Douglas Niles - Viperhand

"This is to aid you in your task," explained the patriarch. "But treat it with care. The slightest scratch from the tip will cause instant death." Shatil leaned closer, seeing that the claw had been hollowed out. A cork sealed the wide end.

"I shall use it well."

"You must," replied the patriarch. "It is called the Talon of Zaltec."

"Now tell me where to find this house," said Shatil, "and I will see that Erixitl never leaves it alive."

"Here, take my hand," urged Halloran.

"Where is your hand?" Erix asked. Their fingers touched finally, and they linked grips. "That's better," she admitted. "At least I know where you are now." She reached out a hand and touched his invisible body, as if to convince herself of the fact.

"If you can't see me, we can hope that the guards can't either" he told her, touching the side of her face in order to reassure himself as to Erixitl's location. The two of them stood in the shade of several trees, very close to the gate of the sacred plaza. It was nearly noon, they guessed, though the sun had remained masked by hazy overcast all morning.

"I don't know which I like less, not being able to see you, or not even being able to see myself." Her voice, unusually tentative, underlined her anxiety.

"We'll be in the palace in no time. Are you ready?" asked Hal, and felt Erix squeeze his hand in response. Several slaves hurried along the street beside them, but the avenue was otherwise empty. Moving quietly, they started toward the gate.

Halloran felt a smooth sense of confidence, though he understood full well the risks of their ultimate mission to free Naltecona. Finding Poshtli represented only the first step. Still, he felt excitement and anticipation such as he hadn't known for a long time. Perhaps it was the aura of invisibility. Or maybe he felt simple relief to again know a cause and a challenge. His doubts, the sense of alienness he had felt so strongly, all these things seemed to be behind him now.

Hal had swathed his boots in cotton, and he wore a cloth tunic over his steel plate armor. With his sword drawn and his scabbard lashed to his back, he could move with almost complete silence. The spellbook he carried in his backpack. Wrapped around his waist he brought the hishna-magic snakeskin that had bound him, long ago in Payit. The enchanted thing had power, he knew, and though he didn't know how to use it, he saw no purpose in leaving it behind. He knew they would need all of their resources to give their rescue plan a chance of success.

He remembered, too, the other potion bottle. Erixitl had panicked when he tried, once again, to sample it. In fact, she had insisted on carrying it, since he wouldn't leave it behind.

Erixitl, with her moccasins and loose dress, could also move quietly. Yet she currently felt none of Hal's self-assurance. The experience of invisibility she found decidedly unsettling. Her Cloak of One Plume encircled her shoulders, she knew, yet the fact that she could not see it disturbed her too, her sight had been full of darkness and shadows. She hadn't told Halloran, but a black sense of futility threatened to claim her, to drive her to despair.

Her dream seemed so real — Naltecona, perishing among the legionnaires atop the palace, the newly risen full moon illuminating the scene — that she wondered if there could be any hope of changing it. But she forced her hopelessness away, if only for Halloran's sake.

A pair of brawny legionnaires, armed with long-hafted weapons with the heads of axes, stood at one side of the single entrance to the sacred plaza. A pair of Jaguar Warriors stood opposite them, on the other side of the gates. This shared duty brought sharply home to Halloran the precarious balance that now existed in the city.

A light breeze circled around them, and one of the Jaguar Warriors sniffed and raised his head. Hal felt a moment of panic, but then the eddy settled and the guard turned back to his task, unalarmed. In another minute, a long file of slaves came down the street, carrying baskets of mayz and gourds of octal, the latter having proved quite popular among the strangers. Erix and Hal had no difficulty slipping through the opened gates beside the slaves.

They stopped in astonishment after they passed the long wall. Thousands of warriors, encamped in the sacred plaza, nearly filled the massive square. They clustered in camps around the great temples and palaces, Kultakans and Payits near one great palace, and Nexalan legions gathered around them.

"That must be the palace of Axalt," said Hal. He pointed to the huge, low building before remembering that Erix couldn't see his arm. She, too, had identified the place Cordell had made his headquarters — and Naltecona's prison. The high stone walls, with several balconies along the top edges, formed a solid barrier protecting the legion and its precious hostage.

Erix gasped and shrank backward suddenly as black gouts of smoke seemed to explode from the building, spreading an inky blackness across the plaza. Hal clutched her to him, not knowing the reason for her fear but sensing the terror coursing through her trembling body. Suddenly she shook her head and started forward. They crossed toward the palace of Naltecona, where Gankak had told them that Poshtli now dwelled, taking care to skirt the camps of warriors that lay in their path.

"How long until they can see us again?" asked Erixitl uncertainly.

"I don't know," Hal admitted. "But we have enough time to get inside." I hope, he added silently.

The entrance to Naltecona's palace passed through a pair of wide wooden doors, closed and guarded by Eagle Knights. Fortunately they opened frequently for groups of warriors, priests, or slaves. Hal and Erix slipped through behind a file of Maztican women who carried baskets of peppers and beans for the palace kitchens.

Once inside, they saw the familiar grand hallway proceeding straight before them, toward the great doors to Naltecona's — now Poshtli's — throne room. A lone nobleman stood outside. The man wore high sandals, a clean cotton tunic, and a small, shoulder-covering cape of green and red feathers.

Halloran and Erix moved slowly and carefully down the corridor until they stood within a few feet of the great doors. Making no sound, they observed the doors and the listlessly waiting courtier. Was Poshtli inside? They didn't know for certain, but Hal felt that the presence of a nobleman waiting at the door seemed like a good omen.

Abruptly the great portals opened, and a tall Eagle Knight stepped through. The man's posture was rigid, his eyes hard. As he emerged, Halloran was startled to see that the warrior was an old man, though he moved with the fluid ease of a young veteran.

Pulling Erixitl along, Hal darted through the opened door. The courtier followed, after bowing to the departing knight, and the invisible pair barely dodged to the side in time. Indeed, the man turned at the scuffing sound of their feet but faced the great throne when he saw nothing there.

Halloran and Erix saw Poshtli seated on the floating pluma throne of his uncle. The first thing striking them both was that their friend looked much older than when they had last seen him, in Palul.

"Shall I summon Hoxitl yet, my Lord Poshtli?" asked the nobleman.

"No!" Poshtli's voice was a harsh chop. Then he sighed, and his tone softened. "Not yet. I will talk to the priests later in the day. Now leave me, please."

With a deep bow, the man turned and departed, closing the great doors behind him. Erixitl and Halloran stood, silent and unseen, in the great throne room of Nexal.

They started forward awkwardly, and as they did, they saw Poshtli lean back in the throne. Tears wet his eyes, though they didn't flow down his cheeks.

Then his face twisted with an expression of utter, soul-wrenching grief.