Douglas Niles - Viperhand

"Kill her!" Darien spat. "He'll still come. He won't know she's dead." Her eyes glowed from the depths of her hood, but Erix held her head high and met the elf's fiery gaze. The elven mage had a dozen spells that should be able to strike this woman down, yet she knew that something powerful protected her against magic. This frustration only heightened her fury.

"No!" Cordell said firmly, so that all understood. He gestured to a pair of swordsmen. "Find a secure room and lock her up there."

Halloran and Poshtli tumbled down the stairway, pausing at the bottom to listen for sounds of pursuit. Apparently none of the legionnaires wanted to follow the maddened swordsman into that dark passage, however, for they heard nothing.

"I've got to go back for her!" Hal gasped during the sudden respite in flight.

"Yes, but not now!" Poshtli pressed Hal against the tunnel wall, hissing the words into his face with brutal force. "They're waiting for you up there. You know that! Do you want to throw your life away uselessly, or do you want to have a plan — something that's got a chance to work?"

For a moment, Hal's fists clenched involuntarily. His rage blurred his thoughts, and he almost struck Poshtli a blow that, in his fury, could have killed his friend. Then, with a strangled sob, he brought himself under control.

"What… how can we do that?" he grunted, forcing himself to think clearly.

"We still have the map," said Poshtli. "And there's got to be more than one entrance into Axalt's palace. Let's have a look around and see if we can't find some other approach."

Both of them thought of the inexorable sunrise, even now doubtlessly lightening the sky over the city. When next the sun set, the full moon would rise in the east.

"Good idea," said Halloran finally. "Let's get going."

"Is he not back yet?" demanded Hoxitl. He and Shatil had waited long hours outside the throne room used by Poshtli.

The courtier, who had also waited those hours, shook his head sullenly. He had long ago grown tired of the high priest's agitation and complaints. "He will announce his presence."

"This is an outrage!" snarled the high priest. Suddenly he stepped up to the courtier and reached for the door to the throne room. The noble stared at him for a moment, but something in the high priest's impassioned gaze caused his spirits to quail. Meekly the courtier stepped aside.

Hoxitl pushed open the doors and entered the throne room, followed by Shatil. The young priest still clutched the Talon of Zaltec, though he no longer expected to find his sister — his victim — here in the palace.

"Lord Poshtli! My lord, where are you?" Shatil couldn't understand Hoxitl's agitation as the high priest dashed about the room, looking into the corridors that opened from the side opposite the doors.

"This is terrible — disastrous!" declared Hoxitl, turning back to Shatil. "Is it possible they have indeed gone to rescue the Revered Counselor?"

The young priest didn't hear the patriarch, for his attention was distracted by something he had just noticed. "Look!" he cried, crossing the room to point to a dark line along the stone wall of the throne room.

"What is it?" asked Hoxitl. The priest's gaunt face pinched tightly as he scrutinized the faint outline.

"A crack — there's a door concealed here!" Shatil drew his dagger and slipped its stone tip into the crack in the wall. With a slow, steady prying, he forced the stone portal toward him. In moments, it stood open, revealing a darkened passageway to a steep flight of stone steps leading downward.

"They must have gone this way and failed to close it fully behind them!" cried Hoxitl.

The high priest's mind raced through a tumult of concerns. Erixitl must die! For Naltecona's death, promised by the Ancient One, would signal the start of the uprising — and that attack was doomed to failure and disaster if the woman, the chosen daughter of Qotal, was not slain first.

Outside, the cult of the Viperhand grew ever more restless. The other occurrence Hoxitl needed to prevent, at all costs, was a premature attack. The solution came to him naturally.

"I must marshal the cult," Hoxitl told Shatil. "Already they gather in the plaza, and they must be controlled until the proper signal is given. You must go after Erixitl! your sister will recognize you. She'll be glad to see that you're alive after Palul, will she not?"

Shatil nodded. His sister certainly assumed that he had died with all the other priests and warriors on the pyramid. From her perspective, no one had escaped.

Hoxitl continued. "That will let you get close enough to use the talon against her." The patriarch didn't need to conclude the plan, for they both understood that, if Hal or Poshtli accompanied Erixitl, such an attack would almost certainly cost the priest his life.

The young priest nodded. "It shall be as Zaltec commands." Shatil collected several reed torches, igniting one to light his way. He felt numb, detached from the preparations his body made. He watched himself go into a hole in the earth to kill his sister, giving up his own life in the process.

It seemed a proper fate for one who would be a tool of the gods.

Darien summoned Alvarro with a note. She requested his presence at noon, while Cordell inspected the legion's positions around the sprawling palace.

"Yes, my lady wizard?" inquired the red-bearded captain upon entering her darkened chamber in the palace of Axalt. She greeted him seated upon a mat. Awkwardly he sat before her.

"This wench — Halloran's woman, you claim — has angered and affronted me."

Alvarro nodded. Though he hadn't been present, he had heard the stories about how Erixitl had proven invulnerable to Darien's magic. The surviving swordsmen who had attacked the trio told terrible tales of Halloran's prowess, coupled with the failure of the fireball and magic missiles.

"I sensed earlier that your interest in her was something more personal," the elf said coolly, her ivory white skin glowing in the semidarkness of the room. Her eyes seemed huge to Alvarro, huge and beguiling. She wore a red silk dress, a thin sheath tightly outlining the curves of her body, and lust stirred in Alvarro.

"I will get you in to see her and give you time with her to do as you wish. Nothing in her room will be heard beyond those walls. However, in return, when you have finished with her, you must kill her."

"When should I do this?"

"Now. Today." Darien's voice was clipped. "She must die…" Her voice trailed away as she appeared to think for a moment. "She must be dead by sunset."

Alvarro blinked, thinking hard. The thought of Erix, alone and in his power, was like a powerful drug. Still, he wasn't an innocent recruit. Cordell had ordered the woman held prisoner. He regarded the elfmage suspiciously.

"What about the general?"

"I will see that he never knows who is to blame," Darien replied confidently.

It just might work, Alvarro told himself. He remembered Erix on the ground at Palul. His mind flamed at the prospect of holding her in his power.

"Why are you so anxious to have her dead?" he demanded.

Darien leaned back, her dress clinging seductively to her skin. "She makes me furious. She stands against my magic, she draws the eyes of men — Cordell's eyes," the albino replied. Her voice was like an icy wind. Alvarro thought briefly that the wizard didn't look furious, but then he thought again of Erix, and suddenly the wizard's motive didnt seem to matter.

The black-robed figure awaited Hoxitl in the darkened confines of the temple building below the Great Pyramid. "Greetings, priest," whispered the Ancient One.

The patriarch froze, wondering instinctively if this was an assassin sent to end his days. But the graceful figure advanced, speaking soothingly. "The death of Naltecona will occur tonight, after moonrise," said the Ancient One.