Ironhelm - Douglas Niles [73]
The whirling circle dropped quickly as the legionnaires stood transfixed. Vaguely Halloran saw that the ring was made from the body of a huge flying snake. Its vast, brilliantly colored wings blurred from the speed of their motion, but were nonetheless visible. The glow emanated from the snake's body itself. Though not equal in brightness to daylight, it flared brighter than any source of nighttime illumination known to Maztica.
The broad ring, several paces across, settled around Halloran and Erix. The snake shifted and swirled its coils, embracing the pair. It could not avoid entangling Daggrande and Kachin at the same time.
Then the light disappeared, and with it, the four vanished within its grasp.
Mixtal gaped at the surreal scene below. He peered over the edge of the pyramid's top, from where he had watched the events below as night had fallen. The priest's mind seemed to settle into a damp puddle somewhere in the pit of his stomach, overwhelmed by the events of this still-early evening.
First the Jaquar Knight's objections thwarted the sacrifice of the enemy soldier. Then the girl had returned from the dead, still he!d by the strangers. He knew he had sacrificed her once, for the cold body still lay beside the altar. Battles of increasing size and ferocity had whirled around him. Then the couatl had appeared! The mystical creature of ancient history and legend, here, now!
And finally the sudden disappearance of the serpent and the four caught in its coils stunned Mixtal's brain into complete surrender. Collapsing on the stone surface, he wept.
Mixtal did not see the dark figure on the pyramid with him. He did not see the slender form, swathed completely in a black robe, bend over the body beside the altar, the body of the young woman, Martine.
But the priest heard the soft rustle of silk. He lifted his head to behold the Ancient One striding toward him, feet moving silently over the paving stones. Dimly Mixtal saw a pair of wide, pale eyes gleaming at him from the depths of a black cowl.
"So, cleric, you have made your sacrifice?" The voice came softly to Mixtal's ears.
"I did," he said, nodding. "You saw."
Spirali looked back at the pale corpse before turning scornfully back to the priest. "You have failed!" he spat. "Failed Zaltec!"
Spirali reached a black hand forward, seizing the cleric by the throat, squeezing. But the attack ran deeper than a mere physical clasp.
Mixtal's eyes widened in a gape of unparalleled horror. His tongue protruded; his cheeks sucked futilely for air. And as he suffocated, he felt his soul drawn from him by the unspeakable might of the Ancient One. Mixtal knew as he died that his death would bring annihilation, a complete consumption by a vengeful force of unspeakable evil.
Spirali threw the husk of the man, a dried, stiff remnant, to the stones. The Ancient One looked at the now-mummified face, sneered at its terror-stricken features.
"Failed Zaltec, perhaps," he whispered. "But more importantly-far more importantly-you have failed the Ancient Ones."
*****
From the chronicle of Colon:
May these tales be preserved to shine in the light of the Plumed Serpent's glory.
Naltecona, greatest and most omnipotent ruler of the True World, mighty Naltecona, Revered Counselor of the
Nexala and holder of the Seat of Flowers, who governs the lives and deaths of men with a wave of his hand, supreme Naltecona, blessed with the wisdom of his ancestors…
Naltecona has decided.
After months of fasting, after long consultations with his wisest clerics and magicians, he has decided. After the dozens of sacrifices consecrated to the younger gods, captive warriors slain, that the Revered Counselor may gain the insight he needs, Naltecona has decided.
He has heard the counsel of his war chiefs, who have urged him to muster his army and meet these invaders on the shore with a full display of the might of Nexal.
He has listened to gibbering