Viperhand mt-2

by Douglas Niles

  "We encountered the creature in Payit. In fact, it saved me from certain death. It talked a lot, and it didn't seem to like me very much."

  Poshtli and his uncle exchanged looks of amazement. The ruler turned back to Hal and stared into his eyes with a look of penetrating scrutiny.

  "I must ask you some questions. This man, Cordell… he is indeed a man?"

  "Of course. A great man, but — as I have said before — nothing more than a man."

  "Tell me, have you seen him wounded?"

  "Many times," replied Halloran, wondering at the ruler's line of questioning. "During a battle, years ago, with the Northmen of Moonshae, Cordell was almost killed. One of the raiders cut him from his horse with a blow of his axe. The edge of the weapon split his breastplate and laid open his chest from here to here." Halloran gestured from his collarbone to his navel.

  "And he lived?"

  "Only because the Bishou — that's our priest — used every power at his command. It was the mercy of Helm that saved his life." Or something, Hal thought, still ambiguous about the role of the gods in all this.

  "And Cordell… he, too, worships this god?"

  "As I've said, yes. I don't understand what you're getting at."

  Naltecona stepped away and then turned suddenly back, his pluma cloak circling around him. "Is it possible that Cordell is a god? Can he be Qotal, returning to the True World to claim his rightful throne?"

  Hal's jaw dropped. "Cordell, a god? No. He's a man like you and me — a man who breathes like us, who loves women and food and drink. He's a leader of men, but he's unquestionably a man himself!"

  Halloran didn't see Naltecona's face, for the ruler once again turned away. Perhaps the soldier wouldn't have understood the sly smile playing across those regal features, but he would have understood the words the counselor mouthed, which is why Naltecona said them silently. A man who lives, and thus a man who can be killed.

  Hoxitl trembled as he entered the Highcave. Never had he so feared the result of a visit to the Ancient Ones as he did now. Two young priests, promising apprentices, accompanied him. He bade them to follow him into the cave instead of taking the usual apprentices' role of waiting outside. The high priest couldn't bear to face the drow alone.

  A flash of smoke puffed from the caldron of the Darkfyre, and then he saw them: a dozen black-robed figures standing immobile around the huge, seething mass of crimson heat.

  "Why do you come to us?" hissed one, the Ancestor.

  "The girl — the girl has disappeared again. She departed Nexal before we struck. We are searching for her, but we do not know where she is — yet. But soon — "

  "Silence!" The Ancestor raised a black-cloaked hand. For a moment, Hoxitl stood frozen in terror, wondering if the gesture meant his death.

  Instead, the Ancient One flicked his hand toward one apprentice. The young man gasped, and then moaned in deep, wracking pain. He staggered and stumbled, then stiffened spasmodically and toppled forward into the caldron. The other young priest turned to flee, but the Ancestor moved his hand slightly and this one, too, gasped and choked, then fell into the crimson coals.

  The apprentices writhed and twitched, slowly sinking into the horridly pulsing fuel of the Darkfyre. Soundless screams twisted their mouths. One turned desperately to face Hoxitl, and the high priest flinched at the look of hopeless agony on the man's face. Then he disappeared into the gory mess. In seconds, his companion followed.

  Nearly gagging, Hoxitl stumbled back on weak knees. For moments, he feared to raise his eyes, but the Ancestor did nothing to him. Finally he took a breath, beginning to believe that he would be allowed to live.

  Weak with relief, Hoxitl mentally congratulated himself on bringing the two others. Had he been alone, he felt certain that the Ancestor would have punished him directly.

  "Do not fail me again — or I shall come to you!" The Ancestor's white eyes burned forth from the darkened depths of his hood.

  Hoxitl bowed silently and then scuttled away.

  "That cloak," said Lotil. "Where did you get it?"

  Erix looked at her father in surprise. Her cape from the feather-worker in Nexal lay beside the door. She knew that Lotil hadn't touched it, and yet his blind eyes were now directed toward the garment with the first hint of focus she had detected.

  "Can you see it?" she asked in wonder. She felt a confusing mixture of emotions, now that the initial shock of their meeting was beginning to fade. An overriding sense of happiness warmed her, to know that her father was alive and that they were together again. Still, he looked so very much older — as if he had aged far more than the ten years she had been gone — and this truth she found heartbreaking.

  Lotil shook his head sadly. "I can sense the pluma, that's all. Tell me, child, where did it come from?"

  She told him of the craftsman in the market, of his insistence that she take it, and her inability to find him later. She was surprised when Lotil smiled knowingly. "Do you know someone like this?" Her father, a renowned worker of pluma for many decades, was familiar with most of the masters of his craft.

  "No," he said with a chuckle. "But you do. The cloak goes very well with your amulet, don't you agree?"

  Erix nodded, laughing and crying at the same time. "Your eyes," she said hesitantly. "When-"

  Lotil held up his hand, brushing off the sympathy in her voice. "They left me as I aged — but age cannot take my fingers! See?"

  Erixitl looked at his featherloom and saw an elaborate mantle of brilliant pluma taking shape there. Lotil had placed the colors carefully, so that the cape depicted a golden hawk with its wings spread wide. "It's beautiful," she whispered reverently.

  "My fingers can see to weave the pluma", he said. "And now the daughter I thought was dead has returned to me. What more could an old man ask for?"

  Erix told her father of her life since, ten years ago, the Kultakan Jaguar Knight had snatched her from the ridge above this very house, of her slavery in Kultaka, and then her sale to the Payit priest of Qotal, who had taken her to his distant jungle land. And how she had met the stranger, Halloran, and been visited by the feathered serpent, the couatl.

  Her father listened silently, only remarking about the couatl. "Nobody has seen one for many centuries," he had announced, impressed.

  "What of Shatil?" Erix asked hesitantly after concluding her tale. "Is my brother well?"

  Lotil sighed. "As a priest, he does very well. He is already the first assistant to the high priest here in Palul."

  Erix understood her father's mixed feelings. While she and her brother had been raised, as all Maztican children, to understand the necessity of the blood rituals demanded by Zaltec and many of the other gods, she knew that her father had never approved of those rites. Although he had never told her bluntly, she had always suspected that he despised the bloodthirsty practices of the priests.

  Yet now, as first assistant, her own brother was a main practitioner of those rites. Palul, a much smaller community than Nexal, offered but an occasional sacrifice at dawn or at sunset. Shatil undoubtedly performed a significant number of those rituals himself.

  "He is an important man in the town," continued her father, "but he listens only to those who say what he wants to hear, who echo the chants of Zaltec and his ilk. He has even told me he intends to journey to Nexal to take the vow of the Viperhand."

  Erix took her father's shoulders in her own hands, surprised at his frailty. The thought of the Viperhand emblazoned on Shatil's chest caused her sharp panic. She knew little about the cult, except that its members espoused hatred and warfare against the approaching strangers from the Realms.

  "Father, who is this?" The voice from the door spun them both around.

  "Shatil?" asked Erix hesitantly.

  "Erixitl? Can it be you?" Her brother stepped into the house, then swept her in his arms. "Zaltec has been kind to bring you home!"

  She clung to him, for a second remembering the youth she had admired so much in her ch
ildhood. Then they separated, and when Erix looked at her brother, her memories vanished. Shatil's head bristled with the customary spikes of hair worn by the priests of Zaltec. Scars covered his arms and his ears and cheeks, where he had marked himself in ritual penance.

  "You have become a woman," Shatil said approvingly.

  "And you are… a priest," she replied.

  She looked from the young man to the old, wondering if the sun had suddenly set. Then, with a shudder, she knew that she saw that darkening premonition again, settling across the men and the room.

  All through the house, everything was shadows.

  "Captain Daggrande." Cordell looked up from the table, which was covered with maps and rosters on parchment sheets.

  "General?" The dwarf stood before his commander, carrying a padded cotton tunic such as the Maztican warriors wore as armor.

  "Have you tested the stuff?" The captain-general indicated the armor.

  "Yessir. It seems to stop the arrows and darts pretty well. It also takes the sting from a chop with one of those swords-macas, they call 'em. With a buckler, a fellow could protect himself pretty well."

  "And comfort? Encumbrance?"

  "Sir, in this heat, these cotton things put a steel breastplate to shame. The men who wore 'em moved faster and farther than those who wore steel." The dwarf reported on a series of tests he had conducted outside Kultaka while the legion refitted for its next great march.

  "Excellent!" Cordell stood up and came around the table to clap Daggrande on the back. "Have the men outfitted in them. Those that want can keep their steel, but tell them the pace of our marching will pick up."

  "Very well, sir!" Daggrande turned to go as another man entered Cordell's headquarters, which was located in Takamal's palace in the city of Kultaka.

  "What is it?" asked the commander, seeing that the newcomer was Kardann.

  "I–I wanted to tell you that perhaps I might have been wrong," offered the assessor tentatively. "There must be ten thousand Kultakans out there ready to march with us!"

  "In fact, there are twice that many."

  "Perhaps — perhaps this is not madness, after all. If the gold of Nexal proves as plentiful as we have been told…" The assessor trailed off, his mind already working the imaginary figures.

  "I appreciate the vote of confidence," said Cordell wryly. "Now, if you please, I have work to do."

  The next to enter was Darien. She had taken to studying her new spellbook and performing her meditations at night since they had reached Kultaka, so Cordell had seen little of her lately. The sight of her brightened his heart, but she didn't respond to his welcoming smile.

  "Have you spoken to Alvarro?" the elfwoman asked.

  Cordell sighed. "Yes. I warned him that a repeat of his flight would cost him his command. He blustered and made excuses. The damnable thing is, I think he knows I don't have anyone who could replace him!"

  "It seems he only enjoys the killing when the victim does not fight back," Darien said scornfully. "Perhaps you should make an example of him."

  "The Bishou argued against that… hard. He thinks too highly of our captain of horse. By Helm, what I wouldn't give for another Halloran!"

  "A loyal one, you mean," said the elf wryly.

  Cordell shrugged. "I never questioned his loyalty until the Bishou gave him no alternative but flight."

  Darien's eyes flashed. No matter Cordell's opinion, she hated the fugitive rider with a vengeance. He would die for the theft of her spellbook! For now, she, too, shrugged. "That chief, Tokol, is here," she noted.

  "Send him in."

  The son of Takamal, who had assumed command of the Kultakan forces, entered what had once been his father's palace. "Welcome, my ally!" boomed Cordell, ushering the warrior forward even as Darien translated.

  "We are ready to march with you." Tokol bowed deeply.

  "Splendid. We have but to decide on our route. We shall leave in the morning." Cordell gestured to the maps. "Your men tell me that there are two routes to Nexal. One, the longer one, winds across flat country, I'm told. Do you know of these routes?"

  "Yes, Captain-General Cordell. But that route is overly fatiguing, with little water. It is unnecessarily long. Instead, I recommend that we take the high trail."

  "This one, here?" On the map, Cordell gestured to a trail that seemed to climb into the mountains west of Kultaka and wind tortuously through high country before emerging in a small valley east of Nexal.

  "Yes. We will find water on that road and can cross it in a week of marching. Then, when we come down to this town, we can gather our strength for the approach to Nexal."

  "This town?" Cordell pointed. "What will we find there? What is it like?"

  "It is a little place of no consequence," explained the chief. "It is called Palul."

  From the chronicles of Colon:

  Below the rising storm clouds, the wind begins to howl.

  Naltecona comes to me in the morning, his face haggard and his eyes wide. An unaccustomed tremor creeps into his voice as he speaks.

  It seems that he has been given a dream. He speaks of shadows and despair, of the ruin of the True World. Almost as an afterthought, he sees his own death.

  But he has decided to strike first. The great Naltecona will administer a blow to crush the invaders before they can reach Nexal. No longer does he fear the man, Cordell, as a god.

  He has the twin examples of Kultaka and Payit before him now, and he will not repeat their mistakes. He will plan carefully, inventing a shrewd stratagem to lure the strangers into an inescapable trap.

  I cannot speak, or I would warn him that a trap may sometimes ensnare the trapper.

  TREACHERY AND DEFIANCE

  "What is the meaning of this?" demanded Chical, gesturing to the cloak, boots, and helmet that Poshtli laid on the floor before him.

  "I am here to inform you of my withdrawal from the Order of Eagle Knighthood," explained the warrior stiffly. He and bis venerable mentor stood alone in the darkened sweat lodge. Though it was a hot and sunny day, the heavy log building remained cool and lightless.

  Chical stood still, staring at Poshtli for several minutes. The younger man met the gaze with a challenging glare of his own.

  "I know that you cannot renounce your order lightly," Chical said eventually. "And this makes me fear that the stranger has placed some sorcery over you."

  "No. It is a question of honor. I brought him here, in safety and with good intent. I can no more turn my back on that than you could renounce your responsibilities as leader of the order"

  "Are you aware that his companions, his army, are even now marching on Nexal? They have conquered Kultaka and enlisted the defeated warriors of our ancient enemy in their cause against us."

  Poshtli's look of surprise showed that he had been unaware of this fact. Still, his reply came quickly. "That is not Halloran's army any more than the Eagle Knights are mine. If the strangers attack Nexal, I will fight in the defense of my homeland — as a common warrior, if I must."

  "Your departure means more than simply leaving the order, you understand," said Chical sadly, gesturing toward the garments at his feet. "We are not mere strangers now."

  "I understand" agreed Poshtli. "Now we are enemies."

  "Summon Hoxitl, Kalnak, and Chical" ordered Naltecona. Slaves hastened to obey. "The rest of you, leave!" A dozen raggedly dressed courtiers scurried from the room, relieved at the opportunity to reclothe themselves in their accustomed finery.

  The high priest of Zaltec was the first to arrive, though Hoxitl was closely followed by Chical, captain of the Eagle Knights. Shortly thereafter Kafnak, captain of Nexal's Jaguar Knights, arrived.

  The two knights had placed tattered shawls across their resplendent armor. Hoxitl, already dirty, blood-caked, and emaciated, didn't need to do so, since his appearance created no risk of diverting attention from Nahecona's splendor.

  "Have you reached a decision about the strangers?" asked Kalnak hopefully. He had
been one of the most adamant in advocating an attack against the legion before it reached Nexal.

  "Indeed" said the ruler. "The knowledge has come to me — in a dream — that their leader is indeed a man and not a god. He is not Qotal returned to the True World to claim his throne. He is an invader who must be stopped!"

  Kalnak's face split into a wide grin, framed grotesquely by the widespread jaws of his jaguar-skull helm. Hoxitl, too, smiled in anticipation of the many captives such a campaign would gain for Zaltec. Only Chical showed less than delight.

  "Have you decided where and when this attack will take place?" inquired the Eagle Knight.

  "Yes. My spies have reported to me the route of their march. I have selected the perfect place and formed a plan."

  "Where?" inquired Kalnak. "Can we strike soon?"

  "We place the plan in motion today. The march of the strangers takes them toward Palul, and this is where we will meet them." Palul, although a village under the control and governorship of Nexal, was still safely removed from the great city itself. It seemed to them all a good choice.

  "Splendid!" agreed the Jaguar Knight. "We can destroy them in the high pass before they reach the town!"

  "No," Naltecona disagreed. "That is not the plan. I want each of you to gather your most trusted knights. Take many thousandmen of warriors, too. But you are not to array for battle before Palul."

  The others looked at him in confusion, and Naltecona enjoyed their curiosity. He paused for a few moments to let his listeners wonder.

  "Instead, we will invite the strangers into Palul. There a great feast will be held, with much dancing and drinking of octal. Their Kultakan allies, we will insist, must remain outside the town."

  "But we, with our men, will be in the town?" guessed Kalnak.

  "Yes! And you, my chief of Jaguars, will give the signal. When the feast progresses, and the invaders have had much to drink, you will fall upon them from all sides. In one short battle, the strangers will be annihilated!"