Feathered Dragon - Douglas Niles [32]
“Do you think we are being led to Tewahca?” Gultec asked, his tone telling Hal that the tale of the great ceremonial center was familiar to him.
“I doubt it,” said Xatli. “The gods created a wasteland around the place to keep humans away. It seems unlikely they would desire to bring us back in great numbers.
“Still, the building of such a place makes one think that it could be done again,” mused Xatli. “It gives me faith that the Nexala will again have a home.”
Hal nodded, for a moment almost relaxing in the vision of the cleric’s hopes for the future. In the next second, he remembered Jhatli and the cruel and violent presence that loomed close in the desert night.
The beasts of the Viperhand remained a great cudgel hanging over them, prepared to smash any hopes into a hundred thousand bleeding shards.
* * * * *
Steam hissed from wide cracks in the ground, forming a dense fog, a funeral shroud for the valley of Nexal. Now the beasts had departed, and except for the rats that picked their way through the ruins, the rubble on the flat island lay still and lifeless.
From the center of the dead city, the pillar of stone towered like a great monolith, a hundred feet tall. Only by the most careful inspection could one make out the details of arms and legs, the snarling, tooth-filled maw, that caused this rock to be regarded as the image of Zaltec.
But its strength did not lie in its visual power, but rather within the essence of the pillar itself, Hundreds of years ago, this same rock-at that time, not much larger than a man-had been discovered by a faithful cleric of a primitive, warlike tribe. The pillar had spoken to the cleric, commanding him to lead his tribe on a great pilgrimage through desert and mountain, until they came at last to the great valley with its cool, clear lakes.
Others dwelled here already, in cities around the shores of the lakes. The newcomers chose for their own rude village a low, marshy island. Still bearing the pillar that had come to symbolize their god, the people placed the stone monolith at the site of their first small pyramid.
Centuries passed. The village grew to a town, and the people formed shrewd alliances. Layer upon layer was added to the pyramid, and the town became a city. The people of the crude tribe practiced diplomacy and war, and at last came to be masters of the beautiful valley. Never did they forget that they owed their success to Zaltec, god of war.
Now that god claimed his reward, and the people who had praised him fled in terror across the fertile desert. The pillar grew, bursting out of its confines, looming far above the rubble strewn around it.
Then, in the dead city, even the rats fell still. A tremor rippled through the earth. Mount Zatal, lost in the gray fog above the valley, rumbled.
And the statue began to move.
* * * * *
The swath of death cut through the jungle like a cosmic scythe, leaving behind torn tree trunks, shredded brush, and the skeletons of any creatures foolish enough to stand before the inevitable advance of the ants. Whole meadows became festering swamps of brown mud, while great tracks of forest were reduced to bare, twisted trunks and a decaying wasteland of rot and waste.
The track followed an apparently random route, twisting and turning at whim, fording the occasional streams of the Payit jungle or easily cresting the steep limestone ridges that sometimes jutted from the land. It followed a northerly course, then twisted east and south, even turning around and crossing itself as it again swung to the north.
The track may have seemed random, but it was not.
In fact, the giant ants followed the commands of an intelligence every bit as keen as it was evil. Darien used the march to gain absolute control over the ants, directing them to follow her commands. She narrowed the column to a file of five or six ants abreast when she wished it to move quickly, for she found that she could turn it more easily this way and avoid obstacles