Viperhand

POINT OF NO RETURN

The Revered Counselor answered the summons from his captor with all the regal dignity of his office. Naltecona didn't walk to Cordell's audience chamber, he rode through the halls of Axalt's palace on his great feathered litter. His cloak of exquisite plumage floated behind him, and an escort of slaves marched before.

A pair of hairy-faced guards halted the slaves at the door. Naltecona rose and stalked between them, entering the chamber to find Cordell and Darien standing impatiently.

"Why have you summoned me?" asked the Maztican ruler.

"Come this way." Darien translated Cordell's directive as the captain-general left the room by a side door. The elf-mage and Naltecona followed. Cordell walked for a minute in silence, finally coming around a corner and turning to regard the Revered Counselor.

"Do you have more of these rooms hidden around the palaces?" demanded Cordell. He gestured, indicating to the speechless Naltecona the huge array of gold before them.

The Maztican stared at the vast trove and felt a cold numbness seep into his body. He had never seen this magnificent hoard, but he knew of its existence. Never had he expected the strangers to tear open the very walls of the palace in their search for plunder. But so they had.

"This is the trove of my ancestors. It is a fabled cache, reputedly hidden somewhere in my grandfather's palace. I have never seen it before," explained the Revered Counselor quietly. "I think you have discovered it all."

"I dont believe you." The captain-general's voice, equally soft, challenged him. Darien, however, shook her head slightly. Cordell turned away, angrily stroking his chin. He tried to control his anger, still believing that the Maztican was somehow deceiving him. Yet perhaps Naltecona spoke the truth. In any event, Cordell knew that he couldn't push matters too hard yet.

Nexal had begun adjusting to the delicate state of control. Naltecona remained in Axalt's palace, ostensibly as a voluntary hostage to insure the cooperation of his people. He met with his officials and had a full household of slaves tending him in his customarily luxurious manner.

Meanwhile, the city functioned, on the surface at least, normally. The market was open, and legionnaires — in groups of a dozen or more — wandered there, or explored the other wonders of the city. The attitude of the individual Maztican toward them varied between hesitant interaction and sullen avoidance.

"Very well." Cordell quickly reached a decision. "Perhaps we have discovered the 'trove of your ancestors,' but I know you have more gold than this. I want it gathered before this palace. You must give the order"

Naltecona stared at Cordell, surprised. He had heard of the unquenchable gold-hunger of the bearded strangers, but never had he imagined its directness. He could think of no reason why anyone would care so much for the pliable yellow metal. Did they consume it? Did they worship it, or burn it, or build with it? He could not know.

He felt it was obviously their ultimate desire. When confronted by the ravenous hunger of the gods, Naltecona, all his life, had learned to give them food.

"Very well," he said. "We shall bring you our gold."

Hoxitl gasped as he emerged from his meditation cell and saw the body on the floor. He froze at the door to the central sanctuary of the temple, with its looming statue of beastly Zaltec and its smoking pots of incense.

Kneeling, the high priest saw that one of his apprentices had been slain. The body showed a thin wound over the heart, far too smooth to have been caused by a stone knife.

"A warning, priest." The voice, from the darkened corner of the sanctuary, chilled Hoxitl like a blast of icy wind. Quaking in fear and surprise, he rose.

"You." he whispered, involuntarily stepping backward. His eyes wide, he stared at the black-robed figure that approached.

The Ancient One moved with oily smoothness. The slim body was completely muffled within the robe, except for the hands. These, of dark black skin and long slender fingers, hung free at the figure's sides.

Dully, the high priest became aware that several of the robed figures were in the temple with him. He wasted no time wondering how they had gotten here. He had no doubt that the Ancient Ones could have entered, unnoticed, by any of several means.

"A warning — a warning of what?" he asked. "The girl who can spell doom for the faith returns to Nexal. Her death is more essential than ever. You cannot fail again!"

"No — no, I shall not! Where is she?"

"We do not know. But the wisdom of the Darkfyre — the very will of Zaltec himself — tells us that she arrives here soon. You will have all your priests, all your apprentices, join the search for her. We, too, will be in the city during the hours of darkness. She must be discovered and slain."

"Is she alone?" inquired the priest.

"She was seen with the stranger called Halloran."

"Very well," announced the priest. "I shall assign my priests to search. We will double the guards at all entrances to the city, and also I shall speak to Naltecona. He may know where the man is."

"The Revered Counselor has not long to live," continued the Ancient One. "His death will signal the attack of the cult!"

"Are you going to slay him?" asked Hoxitl, suddenly appalled.

The robed figure remained inscrutable. "Destiny will control its own pace, but that destiny will throw the cult of the Viperhand into battle with a great passion for killing. Zaltec will be pleased.

"But remember," hissed the Ancient One, his voice muffled but menacing through the dark cloth of his robe. The figure gestured to the corpse at Hoxitl's feet. "Do not fail us again."

Staying off the road, Hal and Erix reached the lakeshore, where tall grasses extended from a broad marsh, with open water perhaps half a mile away. Full darkness surrounded them, a low overcast conveniently blotting out the moon. Approaching Nexal, they knew they had tonight and the two following days before the rising of the full moon.

Fishing villages lined the shore of the lake, and the pair chose a path close to one of these, in the hopes of finding a canoe. They came upon a number of the craft pulled onto the shore and quickly slipped one into the water. In moments, they had paddled onto the smooth, dark waters of Lake Zaltec.

Torches winked in the distance, marking the vague outlines of the great city. They both felt relief for the protective darkness, which allowed them a good chance of entering Nexal undetected.

"Let's go to my house first," suggested Hal when they were safely away from shore. "The slaves might know something about Poshtli — where he is, or how we can find him without alerting Cordell."

Erix agreed. They crossed the huge lake swiftly, and soon the city sprawled before and around them. They paddled silently, unnoticed, into a wide canal, and Hal guided the narrow dugout toward his house. The many waterways crisscrossing the city made their passage fast and easy, though confusing.

In fact, Hal wasn't certain they weren't lost until they pulled up to the courtyard itself. He recognized the stone pool and clumps of palms, knowing at last that this was his own garden. The rooms of the house, all opening onto this central yard, spread protectively around them.

How different this crossing was from their first entrance into Nexal, Hal reflected, when Poshtli had boldly taken them into the palace itself. Now they slipped like assassins through the dark of the night, reaching his home without attracting the attention of anyone.

"Master! You live!" Gankak, his venerable slave, cackled with glee and hobbled into the courtyard. "Jaria! Come quick! I told you he'd return!"

"Told me nothing, you old he-goat!" Jaria, white-haired and rounded but remarkably nimble, passed her husband and bowed to Halloran and Erix as they entered the anteroom. "I said that you still lived, Master. It was Gankak who was certain that — well, it was otherwise."

Horo, the litle, pretty one, and Chantil, short and plump beside her fellow slave, came happily out of the kitchen and chattered around them. It was a homecoming that surprised Halloran, and that he found deeply heartwarming.

"This is my wife, Erixitl," he said. The slaves bowed deeply to the woman, obviously pleased for their owner's happiness. For a few minutes, Hal forgot about the bleak view of Erixitl's vision, relaxing in the warm togetherness of his household.

"I'll see you later," Erix said as Horo and Chantil finally swept her away for a tour of the house.

"Master, it is good you return now. These are dangerous times in Nexal," said Gankak ominously.

"I know that my countrymen have entered the sacred square," Hal noted.

"That is not the worst. They have taken Naltecona prisoner, and they keep him with their own troops in the palace of Axalt. And Naltecona forbids his warriors from raising weapons against them!"

"That's something, at least." Hal knew their chances of success would probably vanish entirely if war erupted before they reached Naltecona. "We have much to do. Can you tell me, is there any word of Lord Poshtli?"

"Yes, indeed. He occupies Naltecona's throne room, speaking for his uncle. It is said that the Revered Counselor's captivity weighs heavy upon him."

Halloran imagined his friend's frustration, entrapped by his responsibility to serve his uncle and barred from attacking those who held him hostage.

Perhaps they could reach him. And if they did, perhaps they could offer him some hope.

"You must take charge of an important task, my nephew," said Naltecona. Poshtli stood attentively before him, wondering why the Revered Counselor had summoned him to his quarters in Axalt's palace so early on this bleak and cloudy day.

"I shall follow your commands unto my own death," pledged the warrior.

"You must gather the gold of Nexal, as much of it as you can. Gather it and bring it here." Naltecona stood tall. Only the deep lines around his eyes showed the humiliation he suffered at the request.

For a moment, Poshtli stood speechless. He couldn't imagine the immense arrogance behind such a demand, yet he knew that it must have come from Cordell. Did the man think all Nexal was his conquered serfdom, free for the plundering?

"You must do this, Poshtli, as difficult as I know it will be." Naltecona's pain now carried to his voice, and his nephew's heart broke at the abject surrender so apparent in this great man's bearing. At the same time, the warrior wanted to strike the counselor across the face in his blind anger, to somehow express the rage he felt at the proud nation's debasement.

"My pledge to you stands, my uncle," Poshtli said. "And if this is your sincere wish, so shall it be." His voice deepened, passionate. "But think of what you are saying! We are surrending our city, our people, our gold, all to this one who comes as a guest to our city, then seeks to treat us as his slaves!"

Poshtli saw that his arguments hurt Naltecona, and he took a savage glee in the knowledge that the Revered Counselor could still be made to feel shame.

"Please, my uncle. Let us attack them and destroy them. We can drive them from Nexal or slay them all! They are not our masters, and you cannot give your people into slavery without the chance to fight for their freedom!"

"What's the use?" Naltecona sighed, a sound that reminded Poshtli of a lifeless desert wind. "We tried to stop them at Palul. You know of that disaster even more than do I. Think of that slaughter, multiplied a hundredfold because it occurs here, in the Heart of the True World."

"But think of what is coming to an end. Uncle. Think of the legacy of Maztica, the True World! And coming to an end for what? Surely you don't believe that the strangers are gods. You have seen their acts, heard their speech!"

Naltecona chuckled, a grim sound. "These are good words, my nephew. But they are mere words, and I must think of lives. I must avoid a conflict that could destroy us utterly."

"But through this, Revered One, we destroy ourselves." Poshtli forgot himself for a moment, speaking with inappropriate vehemence.

"That is enough," said Naltecona quietly, gently.

"Forgive me, Uncle." Poshtli bowed deeply, torn by conflicting emotions. His overwhelming feeling was a sense of inevitable tragedy, and he stoically accepted this awareness, beginning to understand that his uncle suffered even more than he did.

"It shall be as you command," the warrior said quietly, bowing once again before he left.

The officers of the legion met their captain-general in a chamber that had once sheltered the ruler of all Maztica. Perhaps, thought Daggrande, it did so again.

The throne room of Axalt was as imposing as that of Naltecona. Cordell, however, had ordered his carpenters to build him a large wooden chair, for he didn't trust the floating pluma seat of the type used by Nahecona.

Now Daggrande, Kardann, Darien, Bishou Domincus, Alvarro, and the other captains met the general, seeing in the icy cold flash of Cordell's eyes that their leader had important news.

"We must practice the most extreme vigilance over the next few days," he announced. "At the same time, we face the prospect of reaping the ultimate reward."

He briefly related his encounter with Naltecona and the counselor's aquiescence in the matter of his people's gold. "We shall presently be faced with a mountainous trove, a pile of treasure such as few among us have ever imagined."

Cordell's manner turned menacing. "However, we must face the possibility that his people will resist such a demand. This, as you know, could lead to war."

"It will lead to war!" Kardann squealed, no longer able to hold his tongue. "Your demands are premature! They will certainly destroy us all!"

Daggrande turned to the pudgy assessor and confronted him, poking a blunt finger into Kardann's ribs. "Seems you still havent learned to listen when the general's speaking." His finger pushed forward, and the accountant gasped for breath. "Now, shuddup!"

Kardann's eyes bulged, and for a moment, he wavered between terror of the indirect threat of a Nexalan uprising and the direct threat of a further rebuke from the dwarven captain of crossbow. The immediate threat took precedence, and the assessor shut his mouth.

Beside him, Alvarro licked his lips, recalling the pile of gold in the secret storeroom. The picture of many more such piles glowed seductively in his mind. "There's the matter of transport, sir," he said. "How do you intend to get it back to Helmsport?"

"We'll wait to see what kind of amount we're talking about. Then the carpenters will build us sleds. We'll use the Payits to drag them along when we march."

"Do you expect Naltecona to go along with this?" asked the Bishou. He despised everything about these people, but he couldn't believe that they would offer such a complete gesture of submission without a fight.

"Naltecona will go along with it," replied the captain-general. "The question is whether his people will follow."

Darien, unnoticed by any of them, pulled her hood over her face. She made the gesture to hide a rare, and very secret, smile. As the officers dispersed, Darien left the room before Cordell could speak to her.

She returned to her own chamber and pulled the curtains behind her. At the sight of her makeshift spellbook, in which she had collected most — but not all — of her original spells, her hatred for Halloran flashed hot again. One day, soon now, the man would pay for his audacity.

But for the time being, she would make do with the powers she possessed. Seating herself before a low table, she began to study.

Darien was acutely aware that the moment of her destiny drew near.

Halloran slept comfortably in the sleeping chamber of his house, awakening slowly to the light of an overcast, gray day. The rigors of their stealthy journey to Nexal had drained his wife as well, and Erixitl still slumbered beside him.

For a brief moment, between sleep and full awareness, a sense of sublime bliss and contentment swept over him. His love for Erix pushed all other concerns into the background, and the luxurious sense of peace urged him back to sleep. Around his wrists, he felt the smooth, feathered bands that Lotil had given him. He dozed, thinking of Erixitl's father.

But in another instant, full consciousness claimed him, and he remembered the perils that would face them on this day. The sunset after tonight's would bring the rising of the full moon. Today they must enter the palace of Naltecona and find Poshtli.

Erixitl stirred beside him, and he placed an arm around her, delighting in her slow smile as she awakened. Then she, too, felt the full weight of reality, sitting up with an expression of deep seriousness.

"You must let me go to the market," she said, immediately resuming a discussion they had waged before retiring very late the night before. "I can find one of Poshtli's comrades — someone who can help us get in to see him."

"It's too dangerous." He shook his head vehemently. "We have every reason to believe that the priests will still be searching for you."

"How are we going to get through the plaza to the Palace of Naltecona?" she shot back. Gankak had told them about the thousands of Kultakan and Payit warriors encamped there, watched carefully by a host of Nexalan warriors and priests.

"I have an idea," Halloran said, crossing to the saddlebags where he kept his possessions. The night before, he had recovered the bags from the hole where he had concealed them. He rummaged for a moment, then held up a small bottle containing a clear liquid.

"The potion," observed Erix, less than enthusiastically. She vividly remembered her shock when Hal had drunk a similar liquid, one that caused him to immediately grow to a height of some twenty feet. The effect had been temporary, but her memory of the incident still caused her to shiver at the thought of the powerful magic stored in the innocent-looking liquid.

"Invisibility!" Halloran reminded her. "We can each take a drink of this and disappear for an hour or so. It should be long enough for us to slip through the gate and get into the palace."

Erixitl stared, frank skepticism showing clearly on her face.

"Our only hope is to find Poshtli," Hal reminded her "If we can tell him of your vision and convince him of the danger to Naltecona, he'll help us to rescue his uncle. We've got to get Naltecona out of that palace before the full moon!"

Halloran no longer held any questions about the menace implicit in Erixitl's frightening dream. For both of them, the coining full moon represented a looming presence that could spell the doom of all Maztica.

Erixitl looked at the bottle again and considered the possibilities. She came up with no reasonable alternatives.

"Very well," she finally agreed. "We must try."

From the chronicles of Colon:

Sharing the pain of the??????????? languish in growing despair.

Poshtli visits me again this morning. He wears well the brightly feathered cape and mantle of a lord, yet still he walks with the pride, the commanding bearing of the Eagle Knight. As the load he bears weighs him down, I sense his desire to return to the simple black and white plumes of his old order.

Pain pours from him as he relates the shocking orders of Naltecona. To Poshtli — to all of us — the gold of Nexal is as nothing more than a pretty metal, with uses for simple ornamental tasks.

Yet as the gold is nothing, our pride is everything. I feel for the debasement he senses in its surrender, yet again I can offer him no hope of alternative.

Throughout the city, as word spreads of Cordell's demand, resentment and suspicion grows. There is talk that the Revered Counselor is spellbound, incapable of leadership. Many mutter that Poshtli himself should take the role and lead us in uprising against the stranger.

Poshtli is devoted to the great Naltecona, however, and so he can only obey.