Ironhelm - Douglas Niles [100]
But Qptal made his sacrifice of thirteen butterflies, each a different color, each brighter and bolder than the last. And his sacrifice was not the death of the butterflies, but their freedom. Each, in turn, he raised to the heavens and released.
Then came the war. Zaltec strived to gain dominance over the gods, but Qptal would not yield. In the end, Zaltec tumbled from the pyramid and crawled away. He left behind him the supreme form of the elder god, Qotal, reigning at the height of his glory.
But ever after, in the dark of the night and the privacy of his treacherous thoughts, did Zaltec know Qotal as the Butterfly God.
ENEMIES AND FRIENDS
AJvarro soared with the momentum of the charge, the invincible feeling of power that surged through him as he led the lancers through the tattered ranks of the enemy. He had killed many of these natives already, more than he could count.
The horses rumbled on, unstoppable, the sleek, fierce greyhounds running beside them. Alvarro delighted in the effect of the war dogs, for the natives seemed to fear the hounds nearly as much as the lancers.
But still targets abounded for his lance, victims awaited the cut of his sword. The killing became a ritual for him, a process he could continue indefinitely.
He took no note of the fact that they had ridden beyond the enemy warriors. Still he hacked and stayed. The twelve horses of his wing thundered among the old people, the women and children who had come to watch the battle. Now the horsemen rode them down, far faster than they could flee.
Alvarro sensed, dimly, that he should turn, but the momentum of his attack had taken on a life of its own. Instead, he flew forward in his orgy with death, and still he killed.
Something caught the captain's eye, and he wheeled his mare sharply as his wing thundered on. He saw an extraordinary young woman standing on the field, staring at him. She was slender and very beautiful, but her arresting feature was her eyes. They found Alvarro and accused him, baring his soul to himself in all its ugliness.
The sight enraged him, and he lowered his lance, spur- ring his steed on toward the lone woman as bloodlust contorted his soul.
Halloran watched the battle with keen interest, balanced in his tree, concealed by its leafy branches. He feared for Daggrande's company as those ranks charged forward. He cheered the valiant stand of Garrant's men, and finally breathed again when they were relieved by the charging cavalry.
He watched the lancers with a twinge of envy, knowing that he should be riding at their head. He felt a grudging admiration for Alvarro's audacity as the riders circled among the mass of Payit warriors. The colorful banners trailing from the lances, the smooth precision of the horses and riders, all characterized the riders of the legion he had helped to train.
But his admiration turned to puzzlement as he saw the lancers ride beyond the native army and keep riding. And his puzzlement turned to shock, and then to horror, as he saw the butchery perpetrated by his-no, not his; he knew for certain they followed Alvarro now-horsemen.
The savage riders cut along the fringe of delta, and several thundered past a hundred feet from Halloran's lookout. He slid quickly to the ground as they passed. Hal forgot all thought of heroic intervention on the part of his comrades, for he felt no kinship to these brutal assassins.
The lancers killed without regard to the nature of their victims, whether warrior or bystander. The horses trampled those Payit who did not get out of the way, and the dogs growled and snarled and snapped, causing more consternation by their savage appearance than from any actual damage they inflicted.
Halloran saw the black charger wheel away from the others, recognizing Storm. He saw the black streamers trailing from the rider's helmet, knowing this was Alvarro's banner. His