Viperhand - Douglas Niles [10]
Dozing again, Naltecona dreamed of the presence of his nephew, Poshtli. There was a true man! A warrior of courage, a man of wisdom and restraint. Too bad he could not replace a dozen of these fools around him with one more like Poshtli.
The doors to the throne room opened softly, yet the movement was enough to waken the Revered Counselor. He looked up in annoyance.
A priest hurried forward, pausing to bow obsequiously three times before he approached the feathered throne. The emaciated cleric, his frail limbs and face covered with the scars of self-inflicted penance, finally stood before his ruler. His hair stood tall above his head, a series of stiff spikes caked with the blood of the priest's sacrificial victims. He waited silently, his eyes downcast, as Naltecona blinked and stretched.
"Yes, Hoxitl?" inquired the ruler, recognizing the high priest of Zaltec before him. Zaltec was the patron god of the Nexala, and his patriarch, Hoxitl, claimed powerful rights of counsel.
"Most Revered One, we have word out of the desert of your nephew, Lord Poshtli. It is said that he returns with one of the strangers as his prisoner. This news is pleasing to Zaltec and the Ancient Ones."
"I have no doubt of that," said Naltecona ironically. He understood that any new prospect of sacrifice was pleasing to the god of Hoxitl. He looked at his other courtiers. "This is the proof for those who doubted Poshtli's eventual return. He left in search of a vision. I have no doubts that his visions have shown him more than most of you will ever know."
"Indeed," said Hoxitl, with another humble bow. "The wisdom of Zaltec has blessed him."
Naltecona's gaze penetrated the priest, though the still-bowing cleric seemed unaware of his ruler's stare. "There is more than one source of wisdom in the True World," he said sharply. "Do not let your faith blind you to this fact."
"Indeed," said Hoxitl, concealing his skepticism with another bow.
"Is that all?" asked the counselor, boredom creeping into his voice.
"There is another matter," replied the priest. "Should my lord counselor deem it his pleasure to attend, I inform you that we will consecrate more warriors into the cult of the Viperhand tonight, at the setting of the sun."
Viperhand. Naltecona felt a chill with the word. The cult of the Viperhand seemed to grow daily since the arrival in Maztica of the strangers from across the sea. It had always been the cult of Zaltec's faithful followers, but now warriors, priests, even common workers flocked to the temples to swear eternal allegiance to the god of war and to wear his bloody brand.
The mark was wielded by the high priest alone. Tbnight that brand would be pressed forever into the flesh of more young Nexalans.
Naltecona sighed, ignoring the high priest's request. "Co-ton, come here," he called, turning to the rest of his retinue.
A white-robed priest bowed and stepped forward from the group. This one, in stark contrast to Hoxitl, appeared well fed, even to the point of a slight plumpness. His shock of white hair and his wrinkled brown skin were clean, unmarked by scars, blood, or dirt. Colon, high priest of Qotal, approached the counselor silently. Indeed, he did everything silently, in deference to a vow he had made to his immortal master, the Butterfly God.
"Leave us for a moment," Naltecona ordered Hoxitl. That priest scowled at Colon but stepped obediently away.
"One of the strangers comes to Nexal," explained the counselor. As always, he felt comfortable speaking to the un-answering Colon. "Hoxitl wishes to place his heart upon the altar of Zaltec.
"We know of the prowess of these strangers. Perhaps it would be good to have this one dead, no longer a threat. But 1 am curious about them, and how much of a threat can one man be to our city, our