Feathered Dragon - Douglas Niles [9]
“And see? See her cloak,” said a round-faced mother, looking at Erixitl’s garment with an expression approaching rapture. “The sign! Soon Qotal will be here, and then all will be well again!”
Abruptly Erix’s throat tightened and she turned away, led by Halloran farther into the camp.
A small stand of stunted cedars, a rare grove in the House of Tezca, proved that this vale had once retained some minimal moisture, enough to grow these hardy desert trees. Now the grove, newly green and lush from the suddenly increased water supply, sheltered a group of people from the growing night. Here gathered those who led the procession and protected it.
A fractious group, formed by disaster and held together by necessity, they nevertheless strived for cooperation, for they knew this was the only way they would survive. Their numbers included Eagle and Jaguar Warriors, priests of Qotal, Azul, and Calor, and even several steel-helmed officers of the Golden Legion.
As Erixitl approached, her cloak puffed outward from her shoulders and colors seemed to rise in the silky plume. Like an aura, bright hues surrounded the woman, and all the others in the group stood back a small distance from her. The blessing of Qotal lay upon her, and it was to Erixitl of Palul that the people turned for leadership, hope, and comfort.
She looked at them now, despairing. What did she know about leading people? Why did they look to her? Because, she knew, of the cloak she wore-the brilliant, scintillating Cloak-of-One-Plume that signified the blessing of Qotal, the Plumed Serpent. Erixitl silently cursed the blessing of that god, for this was her feeling now toward all gods. What kind of deities could wrack their people with a cataclysm like the Night of Wailing?
“Greetings, Gultec,” she said quietly to a dark, smooth-chinned warrior wearing the spotted tunic of a Jaguar Knight. Gultec was the warrior who had told them of food in the desert on the morning after the destruction of Nexal, thus insuring their survival.
He, together with Halloran, formed Erixitl’s strength and her shield on this hellish journey. Gultec had come to represent to her the same kind of friendship, she realized with a twinge of pain, as had the Eagle Knight, Lord Poshtli. He had aided Halloran and her on their desperate attempt to avert the catastrophe.
Now, as she despaired of leading these people, her heart ached for Poshtli’ The great lord and warrior had been a true friend to her and Halloran, and he had been with them atop the volcano at its moment of eruption. Though her cloak had protected her husband and herself, there had been no immortal shield for Poshtli. Rationally, as Halloran had tenderly tried to convince her, there could be no hope that Poshtli had survived. Yet still somehow, in her heart, she believed that he had to be alive.
White-robed priests of Qotal who had escaped the chaos in Nexal stood anxiously behind the pair, eager to counsel Erix. The Plumed Serpent would now return, for all the prophecies had been fulfilled, and they now preached a newly vitalized faith. The preaching was done by the younger priests, those who had not yet taken their vows of silence. But only the younger priests had escaped Qotal. The patriarch, Colon, was assumed to have perished in the chaos.
A warrior sprinted toward them from his guard post at the edge of the camp. He reached the group among the cedars and threw himself flat upon the sand before Erixitl.
“My lady, the foreigners return!”
Moments later, a trio of horses appeared behind him, cantering through the encampment. One, the leader, dismounted, while the other two held back some distance from the proud figure of Erixitl.
“What have you learned. General?” she asked, as the black-bearded rider bowed before her.
“The monsters move out from Nexal,” Cordell reported. “My scouts have observed long columns of ores, commanded by ogres and flanked by trolls, moving into the desert. They come southward, following our trail.”
The commander spoke