Feathered Dragon - Douglas Niles [73]
And when the little people had been made, the sister gods set them free in the deepest forests, where they might for. ever escape the notice of their larger brethren. They bade them to hunt and fish and populate the forest, but not to become its masters.
The Little People promised to obey, and they did.
CAPTIVITY AND FLIGHT
“Who was it?” Darien inquired, her voice icy cool yet taut with seething rage. Hittok had found her in a grassy clearing, and now they squatted among the tall blades, only their elven torsos showing above the vegetation.
“Dackto. The cat bit him right through the neck and broke his spine.” Hittok explained the death of the drider dispassionately, yet the news had struck them all a shocking blow. For the first time since Lolth had corrupted their drow forms, one of their number had perished.
“The cat was a human, no doubt-probably a Jaguar Knight,” guessed the albino. “No animal would be so brave or so foolish.”
“One of those we pursue, whose city we took?” Hittok ventured.
“Certainly. And when we catch these humans, they-all of them-shall pay for this affront. How fares the chase?”
“The humans flee quickly through the forest, remaining just ahead of the leaders,” Hittok explained. “Yet the ants are tireless, and the people will eventually begin to fatigue. Then we shall encircle them and take them all.”
“Very well. We must maintain the pace at all costs. Have you plotted their course?”
“Yes, mistress. It seems that they head for a pass through the mountains we have observed before us. Perhaps there they will be foolish enough to stand and fight so that we may overwhelm them.”
Hittok gestured to the purpled massif that lay to the northwest. For days, they had been approaching it, and now they could discern individual peaks and ridges, softly outlined by verdant, jungled slopes. In another day of pursuit, if the people of Tulom-Itzi held to their present course, they would enter the foothills of the range.
“Press forward with redoubled haste!” Darien barked The command, raising her own swollen abdomen from the ground to stand on her eight spidery legs. “Let us insure that the humans are fatigued when they reach the mountains.” She gestured to the others of her tribe, the nineteen remaining driders, who pressed forward in the wake of the marching column of ants.
“There we will finish the matter, for once and for all.”
“Don’t move. Don’t startle him,” Halloran said quietly. Slowly and carefully he stepped between Erixitl and the short man with the lethal-looking arrow.
“Look. There’s more of them,” Erix whispered.
He risked a glance around and saw that suddenly they were surrounded by the diminutive warriors. Each bore the shocking stripes of red and black war paint, and several wore feathers in their earlobes or tied to their elbows and knees.
Each native also carried a short bow and arrow, with a black daub at the head.
Desperately Halloran’s mind whirled through the few spells he knew: enlargement, light, magic missile… a few others. None offered any hope of extricating them from this crisis. Indeed, a sudden use of magic might be enough to provoke an attack. That was the last thing he wanted to do. The gummy substance tipping the arrows of the short warriors seemed a clear indication of fatal results.
Erixitl placed a hand, involuntarily he thought, to her throat. He knew she remembered the token she had given up to purchase their passage past the dead of Tewahca. He doubted that the thing would have helped them in this predicament, but the gesture made him feel their terrible vulnerability more acutely than before.
The first bowman gestured sharply with his weapon. Several others pressed forward, although they stayed out of
sword range-not that Halloran could have risked a fight here. A terrifying picture flashed in his mind. He saw his wife’s pregnant body, unprotected by armor, punctured by those obviously venomous darts.
The little man stepped up to him, demanding something in an imperious tone. He made a gesture toward the sword at Hal’s side. Slowly,