Feathered Dragon - Douglas Niles [74]
Jabbering something else in a rapid-fire, chattering tongue, the little man commanded one of his fellow warriors to step forward and carry the weapon. The bowman kept his weapon trained on Halloran. When the sword had been moved out of reach, he stepped forward, holding the bow and arrow in one hand. With the other, he reached up and tapped the steel breastplate. His dark eyes squinted at the hard metal-Then he spun on his feet and stalked away, turning to stare impatiently at his captives.
“I think he wants us to go that way,” Hal said in common.
“Then we’d better do it,” Erix replied in the same language.
The first of the small warriors, who seemed to be the leader, preceded them around the shore of the pool, white the others fell into file behind them. He pushed beneath some overhanging vines, forcing Hal and Erix to crouch low to follow.
A narrow trail, surrounded by dense verdure, lay beyond the screening vines. To their left, the moss-covered rock wall of the grotto climbed away. The warrior broke into a trot, and the natives to the rear moved up, raising their bows menacingly.
They picked up the pace, Halloran keeping a protective hand on Erixitl’s elbow. In her condition she couldn’t run, and the warrior in front of them turned and gestured impatiently.
“Wait’” snapped Hal in Nexalan.
For a second, he regretted his harsh tone and thought he would pay for it with his life as the chieftain raised his bow.
“I… can’t go… any faster,” Erixitl told him breathlessly, speaking the Payit tongue. The warrior scowled as though he understood and disapproved. But when he turned to resume the march, he went a little more slowly. A short time later, he removed the arrow from his bow and slung the weapon across his back. The warriors behind them, Hal noticed with a quick look, still kept their weapons ready to shoot.
They followed a deep cut in the rock wall of the grotto, and soon granite cliffs towered on each side of them. In places, the rocks were wet and slippery, and it seemed to them that the sun must never reach to the bottom of this crack in the bedrock. The warrior never hesitated, leading them forward as the niche grew more and more narrow.
Finally they reached a steep progression of stairs- whether natural or hewn from the rock, Hal could not tell- and proceeded to climb. The cool, mossy rock pressed close to either side, and only a thin strip of blue sky, visible straight above them, gave proof they had not entered a cavern.
After a very long climb, at least two hundred steps, they emerged at the top of the cliff. Here the path led through a deep forest glen, winding along damp dirt. Halloran saw Erix begin to stagger, tired from the long climb.
“Stop!” he ordered in his firmest martial tone.
The chieftain whirled around in surprise. Hal blinked, stunned at the quickness with which he had snatched his bow from his shoulder and renocked an arrow. “Can’t you see she’s tired? She needs to rest!” The two stared at each other for long moments.
Erix leaned against a tree, breathing hard. Gently Halloran took her arm and lowered her to sit upon the mossy ground. The warrior jabbered something, raising his weapon, but Hal continued to meet his gaze.
He studied the little man, curiosity not banishing his fear but beginning to rival it. For the first time, he noticed the man’s feet. Like the rest of his body, they were barren of clothing. The tops were covered with tufts of coarse black hair.
In all other respects, proportionally and facially, he looked like a human. His features, behind the garish paint, bespoke a person of pride and confidence. The look in his face, even when confronting a man twice his size, displayed courage. He had a strong chin, a smooth, straight nose, and dark, intelligent eyes. Whether his skin color was the darkened copper of Maztican humans or simply bronzed by a lifetime in the sun, Halloran could not tell.
In any event, the man apparently decided to let Erixitl rest, for he