Feathered Dragon - Douglas Niles [68]
“The warriors of Nexal will remain here,” he continued. “The threat to the north has receded, hut not disappeared entirely. However, with the breastworks on the ridge and steady vigilance, Tukan will remain safe.
“Then, when all of our forces have gathered, we will be ready to claim Maztica together for humankind!”
Once again his men raised a cheer, and this lime the Mazticans joined in.
* * * * *
“I don’t even care that it’s salty,” Halloran admitted, with *in expansive gesture across the rich blue Sea of Azul. “It’s wet, and a lot cooler than the air.”
“It’s better than that accursed desert, I’ll grant you that,” Daggrande agreed. He gestured toward the long file of desert dwarves marching before them. “How they can live that hellhole is beyond me.”
“How did they come to be there?” Jhatli asked. “Often I have heard of the Hairy Men of the Desert, but no human had ever seen them before, or so it is said”
The trio brought up the rear of their group as they marched along the sandy shore. A short distance ahead Erixitl rode Storm, while Coton and Lotil followed behind the horse.
The barren terrain of the desert stretched to the limits of the horizon to the left, yet the companions were considerably refreshed during this portion of their march. The blue waters of the Sea of Azul, to their right, provided an often used cooling agent. In addition, the smooth, sandy beach made for much easier traveling than had the rough ground of the desert.
The latter fact was of particular importance to Halloran, who had grown increasingly worried about Erixitl and the child who now rounded her belly to a rich fullness. Across the desert, during the many weeks of the trek to the sea, she had walked steadily. But the rugged journey had taken its toll, and though she tried to conceal her moments of weakness, the caring eyes of her husband were not deceived.
She had protested only feebly when he insisted that she ride the horse, and now she spent most of each day in the saddle. Lotil had ridden through the roughest of the desert, but now, on the smooth sand of the beach, the blind man found the walking easier. He proved apparently tireless over the long days of march, as long as he had a hand on a horse or companion to show him the way.
Halloran knew that the long trek had been very hard on Erixitl, though she bore the strain with little complaining. She had never spoken of the terrible loss she must have felt after giving up her feathered token, though Hal knew she had carried the object since girlhood. Not only was it a cherished memento of her father, but it was also a token with magical powers that had saved their lives more than once.
He knew, in fact, that it had saved their lives one last time when she used it to secure passage through the Halls of the Dead.
Lotil still carried the pluma bundle with him, and when they stopped each evening, he carefully worked a few more feathers into the cotton mesh. The design there had not yet begun to take shape, yet Halloran saw bright colors and a magical sense of beauty in the small portion of the pluma fabric already completed.
Hal turned back to his companions, realizing that Daggrande was answering Jhatli’s question about the desert dwarves.
Luskag told me the story, at least as much as they know of it.” The grizzled legionnaire had found that, despite the vast differences in their backgrounds, the desert dwarves and he basically spoke the same dwarven tongue, with minor variations. He spent much time talking with the chieftains, exchanging stories and experiences with his unusual cousins.
“It happened after a war with the drow-one of the wars that dwarves have always fought with the drow. Something they call the Rockfire destroyed the caverns and tunnels that connected them to the rest of dwarvenhood. It must have been some underground volcano, or an earthquake, maybe.
“Anyhow, they thought that all (he drow had