Ironhelm - Douglas Niles [63]
"Bring the man, too!" Mixtal gestured at Hal, and several warriors prodded the pair up the steep steps to the top of the pyramid. They swayed dangerously on the narrow ledges that served as stairs. Halloran wondered briefly if a fast, fatal fall might be preferable to whatever awaited them above.
Mixtal finally reached the top, where he threw his head back and laughed, delighted at last. He faced the setting sun, letting its rays fall over him as it touched the treetops. She will not escape me now! The Ancient Ones will be pleased!
He looked back at the assemblage, again cursing the haze that seemed to float eternally across his eyes. He looked to the sea. The strange winged objects seemed to be very far away, their shapes becoming shadows in the sunset.
Closer, his apprentices and the warriors gathered around the top of the pyramid. Why are they so somber? Mixtal squinted, but he could not quite see their faces… that accursed haze!
The apprentices pulled the blindfold from the girl's eyes and severed her bonds, jerking her toward the altar. She twitched and kicked, her eyes widening in terror, but the young men easily held her. Mixtal stared at the girl, at her coppery skin, her inky black tresses, all the details he saw and knew.
Everything became perfectly clear.
Halloran's blood chilled at the sight of the grisly altar. The stone block was the size of a small table, and the red-black stains smearing its sides clearly indicated its function. The squatting beast statue, with its gaping maw, crouched beside the altar. Martine screamed, the sound barely stifled by the gag, as the priests seized her.
"No!" Hal screamed, twisting desperately in the grip of the two warriors. "By Helm, no!"
The high priest, his face distorted madly, turned toward the legionnaire. The man's matted hair hung in a ragged mane around his head as he held his right hand forward and slowly clenched it into a fist.
Halloran gasped as he felt the magical thong around him tighten, threatening to crush his ribs with the pressing force of his breastplate. His head throbbed and his vision grew red. His mouth worked reflexively, gasping for air that could find no space in his lungs.
The last of his breath emerged in a ragged groan as Hal slumped to his knees, struggling to remain conscious. The pressure on his body was about to crush him, and then suddenly it eased.
Halloran collapsed facefirst, paralyzed as his lungs sucked desperately needed air. Slowly he lifted himself to his hands and knees, and then the two warriors lifted him to his feet. They easily held him as he tried to lunge toward the altar.
He could not prevent the priests from stretching Martine backward across the altar. Her eyes turned toward him, widely staring, shocked.
"No!" He roared his rage again as two more warriors restrained him. Martine lay absolutely helpless. Halloran twisted, but he was powerless to intervene, powerless to do anything.
The high priest raised his hand, raised the stone dagger. For a moment, the dark gloss of obsidian caught the last rays of the sun, a glowing reflection of the rage and murdep-ous hate burning in Halloran's eyes.
Then the blade dropped as the priest performed the act he had performed so many times before. Martine released one shocked, final gasp, while the apprentices held her firmly, allowing no twitch of movement. Mixtal's hand moved quickly and steadily, his cut swift and deep and sure.
And then the high priest held her heart in the air. It seemed to pulse in dying cadence to the fading light of the sun.
IN THE HANDS OF THE GODS
Erixitl gasped in sympathetic pain. She watched the strange girl die, slain in her own place on the altar of Zaltec. Suppressing a moan, she rolled back into the concealment of her leafy shelter.
She had followed Mixlal and his prisoners toward the pyramid, to the very