Ironhelm - Douglas Niles [136]
The eagle settled to the top of the pyramid, moonlight shimmering across the bird's smooth feathers. The creature's form changed quickly, and Poshtli joined Halloran and Erix at the edge of the overgrown platform. Far below, at the base of the structure, the body of the Ancient One, the drow elf, lay twisted and broken.
Following the death of their master, the remaining hell hounds slinked toward the shelter of the jungle. Nevertheless, the three humans remained atop the pyramid for a little while, resting but alert.
"Your wounds must be tended," noted Erix. Halloran's arm was a mass of pain, and Poshtli had suffered a deep gash in his leg-his eagle's leg-when the drow struck upward at him. The cut had closed when the knight returned to his human form, but the leg remained very weak. "Let's get to the bottom, and I'll find something to wash and wrap them with."
Halloran wondered about Storm, whether or not the hounds had reached the loyal mare. He desperately hoped not, but he could see no sign of the horse across the moonlit clearing.
Working his way carefully down the steep side of the pyramid, Hal climbed alone. His arm was usable, so Erix helped Poshtli, whose leg wound made walking difficult. They descended slowly, without mishap. At the bottom, Hal whistled once and Storm galloped across the clearing. The mare had sought refuge in the shadowed edge of the clearing. Erix found some of the barrel-trunked plants that had provided them with water and used this liquid to cleanse their wounds.
Halloran forgot about the pain as his mind whirled with implications and implausibilities. "The drow… the Ancient Ones… Zaltec!"
He explained to Erix, and she translated for Poshtli, what he knew about the drow. They were subterranean elves of utmost evil, crafty in ways both arcane and mundane. Potent and numerous, they were known throughout the Forgotten Realms, but in most places they had been driven deep underground.
"And now they are working with a priesthood, one of unparalleled savagery, with an unquenchable thirst for blood. Why do they want all those hearts?"
Poshtli then told of the visions he had been shown. "The Sunstone showed me a woman of Maztica and a man from another world. If I could find them, find you, and bring you to Nexal, then perhaps might the doom of the city be averted.
"This knowledge of yours, the proof of this drow, may be the reason for my quest. Will you come with me to the city at the Heart of the True World?"
Halloran felt a sudden sense of weightlessness, realizing a kind of freedom he had never imagined. The Golden Legion was behind him forever, a part of his former life. The legion had turned on him, so he felt no trailing bonds of guilt. He lived in a new world, a world with untold wonders and uni-magined secrets. And he, better than anyone else in that world, was in a position to see those wonders, learn those secrets.
Erixitl took his hands in hers and looked closely into his face. The moonlight filled her liquid eyes and overflowed in a warm cascade, wrapping Halloran in a feeling of rare joy.
"I'm going with you," she said. "Wherever you decide to go. But I've always wanted to see Nexal."
Halloran's mind was already made up, but her confirmation made the decision complete. He felt proud and invincible, flushed with their victory and escape. He had a good sword, a steady horse, and a spellbook. He had two bottles of magic potions. And he also had two loyal companions, a woman who had proven herself a true friend-or more-and a man of courage and skill who had risked and almost lost his life to help them.
Together they would go to the city of gold.
From the chronicle of Coton:
Alone in Nexal, I await the coming of the fates.
The gods arise in Maztica, taking note of the change that begins to wrack the land. Zaltec seethes, while young Tezca and Azul observe and tremble.
The god of the strangers, called Helm the Vigilant, is a new force in the True World, a powerful and forbidding presence that intimidates the younger gods and threatens the very foundations