Viperhand - Douglas Niles [98]
Pulling Erixitl along, Hal darted through the opened door. The courtier followed, after bowing to the departing knight, and the invisible pair barely dodged to the side in time. Indeed, the man turned at the scuffing sound of their feet but faced the great throne when he saw nothing there.
Halloran and Erix saw Poshtli seated on the floating pluma throne of his uncle. The first thing striking them both was that their friend looked much older than when they had last seen him, in Palul.
"Shall I summon Hoxitl yet, my Lord Poshtli?" asked the nobleman.
"No!" Poshtli's voice was a harsh chop. Then he sighed, and his tone softened. "Not yet. I will talk to the priests later in the day. Now leave me, please."
With a deep bow, the man turned and departed, closing the great doors behind him. Erixitl and Halloran stood, silent and unseen, in the great throne room of Nexal.
They started forward awkwardly, and as they did, they saw Poshtli lean back in the throne. Tears wet his eyes, though they didn't flow down his cheeks.
Then his face twisted with an expression of utter, soul-wrenching grief.
Shatil found the house of Halloran easily. From the outside, the long, two-story structure seemed to be deserted. Since full daylight would last for several hours yet, he decided to watch the residence for a while. If necessary, he would enter after dark.
Entering a nearby garden, he found a low stone bench and seated himself-a priest at his meditations, a common enough sight in the city. For long hours, he surreptitiously observed the house. Once he saw a plump young slave depart from the front doors, returning an hour later with a basket of fruit. But there was no other sign of life in the plat*.
Finally dusk, then darkness, settled around Shatil, and he resolved to have a look inside. He left the garden and crossed the street. Silently he slipped into the open antechamber and looked around. He wore a stone knife in his belt and kept the Talon of Zaltec comfortably ready in his right hand.
The central courtyard of the house was empty, but he heard voices coming from the kitchen area near the back. Stealthily he moved through the garden, approaching the open door of the cooking area.
The small room was cheerily lit by a hearthfire and a pair of reed torches. Within, he saw two young women at work. One ground beans in a large clay bowl, while the other patted a paste into circular mayzcakes, using a broad, flat rock as her work surface. He paused for a moment, listening and watching.
"Horo?" asked one of the slaves, the one who had left to get the fruit earlier.
"Yes, Chantil?" replied Horo. She was a very tall and strikingly beautiful slave who appeared to be slightly older than her companion.
"Are the master and mistress in danger, do you believe? Will we see them again?" inquired Chantil, a tremor in her voice.
"Of course! Gankak says so, and he is far wiser than you or I. Surely you do not question his judgment." Horo spoke with an airy sense of confidence. Before they continued, Shatil grew impatient with his eavesdropping. He also felt certain that Erixitl would not be found in the house.
Both slaves looked up with gasps of surprise as the scarred priest of Zaltec stepped into the light. "Who is your master? Who is your mistress?" Shatil demanded.
The two women looked at each other, their eyes widening in terror. Then the tall one, Horo, summoned her courage. "Who are you?" she asked. "What do you want?"
Shatil struck quickly, slapping the slave across the face. In his hand, he held the Talon of Zaltec, and be scraped the tip of the claw across the slave's cheek.
Horo screamed and recoiled, clasping her hand to her face. The tiny wound showed as a thin line of pink. Then her eyes grew even wider, and her mouth worked soundlessly. In seconds, Horo sprawled to her back, her eyes open, staring at the ceiling, but seeing nothing more.
Chantil whimpered and tried to crawl away from the emaciated priest. Shatil raised his hand again but held his blow.