The horses rumbled on, unstoppable, the sleek, fierce greyhounds running beside them. Alvarro delighted in the effect of the war dogs, for the natives seemed to fear the hounds nearly as much as the lancers.
But still targets abounded for his lance, victims awaited the cut of his sword. The killing became a ritual for him, a process he could continue indefinitely.
He took no note of the fact that they had ridden beyond the enemy warriors. Still he hacked and slayed. The twelve horses of his wing thundered among the old people, the women and children who had come to watch the battle. Now the horsemen rode them down, far faster than they could flee.
Alvarro sensed, dimly, that he should turn, but the momentum of his attack had taken on a life of its own. Instead, he flew forward in his orgy with death, and still he killed.
Something caught the captain's eye, and he wheeled his mare sharply as his wing thundered on. He saw an extraordinary young woman standing on the field, staring at him. She was slender and very beautiful, but her arresting feature was her eyes. They found Alvarro and accused him, baring his soul to himself in all its ugliness.
The sight enraged him, and he lowered his lance, spurring his steed on toward the lone woman as bloodlust contorted his soul.
Halloran watched the battle with keen interest, balanced in his tree, concealed by its leafy branches. He feared for Daggrande's company as those ranks charged forward. He cheered the valiant stand of Garrant's men, and finally breathed again when they were relieved by the charging cavalry.
He watched the lancers with a twinge of envy, knowing that he should be riding at their head. He felt a grudging admiration for Alvarro's audacity as the riders circled among the mass of Payit warriors. The colorful banners trailing from the lances, the smooth precision of the horses and riders, all characterized the riders of the legion he had helped to train.
But his admiration turned to puzzlement as he saw the lancers ride beyond the native army and keep riding. And his puzzlement turned to shock, and then to horror, as he saw the butchery perpetrated by his — no, not his, he knew for certain they followed Alvarro now — horsemen.
The savage riders cut along the fringe of delta, and several thundered past a hundred feet from Halloran's lookout. He slid quickly to the ground as they passed. Hal forgot all thought of heroic intervention on the part of his comrades, for he felt no kinship to these brutal assassins.
The lancers killed without regard to the nature of their victims, whether warrior or bystander. The horses trampled those Payit who did not get out of the way, and the dogs growled and snarled and snapped, causing more consternation by their savage appearance than from any actual damage they inflicted.
Halloran saw the black charger wheel away from the others, recognizing Storm. He saw the black streamers trailing from the rider's helmet, knowing this was Alvarro's banner. His enemy had even claimed Hal's mount! A greyhound followed Alvarro and Storm as the lancer looked to his next victim. Halloran watched Alvarro's lance drop. I should have killed him when I had the chance, he thought ruefully. Murderous hatred burned in Hal's heart.
Then, for the first time, he saw Erix on the battlefield and recognized her as the horseman's intended victim.
Not Erixitl! "You bastard!" he croaked, scrambling forward. "By Helm, no!" The thought of her death on this field seemed like a final nightmare to his life — a nightmare he could not allow.
Alvarro rumbled forward, taking no note of Hal as the young legionnaire stepped out from the trees. Halloran desperately felt the inadequacy of his only weapon, the slender dagger. Even had the blade been weighted for throwing, it stood no chance of stopping or even distracting the racing lancer.
Magic! Now was the time when arcane powers could aid the swordsman's arm. But Halloran knew no magic, had known none for ten years.
Kreeshah… What was that phrase? Damn! The words tickled his brain with a long-buried memory. Alvarro's foaming charger galloped past as Hal desperately tried to think.
Kreeshah… barool… hottaisk! That was it!
"Kreeshah… barool…" Halloran pronounced, very loudly. He pointed his finger at Alvarro and his black charger as the lancer rushed toward Erix. "Hottaisk!"
A tiny flash of light sparkled from his finger, hissing like an arrow through the air and trailing sparks behind it as it flew. The magic missile surprised Halloran with its vigor. It struck Alvarro squarely in the back as the horseman loomed over the strangely motionless girl.
Alvarro shouted in pain and surprise as his horse bucked sharply. His cavalry lance fell to the ground as he forcibly brought the charger under control, cursing the burning wound in his back.
"Run! Head for the trees!" Halloran rushed toward Erix, puzzled by the girl's apathy.
She regarded him with a passive expression, vaguely sad. Her eyes instantly wrapped him in their luminous web.
"A deserter and a traitor!" Alvarro's hoarse voice came as a cruel taunt. Hal reached Erix as the rider turned and drew his razor-edged longsword.
"But not a butcher!" Halloran's voice carried to Alvarro's ears. The man's red beard split into a grin as he kicked the horse forward. The greyhound, too, raced forward, but now Halloran recognized Corporal. Surely, he hoped, that dog would remember him.
Hal seized the heavy lance, ponderously lifting the tip to face the rushing rider. The weapon was lethal when backed by the momentum of a charging horse and well-seated rider, it was little more than a heavy pole in the hands of a footman.
The horse thundered closer, and Hal suddenly knelt, resting the hilt of the lance on the ground behind him. Steadying the weapon carefully, he sighted upon Alvarro's armored chest.
The captain hacked with his longsword as he closed, attempting to knock the lance out of the way. But Halloran held firm against the stroke, and in the same second, the wooden tip crashed into Alvarro's chest, splintering the lance even as it drove the rider from his saddle.
The greyhound snarled toward him, and Hal stared into the dog's eyes. "Corporal, no!" he shouted. The dog halted in astonishment, looking at the two men in confusion.
The red-haired lancer lay on his back, moaning. Halloran sprang forward and snatched the man's longsword off the ground. For a moment, he considered thrusting it into Alvarro's body, fair payment for the man's orgy of slaughter. But he could not bring himself to do it, especially with Alvarro's taunt of "traitor" still ringing in his ears. Instead, he tore Alvarro's belt and scabbard away, girding the man's longsword on his own belt.
Then Hal looked around. The black charger, Storm, stood placidly some hundred paces away. The other horsemen of the captain's wing had separated, each pursuing his own victims. They ranged about the field around them, and it would only be seconds before one of them noticed their leader had fallen.
Erixitl slowly realized that she was not about to die, though the nature of her deliverance escaped her. Something had angered the monster just before it killed her, and the beast had leaped and snorted and bellowed its rage from both its mouths.
Then she had recognized the stranger, Halloran, and it slowly occurred to her that he was saving her. But why? Wasn't he the servant of these monsters, like all of his companions? She looked at him wistfully, numbed by the brutality of his kind.
She had felt a thrill of admiration for him as he lifted the spear, desperately fighting the monster. It seemed sad that he would die here, now, with her. Surely no man could stand before the rush of the hellish two-headed monster.
But he broke the monster's body!
Erix gasped in astonishment as Hal's blow tore the top half of the creature away, smashing it to earth. The beast's torso twitched on the ground, but her blood chilled at the sight of its great body lumbering on. The beast looked even more like a deer now that its human part had been ripped away.
Too, it seemed to lose some of its terrible nature. She saw it pause to nibble on the trampled grass among the bloody bodies it had, moments earlier, slain.
Her astonishment was compou
nded when Halloran barked a command at the small monster and the creature obeyed! It, too, did not look nearly so fierce when it responded to the man's command.
Halloran still dashed around in agitation, followed by the small monster. Now she saw him seize the long knife and start toward the lower half of the greater monster. She understood now: Each half must be killed separately.
But the man did not strike the beast. Instead, he seemed to speak to it. Nor did the monster attack or flee the man, instead standing docilely while Halloran stroked it.
Then Halloran joined the beast! She watched him replace the torso he had torn away. The recreated monster wheeled toward Erix and lumbered in her direction again. But the sensations came too quickly now, and her lively mind was overwhelmed.
By the time Halloran reached her she had collapsed, unconscious, to the ground.
I see a coyote, speaking to me very slowly. I cannot understand him, but he stands over the body of a man. A buzzard, dark with dried blood, lands before me and greets me very politely. He calls me "Most Excellent and Enlightened Lord Poshtli," and I am pleased.
The body between coyote and vulture stirs, struggling to speak. The man is dead, has been long dead, yet he sits up and talks to me. I see that it is my uncle, the Revered Counselor Naltecona.
The coyote, hungry, plucks at an arm of the corpse. It is always hungry. The buzzard pecks at a cheek. My uncle helps them; he pulls pieces of his body away and feeds the scavengers, an arm to the coyote, an ear and an eye to the buzzard.
Then the body of my uncle changes.
Poshtli blinked at the short, bald figure that squatted before him. Slowly the Eagle Knight looked around from the stone bed where he lay, seeing that he was in a cave of some kind. Yellow sandstone walls reflected in golden hues the light of a small fire.
"You speak with the gods. Feathered Man," said the fellow sitting beside him. "Will you speak with me now?"
Poshtli studied the strange speaker, for he had never seen anyone like him. Short and powerful, with bowed legs and broad shoulders, he was a misshapen man. His head was bald, but his face was covered with a whiskered profusion of hair that descended across his belly. The fellow's skin was sun-bronzed, dried like old leather but not as dark as Poshtli's. The stranger stood, and the Eagle Knight saw that he was perhaps four feet tail.
"Who are you?" asked Poshtli, discovering that his tongue felt like an old sandal.
"Eh? I'm Luskag, chief of Sunhome. Funny you should ask that. I've been wondering the same thing about you."
Poshtli's mind cleared. He remembered tales, dismissed as fantastic legend, of the Hairy Men of the Desert, dwarflike people who lived far from any human settlement, past a supposedly uncrossable waste of desert.
"I am Poshtli, of Nexal," he explained, sitting up with difficulty. "I owe you my life."
Luskag nodded. "You came farther than any man I've seen, but no one can live for long in the House of Tezca. Though that's not why I saved you." The dwarf handed Poshtli a flask of water, and the warrior sipped a few drops as Luskag continued.
"Sometimes humans come into the desert and die there. Other times, we desert dwarves save those humans and bring them here, to Sunhome. When we save someone, we must have a reason.
"I saved you because of my dream. I dreamed of a great buzzard, and he circled you, alone in the House of Tezca. And I came to you, gave you water and life, and the buzzard was pleased.
"I don't know why I should want to please a buzzard, but this was somehow important to me." The dwarf looked at Poshtli as if he hoped the lord would have an explanation.
"I dreamed of a buzzard, too… just now, before I woke up," explained the Eagle Knight. "But I don't know what it means."
"Why did you come into the desert?" asked Luskag.
"I seek a vision of the future, some way to bring meaning to the events of the True World. Strangers, powerful men, have flown to our shores. Naltecona, the Revered Counselor of Nexal, has been beset by omens and visions. One night, I had a dream. The Plumed One, Qotal himself, spoke to me, telling me that I might find the truth my uncle seeks. But I could never find it in Nexal.
"The vision showed me an image of heat, sand, and sun, that I took to be the House of Tezca. And within that desert, I must find a great silver wheel. This is why I came here, seeking this knowledge." Luskag sighed, shaking his head in resignation. "It is as I feared."
"What did you fear? Please explain!"
"There is a place near here. One may go there for knowledge or truth, but often at terrible cost — perhaps even a man's life, or his sanity. But this is why men venture into the House of Tezca, and why, sometimes, we bring them here."
Luskag fixed Poshtli with a cold stare. "And that is where your answer lies. I must take you to the Sunstone."
Erix recovered her senses slowly, first realizing that her nostrils ached from a gagging, putrid odor. Next she felt an ache in her abdomen, and finally she sensed motion — but not the gentle rocking motion of the canoe. Abruptly she understood, and the knowledge filled her with profound fear.
She lay across the back of the monster!
The pain came from a protruding shell on the beast's back, for she lay straddled across it, behind the monstrous head but in front of the human torso. She did not look, but felt certain the man was Halloran.
Looking down, she saw that they moved quickly over sand. The nearby sound of waves told her they raced along the beach.
Abruptly she twisted around and sprang away from the creature. She heard Halloran shout as she landed on the sand and sprawled full length. The pounding of the creature's heavy feet ceased instantly, and before she could scramble to her feet, the huge stranger had broken free of the beast and stood on his own feet before her.
"Why did you do that?" he asked. "I won't hurt you!"
"What — what are you?" she cried. "What kind of beings are you that kills with such abandon, such joy? And what are these monsters that…" She gestured angrily at the beast that now stood placidly on the shore. As if sensing her interest, the monster raised its head and made a soft nickering sound. Suddenly the nature of the horses became clear to her. They were animals, great creatures to be sure, but mere animals that carried these men about and were subject to their will.
She saw with her penetrating eyes that her words caused Halloran pain, and she remembered that he had fought against those of his people who would have killed her. The memory brought her anger back afresh.
"Why did you not let me die?" she demanded.
Now anger flashed in Hal's eyes. "Why? Because it was wrong, what they were doing. It was wrong for you to die there!"
"You are strange, even for a stranger, Halloran. You come here on a great journey with these people, and then when they fight, you turn against them."
Once again she caused him pain, she saw, and this time she regretted the hurt. "My people have turned against me," he explained. "They would have killed me, and so I fled." And they blamed me for the death of Martine, he added silently. He suddenly wanted to accuse her with this fact, but he held his tongue.
"When I saw you on the battlefield, there was but one thing I could do. I did it. We rode away from the field, and ever since we have been following the coast to the west."
"Am I your captive?" she asked boldly.
"What? No! Of course not! I wanted to right a wrong done before my eyes, to help you. That's all! And I thought you would be safer here with me than on the field with the legion."
"Then I am free to go?"
Suddenly Halloran felt a terrible fear, an unreasoning sense of loneliness that threatened to dwarf his earlier feelings of despair. He did not want this girl to leave him. She offered his only hope of communication, his only knowledge of this land. But he could not, would not hold her against her will.
"Yes, you can leave. You can go anywhere you want. But I hope you'll stay with me and help me. I'm alone here. I can't go back to my people." The sight and sound and smell of him filled Er
ixitl with amazement. But she was already growing accustomed to his bizarre appearance. He had proven himself a man of bravery and honor. She knew his companionship would be interesting. As for the smell…
"Very well. But first," she said to him pointedly, "you must take a hath."
He looked at her in puzzlement and saw that she was serious. "Then," she added, "well have to find shelter. It will be night soon."
"The treasure must be counted and assembled quickly!" Kardann urged Cordell. The captain-general noted wryly that the assessor had disappeared before the battle, presumably by returning to the fleet. Now that victory had been secured, however, he showed up with quill and parchment in hand. Nevertheless, he proposed a course of action exactly in line with Cordell's own wishes.
"We will march into this city — I understand it is called 'Ulatos' — tonight," Cordell said. "Darien has informed the chiefs, and they will be prepared to meet us." Once again, the elf's language spell had speeded understanding. Afterward, she had returned to the ship to study the spell, so that she would have it ready for the evening, in case more than one tongue was needed in subjugating Ulatos.
"And the gold?" Kardann asked anxiously.
"We will be rich men by dawn, I assure you," Cordell said as Kardann turned toward the battlefield.
"What about the bodies?" asked the assessor of Amn. "Have they been checked for ornaments, bracelets, that sort of thing?"
"Of course!" snapped Cordell. The necessity of the task did not make it any more palatable to him. "There was considerable gold. It's been gathered at the tower." He pointed to the observation tower on the battlefield, and Kardann hurried away. Cordell felt a vague sense of relief, amplified when he saw Darien coming toward him.
"Greetings, my dear!" Cordell was surprised. He had assumed she would be gone for hours, studying her spell.
Now, in the orange light of the bonfires, her pale white skin reflected the red haze of her anger. "What's the matter?" asked the captain-general.
"Your plan for Halloran backfired," she said, too softly for anyone else to hear. She took great pains to speak when the Bishou's attention, in particular, was directed elsewhere.
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