Viperhand - Douglas Niles [46]
Hoxitl trembled as he entered the Highcave. Never had he so feared the result of a visit to the Ancient Ones as he did now. Two young priests, promising apprentices, accompanied him. He bade them to follow him into the cave instead of taking the usual apprentices' role of waiting outside. The high priest couldn't bear to face the drow alone.
A flash of smoke puffed from the caldron of the Darkfyre, and then he saw them: a dozen black-robed figures standing immobile around the huge, seething mass of crimson heat.
"Why do you come to us?" hissed one, the Ancestor.
"The girl-the girl has disappeared again. She departed Nexal before we struck. We are searching for her, but we do not know where she is-yet. But soon-"
"Silence!" The Ancestor raised a black-cloaked hand. For a moment, Hoxitl stood frozen in terror, wondering if the gesture meant his death.
Instead, the Ancient One flicked his hand toward one apprentice. The young man gasped, and then moaned in deep, wracking pain. He staggered and stumbled, then stiffened spasmodically and toppled forward into the caldron. The other young priest turned to flee, but the Ancestor moved his hand slightly and this one, too, gasped and choked, then fell into the crimson coals.
The apprentices writhed and twitched, slowly sinking into the horridly pulsing fuel of the Darkfyre. Soundless screams twisted their mouths. One turned desperately to face Hoxitl, and the high priest flinched at the look of hopeless agony on the man's face. Then he disappeared into the gory mess. In seconds, his companion followed.
Nearly gagging, Hoxitl stumbled back on weak knees. For moments, he feared to raise his eyes, but the Ancestor; did nothing to him. Finally he took a breath, beginning to believe that he would be allowed to live.
Weak with relief, Hoxitl mentally congratulated himself on bringing the two others. Had he been alone, he felt certain that the Ancestor would have punished him directly.
"Do not fail me again-or / shall come to you!" The Ancestor's white eyes burned forth from the darkened depths of his hood.
Hoxitl bowed silently and then scuttled away.
"That cloak," said Lotil. "Where did you get it?"
Erix looked at her father in surprise. Her cape from the feather-worker in Nexal lay beside the door. She knew that Lotil hadn't touched it, and yet his blind eyes were now directed toward the garment with the first hint of focus she had detected.
"Can you see it?" she asked in wonder. She felt a confusing mixture of emotions, now that the initial shock of their meeting was beginning to fade. An overriding sense of happiness warmed her, to know that her father was alive and that they were together again. Still, he looked so very much older-as if he had aged far more than the ten years she had been gone-and this truth she found heartbreaking.
Lotil shook his head sadly. "I can sense the pluma, that's all. Tell me, child, where did it come from?"
She told him of the craftsman in the market, of his insistence that she take it, and her inability to find him later. She was surprised when Lotil smiled knowingly. "Do you know someone like this?" Her father, a renowned worker of pluma for many decades, was familiar with most of the masters of his craft.
"No," he said with a chuckle. "But you do. The cloak goes very well with your amulet, don't you agree?"
Erix nodded, laughing and crying at the same time. "Your eyes," she said hesitantly. "When-"
Lotil held up his hand, brushing off the sympathy in her voice. "They left me as I aged-but age cannot take my fingers! See?"
Erixitl looked at his featherloom and saw an elaborate mantle of brilliant pluma taking shape there. Lotil had placed the colors carefully, so that the cape depicted a golden hawk with its wings spread wide. "It's beautiful," she whispered reverently.
"My fingers can see to weave the pluma',' he said. "And now