Douglas Niles - Viperhand

The bolt crumbled into sparks and fell harmlessly to the ground. The swordsmen paused for a moment as Darien's shrill cry of hatred split the air. Bolt after bolt shot forth, each one popping into nothingness against the Maztican woman. Finally Darien dropped her hand, her spell exhausted. The other attackers closed tentatively.

"We've got to get out of here," Poshtli grunted. "They knew we were coming. Naltecona's too well guarded!"

Sensing the truth of his friend's words, Halloran cursed in frustration. He felt he could go anywhere, attack at any odds, with the pulsating might flowing into his muscles from his pluma wristbands. But he knew this was an illusion. He might be strong and quick, but he was still mortal.

"Come on!" said Erix, starting back toward the concealed door they had used to enter.

Hal and Poshtli fell back beside her, fighting off the approaches of the attackers. Feeling no remorse in the heat of the battle, Hal struck brutally to the right and left, slaying his former comrades as he would kill any foe in any battle. If anything, the presence of Erixitl beside him and the need to protect her drove him to greater heights of savagery than he had ever known.

The door stood open before them. The three guards still slumbered incongruously as the battle raged around them. One of them began to stir as Hal and Erix turned back to the smoldering garden. The legionaires pursued at a safe distance, giving the bone-crunching sweep of Halloran's sword a wide berth.

"Get through — I'll close the door!" Poshtli leaped into the portal, stepping aside so that Hal and Erix could slip past him.

"Go!" Halloran urged Erix, facing outward to hold back the pursuit.

Neither of them saw the groggy legionnaire sit up near the doorway. The effects of the sleep spell melted away as he saw the fight raging before him.

Swiftly the man sprang to his feet and dove into Erixitl, carrying her heavily to the ground. The two rolled away from the doorway, away from Halloran.

"Erix!" he cried, his voice cracking. He leaped after her, seeing other legionnaires reach down, helping their companion to pull her away.

Dimly he saw Darien raise her hand, her spell a sharp bark of sound amid the chaos in the garden. Erixitl disappeared before Halloran as he crashed into a wall of stone — a hard granite barrier conjured between him and his wife by the elfmage.

"No!" he raged. Legionnaires swarmed around either side of the wall, blocking his passage with their bodies. The stone barrier towered over his head, extending across half the garden to the right and left. Behind him, he sensed Poshtli at the open door.

With a growl of inarticulate rage, Halloran threw back his fist and smashed it into the wall. His knuckles met the granite with stone-crushing force, and the arcane power of his pluma, coupled with the berserk rage of his own strength, shattered the barrier. Leaping through the wreckage like a wild beast, Halloran saw Erix, firmly grasped by four swordsmen, disappear into one of the compartments.

Blinded by his own fury, Halloran stumbled forward. Swordsmen fell away from his path, knowing their fate if they came within reach of his blows.

Suddenly a dark reality penetrated his frenzy, and he saw a rank of legionnaires standing between him and the place where Erix had disappeared. No swords for these, however — this was a line of Daggrande's heavy crossbows.

Blinking, halting in a desperate attempt to regain his self-control, Halloran stared at the figure of his old companion. The grizzled dwarf stared back, the set of his mouth firm. Only his eyes showed his pain. With deliberate speed, he ordered the crossbows, their steel-headed missiles glinting in the magical light, raised.

Don't make me do it, lad! Halloran read the message in the old dwarfs eyes and knew beyond a doubt that a volley of those missiles would mean his death.

"Shoot, fools! He's getting away!" Darien's shrill scream followed Hal through the door as he turned and darted into the safety of the secret passage. Tears of frustration and rage choked him, and he didn't even see Poshtli pull the portal shut behind them.

From the chronicles of Coton:

In dreams, may we find the hope and promise that eludes us awake.

Again the feathered snake came to me in my sleep. The golden couatl, brilliant of plume and mighty of power, circles about, taunting with his near presence, frustrating me as he vanishes before daybreak.

And so the couatl remains a dream, a fantasy specter of hope and significance, all the more miserable because of its empty promise. The clouds of doom gather around Nexal, and the city prepares to bathe in blood.

O' couatl, harbinger of the Plumed One, we need more than your promise now!

Three bearded legionnaires threw Erixitl against a wall with enough force to drive the air from her lungs. Gasping, she faced them — not afraid, but bitterly disappointed. One of them pulled her stone knife — her only weapon — from her belt. A fourth walked up to her and scowled into her face.

"What d'you got under them feathers?" he demanded. The Cloak of One Plume covered her shoulders and her back. He reached a hand to its clasp to tear it away. Suddenly a blue spark crackled from the cloak, and he drew his blistered hand away.

"Ouch! Helm's curses, she's a witch!"

Erix was as surprised as the legionnaire. A growing sense of despair seized her, and she took little pleasure in the protection. True, it hid her pouch, but the only thing that contained was the tiny bottle of potion she had insisted Hal let her carry — a potion that frightened her too much to ever allow her to drink it.

"That was Halloran!" she heard one of the men say. "The bastard fought like a demon!"

"Killed Garney, he did," grunted another. Their eyes settled, murderously, back on Erixitl,

Halloran! She struggled to contain her grief. They had failed. Did he live? Had they escaped? Lost in her despair, she didn't notice the captain-general's entrance until the black-bearded leader stood before her, his dark eyes smoldering.

"You were the translator at Palul," Cordell stated, his voice vaguely accusing, confident of its assertion.

"Yes," Erixitl replied, seeing no point in denial. Around her, a menacing ring of legionnaires glowered, brandishing weapons, all but growling for her blood. Cordell stood before her, with the cloaked elfmage at his side.

"Why did you come here?" demanded the general.

"We were lost," Erix answered, forcing her voice to remain calm.

"These questions are a waste of time!" snapped Darien. "Kill the wench now and be done with it."

"Wait!" Cordell raised a hand, mildly reproving. "You sought Naltecona, did you not? To free him, perhaps?"

Erixitl shook her head, but she could see that the man didn't believe her.

Suddenly another figure elbowed his way through the men-at-arms. A grim-faced Alvarro reported to Cordell.

"That son of a whore killed six men, wounded a dozen more!" The man's tones were incredulous. Then his eyes fell upon Erixitl, and a crooked grin twisted Alvarro's mouth. "But I see we have his woman."

The way he said "woman" sent daggers of fear along Erixitl's spine. Darien, too, noticed the inflection, though no one saw her smile within the shadows of her hood.

"His woman?" Cordell repeated in surprise.

Alvarro stopped, thinking fast. He hadn't told Cordell the full story of his encounter with Hal and Erix together, outside of Palul.

"Yeah," he explained quickly. "When he killed Vane, he was trying to get to her. Must have quite a thing for her." The red-bearded man looked at Erixitl's lithe femininity like a hungry animal. "Can't say I blame him!"

Cordell looked at the captain in mild annoyance, then turned back to Erixitl. "If he came for you once, perhaps he'll do so again. We'll keep you here for now. Perhaps you'll bring us bigger game."