Viperhand - Douglas Niles [29]
"My lord!" she blurted, stunned by his words. A turbulent flash of excitement grew in her stomach, but it was a tense, nerve-wracking feeling.
"Erixitl of Palul, will you become my wife?"
For a moment, she froze. Her excitement turned into fright, or at least a certain breathless nervousness.
But then suddenly his lips were pressed to hers. His kiss was hot, and she welcomed it with warmth of her own. She felt him holding her, and she wasn't at all sure she wanted it to end.
Halloran's step was light as he hurried back to the apartment. Naltecona had just offered him a house of his own, as repayment for Hal's teaching the Revered Counselor more of the ways of the strangers.
The soldier had made it clear, and the ruler had accepted, that these lessons did not include teaching Maztican warriors how to fight against the legionnaires. A fugitive from the legion he might be, but he couldn't bring himself to help prepare for the deaths of his former comrades-in-arms.
But it was not the men of the Golden Legion that Hal thought of right now. The one who mattered awaited him in the quarters around the garden.
For a moment, he winced inwardly as he thought of how little time he had spent with Erixitl since they had reached Nexal. Appointments with Naltecona, visits to the lodges of the Eagle and Jaguar Knights, long discussions with Mazti-can alchemists and sorcerers-all of these had kept him busy. He had allowed his fascination for the newness of Nexal to deprive him of the company of the one with whom he most wanted to share his life.
But no more. Now, with the secure offer of a house, he was no longer a wandering fugitive. He had grown to love this magnificent city. More importantly, he realized that he loved the woman who had brought him safely here.
His step increased in urgency as he turned the last corner. He reached for the beaded curtains, his heart singing. Then he heard voices from inside, and unconsciously he froze.
"… become my wife?" The words were Poshtli's, Halloran sensed with a cold stone sinking into his stomach. What would she say?
Then, through the beads of the doorway, he saw Poshtli scoop Erix into his arms. Her own arms went around his shoulders, pulling him closer.
Stunned as if he had been struck on the head, Halloran lowered his hand from the doorway. Stumbling slightly, he turned and walked away.
Fire surged upward, illuminating the inside of the long building. Apprentices threw more wood on the flames, and now bright, yellow light surrounded the great statue of leering, bloodthirsty Zaltec.
Hoxitl entered the room, shedding his dirty robe and ap^ preaching the statue naked but for his breechclout. His hands were red, caked with the blood of the Viperhand ceremony. Tonight, as upon so many nights since the strangers had come to the True World, he had branded many of the faithful with the sign of the hand.
Like all the others, they took the vow, pledging hearts and minds, bodies and souls-their lives themselves-to Zaltec. In this age when strangers from across the sea marched in their land, they found their only comfort in this cult of hatred, and only Zaltec offered hope of successful resistance. The cult flourished, and this pleased Hoxitl. He suspected that the cult of the Viperhand would be the only force that could truly stem the tide when war swept the land as it inevitably must.
But now he had other, more immediate concerns.
"What is the word?" he inquired of a priest who emerged from the shadows to stand beside him, looking up at the statue.
"It will have to be done in the palace," said the newcomer, Kallict. A young, vigorous priest, Kallict had shown great skill with the sacrificial blade and possessed a keen wisdom for one of his age. Many priests thought he might one day succeed Hoxitl to the rank of patriarch.
The current high priest scowled at the news. "Does