Douglas Niles - Viperhand

The Ancient One moved with oily smoothness. The slim body was completely muffled within the robe, except for the hands. These, of dark black skin and long slender fingers, hung free at the figure's sides.

Dully, the high priest became aware that several of the robed figures were in the temple with him. He wasted no time wondering how they had gotten here. He had no doubt that the Ancient Ones could have entered, unnoticed, by any of several means.

"A warning — a warning of what?" he asked. "The girl who can spell doom for the faith returns to Nexal. Her death is more essential than ever. You cannot fail again!"

"No — no, I shall not! Where is she?"

"We do not know. But the wisdom of the Darkfyre — the very will of Zaltec himself — tells us that she arrives here soon. You will have all your priests, all your apprentices, join the search for her. We, too, will be in the city during the hours of darkness. She must be discovered and slain."

"Is she alone?" inquired the priest.

"She was seen with the stranger called Halloran."

"Very well," announced the priest. "I shall assign my priests to search. We will double the guards at all entrances to the city, and also I shall speak to Naltecona. He may know where the man is."

"The Revered Counselor has not long to live," continued the Ancient One. "His death will signal the attack of the cult!"

"Are you going to slay him?" asked Hoxitl, suddenly appalled.

The robed figure remained inscrutable. "Destiny will control its own pace, but that destiny will throw the cult of the Viperhand into battle with a great passion for killing. Zaltec will be pleased.

"But remember," hissed the Ancient One, his voice muffled but menacing through the dark cloth of his robe. The figure gestured to the corpse at Hoxitl's feet. "Do not fail us again."

Staying off the road, Hal and Erix reached the lakeshore, where tall grasses extended from a broad marsh, with open water perhaps half a mile away. Full darkness surrounded them, a low overcast conveniently blotting out the moon. Approaching Nexal, they knew they had tonight and the two following days before the rising of the full moon.

Fishing villages lined the shore of the lake, and the pair chose a path close to one of these, in the hopes of finding a canoe. They came upon a number of the craft pulled onto the shore and quickly slipped one into the water. In moments, they had paddled onto the smooth, dark waters of Lake Zaltec.

Torches winked in the distance, marking the vague outlines of the great city. They both felt relief for the protective darkness, which allowed them a good chance of entering Nexal undetected.

"Let's go to my house first," suggested Hal when they were safely away from shore. "The slaves might know something about Poshtli — where he is, or how we can find him without alerting Cordell."

Erix agreed. They crossed the huge lake swiftly, and soon the city sprawled before and around them. They paddled silently, unnoticed, into a wide canal, and Hal guided the narrow dugout toward his house. The many waterways crisscrossing the city made their passage fast and easy, though confusing.

In fact, Hal wasn't certain they weren't lost until they pulled up to the courtyard itself. He recognized the stone pool and clumps of palms, knowing at last that this was his own garden. The rooms of the house, all opening onto this central yard, spread protectively around them.

How different this crossing was from their first entrance into Nexal, Hal reflected, when Poshtli had boldly taken them into the palace itself. Now they slipped like assassins through the dark of the night, reaching his home without attracting the attention of anyone.

"Master! You live!" Gankak, his venerable slave, cackled with glee and hobbled into the courtyard. "Jaria! Come quick! I told you he'd return!"

"Told me nothing, you old he-goat!" Jaria, white-haired and rounded but remarkably nimble, passed her husband and bowed to Halloran and Erix as they entered the anteroom. "I said that you still lived, Master. It was Gankak who was certain that — well, it was otherwise."

Horo, the litle, pretty one, and Chantil, short and plump beside her fellow slave, came happily out of the kitchen and chattered around them. It was a homecoming that surprised Halloran, and that he found deeply heartwarming.

"This is my wife, Erixitl," he said. The slaves bowed deeply to the woman, obviously pleased for their owner's happiness. For a few minutes, Hal forgot about the bleak view of Erixitl's vision, relaxing in the warm togetherness of his household.

"I'll see you later," Erix said as Horo and Chantil finally swept her away for a tour of the house.

"Master, it is good you return now. These are dangerous times in Nexal," said Gankak ominously.

"I know that my countrymen have entered the sacred square," Hal noted.

"That is not the worst. They have taken Naltecona prisoner, and they keep him with their own troops in the palace of Axalt. And Naltecona forbids his warriors from raising weapons against them!"

"That's something, at least." Hal knew their chances of success would probably vanish entirely if war erupted before they reached Naltecona. "We have much to do. Can you tell me, is there any word of Lord Poshtli?"

"Yes, indeed. He occupies Naltecona's throne room, speaking for his uncle. It is said that the Revered Counselor's captivity weighs heavy upon him."

Halloran imagined his friend's frustration, entrapped by his responsibility to serve his uncle and barred from attacking those who held him hostage.

Perhaps they could reach him. And if they did, perhaps they could offer him some hope.

"You must take charge of an important task, my nephew," said Naltecona. Poshtli stood attentively before him, wondering why the Revered Counselor had summoned him to his quarters in Axalt's palace so early on this bleak and cloudy day.

"I shall follow your commands unto my own death," pledged the warrior.

"You must gather the gold of Nexal, as much of it as you can. Gather it and bring it here." Naltecona stood tall. Only the deep lines around his eyes showed the humiliation he suffered at the request.

For a moment, Poshtli stood speechless. He couldn't imagine the immense arrogance behind such a demand, yet he knew that it must have come from Cordell. Did the man think all Nexal was his conquered serfdom, free for the plundering?

"You must do this, Poshtli, as difficult as I know it will be." Naltecona's pain now carried to his voice, and his nephew's heart broke at the abject surrender so apparent in this great man's bearing. At the same time, the warrior wanted to strike the counselor across the face in his blind anger, to somehow express the rage he felt at the proud nation's debasement.

"My pledge to you stands, my uncle," Poshtli said. "And if this is your sincere wish, so shall it be." His voice deepened, passionate. "But think of what you are saying! We are surrending our city, our people, our gold, all to this one who comes as a guest to our city, then seeks to treat us as his slaves!"

Poshtli saw that his arguments hurt Naltecona, and he took a savage glee in the knowledge that the Revered Counselor could still be made to feel shame.

"Please, my uncle. Let us attack them and destroy them. We can drive them from Nexal or slay them all! They are not our masters, and you cannot give your people into slavery without the chance to fight for their freedom!"

"What's the use?" Naltecona sighed, a sound that reminded Poshtli of a lifeless desert wind. "We tried to stop them at Palul. You know of that disaster even more than do I. Think of that slaughter, multiplied a hundredfold because it occurs here, in the Heart of the True World."

"But think of what is coming to an end. Uncle. Think of the legacy of Maztica, the True World! And coming to an end for what? Surely you don't believe that the strangers are gods. You have seen their acts, heard their speech!"