Viperhand - Douglas Niles [85]
"Naltecona has gone to the palace of Axalt to stay with the strangers," said one tall spearman.
"Of his own will?" asked Poshtli, astounded.
"It would seem not," continued the warrior. "His chamber slaves were slain."
"We must rescue him-or die trying!" growled Poshtli. Another thought occurred to him. "The strangers have signed their own death warrants with this outrage!"
"Perhaps, but perhaps not," said the warrior, shaking his head. "Chical was ready to lead a group of warriors after him when Naltecona himself appeared on the roof of Axalt's palace, commanding Chical and his warriors to return to their lodge."
Poshtli stared in disbelief for a moment, then spun on his heel. He raced from the throne room, through the long corridors of the palace of Naltecona, and out into the morning sunlight of the sacred plaza. Slowing his pace to a steady trot, he crossed the courtyard and came to the gates of Axalt's palace.
A scowling, mustachioed man stood guard at the gate, holding a long spear with the blade of an axe at its end. Beside him stood one of the short men the strangers called "dwarves," also scowling.
Halting before them, Poshtli tried to remember some of the phrases of common speech he had learned from Hal-loran and Erixitl.
"I… must speak to Naltecona," he said, looking from one to the other.
"No one sneaks to 'im without the captain-general's say-so," said the human.
Poshtli stepped forward, and the guard raised his weapon menacingly.
"He is… in there?" asked the Maztican.
"Sure. 'Cause he wants to be," said the soldier, with a sly smile.
"Ifou're lying" Poshtli said.
The haft of the man's weapon struck swiftly toward the warrior's chin, but Poshtli stepped backward, out of the way of the blow. The guard swung his weapon around to confront Poshtli with the blade, while the dwarf edged nervously backward, looking into the courtyard behind him, as if he hoped for reinforcements.
Poshtli and the guard stared at each other, neither showing a trace of fear. If anything, the legionnaire's gaze showed a slight measure of respect for Poshtli's quickness and courage. The warrior deeply regretted coming unarmed, though rationally he understood that the presence of a weapon in his hands could do little more than get him killed.
"Wait," came a soft voice that nonetheless had the strength to carry across the palace courtyard. Naltecona emerged from the doors and crossed to the gate, accompanied by several of his courtiers, and also by a half-dozen armed legionnaires. The counselor wore his full regalia-the towering headdress of emerald feathers, a rich, pluma cape, and gold plugs in his ears and lip.
"My nephew, you must listen to me" Naltecona urged when he reached the gate. "I am here of my own will. It was the only way!"
"How can you say this," objected the young warrior, "when you are surrounded by armed men? When they won't admit the members of your own court to see you?"
"Poshtli, listen!" Naltecona spoke with more harshness than Poshtli had ever heard him use. "This is the only way. You must go back to the warriors and the priests. Tell them that I came here of my own free will. They must not attack the strangers! Such a battle would be disastrous beyond imagination.
"And now it is up to you to prevent it."
Halloran relaxed easily in the sun-drenched yard outside Lotil's house, the wound in his ribs almost fully healed. Below, he could see the slow recovery of Palul as villagers demolished blackened buildings and cleaned away the debris of disaster.
Up on the mountainside, he felt a growing unease about his detachment from the brutal scene in the valley. The lack of activity had begun to grate on him, especially during hours like these when Erixitl labored down in Palul with her neighbors.
He wondered about the legion's fate in Nexal. Word of Cordell's entrance