Viperhand

A MARRIAGE IN THE SIGHT OF QOTAL

"This was the palace of my father, Axalt," explained Naltecona, ushering Cordell and Darien through a huge doorway into a long, airy corridor. Poshtli followed, uncomfortable and uncertain in his new role as adviser to the counselor. The colorful finery of court hung awkwardly on his shoulders, and he wished for the simple comfort of his Eagle cloak.

But that, of course, he could never wear again.

Naltecona continued. "Now it would honor me if you would make it your home."

The palace, nearly as grand as Naltecona's own, was another of the great buildings in the sacred plaza. The Kultakan and Payit ranks of Cordell's army made camp in the plaza, watched by tense, nervous Nexalan warriors. The legionnaires, however, would occupy this huge edifice.

"You show us a grand welcome," observed Cordell, through Darien as usual. The elfwoman now wore a scarlet silken tunic instead of her robe. The white skin of her legs and arms stood in stark contrast to the material, and a ruby-encrusted hairpin gave a burst of color to her long white hair. She was very beautiful, in an icy and aloof way, thought Poshtli.

"I must disbelieve the tales I have heard — lies, doubtlessly — that it was you who ordered the legion attacked in Palul." Cordell paused to gauge the Revered Counselor's answer.

"Yes, lies," said Naltecona with a downward look. "The chiefs who would practice such treachery will certainly be punished!"

"I believe that they already have been," noted Cordell dryly. "I only hope that their numbers do not grow again, for our reprisals must, at that instance, become truly harsh."

"You have my word on it," replied the Revered Counselor of Nexal.

"Very well." For a while, they talked pleasantries, as Cordell found himself expressing genuine astonishment and delight at the wonders of Axalt's palace. They walked through huge gardens with pleasant, meandering paths, fountains and pools, and brilliant-flowered plants and bushes.

Huge rooms seemed to be nothing more than airy galleries, with splendid tapestries, featherpictures, and paintings on the walls. Other walls were lined with niches, and in these stood small statues of jade and obsidian.

Finally they came to a chamber holding many objects of gold. As they entered, several full-size replicas of human heads, each heavier than a man could lift, stared from niches along the wall.

"The likenesses of the Revered Counselors of Nexal," explained Naltecona. "It is a line that goes back through fifteen men, all of them members of my family."

Poshtli watched Darien's and Cordell's eyes as they walked along the gold-lined wall. The elfwoman's were cold, unaffected by the riches. But Cordell's dark eyes flashed, washing over the golden objects with a lust that the warrior could almost feel.

"It is a grand tradition," said Cordell. "I want to assure you that we have no intention of bringing it to an end."

Naltecona paused and looked at the captain-general after Darien translated this statement. The two men found each others' eyes inscrutable.

"And now I must speak frankly," said Cordell. "I do so, knowing you will see and understand."

As he spoke, he raised his arms and stepped forward, blocking Darien. As soon as she translated his words, she added a quiet phrase of her own, an enchantment, as she cast the spell upon Cordell himself.

Naltecona gasped and stepped backward, awestruck as the captain-general began to grow. Poshtli reached reflexively for his maca, forgetting that he was unarmed. He stared in awe, unaware of Darien's spell. Cordell's body and his clothing and sword, began to increase in size until he quickly attained a height of some twelve feet. His head almost touching the inside of the thatched roof, the commander planted his fists on his hips and stared down at Naltecona.

The Revered Counselor took another backward step, but then stood firm, fighting an almost overwhelming compulsion to flee.

"You are a great man, Naltecona of Nexal." said Cordell, his voice a deep rumble. "But so, you must understand, am I. Let this little demonstration convince you of that."

"Indeed, so it does," whispered the Maztican. As Naltecona and Poshtli stared at Cordell, Darien slipped off to the side. She quickly and silently cast a spell upon the section of wall between two of the golden busts. This time, however, Poshtli observed the gesture. When Cordell spoke again, Darien picked up the translation smoothly, while Poshtli stared at the wall and wondered.

"Know, too, that any treacheries planned against us will be found out! We will learn of such acts through ways you cannot possibly imagine." Cordell turned, addressing the section of wall Darien had worked her magic on moments earlier. "Is this not so?"

The surface of the wall distorted and stretched for a moment, then revealed the clear outline of a giant human mouth. The lips and teeth and tongue were pale, like the wall, but their shape was unmistakable.

Then the mouth spoke. "Indeed, Master, it is so."

Naltecona shook his head in shock while Poshtli narrowed his eyes. Sorcery or not, the warrior knew that surprise would be difficult to attain if his enemy could gain information from the very walls themselves. When he turned back to face the looming commander, the Revered Counselor was in no mood to offer, or order, resistance. "We shall be true to our obligations as your hosts," he pledged.

"Excellent!" A whispered word from Darien, unheard by Naltecona, brought Cordell quickly back to his normal size. Poshtli saw this command as well. "And your hospitality, my lord, is most overwhelming. Such quarters as these surpass our wildest expectations. In truth, we are your humble guests."

A conch-shell horn sounded in the distance, announcing the start of the evening's sacrificial procession.

"You must excuse me," said Naltecona, with a deep bow. "My presence is required at the evening services."

"For the murder of helpless captives?" barked Cordell, knowing all too well the nature of these rituals. "Suppose a greater force compelled you to order that these pagan rites cease?"

Naltecona looked at him with a hint of regret in his eyes. "Should I give such an order, my people would fear that the sun would fail to rise in the morning. My influence over them would cease at that time, for they would know that I was mad.

"It would mean that a new Revered Counselor would take my throne. The rites, of course, would continue."

For a moment longer, Cordell glared at the Revered Counselor, tempted to challenge him on the issue. Something in the Maztican's level gaze convinced him that Naltecona spoke the truth, however. And the practice of sacrifice was far from their most pressing concern, he reminded himself, with a look at the gleaming wall of gold.

"Make yourselves comfortable here. Of course, slaves have been appointed for your use. There will be sufficient room for your men, I trust?"

"Yes, plenty. The Kultakans and Payit will camp outside the palace in that big square," Cordell said breezily.

"I need tell you again that the presence of our enemies among us, camping in the sacred heart of our city, is an affront to all Nexal. The people resent them and will quickly grow restless with restraint." Naltecona repeated the arguments he had made when Cordell's allies had first entered the city.

"We'll keep our eyes on the situation," promised the general. "But for now, they stay."

"As you command," replied the lord and master of Nexal.

Halloran recovered swiftly after his fever broke, though his wound remained a painful reminder of the battle. Still weak, he slept much. He also enjoyed the hot mayzcakes, beans, and fruits that Erixitl brought to him in a steady stream, at least while he remained awake.

Most of his sustenance came from the beans and mayz, though she prepared these with a variety of spices that made each meal a new and exciting experience. He even found himself enjoying the hot burn of the sharp peppers with which she laced his food. And the thin, spiced chocolate she gave him to drink was a rare treat.

They spoke little of the past, or the future. For a while, it seemed enough that they could be together. Indeed, it would be days before Hal's wound healed enough to allow them to think about much else. Although he could rest with little pain, the puncture became very sore when he moved around.

If his waking hours passed pleasantly enough, the same was not so with his sleep. He had vivid, terrifying dreams of the massacre and sometimes awoke tense with fear over Erix's safety. But these concerns he kept to himself.

One dark night he awakened after such a dream, sweating from an image of Erix run down by a charging line of lancers, led by Halloran himself. Hal lay still, staring at the thatched roof of the house, and gradually his terror passed.

Erixitl, he saw, was not in the house. He rose, noticing with mild pleasure that his wound was giving him less pain with each passing day.

"I couldn't sleep," he said, emerging from the house to find Erixitl in the yard. The moon was a half-circle in the east, rising high in the clear, star-speckled sky. A few hours remained before dawn.

The woman sat on the ground, her legs crossed, leaning back on her hands with her eyes skyward. "It's so beautiful up there," she said. "So crisp and clear."

Halloran settled beside her silently. He, too, looked at the night sky and saw its beauty.

"There's the ridge," Erixitl said, lowering her eyes from the heavens slightly. The great shadow of the high slope loomed over them. "It was up there that I was captured and taken into slavery." She turned to look at him. "I haven't gone back up there since I've come home. It's silly, I guess, but I'm frightened."

"You have good cause," offered Hal. He pictured Erix as a young girl, seized by a jaguar-skinned warrior who emerged from the bushes to take her and flee. "Anyone would want to forget." He thought of the battered town in the valley below, and of how much he wanted to forget that.

She looked at him oddly. Suddenly she rose to her feet. Halloran followed her example, also following as she crossed the yard. When she started up the steep slope, he came after, on a narrow trail that they followed without difficulty in the moonlight.

For some time, they climbed in silence. The house, the village, the valley bottom all dropped away behind them. Even the scent of smoke and ash and blood from ruined Palul dissipated with distance. The wind freshened up here, and it was comfortably cool against their skin. It washed around them and seemed to cleanse some of the horror away. Still, Halloran felt the lingering presence of death behind them.

They reached the top and stopped. Erix pointed out the narrow draw where the Kultakan warrior had captured her. She explained that her father's bird snares had, at that time, extended all along the upper slopes of the ridge. Then her eyes drifted upward again.

"It seems almost as if you can touch them," she said. The stars blinked in a great dome around them. The faint illumination of dawn streaked the eastern horizon, promising eventual sunrise. "I wish the sun would wait awhile before he rises… just today."

"If I could stop it — him — for you, I would," Hal said. He wanted to tell her that he would do anything she asked. Again the mental pictures of the slaughter at Palul came to him, and he could no longer remain mute. "When I feared that you'd be caught in the battle, my terror was worse than any I have ever known."

She smiled and took his hands. "I think that I knew you'd come for me," she said softly.

"Your father spoke of us together. Shadows and light, he said. What does it mean?"

"Perhaps he means the colors of our skins," she laughed. With the sound of her laughter, Hal knew that he could never again let her go.

"Erixitl, do you know that I… I love you?" Hal asked, his voice taut. He feared to look at her face as he spoke.

"Yes, I know," she said. Her brown eyes were wide, and he wanted to fall into them as she looked up at him.

"Do… do you…" His voice caught. In answer, she reached her hands up around his shoulders, pulling his head down to hers. Halloran crushed his lips to her, and she drew them together with fiery strength. They remained in this embrace for a long time, clinging to each other for love, and strength, and hope. For these moments, Hal was aware only of this warm, loving woman in his arms.

But then the visions of treachery and slaughter returned. Halloran broke away with a tortured groan. "I can't get the pictures out of my mind!" He clasped his hands to his eyes, rubbing them savagely, but still he saw the blood and the death and the crying.

"We can't forget the killing," said Erix. Her voice was thick and her eyes filled with tears. "But neither can we deny our own life."

When her dress fell to the ground, Erixitl's skin glowed in the moonlight with a brilliant copper sheen. Her beauty, and his love for her, drove every other image from Halloran's mind.

"The time draws close," hissed the Ancestor, "and our plan hangs by a thread that can be sliced off by the life of a young woman!" Unprecedented passion blazed in his words.

"I repeat to you all: She must be killed!" The Darkfyre surged upward with his command, swelling around the dark-robed drow gathered in the heart of the Highcave. The seething caldron shook with a deep resonance that caused the very heart of the mountain to rumble. Red coals flared and waned, and the infernal crimson glow rose and fell in a steady pulse.

"The invaders have entered Nexal. The stage is set for Naltecona's death and the cult's preeminence. All our plans, our centuries of preparations, stand in danger because this woman lives!"

The Ancestor trembled, so palpable was his rage. And with him trembled the bedrock of the Highcave.

"She will return to Nexal now — she must. And there we will find her. Alert all the priests, but that is not enough. The bungling of those human clerics has become all too apparent.

"This time, we will go ourselves." The drow around him stood still, in shock. "Yes, my children. We can no longer remain in the sanctity and solitude of our lair. We will enter the city by night and search it from end to end if we must!"

Under Cordell's orders, legionnaires had assembled beams and planks to make tables and benches in the palace. Now Bishou Domincus and Captain Alvarro enjoyed the luxury of a fine meal, served by pretty Maztican slave girls. With a satisfied smacking of lips, the cleric savored the succulent leg of a turkey. The greasy bones of the second leg and a thigh lay on the crude table beside him.

Alvarro cast a sideways glance at the Bishou, noting that they were alone except for the slaves. Kardann had eaten with them, but the assessor had left, declaring his intention to explore the palace that now served as the legion's barracks.

"Halloran was there at Palul," grunted the red-bearded captain of horse.

The Bishou stiffened. "You saw him?" The cleric's brows darkened grimly.

Alvarro nodded.

"And he escaped? He lives?"

The captain cursed and lied. "He fought beside a hundred of those savage warriors. I was alone, except for Vane. We could do nothing!"

"But Cordell — surely you told him!"

Alvarro related the tale of the captain-general's indifference, while the Bishou seethed.

"My daughter's death will not be avenged as long as Halloran lives!" growled Domincus. The fact that Halloran had been powerless to prevent Marline's sacrifice meant nothing to the cleric, the man had been forever branded as one with the savages in his mind.

Suddenly the pudgy form of the assessor burst through the door. His face was flushed with excitement. "Come here — come this way!" Kardann cried.

"What is it, man?" demanded the Bishou, reluctant to leave his repast. Alvarro rose, however, and so the cleric followed.

The assessor from Amn led Bishou Domincus and Captain Alvarro down one of the long corridors in the palace. "It's in here!" Kardan gasped excitedly.

The two men followed him into a small room with multiple columns around its periphery, and many colorful frescoes depicting the mountains and fertile land surrounding the lake and the city. It looked like a passageway, except that the far end was merely a blank wall, not an entrance or hallway.

"Look! I dont know what it is, but it's got to be something. Look at this!" Barely containing his excitement, the pudgy assessor held up his lantern and gestured toward the wall at the back of the room.

"What is it?" snapped the Bishou irritably. "You pulled me away from a good meal, dragged me halfway across the palace — "

"Me, too," grumbled Alvarro. "And now we hear that you don't even know what you've found! Couldn't it wait till after dinner?"

But now Bishou Domincus leaned close to the wall, intrigued. Alvarro ceased complaining long enough to investigate whatever it was that had captured the cleric's attention.

"There's definitely some kind of a doorway here," said Domincus, stepping closer to the wall. "Look, here's a crack where you can see the top of it — and here, these are the sides. It's a secret door!"

The Bishou turned to Kardann. "Let's see if we can get it open. There's got to be a catch, a release or something, around here somewhere."

"Look." Alvarro had his dagger out and probed along the base of the concealed door. He found a slot in the floor, less than a half-inch wide, and the horseman inserted the tip of his weapon there.

They heard a sharp click as Alvarro pressed down with the sword. "Push" he impatiently told the others.

Kardann and the Bishou leaned against the outline of the door and felt the portal swing easily inward. "Quick — get the lamp!" urged the assessor.

As the yellow beams of light spread across the large secret chamber, all three men gasped in astonishment. Alvarro raised the lamp high and stepped into the room, closely followed by the other two.

"It's unbelievable!" whispered the Bishou, staring around in shock.

The others, awestruck, didn't answer. They advanced slowly, stumbling over objects on the floor, stunned. Staring across the expanse of the large room, fully lit by Kardann's lantern, they saw mounds of gold around them. Golden shields, plates and bowls of the metal, box after box filled with dust of purest gold, all of these things scattered across the floor, piled high, and extending from wall to wall.

Around them they saw a fortune in gold, one that put all of their previous treasures to shame.

"You are man and wife, now, in the presence of the god," said Lotil as Halloran and Erix entered the house after daybreak.

The pair stopped in surprise. The old man chuckled and urged them to continue inside.

"If that is the custom of your people, so be it," said Halloran, placing his arms around Erixitl. His reaction surprised even himself with its total conviction, but he realized that a lifetime with Erixitl was the natural extension of the love they shared. "I want you to be my wife — are you?"

"Do you make this pledge for our lifetimes?" she asked.

"Yes."

"And I do, as well," replied Erix. "But it is not the custom of our people. Why do you say that we are already married, Father?"

"This is not a matter of custom, not the custom of our people nor of any people. It is a matter of destiny. It is in the light and the dark that you see, the light and dark that you are.

"Don't you see what has come together in the two of you?" asked Lotil. "Even I, blind as a stone, can tell. This man comes across the great ocean, and then departs his comrades. You are taken from your home into slavery, and led across the True World so that you will be there when he lands!

"Then — " Lotil paused to laugh, ready to lay the clinching seal on his arguments "- then comes the couatl, harbinger of Qotal, and he gives you the gift of the strangers' tongue. Now you come here, to Nexal, where you see not only the shadows of impending disaster, but also the light of potential hope. It is right that the two of you face this light and darkness together, for that is how you can both be truly strong."

"You are right," Erix said softly, taking Hal's hand.

"Now come inside. We must talk." Lotil ushered them to the mats by the kitchen hearth. They sat, and he presented them each with cups of hot, spicy cocoa and mayzcakes wrapped around cooked eggs.

"Man and wife in the presence of the god, you said." Halloran raised one eyebrow in question as Lotil sat beside them. "You mean Qotal?"

"Yes, the Plumed One, of course," replied the old man. "The one true god who offers any hope of survival in this age of chaos and doom."

"Yes, I've heard of Qotal. But Erixitl tells me that he left Maztica centuries ago. Even his clerics are bound to silence."

"But do not forget that Qotal promised to return. There were to be several harbingers of his return, and one of them has already occurred."

Erixitl nodded. "True. We saw a couatl. I know that the feathered snake is supposed to be the first sign."

"No one knows about the others, of course," Lotil explained to both of them. "Something about a Cloak of One Plume and the Ice of Summer. Imagine! A feather large enough to make a cloak. Or water, frozen beneath the hot summer sun… or moon. But the couatl, that is indeed something.

"And as to you, my son" Lotil continued with true affection, turning to Halloran. "There is, of course, the matter of the dowry."

Hal watched curiously as Lotil got up and went to a box in the corner of his house. He reached inside and began to rummage about.

Halloran looked back at Erixitl and caught her smiling at him. His wife! It began to dawn on him that his wish was coming true. He remembered the promise he had made to himself — that he would never again allow her to be apart from him, and felt only joy at the prospect of its fulfillment.

Erixitl reached out and took his hand, and in the glow of her face, he saw all the hope he needed. The questions of their future, he resolved, would be answered as they were asked.

"Here," said Lotil, returning to the hearthside at last. In his hand he held a pair of small feathered rings. "Hold out your hands."

Halloran did as he was told, and Lotil slid the rings over his hands. They fit, snugly and comfortably, on his wrists. The feathers were tiny tufts of plumage, and the surface of the rings lay smooth against his skin.

"Use them well. They may not look like much, but I think that you will… appreciate them." Lotil patted Hal's shoulder affectionately.

"Thank you — thank you very much," he replied sincerely. "But use them how? What do they do?"

"In good time, my son, in good time. But now we must celebrate!"

They feasted on one of the ducks that had lived — to no purpose, Hal had thought until now — around the house. Lotil even produced a jug of octal he had been saving for some such occasion. As they ate and drank, Halloran and Erix felt a warm sense of well-being. It permeated the air in the room, their conversation, even their bodies themselves.

The armies of Nexal and the legion remained far away. That city, with its sacrifices, its cult of violence, its strident tensions, didn't enter their minds.

Only once, when Erixitl looked at the door, outlined in clear daylight, did she see the shadows lingering.

"It's every bit as fabulous as you claimed," admitted Cordell, clapping Kardann on the shoulder. "This, my good assessor, is a very important discovery!"

Several legionnaires sorted and stacked objects of gold or other treasures in neat piles as the assessor busily inspected the contents of the room. "Millions of pieces, equivalent," he murmured in awe. "The only question is how many millions!"

Cordell watched in amazement as tiny golden figurines were added to a steadily growing pile. Each was no more than the size of a man's hand. They depicted a variety of objects, including male and female humans and grotesque figures that seemed to represent some form of bestial deity.

"And look at this!" exclaimed Kardann. He gestured to a row of large golden bowls. Each of them held a mound of gold dust that reached nearly to the rim. There were a dozen or more of these bowls assembled already, and much of the room remained to be explored.

Cordell, the Bishou, and the assessor supervised the half-dozen legionnaires working to sort the treasures in the room. Several oil lamps illuminated the chamber thoroughly. Another pair of legionnaires stood on guard at the door to the treasure room.

A shrill scream suddenly turned them all toward the door. There they saw a flash of spotted hide and the sharp chop of a weapon — a stone-edged maca. One of the guards cried out in pain, and then the orange and black figure sprang through the door into the room.

Kardann shrieked in panic and darted away from the door. Cordell stood firm, drawing his sword and confronting the onrushing Jaguar Knight. The man's face, visible through his gaping-jawed helmet, contorted with hatred.

But then Cordell struck, at the same time as the remaining guard followed the attacker through the door. Transfixed by two thrusts, the Jaguar Knight gasped and fell. Kicking reflexively, he rolled onto his back, fixing them with a hate-filled stare for a few long moments before he died. The experience left them all shaken and not a little alarmed.

"Wh — where did he come from?" babbled Kardann.

"Must be some kind of renegade, hiding out in the palace," the Bishou suggested. "I've warned you, these treacherous savages cannot be trusted!"

Cordell barely heard them. Instead, he knelt down and examined the knight. He felt a vague discomfort, stirred by the expression on the man's face. Never had he seen such fanatical hatred, such an unreasoning bloodlust, in a human face before.

As he pulled the corpse around, the jaguar-skin armor peeled off its chest. "What's this?" he asked, feeling a dull horror.

The man bore a brand on his chest. Scarlet red, angular in shape, it resembled the head of a deadly viper.

Cordell stood and looked at the men around him. "This kind of thing cannot be tolerated. We must teach Naltecona that we are truly a force to be reckoned with." He clapped his fist into his palm, lowering his voice to a whisper.

"It is time for stronger measures!" he growled.

From the chronicles of Colon:

Amid visions of enclosing darkness…

The couatl returns to haunt my dreams. The feathered serpent wings about my world, hut only where no one else can see. Perhaps the harbinger of hope is a mere delusion, teasing me with anticipation promised, fulfillment denied.

But I must seize that hope, for otherwise all is despair around me. The growing image of the spider goddess, Lolth, draws near. Zaltec, in his arrogance, pays no heed. Indeed, he grows mightier each day.

His priests, spreading the cult of the Viperhand, now provide a mountainous feast of hearts each night as more and more initiates are branded. Zaltec slakes his hunger, while his faithful plot the release of his power against the strangers.

And these men of the Golden Legion — now they dwell within the walls of the sacred plaza itself. Somehow the priests have held the cult away, but the seething hatred of the branded ones builds in pressure, and soon it will burst.

The power of that eruption, coupled with the might of the invaders — as they have shown against Kultaka and Palul — will lead to an explosion from which the city cannot survive.