Viperhand - Douglas Niles [27]
Faint outlines of sunlight cracked through the door, telling him that the new day had dawned. But still he could not bring himself to leave.
What was there for him, beyond the sanctuary of this hallowed lodge? Though his face remained an expressionless mask, Poshtli's soul writhed in an agony of torment. Never had he felt so powerless.
Once again, on the previous night, Chical had warned him against interfering in the fate of the two he had brought to Nexal. Poshtli regretted their decision to come here, for he felt he had done nothing but lead his friends into a great trap.
True, Halloran seemed safe enough for the time being. Naltecona had seemed to take a liking to the soldier, spending many hours each day talking to Hal about the world across the Eastern Sea. Certainly his uncle would not order harm to his guest.
But other, darker forces seethed below the surface, and these were the powers against which Chical had warned him. The priests of Zaltec clamored softly, but with increasing agitation, for the heart of the intruder. Of the woman, Erixitl, they said nothing, but the Eagle Warrior had seen the glint in Hoxitl's eye as the high priest had observed her in the sacred plaza. It was a look he imagined upon the face of a great hunting cat before it sank its fangs into the flesh of its gentle, unsuspecting prey.
And so the agony of his own helplessness tore at him, aggravated by the sense that it was he who had brought his companions into this danger. For Hal, he could do little-indeed, he could do nothing, without renouncing the sacred vow he had taken to his order.
Finally Poshtli rose to his feet with liquid smoothness, despite the long hours of immobility. Perhaps, for Hal, he could do nothing.
But he decided upon a plan to protect Erixitl.
The days in Nexal passed quickly for Halloran, but not so for Erixitl. Every day the soldier was summoned to another audience with Naltecona. The Revered Counselor pressed him for details about Hal's world, about the lands of Faerun, the gods that were worshiped there, the magic that was practiced there.
Hal grew more and more torn between fascination with this beautiful, ornate culture, and horror at the underlying butchery required by these peoples' gods. He felt a genuine respect for Naltecona, perceiving the counselor as a man of wisdom and pride, not afraid to admit that he didn't understand everything about the world.
And the wonders of Nexal! He saw little of the city beyond the walls of the sacred plaza, yet even within that small area, there towered structures of dazzling height. Around him, painted on the sides of the pyramids, a myriad of bright patterns and colorful murals caught his eyes. The gardens and fountains were clean and fresh, more serene than any he had known in his homeland.
But atop the pyramids, he knew that a steady, routine slaughter occurred night after night. The priests of Zaltec were everywhere, with their blood-caked hair and filthy, scarred bodies. They looked at him hungrily, and he met their gazes with a harsh, disdaining stare of his own. So far, neither he nor the priests had blinked.
Never after that first day did Naltecona again suggest that Hal accompany him to a sacrifice. Often he asked him about Helm, and Naltecona seemed interested to note that Cordell, the leader of the strangers, also worshiped this god.
Meanwhile, for Erix, there were hours of solitude in the peaceful garden, which felt every bit as much a cage as ever. She wanted to see the city with Halloran, or Poshtli, but instead she found herself walking about with an escort of palace slaves. Somehow the sights that she had always expected to dazzle her seemed disappointingly mundane.
At other times, the strange shadows surrounded her, threatening to block out the sun, even the world itself. They became so dark, occasionally, that she couldn't see the ground beneath her feet-though full, cloudless daylight reigned overhead. She grew hesitant to raise her