Viperhand mt-2

by Douglas Niles

  The great cats crept forward, threatening growls rumbling from their deep chests.

  Poshtli ignored the feline attackers for a moment. Then slowly, deliberately, he lifted his Eagle helmet off his head and tossed it aside, shrugged his cloak of feathers from his shoulders, and let it settle to the ground around his feet.

  Now he crouched into a fighting stance with his maca raised toward the cats. "Tell me when," hissed Hal, lifting the silver shaft of his longsword.

  Poshtli nodded. "Now!"

  Slashing downward with the wooden club, Poshtli leaned forward. The blade, studded with razor-sharp bils of obsidian, chopped into the back of one of the jaguars. The creature howled in agony, trying to twist away, but Poshtli circled with the creature's turn, using it to block him from the attack of the other enraged feline.

  Meanwhile, Halloran darted at the third cat. The animal reared up, slashing toward the man's face, but Hal ducked under the attack and drove his blade into the beast's heart. Before it had stopped twitching, he leaped across its fallen body and drove his blade into the last of the jaguars.

  For a few moments, they stood panting among the four bleeding bodies. The last three shifted back to human form as they died, feet and arms and legs and hands growing from the spotted feline limbs.

  "Erixitl?" asked Poshtli, slowly and fearfully.

  "She's… safe. She's gone," Hal answered.

  "Gone?" The Eagle Knight didn't hide his surprise.

  "Back to Palul, to her home." Hal explained Erix's sudden decision to the knight, omitting the details of their argument. He found it hard to rekindle his jealous anger, much of which had previously focused on Poshtli. While he missed Erixitl already, he was grateful that she had been gone on this night.

  To Hal's surprise, Poshtli seemed pleased to hear of her departure. Indeed, Hal couldn't figure out why the warrior wasn't more distraught at the sudden absence of his bride-to-be.

  "That could be the safest thing," he replied. "Who else knows where she's gone?"

  "No one, so far as I know. Just you and me." "Let's keep it that way. I think it is best for her if Erixitl of Palul disappears for a while."

  From the chronicles of Colon:

  Seeking the light among the deepening shadows…

  The darkness haunts my dreams nightly, this same blackness of which Poshtti speaks. It is a vision of a wasteland, a place of death and decay, of monstrous deformity and perversion. It is a ruined expanse of ash and grime, and it is called Nexal.

  I fear this vision more than I have feared any other thing in my life. It is a grim destiny that may be greater than any of the humans who hope to stand against it.

  And if it prevails, I fear that we of Maztica — our city, our nation, our people — I fear that we will soon be but a memory, a distant vision that will vanish forever with the lives of our children.

  PALUL

  "That light — what is its source?" Poshtli gestured to the milky glow that still emanated from Halloran's room.

  "It's… sorcery. Something like your pluma" Hal pointed to the glowing aperture. "Kirishone" he said, and instantly darkness cloaked the rooms.

  "Kirisha!" He repowered the spell, enjoying the look of surprise on Poshtli's face.

  "Can all of your people do this… sorcery?"

  "No. I studied this craft when I was much younger, but I know very little of real power. I can illuminate a room, shoot a bolt of magic, maybe make someone fall asleep if I try hard — that's about all. But there are those who devote a lifetime to the practice of magic — they are to be feared greatly." The picture of the elfmage Darien came vividly to mind. It was a picture he hoped he would never have to face in the flesh.

  The knowledge that he held her spellbook intruded itself once more, uneasily, into Hal's mind. Often he wished that he could simply return the tome to her, but that was impossible. Undoubtedly, however, she was very much interested in regaining it.

  "You come from a wondrous and frightening people, Halloran. My only hope is that you are not to be the ruin of Maztica."

  Poshtli fixed him with a level gaze, and Hal squirmed, finally looking down in discomfort. His eyes fell on Poshtli's cloak, now stained with the blood of a dead Jaguar Knight, on the floor.

  "Why did you take your cloak off?"

  The immediate pain in Poshtli's face shocked Hal, all the more so since it was the first such emotion he had ever seen the stoic warrior express. He regretted the question as soon as he uttered it.

  Poshtli took a deep breath. He knelt, wiping the blood from his weapon on the spotted cloak of one of the slain men. When he rose and looked at Hal again, his face was lined with strain. "I cannot tell you. But I have no regrets, and I am no longer an Eagle Knight."

  The inference was not difficult. By aiding Hal, the knight had violated some trust of his order. He had shed his cloak and helmet before the fight deliberately. And yet it was a decision he had made resolutely.

  "Thank you," said Hal, suddenly finding it difficult to speak.

  Poshtli nodded, a half-smile on his face. He held up his weapon, and Halloran saw that several of the obsidian teeth were chipped. "Hard skin," the Maztican grunted, indicating the corpse at his feet.

  "Just a minute." Turning to his saddlebag, neatly stowed in a corner, Hal withdrew a weapon from within a rolled-up blanket. It was a straight, slender longsword, with a double edge of razor-sharp steel. Halloran had kept it even after he had regained his lost Helmstooth, knowing that the weapon was priceless in the True World.

  "Will you take this?" he asked, extending the hilt to the former Eagle Knight. "Now that you don't have your order behind you, perhaps you'll need a good weapon in front of you."

  Poshtli took the weapon and hefted it, surprised by its tightness. He knew, having seen Hal use his blade in combat, that it could cut through any weapon wielded by his countrymen and render their cotton armor useless.

  "Thank you," said the Maztican sincerely. "It may not replace my feathers, but it gives me an effective claw."

  "Perhaps we'll need it. I've left my legion, and now you have departed your order. It looks like it's you and me against Maztica, friend."

  Hal fell his comradeship with this brave man deepen. He regretted his earlier jealousy, though the memory of Erixitl in Poshtli's arms still gave him a sharp jab of pain. Still, the terrible sense of loneliness he had felt at her departure began to lessen. Was there any real purpose in his being here? Could he in fact make some kind of difference? Halloran resolved to find out.

  Poshtli laughed, but there was a serious edge to the sound. "We're both lone wolves, Halloran of the Sword Coast. But perhaps not so alone as we might think."

  "What do you mean?"

  "At first light, I suggest we seek an audience with my uncle. We'll see what the great Naltecona has to say about an attack under his own roof."

  Her first night out of Nexal, Erix had barely enough time to cross the causeway to the mainland before sunset brought a temporary end to her journey. She sought shelter for the night in one of the travelers' inns that commonly dotted the landscape near Nexal.

  These simple hostels offered a straw mat for sleeping and a bowl of beans or mayz, for a few cocoa beans or other barter goods. Fortunately, she had brought a small pouch of beans with her when she left the palace. The beans, her new feathered cloak, the pluma token from her father, and her dress were the only things she had taken with her.

  She paused outside the inn and looked back at the valley, sharply etched as it was in the slanting rays of sunset. Shadows wisped like black smoke through the streets and across the lake, and she could no longer tell if they were the products of her disturbing premonitions or the actual descent of evening.

  Beyond the city, she saw Mount Zatal clearly outlined against the sky. The mountain seemed ready to burst, swollen as it was from the volcanic pressure within. She imagined the folk of Nexal, busily going about their evening tasks. Cant they see it? Don't they understand the danger? With a deep
sigh, she tried to accept the fact that they could not.

  One person down in that city she thought about in particular. How could Halloran have hurt her so? He hadn't tried to stop her from leaving, hadn't offered to come along. A lump caught painfully in Erix's throat, and she roughly tossed her head, looking away. So be it, she decided, though the decision of her mind did not extend to her heart.

  A file of slaves entered the yard of the inn, followed by a plump merchant. Erix saw them set down great bundles of brightly colored cloth while the merchant, with a curious look at her, passed inside. Her sense of melancholy grew as she looked at the bright materials.

  The colors brought back memories of her father. How he had loved his colors! The way his fingers could work a single delicate plume into a work of art had always amazed and thrilled Erix. She wondered if he still worked at his art, or even if he still lived. Would he know her, this woman who had been a girl when last he saw her?

  Sighing, impatient with the journey before her and depressed by the man and the city behind, she turned to the door and entered the low building. She drew immediate stares at the inn, for a woman traveling alone was an unusual visitor. She shrugged off the looks, and also the attentions of several young Jaguar Knights who were on the road to Nexal. After sleeping lightly, Erixitl left at first light.

  The next day took her out of the valley of Nexal, into the high country that began to look very familiar. She spent that night in the village of Cordotl. From there, she could see the glorious city behind her.

  But also from there Erix could look into a rich, green valley to the east. At the far side, she could barely make out the squat bulk that was the pyramid in Palul. The tiny glimpse made her heart pound, and she could sleep but little that night, leaving early again the next day. By walking fast, she hoped to reach Palul while there was still time left in the day.

  Her pace accelerated even more as, shortly past noon, she reached the mayzfields below Palul itself. The steeply climbing trail was no deterrent. She even imagined she could see the tiny dot of her father's house high on the ridge above the town.

  Erixitl entered the town and paused, looking around at the whitewashed, flat-roofed buildings. The pyramid still stood in the center of the plaza. Once it had seemed huge, but now it looked like a cheap imitation of the grand edifices in Nexal. The trees looked somewhat bigger, and she didn't see anybody that she recognized, but it wasn't hard to remember that this was the town where she had spent her first ten years.

  Erix started through the square, toward the trail that led up the ridge to her father's house. Suddenly she stopped, appalled. The whole plaza had gone dark around her. A terrible sense of foreboding gripped her soul, weakening her knees. Erix couldn't lift the shadows by rubbing her eyes, so she kept her gaze directed downward. Frightened, she hurried through the town as quickly as she could.

  Past the pyramid, she saw the low stone building that housed the priests of Zaltec. A pair of statues, depicting squatting, fierce jaguars, stood to either side of the dark doorway. For a moment, she considered stopping at the temple and inquiring about her brother, Shatil. But she discarded the idea, since the priests had little time for women, and, in any event, the news might be bad. Erix well knew that only about half of the apprentices actually advanced to the priesthood of that grisly order. The others usually made the ultimate payment for their failure.

  And in truth, it was her father that she truly longed to see again. She wondered about stopping to ask someone if Lotil the featherworker was well, if he still lived in the white house on the ridge, but this knowledge, too, she preferred to gain for herself. Through the town, she nearly ran up the trail that cut steeply back and forth as it ascended toward the house.

  Finally she stood before it. The whitewash had fallen away, she saw with surprise, leaving the walls cracked and in need of repair. Nor did the flower beds around the house show the life they had once exhibited. Her father had planted and tended them, for he loved to be surrounded by color.

  Hesitantly she advanced to the door. There she saw the familiar figure, hunched over his feather-loom. Perhaps a little more bent, more frail than she remembered, but it was him. She felt her breath catch in her throat, and for a moment she choked, speechless. Then she found her tongue.

  "Father!" she cried, bursting through the door. Lotil looked up quickly in surprise. His expression crinkled into a grimace of disbelief as he stared past her, climbing to his feet.

  "Father — it's me! Erixitl!" She sprang toward him and swept him into her arms, feeling his thin body beneath her skin. Still his eyes looked past her, though he embraced her warmly and sobbed with joy. He leaned back, and she saw his wrinkled face, his thin white hair, and finally she understood.

  In a gesture of monstrous cruelty, the gods had taken his sight, leaving this man who so loved his colors completely blind.

  "Why must you see me so early? What is wrong?" inquired Naltecona, looking up at Poshtli and Halloran from a plate of half-eaten mayzcakes. Around him, on the floor of his dining chamber, were arrayed more than a hundred other dishes, for it was the Revered Counselor's habit to choose his meals only after a multiplicity of alternatives had been offered.

  "And where is your helmet? And your cloak?" Naltecona suddenly demanded, studying Poshtli curiously. The warrior wore a clean white tunic, with his long black hair tied behind his head. It was the garb characteristic of a common warrior.

  "That is part of our tale," explained Poshtli. "Can we walk elsewhere, away from the ears around us?"

  Naltecona looked around questioningly. There were only slaves moving about the dining chamber now, though often other nobles or priests called upon him here.

  "Very well. Let us go to the menagerie."

  Without a further word, the ruler led them through back passages of the palace, places Hal had never been before. He had heard of the counselor's garden of caged beasts, but he hadn't yet seen it. From what he had been told, he knew it was a private spot, reserved for Naltecona and his most influential confidants.

  Finally they emerged from a wide doorway into an enclosed courtyard. Open to the sky, the area contained a profusion of flowers and trees. It was only as they stepped along the graveled path among the foliage that Hal saw cleverly concealed cages.

  The first of these — small and carefully built into the shrubbery — contained birds. Hal stared, distracted, at green, red, and gold parrots and macaws such as he remembered from Payit, but also elegant geese, a colorful array of ducks quacking around a small pond, peacocks, herons, and hawks.

  One of the macaws squawked, a familiar sound. With a pang, Hal remembered the macaw that had led them to water in the desert, for the bird caused him to think of Erixitl.

  A little farther on, they reached a cage that Hal at first thought was empty. In the shadows beneath a spreading tree, however, he saw stealthy movement. In seconds, a slick black feline came into view. The creature looked like a jaguar except for its inky pelt, and as it slinked along the fence, it growled, a sound identical to that great spotted cat's menacing snarl.

  "Yes," replied Naltecona in response to Hal's quizzical look. "It is a jaguar. These black ones are very rare, and thus very precious."

  "A creature of the night, the jaguar, said Poshtli, slowly and carefully. His uncle looked at him curiously, and the warrior quickly explained the attack on Hal the night before. He added the reason for his doffing of the Eagle regalia.

  "This you would do for the stranger?" asked Naltecona, as if Halloran were not there. The question needed no reply. Both Hal and Poshtli noted that the ruler had shown no surprise when told of the attack. Now he looked at his nephew appraisingly.

  "The loss is to the order of the Eagles. I am proud of you, my nephew. The stranger shall be safe under my roof. I shall make the decree myself. As to punishment of the transgressors, your weapons have seen to that."

  Hal was about to point out that the Jaguars must have received their orders from somewhere, but he cau
ght Poshtli's warning glance. Instead, he nodded and sensed Naltecona's relief as the counselor led them farther along the walkway.

  The beast in the next cage caused Hal's pulse to race. The largest creature in the menagerie, it sprang at the bars as the humans passed. Its lionlike face contorted into a mask of hatred as it slashed with huge paws. A pair of great, leathery wings flapped fruitlessly from the creature's shoulders. Barely visible beneath the creature's flowing mane was a ring of brilliant feathers encircling the beast's neck. It opened its mouth wide, and Hal clapped his hands over his ears.

  "You know of the hakuna," said Naltecona, noting Hal's protective gesture. The soldier was embarassed when the creature spouted an incongruously mild squeak. "This one has been altered. Its roar has been muffled by that collar of pluma"

  "Good idea," grunted Halloran sheepishly. "The one time I met one of those things, it knocked me flat on my back with its roar."

  "Rare is the man who gets up to tell that tale" observed Poshtli as they reached the next cage.

  This one was empty, but also unique in that its cage was a screen of thin saplings, not the heavier but wider-spaced poles that enclosed most of the other cages. On the wail at the back of the cage, outlined in brilliant mosaics of turquoise, jade, and obsidian, was the figure of a long snake. It was unusual, both for the pair of wings that sprouted from its body and for the feathers that appeared to cover it in lieu of scales.

  "The couatl." Hal identified the creature before the others could speak.

  "You are also familiar with the feathered snake?" inquired Naltecona, surprised.

  "Indeed. It was a couatl that brought Erix and I together. It gave her the gift of tongues. That's how she learned to speak the language of Faerun."

  He noticed Poshtli looking at him in shock, Naltecona with frank disbelief.

  "You never mentioned this!" accused the warrior.

  "I'm sorry!" Hal was taken aback. "Should I have?"

  "The couatl is the harbinger of Qotal" Naltecona explained. "It has not been seen in these lands since the Butterfly God departed for the east, long centuries ago. You have been granted an experience that the patriarchs of Qotal would give their lives for!"