Viperhand - Douglas Niles [132]
She didn't wear her customary robe. Instead, her white skin showed plainly through the tiny, gold-rimmed garments that barely preserved her modesty.
"My spellbook!" she demanded.
"I brought it," Hal answered, sensing that it was foolish to lie. Yet his mind worked desperately, seeking any kind of plan.
They saw other forms blink into sight, then, one by one, until more than a dozen black-skinned elves appeared. They wore tight-fitting armor of fine black chain, and each was armed with a dark longbow. The bows were stretched taut, with arrows nocked and aimed at the small party of intruders.
Another one, a wrinkled, ancient draw, appeared beyond the caldron, seated in a great stone throne. Skeletal of visage, this one sat back, cool and aloof, obviously the leader.
"You will give it to me now," Darien commanded, starting to walk around the caldron toward Halloran.
Desperately seeking a delay, Hal reached into his pack and slowly withdrew the bound, heavy tome. "Wait," be said slowly. He knew that they had been caught in a trap of powerful, deadly cunning. He also understood that once Darien had her spellbook, they would all be killed.
Surprising even Erixitl, who had a hand on his shoulder, Halloran suddenly dove forward, lunging into a headlong slide along the floor. In a split second, he stopped before any of the archers could fire.
Halloran lay still on the floor, the book in his hands extended before him, just over the lip of the smoking crater. Below it flickered and flamed the depths of the Darkfyre. If his grip relaxed even slightly, the book would plunge into the inferno, gone forever.
"Now," Halloran continued, still speaking very slowly, "let's talk."
"Kill him!" urged the Ancestor, rising from his throne and gesturing toward Halloran.
"Wait!" hissed Darien. The pale wizard turned back to Hal. "Speak, then."
Think! Think of something, anything! his mind raced. "The betrayal of the legion-you must have prepared that for years."
Darien smiled again smugly. "For more than ten years, I have been seeking a way back to my people-a way that would bring us closer to our ancient goal. In the legion, I found the perfect vehicle-in Cordell, the perfect tool."
Hal stared at her in growing horror. "This whole expedition, the crossing of the Trackless Sea, conquering the Payit, marching on Nexal? This was all your plan?"
"Yes! For generations of human lives, we have strived to gain mastery of this land. With the league of the Viperhand, our numbers grew organized and controlled-humans, branded with the sign of Zaltec, and the priests of Zaltec controlled by us, the Ancient Ones!" She laughed aloud, but her laughter was a dry and empty sound, devoid of humor.
Halloran couldn't see his companions. He was unaware of Shatil, gaping in horror at the woman who had just explained away his life's order as a tool of these manipulative elves. The young priest swayed on his feet, woozy, as it seemed that the world came to pieces around him.
"But we needed an enemy," Darien continued, "a force to give focus to that hatred, to bring Maztica together under the hands of the cult. The Golden Legion filled that role very well indeed."
Chitikas lay still, his shattered wings in pieces around him. The snake's feathered flanks rose and fell slowly, the only indication that he still lived.
"I am going to my husband" Erixitl announced, stepping forward to kneel at Halloran's side. The bowmen tensed with her movement, but Hal glared at Darien, who raised a hand to restrain them.
None of those before him saw Shatil slowly, carefully unwind the strap of hishna from around his wrist. The priest's eyes were locked upon the white-skinned wizard. Only Poshtli, bringing up the rear, saw the movement. The warrior started easing to the side, clenching his sword.
With a sudden gesture, Shatil flung the snakeskin at Darien. "By Zaltec, take her!" he shouted, springing after it.
The scaled strap stretched and twisted in the air, growing into a netlike web. Darien darted to the side, but the growing hishna