Viperhand - Douglas Niles [127]
With a groan, Cordell sat down at the table, placing his head in his hands. How could she have betrayed him? He wallowed in his self-pity for a moment before forcing himself free of the mire, to once again stand and pace before his men.
"They seem to have withdrawn at nightfall, at least to some extent," observed the Bishou. "Perhaps that's our chance, to break out of here in the middle of the night."
"The clouds have moved in," added the dwarf. "It's a dark night-and still raining."
"I have some spells that might prove of some use to us," interjected Bishou Domincus. "An insect plague, perhaps, to clear them from our path. Or wind and water, such as Helm grants me to use."
"Perhaps you're onto something," said Cordell, desperate for any hope. "One thing's for sure-to remain here is death, death for all of us." He made his decision quickly.
"Tbnight, then!" said the captain-general, a trace of his old commanding presence returning to his posture and his voice.
"But how many lives will we lose?" squeaked Kardann.
"We know which life you are concerned with, my good assessor," said Cordell dryly. "And rest assured that we shall do our best to get it to safety.
"You, on the other hand," he continued, "must complete the plans to move several tons of gold. You have two hours."
From the chronicles of Colon:
A note before J retire, while the city dies around me.
Now at last Qptal sends his sign, as the couatl again strives in his name. Forgive me, Great Wise Master of my faith, that I do not record my gratitude at this event. All my pleas and prayers to this end notwithstanding, hoping-nay, begging-for you to take some action.
But now I must ask why? Why has the couatl come? What purpose is there to any struggles at this hour, in this dark night?
Now, when it is too late for all but the dying?
THE CRESTING FLOOD
"Are you ready to go?" Cordell asked Sergeant-Major Grimes the question, knowing that there could be only one answer. Grimes, a bluff, profane veteran, had been his choice to replace Alvarro. The sergeant-major was no intellectual giant, but Cordell at least felt he could trust the hearty lancer to follow orders.
The blond horseman stood at the head of the lancers, who were formed in a column of twos in the great corridor of the palace. Never, thought Cordell, had he seen such a collection of wounded, tired men. But he knew they stood ready to march.
Before them, the wooden doors, reconstructed by the legionnaires after the day's battle-remained closed, concealing the escape attempt from the Nexalans. Lookouts on the roof reported that there were only a few dozen warriors pacing restlessly about in the vicinity of the doors.
"Give me the sign," grunted the horseman.
"Another hour. We want to let things settle down out there as much as possible. Remember, when you do go, charge all the way to the gate of the plaza. You have to hold that gate until the rest of the legion gets there." Grimes nodded, scowling in concentration.
"Captain-General?"
"Yes?" Cordell turned in irritation. "What is it, Kardann?"
"It's the gold. We've loaded what we can in saddlebags. But there's still a great pile of it. What do you think we should do?"
The captain-general sighed heavily, regretting the necessity that forced them to abandon much hard-earned treasure. "Let the men have as much as they want to carry. The rest we'll leave behind."
In moments, word spread through the ranks of the legionnaires. The soldiers clustered around the mound of gold, filling pockets, backpacks, pouches, even boots and gloves, with the precious metal, many taking so much they could barely walk. Others such as Daggrande, mindful of the hard fight and long flight ahead, took only a few items of purest gold.
At last darkness and quiet spread through the sacred plaza around the palace. The rain drummed heavily on the roof, splattering on the stone surface of the huge courtyard, deadening sound and restricting vision.
"All right," Cordell hissed to Grimes, after a last reconnais-ance. "When the doors open, ride."
Behind