He dimly noticed the natives backing away, bowing their heads in fear or reverence, bending toward the earth in supplication. He saw the girl beside him looking upward also, her face washed in the cool light.
The whirling circle dropped quickly as the legionnaires stood transfixed. Vaguely Halloran saw that the ring was made from the body of a huge flying snake. Its vast, brilliantly colored wings blurred from the speed of their motion, but were nonetheless visible. The glow emanated from the snake's body itself. Though not equal in brightness to daylight, it flared brighter than any source of nighttime illumination known to Maztica.
The broad ring, several paces across, settled around Halloran and Erix. The snake shifted and swirled its coils, embracing the pair. It could not avoid entangling Daggrande and Kachin at the same time.
Then the light disappeared, and with it, the four vanished within its grasp.
Mixtal gaped at the surreal scene below. He peered over the edge of the pyramid's top, from where he had watched the events below as night had fallen. The priest's mind seemed to settle into a damp puddle somewhere in the pit of his stomach, overwhelmed by the events of this still-early evening.
First the Jaquar Knight's objections thwarted the sacrifice of the enemy soldier. Then the girl had returned from the dead, still held by the strangers. He knew he had sacrificed her once, for the cold body still lay beside the altar. Battles of increasing size and ferocity had whirled around him. Then the couatl had appeared! The mystical creature of ancient history and legend, here, now!
And finally the sudden disappearance of the serpent and the four caught in its coils stunned Mixtal's brain into complete surrender. Collapsing on the stone surface, he wept.
Mixtal did not see the dark figure on the pyramid with him. He did not see the slender form, swathed completely in a black robe, bend over the body beside the altar, the body of the young woman, Martine.
But the priest heard the soft rustle of silk. He lifted his head to behold the Ancient One striding toward him, feet moving silently over the paving stones. Dimly Mixtal saw a pair of wide, pale eyes gleaming at him from the depths of a black cowl.
"So, cleric, you have made your sacrifice?" The voice came softly to Mixtal's ears.
"I did," he said, nodding. "You saw."
Spirali looked back at the pale corpse before turning scornfully back to the priest. "You have failed!" he spat. "Failed Zaltec!"
Spirali reached a black hand forward, seizing the cleric by the throat, squeezing. But the attack ran deeper than a mere physical clasp.
Mixtal's eyes widened in a gape of unparalleled horror. His tongue protruded, his cheeks sucked futilely for air. And as he suffocated, he felt his soul drawn from him by the unspeakable might of the Ancient One. Mixtal knew as he died that his death would bring annihilation, a complete consumption by a vengeful force of unspeakable evil.
Spirali threw the husk of the man, a dried, stiff remnant, to the stones. The Ancient One looked at the now-mummified face, sneered at its terror-stricken features.
"Failed Zaltec, perhaps," he whispered. "But more importantly — far more importantly — you have failed the Ancient Ones."
From the chronicle of Colon:
May these tales be preserved to shine in the light of the Plumed Serpent's glory.
Naltecona, greatest and most omnipotent ruler of the True World, mighty Naltecona, Revered Counselor of the Nexala and holder of the Seat of Flowers, who governs the lives and deaths of men with a wave of his hand, supreme Naltecona, blessed with the wisdom of his ancestors…
Naltecona has decided.
After months of fasting, after long consultations with his wisest clerics and magicians, he has decided. After the dozens of sacrifices consecrated to the younger gods, captive warriors slain, that the Revered Counselor may gain the insight he needs, Naltecona has decided.
He has heard the counsel of his war chiefs, who have urged him to muster his army and meet these invaders on the shore with a full display of the might of Nexal.
He has listened to gibbering sorcerers and soothsayers, who tell him the strangers are the incarnate forms of the Feathered Father, Qotal, returned to Maztica at last.
He has heard the fears, conveyed through Eagle flight, of the Payit warriors, who even now stand and face these strangers, perhaps in battle, perhaps in counsel.
All this has Naltecona heard, that his decision can be made with the wisest counsel, the greatest knowledge possible. All this he has heard, and he has decided.
He has decided to do nothing. The mighty Nexala, masters of Maztica, will sit and wait.
THE SHRINE OF QOTAL
Cordell looked up quickly, disturbed by the undisciplined shouts suddenly drifting in from the beach pickets. He knew his guards, posted along the fringe of jungle at the base of the bluff, would not yield themselves to such an outburst without cause.
"Domincus, Darien!" He called his chief lieutenants to his side, and the trio trotted rapidly through the grassy sand. Darkness hid the nearby bluff and its gigantic stone faces, but Cordell knew the voices came from the base of the precipice, near the main trail toward the pyramid at the top.
The Bishou rushed ahead of Cordell, his face drawn and haggard. "Almighty Helm, I depend upon your mercy!" chanted the cleric. The captain-general, too, feared the news from the scouts, though for more pragmatic reasons than the Bishou. Had he lost the use of Halloran as a captain? It was a possibility that needed to be faced.
A single word caught his ear as he approached: "attacked."
Cordell reached the picket to find two swordsmen supporting a third. The latter gasped for breath. His skin" was torn in many places, and blood covered his body. Cordell recognized him as Grabert, a reliable veteran.
"Martine!" roared the Bishou before Cordell could speak. "What happened to my daughter — tell me, man!"
"Where's Daggrande!" demanded Cordell, ignoring the Bishou's glower. The bleeding man stiffened at his commander's voice, doing his best to stand like a legionnaire as he reported.
"Daggrande and Halloran are gone, sir. It was sorcery! A bright circle, a ring that floated in the air, settled down around them. Then they disappeared, together with a couple of the savages."
The man dropped his eyes, avoiding the Bishou's gaze. "I'm afraid, sir… that is, I heard Halloran say that the savages killed Martine. On top of that pyramid, I think."
The Bishou bellowed his grief until his voice faded to a strangled gasp. He slumped to his knees, turning his face to the heavens. Shaking his fists at the sky, he roared his rage so savagely that the men around him stepped back several paces. "The curses of Helm fall upon your heads! May your ignorance be obliterated by the strike of his almighty hand!" For a moment, the cleric paused, and then he rose to his feet, his wild gaze meeting Cordells.
"You must send the legion against them! We will wipe them from the face of the earth!"
The captain-general's eyes flashed darkly, but the Bishou was too blind to see the warning there. "The legion performs at my command," Cordell said softly. "But you should know that we always destroy our enemies. I will not let this attack go unavenged."
By this time, perhaps ten legionnaires had stumbled down the stairway from the top of the bluff. Many of the troops on the beach had also gathered as Grabert finished his report. The Bishou moaned as Grabert told of Hal and Martine's capture, and Daggrande's pursuit.
"Then hundreds of 'em attacked, sir, coming out of the jungle with spears and clubs. We were completely surrounded. Daggrande got us into square, but too many men had fallen."
"And how did you escape — you and these other men?" The question came from a black-robed figure beside Cordell. Darien had remained unnoticed until now.
Grabert stiffened at the question, but he did not meet the wizard's eyes. "When that ring appeared, the one that snatched Daggrande and Halloran, the savages fell on their faces, like they were frightened or maybe awestruck. And we ran for the bluff, those of us lucky enough to
still be alive." Cordell looked at the elf woman at his side, and she nodded in understanding.
"I will return soon," Darien said softly. No one saw her gesture or heard the words to any spell. But all of those gathered saw her disappear from sight, instantly invisible. They knew she went to observe the legion's newest enemies.
Halforan felt the ground drop away, and then a ring of swirling color surrounded him. His hands flailed madly, seeking a handhold as he fell. He felt the squirming body of the young woman beside him. A tugging at his waist told him that Daggrande, too, held on.
Dimly he realized that he wasn't really falling. He felt weightless, but there was no rush of wind, no sense of motion. He tried to look around, but all he saw was the ring of color, expanding into an all-encompassing kaleidoscope.
And then solid ground once again materialized under his feet. The colors faded to a milky glow, and he saw that he had somehow arrived inside a stone building. The native girl had clung to his arm during the mystifying journey, but now she pushed away from him and stared, panic-stricken, around the chamber.
They occupied a circular room, perhaps ten paces across, with walls made of carved stone blocks. An opening on one side displayed a series of stone stairs leading upward into darkness. Above and beyond the opening, the faint twinkling of starlight illuminated the night sky.
"Helm's curses on this sorcery!" Daggrande had fallen upon landing and now sputtered angrily as he climbed to his feet. His hands clenched his bloody axe menacingly.
Hal saw the fourth person, the older man in the white robe who had tried to seize the girl. He alone seemed calm. Indeed, Hal watched in amazement as he knelt and bowed toward an image at one side of the room, opposite the doorway. The man's long gray hair, tied in a single knot, fell to the floor as he bowed.
"Qotal!" gasped the girl, stepping away from the image. Erixitl, too, recognized the image of the god, with its fanged jaws and encircling mane of feathers. She saw with sudden and startling clarity the truth of what Chitikas had spoken of earlier: that the faith of Qotal had lurked in the background of her entire life. Both her father and the Kultaka noble Huakal had worshiped the Feathered One, albeit quietly and privately. Kachin, cleric of Qotal, had purchased her for an exorbitant price in the name of that temple. She was the object of great attention from Chitikas, a feathered snake made almost in the image of the Plumed Serpent form of the god.
She looked with new eyes at the benign cleric, saw him regarding her with an expression of cherubic innocence. His face, lined with wrinkles as it was, beamed with a quiet smile for Erixitl alone.
Many questions suddenly rose within her. Why did the gods place such value on her life… or her death? What had compelled the followers of Qotal to manipulate her across the breadth of the True World? To make her a slave? Or a priestess?
And now Chitikas had brought her to this shrine, the sacred place dedicated to Qotal, at the close of this tumultuous day.
She looked at the fanged, grinning stone image of the Plumed God, and then at the serpentine form of Chitikas, covered as he was in downy feathers, and she wondered.
Halloran faced the garish stone image carved into the wall of the round chamber. He saw the face of a serpent, with gaping jaws and a wide mane surrounding the head. The mane, Hal saw after a moment, depicted a wide collar of feathers.
Suddenly he looked upward, wondering at the pale glow. He saw the long snake's body whirling through the air, beating its brilliant wings easily. The snake's body itself was the source of the illumination! His sword hand started upward with a will of its own until he forced himself to lower the blade. He felt certain that nothing good could come of attacking this glowing serpent, at least not yet.
"Who are you?" he demanded. "What do you want?" As soon as he challenged the thing, it slowly settled to the floor, resting on its long tail while most of the body floated gracefully before him.
"Better to ask you, stranger. What do you want?" The voice hissed in his mind, though the creature had made no sound. Awestruck, Halloran stepped backward, realizing that the beast's powers dwarfed his own mortal abilities.
The girl spoke, her voice smooth and quick. He could not understand her words, but suddenly the meaning entered his mind.
"Chitikas! Why have you brought us here? Who are these men?"
The serpent, Hal realized, not only communicated its own thoughts to him, but it also translated and passed along the words of the native girl.
"I don't like this," growled Daggrande, his voice a coarse whisper. "Let's get out of here!"
"We must stay here and listen." The white-robed man rose to his feet and turned toward Daggrande and Halloran. He, too, spoke his own language for telepathic translation. "The couatl is the sign of ultimate good, disciple of Qotal himself. I, Kachin, priest of Qotal, beseech you to listen."
The cleric nodded at the carved visage, and Hal understood that the serpentine face, with its mane of feathers, depicted this god, Qotal.
"Priest?" spat the legionnaire. "A priest such as the one who tore the heart from a defenseless woman? What kind of priest is that? What kind of god is that?" Halloran trembled with rage as the memory of that event came back to him in all its horror.
Kachin sighed. "No, not such a priest, though you have seen this face of the gods of Maztica."
"What possessed that monster? Why was she killed?" Halloran demanded.
"The tale is unpleasant, and complicated. That cleric is a patriarch of Zaltec, god of war — and night, and death, and other incidental things, but mainly war." Kachin spoke quickly, his words becoming thoughts in Hal's mind with equal speed.
"Across the land of Maztica are many who worship Zaltec, and all of them seek hearts to feed to their god. The priests take these hearts, usually at sunrise or sunset, in great numbers."
"That's barbaric!" snarled Halloran, appalled. "What kind of a god would demand such a thing? And what kind of people would obey?"
"Do not make judgments too sweeping," urged Kachin. "Though the creed of Zaltec spreads far across the land, here in Payit are many who hearken to the call of Qotal."
Erix spoke suddenly, surprising both Kachin and Hal. "Qotal is the source of pluma, the feathermagic that broke your bonds," she told Hal. "A god who thrives on life and beauty, not blood."
The girl turned and explained many things to the cleric. The serpent did not translate her words, but Hal understood the basic message: She had fled from the priest who killed Martine and had been captured by Daggrande's men.
"All right," Hal growled, interrupting her. "We'll stay here and listen, as you suggest. But I want some explanations!"
"I don't like this," grumbled Daggrande softly, but he remained beside his comrade.
"Remember, stranger? hissed the serpent, "I could have left you to die at the pyramid. There was no escape for you there" Halloran winced at the power, and the underlying sense of menace, in the message thrumming into his brain. For a moment, he wondered if the snake intended to attack him.
At the same time, Halloran realized that the creature spoke the truth. The battle at the pyramid had been lost. He thought of the legionnaires of Daggrande's detachment, all of them probably dead now. How many times this day must he stand helpless as companions died?
"I have told you that I am Kachin," said the rotund priest, suddenly nodding. His words were translated even as the snake held its unblinking gaze upon Halloran. "And this is Erixitl."
Hal nodded curtly, still staring at the snake. Abruptly a wave of power knocked him backward. Something had struck his mind, a blow that was not physical but nonetheless stunning.
"Speak!" commanded the serpent. "Do you strangers have no manners? Speak your names."
Hal bit back a sharp reply and nodded stiffly. "I am Captain Halloran. My companion is Captain Daggrande."
"And I am Chitikas Couatl, devoted servant of Qotal, and the one who has just saved your Lives" The serpent undulated through the room. Slowly the golden glow emanating from its bo
dy faded until the chamber disappeared into darkness.
"You humans complain about the most ridiculous things! You don't understand things that should be obvious to an infant!" The voice was a menacing growl in their minds.
"The True World stands at the brink of disaster. Evil threatens life upon all sides, from all directions. And you bicker proudly about your might and your fierceness!
"It is in your power to do things, to act against this blanketing scourge. You, Captain Halloran, face a quandary. You are not an evil man, yet great evils shall be asked of you.
"Only you, Erixitl, once of Palul, have touched the spirit of Our Esteemed Father!' The creature directed its gaze to Erixitl, and all four humans could feel the focus of its attention change, even in the inky darkness of the chamber. "And even you have been reluctant, not showing gratitude proper for one who owes so much.
"So I will leave all of you to think upon my words. Only when the true blossom of understanding shrouds you can the will of the Feathered One become life.
"But still, for the spirit you have shown me, however briefly — the serpent again hissed softly to Erix — "I will give you a gift… a gift of learning"
They all felt a brief pulse of power, something that seemed to twist the air in the cavern and then vanish. "Sorcery!" grunted Daggrande.
"It is sorcery in truth, short man," said Erix. The three males gaped at her in awe, for the words were carefully pronounced in stilted Commonspeech, the language of Waterdeep and the Realms.
"How is it you speak the words of the strangers?" gasped Kachin.
"This is the gift of Chitikas Couatl," replied Erix in amazement. She spoke in Payit, then turned and repeated the words in Common.
"Where'd Twisty go, anyhow?" grunted Daggrande, the first to notice that the snake seemed to be gone.
"You should show Chitikas more respect," Erix chided Daggrande gently, then turned to look at Halloran with that frank curiosity that he found so unsettling.
Halloran returned her stare, half in challenge and half in confusion. Even in the darkness, her luminous eyes were visible, studying him with bold intelligence and a hint of reproach. He wanted to rage at this savage woman and her companion, wanted to curse them for their obscene god. But even so, he remembered her act of kindness, when she had used her feathered necklace to free him from his bonds.
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