Douglas Niles - Viperhand

"Perhaps he is," said Hal skeptically.

"Even if he is, the danger is still terrible. And in my dream, his death was only the beginning. The devastation that followed spread like nightfall, as if the world itself was destroyed!"

"If you see this, then it can come to pass," said Lotil, "for you are one whom the favor of Qotal has granted special knowledge."

"What do you mean?" asked Erixitl.

Lotil smiled. "Look at your cloak, the one from the featherworker in Nexal. What do you note about it?"

Erix removed the garment and spread it on her lap. Halloran, too, leaned over to look at it closely. "It's even more beautiful than I remembered," she said. She ran her fingers along the brilliant plumage, tracing strands of red, green, white, and blue. Each color formed a long, narrow plume, which overlaid others of the same and different colors.

The whole cloak, unfolded, covered a fan-shaped area some five feet long by an equal width at its full extent. It was several inches thick, with a light, airy mass that nonetheless seemed well-padded.

But Erix was busy following the strands of color together, toward the apex of the cape. Each quill joined its neighbors into a single plume, and these plumes merged again higher up on the cloak. At the top, she noticed as she carefully ran her fingers along the cloak, all of the feathers merged into one strong, supple stem.

"It's a single, giant feather!" she said, astonished. "But from what?"

"What indeed?" asked Lotil, his face creaking into an amused grin.

"What do you mean?" interrupted Hal. "So it's a single feather. So what?"

"The Cloak of One Plume is the gift of Qotal himself, the second harbinger of his return. I have known since you returned to me," said Lotil softly.

"His gift, like the return of the couatl, is his mark upon you. You are his chosen one. Keep this cloak safe, my dearest. There will be a time when it shall give you the blessing of Qotal."

"But chosen for what?" Erix snapped, frightened. "What do you mean? Why do I have this cloak? Just to see disaster before us?"

"Perhaps it has been given that you can do something to avoid that disaster," suggested Lotil quietly.

"But what? How can I?"

"Maybe we can do something!" Hal pressed his fists against his forehead, seeing Erixitl's agony, her absolute conviction that she had foreseen catastrophe. He thought for a moment, seeking some sort of a plan, and then spoke impulsively.

"You said that, under the glow of a full moon, Naltecona was killed by the legion atop the palace of Axalt. Well, what if he never goes to the roof? What if he's out of the palace altogether?"

Halloran quickly warmed to his topic, yet he needed to convince himself that his idea was not mere madness. "Perhaps we can rescue Naltecona, and get him to safety. If we can find Poshtli and get his help, we just might have a chance."

"But how? Break into the palace, through the legion's guards?" Erixitl's initial look of hope fell as she considered the obstacles.

"Didn't Poshtli tell us something about secret passages in those palaces? Remember, when we first got to Nexal. Maybe he knows where some of them are!"

Erixitl wondered at the thought, surprised as Lotil spoke. "Go to the door, daughter, Tell me where the moon is now."

"It's low in the east."

"Some time past sunset, correct? I feel the evening chill."

"Yes."

"Well, then," said the featherworker, turning his wrinkled face from Erixitl to Halloran and back again. "It would seem that you have about three days until it is full."

The priests dragged the Kultakan warrior forward, and Shatil saw that the victim was merely a strapping youth, too inexperienced to avoid capture by the retreating Nexalans at Palul. The sun touched the horizon as the scarred, gaunt clerics stretched him across the altar. Shatil's knife fell once, and then he raised the youth's heart to the great warrior statue of Zaltec.

The statue grimaced back, standing tall and broad, with its fanged mouth gaping. Tossing the pulsing flesh into that maw, Shatil turned back to the altar. Priests had already carried the body away, while others brought the next offering.

This one was older, a slave who had been given by his Jaguar Knight master to Zaltec. That warrior, having just received the brand of the Viperhand, had failed to acquire a captive during the recent battle. He made the offering of his lifelong slave in sincere atonement.

The slave didn't quite see it that way, and he struggled helplessly until the last moment. Shatil gave this heart to his god with a vengeance, embarrassed by the man's lack of faith.

And so it went. Hoxitl, Shatil, and a few of the other senior priests of Nexal tried to slake the ravening hunger of their god. Overwhelmed by the honor shown him — he was much younger than any of the other priests performing these desperate rites — Shatil strived to make each sacrifice perfect. Every heart must be another contribution to the strength to Zaltec. Soon now, Hoxitl had promised, would come their call to action.

The cult of the Viperhand flourished in all corners of the city, though its members remained outside the sacred plaza for the most part. The strangers never ventured beyond the walls of the palace of Axalt. Food was supplied daily by the servants of Naltecona, and the Revered Counselor often walked upon the palace roof, apparently happy and serene.

Full darkness settled across the valley before the final sacrifice had been offered. Finally the priests gathered before the altar to hear Hoxitl.

"I have seen the Ancient Ones," explained the high priest. The hearts of his exhausted compatriots pulsed to the news. They awaited his words with awed anticipation.

"Zaltec is pleased with our efforts. When the battle begins, his power will shield us from the metal weapons of the invaders. But we cannot strike yet. This is most important!"

Shatil's heart sank at the news. He sensed the disappointment of the other priests. Impulsively he blurted, "But, Patriarch, why can we not attack while the blood of the cult runs fresh and hot?"

Hoxitl sighed, a patient sound. "This is why it is forbidden: The Ancient Ones have had a warning. There is one who can destroy our plan. She is a young woman selected by the gods, who can by her very existence give victory to the invaders and utter, cataclysmic disaster to us!

"As long as she lives, our uprising would face disaster. Therefore, our entire task, for now, is to find this woman so that her heart can be given to Zaltec and our ultimate victory assured!"

"Where is she? Who is she?" The priests clamored for information, but Hoxitl quieted them with a look. His gaze came to rest on Shantil, and his voice was gentle.

"We are to wait for her to come to Nexal. She may be in the company of the stranger, Halloran." Shatil looked up with a start, to find Hoxitl's eyes squarely upon his own.

"She is your sister, Erixitl of Palul."

Chical, proud captain of the Eagle Warriors, came to see Poshtli in the throne room of Naltecona's palace. Poshtli did not sit atop the dais, but the chamber itself seemed to be the best place for him to conduct the business of the city and nation in the absence of his uncle.

In the presence of Chical and other ranking nobles, Naltecona had entrusted these tasks to his nephew, along with a grim admonishment to maintain peace with the strangers camped in their midst.

Poshtli's primary headache had been relations between the Kultakans and Nexalans in the sacred plaza, surrounding the palaces. The warriors of the city trained in the plaza and frequented the temples and altars there. The Kultakans, and to a lesser extent the Payit, had not yet interfered with these activities, but Poshtli expected a clash at any time.

Now he welcomed the arrival of his old captain, though he already guessed Chical's business.