Viperhand - Douglas Niles [23]
Halloran met Hoxitl's gaze with a challenge of his own. Though no great devotee of Helm, he would not yield to the cleric's implicit assertion of Zaltec's sovereignty.
"You must learn more of our gods," continued Naltecona. "Tbnight il will please me to have you attend our rituals. You may accompany me to the Great Pyramid, for the sunset rites of Zahec."
Hoxitl leered at him as Hal's heart pounded and his mind reeled with horror. He recalled the rituals of Zaltec, the hearts torn from captives and offered to sate the hunger of the bloodthirsty god. Halloran did not fear for himself, but his revulsion was so strong that the thought of the rite almost sent him lunging for the depraved Hoxitl, his hands clawing for the priest's throat.
He called upon all of his restraint, keeping his voice dispassionate as he addressed Naltecona.
"I am grateful for your invitation," he said quietly. "But I cannot attend your ritual. My god will not permit it"
Naltecona took a sudden step backward, almost as if he had been struck. His eyes narrowed. Over his shoulder, Hal saw Hoxitl's smoldering gaze break into a raging fire of hatred. Colon, on the other hand, looked mildly amused. Time seemed to come to a halt as Naltecona stared at Halloran.
"Very well," said the counselor abruptly, whirling around and stalking back to his throne, the feathered cape floating dreamily through the air behind him. For a moment, Hal stood still, wondering if he should leave. Then Naltecona stopped and turned back to his guest. The Revered Counselor's eyes gleamed like cold, black ice.
"Take his gifts to his apartments," he* barked at the two slaves who had brought the parcels forward. Then he turned back to Hal. "You are dismissed," he said shortly.
Erixitl paced around the luxurious apartment. The lush garden, the splashing pool, the fabulous ornaments, everything seemed suddenly like a metal cage that imprisoned her spirit and sealed away her future.
Something about the pool reminded her of a stream she remembered from her childhood-a crystalline brook that splashed through the town of Palul, her native village.
Palul. The town that she knew was a bare two days' journey away, now that she had reached Nexal. She had been stolen from her home ten years ago by a Kultakan Jaguar Knight who had sold her into slavery. From there, she had been traded to a priest from distant Payit, where she had been taken just before the strangers' arrival.
But now she had come back to the land of Nexala, to the city of Nexal. She wondered if her father still lived, if he still worked his colorful pluma. Unconsciously she touched the amulet at her throat, her father's gift to her. The feathered token had power, she knew-power that had saved her life more than once.
Lotil the featherworker had been a good father, a simple man who worked with his hands and loved color. Indeed, he used varieties of hues and shades in ways Erixitl had never seen elsewhere.
She remembered, too, her brother, Shatil, who was just beginning his apprenticeship to the priesthood of Zaltec at the time of her capture. Had he been accepted into the order? Or had his heart been given to that bloody god in ultimate atonement, a common end for apprentices who failed?
She had always assumed that she would return to visit her village once the journey to Nexal had been accomplished. Now they were here, and Palul seemed to beckon. Halloran, who had once been so lost in Maztica, now seemed self-assured and at least moderately fluent in the Nexalan tongue. Still, she knew that she didn't want to leave him. Indeed, her thoughts about Halloran had grown increasingly, disturbingly warm. She wanted him to need her.
And Poshtli-what had happened to Poshtli, anyway? The Eagle Knight certainly didn't require her presence. Let both of those men get along without her, she decided suddenly. Tlirning toward the door, she momentarily considered marching straight out of the city and striking