Viperhand - Douglas Niles [17]
To feel the need to speak, to correct wrongs, to teach and guide-that is the curse of our order. But to be bound by the vow, to only watch and wait and wonder-that is our discipline and our command.
And now I see in my dreams that the strangers come toward Nexal. They bring the shining light of their silver swords, their knowledge and magic. But behind them, and even, I sense, unknown to them, follow the shadows and the looming darkness.
DEATHSBLOOD
The crimson heat of the Darkfyre lit the cavern in a hellish glow. A dozen black-robed figures stood about the vast caldron, watching the seething mass of the blood-drenched blaze.
"More!" commanded the Ancestor, his voice a rasping hiss.
Another one of the Harvesters stepped forward, carrying the basketful! of his night's reaping. Reaching a bloodstained hand into the basket, the Harvester drew forth a lump of flesh that had, hours earlier, pumped life through the veins of a Nexalan captive.
But that heart had been ripped forth by Hoxitl, a bloody tribute to his brutal god. Then, when the priest and his attendants had left the pyramid, the Harvester had arrived. Each Harvester traveled the secret ways of the Ancient Ones, teleporting nightly from the Darkfyre to the sacrificial pyramids throughout the True World.
This one had claimed the hearts left atop the Great Pyramid of Nexal. It had taken him but moments to pull the still-warm hearts from the gaping mouth of the statue where Hoxit] had thrown them. Placing the grisly tributes in his basket, the Harvester had returned them to the Highcave in the space of a blink.
"More-make it burn!" hissed the black-robed Ancestor again, and the Harvester hurled the rest of his basket into the caldron. The Darkfyre hissed upward in greedy acceptance of the nourishment.
"We face a great challenge," the Ancestor finally said, speaking very slowly. "I do not need to remind you that we stand alone, forsaken by our kin, even by Lolth herself. Since the time of the Rockfire, we have been isolated, and yet we persevere.
"And so we must nurture our new god, feed the fires of our own power, and show our will to these savage humans. This is our task.
"Spirali set out to do this task, to work our will in the form of the girl's death. Though he was granted even the aid of the hellhounds, he failed. His death is just recompense for that failure."
"The girl has come here, to Nexal," said one of the robed drow after more than an hour had passed. The great city sprawled in the valley below them, for the Highcave was set high in the flank of the great volcano, Zatal, that overlooked the city.
"Indeed," replied the Ancestor. "Finally she comes to us, that she may be slain."
"It will not be easy," cautioned the drow. "It is said that she has the protection of Naltecona's nephew. Lord Poshtli."
There was no reply as the Ancient Ones absorbed this news. Poshtli was well known throughout Nexal as an intelligent, capable, and utterly fearless warrior-noble.
"Poshtli helped them to kill Spirali," said the Ancestor. "For this, he should be made to suffer. The girl's death may be just the beginning."
"Did they learn our nature when Spirali died?" asked another drow. The Ancient Ones took great pains to conceal their racial identity from the humans of Maztica.
"Who knows? And I do not care." The Ancestor wheezed as he continued. "Great events have occurred, and others are about to begin. A chain of destiny is unfolding, and the secret of our race will become insignificant as this chain advances."
"The cult of the Viperhand gains strength daily," offered another drow after further long pause.
"Good. Let the cult of violence grow like a weed, that it will be ready when we call upon it" The Ancestor nodded his satisfaction.
The ancient elf drew himself to his full height before continuing. "Remember the prophecy! Our destiny will be realized when we defeat the last obstacle, the one who is chosen by Qotal to be his champion. The chosen one is net a warrior or priest, as we had once supposed. No, it is this young