Viperhand - Douglas Niles [2]
"I dont hear anything" Hal said numbly.
"You must'" she snapped. "There! There it is again!"
"A cry… it sounds human," Poshtli whispered, his black eyes darting around the horizon. Halloran had still heard nothing.
"This way!" Erix declared, her voice full of sudden hope. She hastened down the sandy ridge, the men stumbling hurriedly behind her. Hal felt beyond hope, past depair, only noting dimly that they moved again. Erixitl's trail swung to the right, and they came around a rough shoulder of rock. "There!"
The woman pointed to a green splash of color against the brown rocks. At first, Hal thought she had found some succulent plant, but then the greenery took to the air with a beat of powerful wings, trailing its bright-plumed tail behind it.
"A macaw," breathed Poshtli. "A bird of the jungle! But here, in the desert?"
"He must have water nearby," Erix replied.
The bird flew upward and circled them for a moment. Then it dove away, coming to light on another ridge that lay beyond the low rise they had just traversed. Eagerly, with a desperate sense of hope, they started toward the bird.
It sat still, regarding them with bright, unblinking eyes as they shuffled forward as quickly as total exhaustion allowed. It squawked once, chopping its hooked beak. The macaw's large yellow claws shifted awkwardly on its stony perch, but still it stared at them.
Erix led the way. Suddenly she was no longer stumbling. Scrambling up the shallow slope, she almost reached the bird before, with a sudden flip of its wings, it again took to the air.
The macaw darted up and over the top of the slope, diving out of sight down the far side. Halloran shook off an irrational fear that Erix would fly away with the bird, disappearing from his life.
"Hurry!" Erix called excitedly, nearly sprinting to the top.
The others joined her at the rocky crest, gasping for breath. Even Storm lumbered along, almost trotting,-until they all stopped and stared in amazement.
Before them lay a shallow valley, rocky, not as sand-covered as the surrounding desert. Steep shelves of crumbling stone plummeted to the floor of the depression, which resembled a great yellow bowl, perhaps half a mile across. It was so deep that they could not have seen inside it unless they were standing upon its rim as they now did.
At the bottom of the valley, a small blue pool, surrounded by green ferns, grass, and a few stunted palm trees, reflected the suddenly softened rays of the sun. A gentle wisp of wind formed ripples across its smooth surface, and from them, the sunlight glinted like cool diamond.
Shrouded in dark cloth, the Ancestor approached the caldron of the Darkfyre. The slender figure moved slowly, but with none of the stiffness common to an elderly human. In a sudden gesture, he threw back his hood, allowing the crimson light of that infernal blaze to wash over his stark, pinched face.
His dark features stretched taut over his narrow skull, and his white hair clung to his scalp, too thin to conceal the shiny black skin below. The Ancestor's nostrils flared with his breathing, and his thin lips parted slightly to reveal white teeth in red, clearly visible gums. His arms and legs seemed nothing more than bone, covered with tight skin. He was an image of death, a gaunt, skeletal figure propped up by some unseen force.
Except for his eyes. All of his energy seemed to focus in those wide, white orbs, reflecting the dim glow of the Darkfyre and amplifying it with heat of their own. He stared in relish at the unnatural blaze.
"The fire of true power!" hissed the ancient drow, his voice rasping like wind through dry leaves.
He watched the Harvesters now, as they fed hearts to the blaze. The Harvesters were young drow, not yet ready for the exalted order of the Ancient Ones, but dedicated to the attainment of that rank. Now they worked diligently, tele-porting nightly across the land of Maztica to the sacrificial altars of bloody Zaltec, reaping the hearts torn from human victims in the sunset rites.
These grisly tokens of Zaltec's faith were