He looked over at Zyanya and saw that she appeared equally horror-stricken. She had betrayed her people in order to help save Boone and the others. She could expect no mercy if she ever fell into their hands again.
She motioned urgently that they should go back, making a sweeping gesture to indicate that they needed to circle around the camp. Boone knew she was right, and yet his brain had started to work again after the initial shock. He wanted to know more about the group in front of them. Such knowledge might come in handy in the future.
He put his mouth next to her ear and whispered, “Let’s try to get closer.”
She drew back and stared at him in wide-eyed amazement and disbelief. She gestured again, more urgently.
Boone shook his head. “I want to find out what they’re saying. That’s going to be up to you.”
It was Zyanya’s turn to shake her head emphatically.
“We need to know what they’re planning so we can avoid them,” Boone explained.
She looked at him like he had completely lost his mind.
Maybe he had, he thought. Maybe he was thinking too much when he should have been acting on instinct and getting the hell away from those savages . . . except he couldn’t help but remember that O’Grady and the other trappers could be somewhere around there. The Aztecs camped up ahead might be planning to ambush them. Boone wanted to be able to warn his friends if he needed to.
“Let’s just get a little closer,” he said to Zyanya.
Finally, and with great reluctance, she nodded.
They crept forward again and then went to hands and knees as they made their way carefully through the undergrowth. Eventually, they dropped all the way to their bellies and crawled to the edge of the clearing. Boone moved a branch aside to create a tiny gap through which he and Zyanya could peer. They were looking down into a slight depression with a campfire in the center and a lot of buckskin-clad men around it. Boone estimated there were between twenty and thirty, many wearing the same sort of decorations the Aztecs in the city had worn.
But to his surprise, half a dozen were dressed differently. They had on buckskin shirts and leggings, like the others, but the garments were fashioned differently and didn’t have the same sort of beadwork. Although the men definitely were Indians, they didn’t seem to be members of the same tribe as the Aztecs. Even Boone’s inexperienced eye could see that.
But who in blazes were they?
The men from the other tribe weren’t prisoners—they were all armed and moved around freely—but Boone sensed an air of coolness, almost of suspicion and distrust, between them and Tenoch’s men. He had no doubt that the Aztecs were members of the high priest’s sect. Tenoch held all the power in the lost city, and the only way they could have gotten out through the cliffs was if he had sent them.
The language in which the two groups were conversing sounded stranger to Boone than the Aztec tongue. He had picked up some words from Zyanya, although to be honest she had been more successful in learning English than he had in learning her language. He heard some words and phrases he recognized, but many others didn’t sound right at all. Zyanya looked puzzled by what she was hearing, too.
Finally, Boone figured out it was some sort of pidgin dialect made up of words from two different languages, the Aztec one and whatever Indian tongue the strangers spoke.
They weren’t getting in any hurry to break camp. Maybe they were waiting for the sun to come up, he thought. It wouldn’t be much longer.
Zyanya squeezed Boone’s shoulder and motioned with her head that they ought to withdraw. When he hesitated, she whispered, “I know who they are.”
Boone’s curiosity was too strong for him to resist. He nodded and began worming his way backwards through the brush. Zyanya followed suit.
When they were a good hundred yards away from the camp, Boone stopped and asked her, “Who were those other Indians? What in the world is going on here?”
“Those men are Blackfeet,” Zyanya explained quietly. “I have heard of them. There are stories among my people about how the Blackfeet lived in the valley when the Aztecs first came here. It is even said that some people in the city cling to the Blackfoot ways. I never knew if those legends were true, but they must be. Tenoch’s men speak enough of the language to talk to each other, and they had to learn it from someone in the valley.”
“That doesn’t explain what they’re doing here with Tenoch’s men.”
“Tenoch sent for them. Weeks ago, before the passage through the cliffs was closed by the falling rocks when you and Preacher came through, he sent some of his followers to find the Blackfeet on the outside and invite their leaders to our city. He wants to . . . be friends with them.”
“Form an alliance, you mean. Like Nazar was talking about. Join forces with other tribes to kill all the white men and establish a new Aztec empire in the Rocky Mountains.”
Zyanya shook her head. “I do not know about this. Such things are hard for me to understand.”
Boone understood, though. It was like countries over in Europe sending emissaries back and forth and establishing treaties. Tenoch wanted to do the same thing with the Indian tribes in the mountains. And it was a pretty safe bet he would declare himself emperor if he succeeded.
“So they’re on their way back to the city now.”
“Yes. They made camp to wait for morning, since they did not want to go through the cliffs at night.”
“Can’t blame them for that,” Boone muttered. “It’s black as sin in there.”
“They know nothing about us,” Zyanya went on. “If we stay out of their way, they will go on and not harm us.”
Boone knew she was right, but he was torn. Getting Zyanya and the others to safety was his first priority, but he hated to think about Tenoch successfully forging an alliance between the Aztecs and the Blackfeet. He didn’t believe for a second that Tenoch’s dream of a new Aztec empire would ever come true, but he could wreak an incredible amount of bloody havoc in the attempt.
What could Boone do to prevent that? The answer, he had to admit, was absolutely nothing. Fewer than a dozen men, weak from captivity, would stand no chance against more than twice that many seasoned, well-armed fighters. He had seen a few flintlock rifles in the camp and knew they must belong to the Blackfoot visitors, weapons they had taken from white trappers they had killed in the past.
Zyanya was right. They needed to lie low, wait for the Aztecs and Blackfeet to pass them by, and then light a shuck out of those parts as fast as they could.
He had just reached that decision when an outburst of savage yells filled the early morning air, coming from somewhere behind them—where they had left the other former prisoners.
CHAPTER 38
Boone’s first instinct was to bolt upright and run in that direction. Whatever was going on, he wanted to help the other trappers. But he had Zyanya to think about, too. She had already risked her life to help him and had survived an incredible amount of danger. He had to protect her if he could. “Stay here,” he said in a low, urgent voice.
“No! Go with Boone Halliday!” She brandished the war club for emphasis.
“Then stay behind me,” Boone told her, once again not wanting to waste time arguing. When Zyanya looked like she was going to protest anyway, he added, “I need you to watch my back.”
That explanation seemed to mollify her. She nodded and looked fierce.
They weren’t the only ones who had heard the commotion, Boone realized as he stood up and started hurrying through the forest. Shouts came from the combined force of Aztecs and Blackfeet as they crashed through the woods. From the sound of it, he and Zyanya were caught between two deadly dangers. They might need some luck to escape those rapidly closing jaws.
Men still yelled up ahead. Someone let out a scream so full of agony Boone knew that the man had to be mortally wounded. He was convinced of that grim assumption when the cry choked off in the middle.
He looked back, saw Zyanya right behind
him with the club. He couldn’t see the Aztecs and the Blackfeet through the undergrowth, but he knew they were back there, closing in quickly.
A moment more of wild flight through the woods, and then he came in sight of the desperate battle going on. Instantly, his stunned eyes took in the scene. The men left behind while he and Zyanya scouted ahead had been jumped by half a dozen Aztec warrior-priests. Must have been a scouting party, thought Boone, or perhaps the Aztecs had been out hunting when they came across the fugitives.
Whatever the circumstances, they had attacked the trappers, despite being outnumbered. It didn’t really make much difference. The white men were practically dead on their feet, worn out by their long captivity and the hard, all-night journey they had just made. Throw in the element of surprise, and the trappers didn’t stand much of a chance despite their superior numbers.
Two were already dead, their skulls bashed in by war clubs. Another man lay on the ground, curled around the spear thrust all the way through his body and either dead or unconscious. If he still clung to life, it wouldn’t last much longer.
The others were fighting desperately, trying to fend off the spears and clubs. One man tripped and went down, and his attacker swooped in to finish him off, lifting a war club high.
Boone rammed his spear into the warrior’s back before the blow could fall. The man howled, dropped the club, and fell to his knees. Boone kicked him the rest of the way to the ground and wrenched the spear free.
He whirled and used the spear to block a thrust from another warrior. For long seconds they fought back and forth, parrying each other’s strokes and darting back and forth as they sought an advantage.
Boone knew he couldn’t keep that up for very long. The other man was much more experienced in that sort of fighting. It was only a matter of time until he saw an opening and managed to run Boone through.
Zyanya dashed up behind the man, crushing his skull with one swing of her war club. As he collapsed at Boone’s feet, Boone gasped for breath and summoned up a grin for the young woman who had just saved his life yet again.
A look of horror appeared on his face as he saw movement behind her. One of the warriors lunged at Zyanya with his spear leveled.
Boone cried, “Look out!”
Zyanya tried to spin around and get out of the way, but she was too late. The spear point ripped into her side. Boone let out an inarticulate shout of rage and fear as he saw a flash of crimson. Zyanya’s knees buckled.
As she fell, Boone leaped forward and threw his spear past her. It thudded into the chest of the man who had just struck down Zyanya. The warrior’s eyes widened in shock. He stumbled, pawed at the spear’s shaft, and then pitched forward, driving the spear even deeper into his body as he landed on the ground.
At that moment, the area was filled with the combined force of Aztecs and Blackfeet who had come from the camp. The shouts and cries grew louder as the trappers were overrun.
Boone grabbed up a fallen war club and flailed back and forth around him as he fought his way toward Zyanya’s crumpled form. If he was going to die, he wanted it to be at her side. He’d never had a serious sweetheart before he came west. She was the first girl he’d ever had any real feelings for. He realized he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her—even if that life was numbered only in moments.
That wasn’t destined to be. One of the warriors grabbed the club and wrestled it out of his hands. At the same time, something struck him across the shoulders and knocked him to his knees. He tried to get up, and to his own surprise he made it.
He looked in front of him and saw one of the Blackfoot warriors holding a rifle. The man pointed the weapon at him, and before Boone could move, the rifle boomed. Flame and smoke spurted from its barrel.
It was the last thing Boone saw. The next instant something crashed against his head and knocked him into what he figured had to be eternal blackness. It felt as if his entire head had exploded. He never knew when he hit the ground.
Nobody could have been more surprised than Boone Halliday was when he regained consciousness and realized that he was still alive. Or maybe he was dead and in hell. It sure felt like all of Satan’s imps were beating drums inside his skull.
No, he was alive, he decided. He heard men talking, and they were conversing in that damned Aztec gibberish.
In addition to the pain in his head, Boone’s arms and shoulders ached intolerably. His stomach was a roiling mass of sickness, and it got worse every time he swayed back and forth. He could tell that he was moving, but he wasn’t quite sure how that was possible.
Eventually, he forced his eyes open to narrow slits. Although it was an effort to think when his brain hurt so bad, he had figured out that he was a prisoner again. The Aztecs had recaptured him, and for some reason they hadn’t killed him.
There could only be one reason for that, he thought grimly. They were taking him back to the lost city so Tenoch could carve his heart out.
Because he was a prisoner, it might be best if they didn’t realize he was awake again. Squinting, he watched tree branches flow past like a river, moving from his feet toward his head. The sight disoriented him, and he got sicker for a moment. He forced the feeling back down.
He began to understand what was going on when he saw his arms up toward those tree branches. His wrists were crossed over some sort of pole made from a branch. Rawhide thongs lashed them together. That was why his arms and shoulders hurt. He was tied to that pole and hanging from them.
His feet were tied the same way. He dangled under the pole by his arms and legs as men carried it through the forest.
He wanted to lift his head and look around, but that would have required too much effort. He didn’t have the strength. Besides, doing so would have tipped off his captors that he had regained consciousness. Better to just hang there like a side of meat.
He really wanted to know if Zyanya was still alive. Had they brought her with them? Boone remembered seeing her collapse with blood welling from the wound in her side.
She had to be dead. Even if she hadn’t died from the spear thrust, the Aztecs would have finished her off. Because they had been outside of the hidden valley for a while, they wouldn’t be aware that she had helped the white men escape from the city, but she had fought against them and that was all they would need to know.
He couldn’t hold out any hope that Zyanya was still alive. And he was convinced that he would soon be joining her in death.
As that bleak thought was going through his mind, the party came to an abrupt halt. Boone’s captors lowered him to the ground. He still feigned unconsciousness, but let his head loll loosely to one side so he could look in that direction. The cliffs loomed above them, seeming to rise to even more dizzying heights than they did in reality.
They had reached the passage to the hidden valley. The sun was up, and it wouldn’t be long until they were back in the Aztec city.
Nearby, the Aztecs and Blackfeet were having some sort of conversation. Maybe the Aztecs were explaining to their guests about the winding passage that led through the cliffs to the hidden valley.
Boone saw two more prisoners tied to poles the same way he was. They were bloody and battered, unconscious but alive.
There was no sign of Zyanya. His heart sank. Even though he had known she must be dead, he had clung to a tiny, unreasonable hope that she wasn’t.
He was certain that they had left her body behind for the scavengers, along with the other fugitives who had been killed in the brief, futile battle.
Everything they had gone through had been for nothing, Boone thought bitterly. Zyanya had risked her life and ultimately sacrificed it, and they were all going to wind up dead anyway.
Some mountain man he was. Preacher never would have let things get this bad.
That thought reminded Boone that he didn’t know what had happened to Preacher. He had set out with Nazar to kill Tenoch. Had he succeeded? It probably wouldn’t matter all that much if he had, Boone mused.
Somebody else, some other bloodthirsty savage, would just take Tenoch’s place. Maybe the beautiful but evil Eztli would take over.
And what about Audie and Nighthawk? They had gone back to the city to see if they could find Preacher and give him a hand. Had they been in time? Had they been able to help the mountain man escape?
Maybe . . . if those three were still on the loose somewhere . . . maybe there was a sliver of hope after all.
But not for Zyanya, Boone reminded himself. She was gone, and nothing else mattered.
The conference between Aztec and Blackfoot seemed to be over. Warriors picked up the poles with the prisoners tied to them and carried them into the passage. As they entered the trail, the cliffs blocked out the sun. Shadows swallowed them up.
Boone felt like he was being carried along a tunnel that led directly into the bowels of hell—and considering the fate that awaited him on the other end, that was just about the size of it.
CHAPTER 39
The night before, after leaving Boone Halliday, Zyanya, and the others at the mouth of the passage through the cliffs, Audie and Nighthawk had retraced their steps toward the Aztec city.
As they came closer to that outpost of the ancient, no-longer-in-existence empire, Nighthawk gestured toward the trees and said quietly, “Umm.”
“You’re right,” Audie said. “We need to get off the trail in case a patrol comes along. It wouldn’t do for us to run into such a group. Smart thinking, as always, old friend.”
The two men moved into the trees and continued on their way, following a course parallel to the trail that eventually would lead them to the city.
“Preacher and Nazar were going to Tenoch’s quarters to kill him,” Audie mused. “Unfortunately, we don’t know where those quarters are, not having seen any of the city except what we witnessed when we were brought in as prisoners. Since then we’ve seen nothing except the inside of that wretched prison. It really should have been built underground so that it could be referred to as a dungeon. Honestly, these Aztecs seem to have no appreciation for the conventions of melodramatic literature. Our old friend Bulwer-Lytton could set them straight, eh? Of course, Preacher is much more the sort of character who would be found in the works of Fenimore Cooper. Natty Bumppo has nothing on our friend the mountain man, eh?”
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