Ironhelm - Douglas Niles [56]
"Strike to kill!" he ordered, doubting their chances of survival. He cast one last look behind him and saw Martine scrambling to her feet, staring in mute shock at the swarm of shrieking, howling attackers. Desperately Halloran pulled her back into the small circle of legionnaires.
His shield crushed a stone spear tip, and his sword cut cleanly through a native's quilted armor. Another man thrust, and Halloran hacked off his wooden sword, bashing the face of yet another attacker with his shield.
He saw the flashing steel of the other swordsmen at each side. The four of them sheltered Martine in the middle, defending frantically against a whirlwind of thrusting spear tips. Halloran twisted, dodged, and stabbed repeatedly. He felt as if his life had become a focus of brown faces, waving feathered headgear, and blood.
He heard a grunt of pain as a swordsman fell, his leg slashed deeply. The three remaining men instinctively closed the circle, but then another man tumbled, claimed by a spear thrust through the bands of his armor.
Twoscore or more bleeding bodies covered the ground around them, but the numbers of the enemy were too great. Hal's arm grew leaden from the weight of his sword as he stood back to back with the remaining trooper. He did not see the priests crawling forward between them, seizing Martine, and tugging her away from the melee.
Halloran did see the first priest, the one whose fanatical charge had precipitated the battle, climb slowly to his feet, just out of sword range. For a split second, the spearmen fell back, leaving the two swordsmen to gasp for breath amid the slain forms of the attackers. Hal heard his companion cry out suddenly. The man slumped against him as a keen spear tip slipped over his belt to penetrate his vitals.
Then the priest removed a stretch of cord from his waist and held it in the air before him. It twisted, snakelike, in the man's hand. Indeed, Halloran at first thought that the object was a snake. He finally saw that it was merely the skin of a snake, though it still seemed to move as if it were alive.
The blood-caked priest barked some kind of command, and Halloran could not react before the cord darted toward him, growing and twisting into a weblike net that wrapped his arms tightly to his sides and then carried him heavily to the ground.
In another second, dozens of warriors leaped on him, completing the binding as they stripped away his sword.
From the chronicle of Colon:
In beseechment of the truth in the heart of the Feathered One.
The harbingers of the Waning have landed upon the shores of Maztica. Poshtь, in lofty form, observed their coming. He reports their numbers to be small, but their vessels massive.
Now is Naltecona thrown into a fit of oppression and brooding. He sees no one, speaks not at all of his anxieties. Instead, he sends more eagles to watch the newcomers, while he waits in agony for words that can offer no comfort.
The Revered Counselor now feels certain of the meaning of these many years of signs. He fears their import, but no longer doubts their meaning. Only I could dissuade him, for I know the truth. But the bonds of my vow of silence restrain me.
Meanwhile, Naltecona's army commanders, Eagles and Jaguars alike, demand to gather troops, to prepare a force to drive the strangers back to the sea. Naltecona's young nephew, the honored Lord Poshtь, is the most ardent advocate of this view. But Naltecona takes no counsel of their words.
For he is certain that these visitors are none other than the Silent Counselor and his minions, at last returned to his kingdom in the True World.
SACRIFICE
Butterflies of every size and color fluttered in a wicker cage of the finest reeds. Coton, Silent Patriarch of Qotal, carried the cage up the steps of the pyramid. His other hand held a colorful array of blossoms, still smelling of moist earth. Although a litter of pluma rested beside the base of the pyramid of Qotal, Coton preferred to climb the stairs on his own.
Besides,