Viperhand - Douglas Niles [4]
After years of study, meditation, and sacrifice, the nature of the white star had become clear: A human girl held the seed of potential disaster. Not until much later had this girl been identified, again through the flaming picture of the Darkfyre, as Erixitl of Palul. She had been a mere decade old at the time, but orders for her death had instantly gone forth. Somehow she had escaped all his agents of murder-priests. Jaguar Knights, and finally even the drow Spiral!, who had been slain by Poshtli and Halloran. Erixitl still lived, and while she lived the Ancient Ones' machinations remained in peril. She must die!
Then the mastery of Maztica would be assured.
Erixitl had never tasted anything sweeter than the water from the lonely desert pool. The macaw squawked, approvingly she thought, from one of the palm trees as the three humans and the horse slaked their thirst in the shallow, clear pond.
They collapsed in the shade of the palm trees and said nothing for a time as the sun sank toward the horizon and long shadows stretched across the little vale. The clear sky offered no sheltering cloud, and the desert heat still baked them. For now, it was enough to live, to know that their throats would not crack from lack of moisture, or their lungs parch from the dry air.
"We'll head north from here," Poshtli said after a while. "That should bring us into the south of Nexal, away from the surrounding cities. I'm sure we can carry enough water to make it that far."
"What then?" asked Halloran. Erix noted that his command of the Nexalan tongue grew with each passing day. Though she had learned his language-aided by magic-the trio conversed in Nexalan, which they all understood.
"We will see my uncle, Naltecona," explained the warrior.
"I expect that he will grant his protection, though there is no way to be certain of that. Some of his advisors will surely urge your harm. After Ulatos, bad blood will flow hot among the warriors."
The defeat of the nation of Payit by the forces of the Golden Legion had included a bloody rampage by the invading forces. The legion had attacked the Payit at their capital city of Ulatos. It had been the first, but probably not the last, violent conflict between the legion and the warriors from a nation of Maztica.
"But Halloran didn't aid his comrades at Ulatos!" objected Erix. "He saved me from them!"
"The great Nattecona will hear this, and we must have faith in his wisdom," answered Poshtli.
"I'll take that chance," said Hal. "For one thing, it seems we have few other choices-save constant flight. It runs against my nature to flee my enemies rather than to face them."
"Well said," Poshtli agreed. "Though we do well to choose a battle on our own terms."
"Agreed." Halloran nodded. "When it comes, it can't be any worse than some of the other fixes I've gotten myself into over the years. I've had battles against pirates and desert nomads, been surrounded by ogres…"
"Ogres?" asked Poshtli. "What are these 'ogres?"
Halloran looked at him in surprise. "Well, they're fierce and huge-kind of like humans, but bigger and dumber, and very savage. They're monsters, of a type similar to ores and trolls. Dont you have creatures like that in Maztica?"
Poshtli shook his head. "These monsters, manlike but savage, do not exist here. We have the hakuna, the fire lizard, and other dangers. But for a lack of ogres and ores, it seems we should be grateful."
Erixitl listened to the men talk of monsters and warfare, feeling the weariness creeping over her even before the sky had completely darkened. She wished that these minutes of peace might last into hours, or days, though she feared this was impossible.