Viperhand - Douglas Niles [94]
"Invisibility!" Halloran reminded her. "We can each take a drink of this and disappear for an hour or so. It should be long enough for us to slip through the gate and get into the palace."
Erixitl stared, frank skepticism showing clearly on her face.
"Our only hope is to find Poshtli," Hal reminded her "If we can tell him of your vision and convince him of the danger to Naltecona, he'll help us to rescue his uncle. We've got to get Naltecona out of that palace before the full moon!"
Halloran no longer held any questions about the menace implicit in Erixitl's frightening dream. For both of them, the coining full moon represented a looming presence that could spell the doom of all Maztica.
Erixitl looked at the bottle again and considered the possibilities. She came up with no reasonable alternatives.
"Yfery well," she finally agreed. "We must try."
From the chronicles of Colon:
Sharing the pain of the THie Wfar/ct / languish in growing despair.
Poshtli visits me again this morning. He wears well the brightly feathered cape and mantle of a lord, yet still he walks with the pride, the commanding bearing of the Eagle Knight. As the load he bears weighs him down, I sense his desire to return to the simple black and white plumes of his old order.
Pain pours from him as he relates the shocking orders of Nattecona. To Poshtli-to all of us-the gold of Nexal is as nothing more than a pretty metal, with uses for simple ornamental tasks.
Vet as the gold is nothing, our pride is everything. I feel for the debasement he senses in its surrender, yet again I can offer him no hope of alternative.
Throughout the city, as word spreads of Cordeti's demand, resentment and suspicion grows. There is talk that the Revered Counselor is spellbound, incapable of leadership. Many mutter that Poshtli himself should take the role and lead us in uprising against the stranger.
Poshtli is devoted to the great Naltecona, however, and so he can only obey.
HOPE AND DESPAIR
"I am ready to see Chical now," Poshtli told the courtier who stood at the door of the throne room. With a deep sigh, he collapsed into the feather litter, having just dismissed the leaders of Nexal's merchant consortium. He did not look forward to this next meeting.
The traders had objected vehemently to his orders to provide their gold to the strangers, but Poshtli had convinced them with a combination of threats and pleas. After all, the merchants-a small group of individuals who controlled, from Nexal, trade across all the realms of the True World-depended on the Revered Counselor and the army for their influence. They couldn't very well dispute those sources of power without risking their station in the society of Nexal.
The Lord of Eagles, Poshtli knew, would be a different matter.
Chical stalked through the door. Unseen hands closed it behind him, leaving the warrior and the nobleman alone in the great chamber. Poshtli saw from the look in his old comrade's eyes that Chical already knew of the orders concerning the nation's gold.
"Thank you for coming to see me," began the nobleman. Despite his break with the order, he found that his affection for this crusty veteran remained undimmed.
Chical, however, seemed anything but affectionate. "How can you order our possessions given to the strangers?" he demanded. "Have you lost your senses? Your pride?"
Poshtli held up a weary hand. A day earlier, such an array of questions would have sent him flying toward Chical, hands clutching for the man's throat. Now, he reflected sadly, it had to be expected.
"My uncle has ordered it. He feels that there is a hope of making peace with the invaders, that if we fulfill their demands, they may leave us."
Chical scowled. " Why does he so desire this peace? Are we not a nation that has always gained our ends through war? And have we not emerged victorious from those wars? Why, now, this talk like an old woman?"
Poshtli