom were in varying stages of emaciation. Five were tied to iron rings set into the rear wall, and four were strung up on the wall facing Preacher, Boone, Audie, and the big Crow. With each man, the bonds had been shortened so that their arms were pulled up painfully.
Preacher wasn’t sure which of the other prisoners was Talbot, but he suspected it was a weaselly-looking gent with a long dark beard shot through with gray whose eyes darted away guiltily as Preacher looked at him.
Four men carrying spears entered behind the torchbearers. They spread out so a tall, regal figure followed by more warriors could step between them. The beautiful priestess Audie had called Eztli stepped up and stood in front of Preacher, staring at him.
If anything, she was more beautiful than ever close up. He wasn’t sure if he had ever seen skin quite so smooth. She looked almost like she was made out of molten gold. He couldn’t help but be aware that she was almost naked, covered only by the long loincloth and the necklace of hammered gold plates. Even under the dire circumstances, her savage beauty was compelling.
She still carried the knife slung from her sash, and she had added another touch. From her left hand dangled a length of rawhide strung through the empty eye sockets of three human skulls.
He figured it was a talisman of some sort, since she was a priestess. A chill rippled though him at the casual way she held those souvenirs of previous victims.
She spoke, her voice liquid, musical, and utterly incomprehensible to the mountain man. One of the warriors carrying a spear stepped forward and brandished the weapon toward Preacher. Torchlight glittered on the blade.
CHAPTER 21
Preacher glared at the man with the spear. If he was about to die, he would do it with defiance on his face.
The warrior lifted the spear and used its keen edge to cut the ropes between Preacher’s wrists, then stepped back.
The mountain man’s arms dropped. Pain shot through his muscles, but there was relief, too, as his weight came down more solidly on his feet. He was a little unsteady, but he forced himself to stiffen. He didn’t want his captors to see that unsteadiness.
He kept the glare on his face. He was damned if he was going to look grateful to them for not killing him.
Eztli spoke again, never taking her eyes off Preacher. She was still close to him, but several of the warriors had their spears ready to skewer him if he moved so much as an inch in her direction.
When Eztli paused, Preacher asked, “Do you know what she’s sayin’, Audie?”
“I . . . I think she’s saying that she’s taking you with her,” the little man replied.
“She can’t!” Boone cried. “They already sacrificed somebody just a little while ago.”
Audie shook his head. “I don’t think that’s what she has in mind. I can’t tell for sure, mind you, but I get the sense that they’re not going to sacrifice you, Preacher.”
“Well, I reckon that’s a relief,” the mountain man said dryly. “Or maybe it ain’t. There’s no tellin’ what somebody as loco as this gal might do.”
Anger flashed in Eztli’s eyes, and Preacher realized that while she might not actually speak English, she had picked up a few words of the language . . . such as loco.
She snapped a command. A pair of warriors reached out, took hold of Preacher’s arms, and forced him toward the door.
“Preacher!” Boone called after him. “What are we supposed to do?”
“Don’t reckon there’s anything you can do,” Preacher said over his shoulder. “Just stay alive, son, and wait for a chance.”
A chance to do what, he didn’t say. He supposed that depended on the Aztecs.
The warriors forced him outside, and even though he had no idea what his captors had in store for him, after being cooped up in that stone cell it felt good to draw in a deep breath of clean mountain air. He noticed that it wasn’t quite as cool as he would have expected, which lent credence to his theory that the valley might be warmed somewhat by hot springs.
Once they were out of the prison the warriors stopped, but only for a moment so that Eztli could stride imperiously past them and take the lead again, along with the men who carried the torches. Then the procession began again.
They wound through the streets. Preacher thought he could probably find his way back to the prison, but after so many twists and turns he wasn’t sure. The instincts that could lead him unerring
ly through a trackless wilderness weren’t as much good in a crowded city.
Finally they came to a stop in front of a building that resembled the giant pyramid at the end of the avenue, although it was much shorter and didn’t taper to a single block of stone on top. The walls were covered with elaborate carvings similar to those on the prison. It must have taken an incredible amount of work to chip those decorations into the stone. Some were just meaningless shapes, while others were meant to represent animals. Preacher saw some that reminded him of mountain lions, although the big cats appeared to be covered with spots of some sort. There were eagles and other birds, but some of them were so bizarrely formed they were like nothing he had ever seen before. He could barely identify them as birds.
A short flight of wide, shallow stone steps led up to the building’s entrance, which was flanked by stone pillars. Torchlight shone on the polished wood of the door, which one of the warriors opened for Eztli. As she stalked in, Preacher realized she reminded him of one of those big cats in the carvings.
She was probably every bit as dangerous as one of those predators, too.
The warriors forced Preacher up the steps and into the building, although to tell the truth they didn’t have to try very hard. He wanted to find out what she had in mind for him. If he got the chance, he planned to grab her and use her as a hostage. If she was as important to the Aztecs—and to Tenoch—as Audie made her sound, they might be willing to release the other prisoners in order to keep her safe.
Of course, with the path through the cliffs blocked, Preacher and the others wouldn’t be able to escape from the valley, but they would deal with that when the time came.
The stones that formed the floor tiles inside the building were polished to a high sheen, like the door. Eztli glided over them on bare feet as she led the way into a large chamber. The only furniture, if you could call it that, consisted of blocks of stone placed here and there around the room. Some of them were covered with animal skins, and more skins were piled on the floor.
They were primarily bear skins, but he saw hides from mountain lions, deer, and antelope, as well. They reminded him of the buffalo robes many of the Indian tribes used in their lodges.
Torches were already burning and set in niches carved into the walls. Most of the warriors left. Only two remained just inside the entrance, holding their spears and standing at attention like soldiers as they gazed straight ahead, not seeming to see anything.
Preacher was willing to bet the rest of the guards were right outside. If he made a move toward the high priestess, a shout would summon them in an instant.
Eztli turned toward Preacher and spoke. He had no idea what she was saying, but her tone wasn’t as strident and commanding as before. She set aside the skull talisman and moved to an alcove where a clay pitcher and a pair of cups waited on a shelf. She poured liquid from the pitcher into one of the cups, picked it up, and carried it toward Preacher.
She was offering him a drink, he realized. When she held out the cup to him, he took it but didn’t lift it to his lips. The liquid inside was almost clear. It might have been mistaken for water, but he felt confident that it wasn’t.
When he didn’t drink, Eztli let out a laugh. The sound was every bit as pleasant and musical as her voice when she spoke. She returned to the shelf and filled the other cup, then carried it over to him as well. She held it out to him and gestured. He could tell that she was offering him his choice.
“I reckon this’ll do me.” He lifted his cup slightly as if toasting her.
She laughed again, raised her cup to her lips, and drank deeply. Preacher followed suit, and as the stuff bit fiercely into his mouth and throat, he knew his guess had been right. It wasn’t water. It reminded him of the tequila he’d had in the cantinas of Santa Fe, but if so, it was the strongest tequila he’d ever tasted.
If Eztli was planning to get him drunk, she was going to be disappointed. He had put away so much tanglefoot in his life that his capacity for liquor was enormous. He licked his lips as the drink warmed his belly.
The high priestess smiled at him. “Eztli.” She touched the fingertips of one hand to the valley between her breasts as she spoke.
Preacher already knew her name from Audie, but he nodded as if he were just learning it. He tapped his own chest. “Preacher.”
“Pree-char,” Eztli repeated.
“Close enough.”
“Eztli.”
She seemed to be expecting him to say it, so he did.
“Eztli. Mighty pretty name.” Flattery never hurt anything where a gal was concerned, he thought—even a bloodthirsty Aztec Indian gal. She couldn’t understand the words, but he thought she might savvy that he was complimenting her.
She must have, because she seemed pleased. She took his empty cup and cocked her head to the side. He knew she was asking if he wanted another drink.
“Reckon I’d better not,” he said as he shook his head. “Liquor don’t muddle me none, even on an empty stomach, but I’ve had enough.”
She took the cups and placed them on the shelf in the alcove. He couldn’t help but admire her graceful movements. If she hadn’t been an insane killer, he would have been attracted to her. It was impossible to forget all the bloody deaths she’d had a hand in, though.
She was just living according to her own lights, he reminded himself. To her way of thinking, she and her people weren’t doing anything wrong. The white trappers were the enemy. To those who worshipped that war god Audie had mentioned, the one with the long, crazy name, enemies existed only to be sacrificed.
Preacher had run into many grim, bloody customs among the tribes he had encountered over the years. Just because he might understand a little of why the Aztecs felt like they did, didn’t mean he was going to forgive them for what they had done. He would battle all he could to put a stop to their plans and free his friends, no matter who got in his way.
Eztli spoke again. The words sounded good in her voice, but to Preacher they were all nonsense. He shook his head to indicate that he didn’t understand.
She moved closer, put a hand on his chest, spoke earnestly for a moment. Then she turned and swayed over to one of the piles of bearskins. She stretched out on them, extended a bare arm toward him, and said, “Pree-char.”
He took a deep breath. The invitation was pretty damn plain, he thought. He glanced over at the two spear-carrying guards by the door. Their gazes were still focused straight ahead, which must have taken a heap of determination. Most men wouldn’t have been able to stop themselves from staring at such an abundance of beautiful female flesh sprawled out on a bearskin robe.
As for Eztli, she didn’t seem to care that the guards were there. Either she was confident that they wouldn’t watch whatever mischief she got up to—or she just didn’t care if they did.
As for Preacher, he had never been burdened by an overabundance of shame or modesty—spending a winter or two among the Indians would take care of that in a hurry for most men—but what Eztli was suggesting seemed a mite raw even for him.
He knew it was liable to make her mad, but he shook his head.
He was right. Anger flared in her eyes for a moment. Her tone was more curt and commanding when she spoke again.
He said, “Sorry. I just don’t reckon it’d be a good idea.”
She rolled onto her side and came up on her knees, as lithe and sinuous as ever. The impatience she felt was obvious in her demeanor and her voice as she ordered him to join her.
Preacher just stood there, unmoving.
Maybe she would get mad enough to sic the two guards on him. Preacher would welcome the chance to take their spears away, kill them both, and make Eztli his prisoner and hostage . . . if he could do it without alerting the warriors who waited outside.
She came to her feet and stalked toward him. Angry words spilled from her mouth. Preacher heard the two guards start forward, but Eztli motioned them back and took him by surprise. Her open hand flashed toward his face.
He wasn’t going to just stand there and let her slap him. His own hand was a blur of speed as he reached up and caught her wrist before the blow could land. His fingers closed tightly around her flesh. She trembled a little as she stared intently at him from only a few inches away. A furious scowl darkened her face. She was no match for his strength as he held her hand away from him easily.
She lifted her other hand slower and moved it to the back of his neck. Only a few inches shorter than him, she didn’t have to come up on her toes much to press her lips to his. Preacher could have turned his head away from the kiss, but he didn’t.
Despite everything, she tasted good. Not good enough to make him forget about all the dead men for whom she was partially responsible, but the sensation itself was undeniably pleasant. He wondered if she made a habit of playing a little game of slap-and-tickle with some of the other prisoners before they had gone to their deaths.
He wondered, too, what ol’ Tenoch would have thought about it if he’d walked in. According to Audie, Tenoch and Eztli were lovers, so Preacher figured the big varmint wouldn’t have been too happy.
Like an actor in some play who had been waiting offstage for his cue, Tenoch chose that moment to stride into Eztli’s chamber. A brief commotion at the door and a couple words snapped in a harsh voice were the only warnings Eztli had.
Preacher let go of her wrist and she took a hurried step away from him, but not fast enough to keep Tenoch from realizing what was going on.
He bellowed something as Preacher swung around. The big warrior priest was still dressed in the extravagant getup he had worn earlier during the sacrifice, with one addition. A machete was slung from the girdle around his waist. His lips pulled back from his teeth in a grimace as he reached for the long, heavy-bladed weapon. He barked an order at the two guards, and since they stayed right where they were, Preacher guessed that Tenoch had told them to stay out of what was about to happen.
As Eztli continued to back away, Preacher glanced at her and saw that she looked worried, but excitement shone in her eyes, as well. Eager anticipation for what she was about to see gripped a part of her.
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