Viperhand

TO HOLD THE MOON

Three bearded legionnaires threw Erixitl against a wall with enough force to drive the air from her lungs. Gasping, she faced them — not afraid, but bitterly disappointed. One of them pulled her stone knife — her only weapon — from her belt. A fourth walked up to her and scowled into her face.

"What d'you got under them feathers?" he demanded. The Cloak of One Plume covered her shoulders and her back. He reached a hand to its clasp to tear it away. Suddenly a blue spark crackled from the cloak, and he drew his blistered hand away.

"Ouch! Helm's curses, she's a witch!"

Erix was as surprised as the legionnaire. A growing sense of despair seized her, and she took little pleasure in the protection. True, it hid her pouch, but the only thing that contained was the tiny bottle of potion she had insisted Hal let her carry — a potion that frightened her too much to ever allow her to drink it.

"That was Halloran!" she heard one of the men say. "The bastard fought like a demon!"

"Killed Garney, he did," grunted another. Their eyes settled, murderously, back on Erixitl,

Halloran! She struggled to contain her grief. They had failed. Did he live? Had they escaped? Lost in her despair, she didn't notice the captain-general's entrance until the black-bearded leader stood before her, his dark eyes smoldering.

"You were the translator at Palul," Cordell stated, his voice vaguely accusing, confident of its assertion.

"Yes," Erixitl replied, seeing no point in denial. Around her, a menacing ring of legionnaires glowered, brandishing weapons, all but growling for her blood. Cordell stood before her, with the cloaked elfmage at his side.

"Why did you come here?" demanded the general.

"We were lost," Erix answered, forcing her voice to remain calm.

"These questions are a waste of time!" snapped Darien. "Kill the wench now and be done with it."

"Wait!" Cordell raised a hand, mildly reproving. "You sought Naltecona, did you not? To free him, perhaps?"

Erixitl shook her head, but she could see that the man didn't believe her.

Suddenly another figure elbowed his way through the men-at-arms. A grim-faced Alvarro reported to Cordell.

"That son of a whore killed six men, wounded a dozen more!" The man's tones were incredulous. Then his eyes fell upon Erixitl, and a crooked grin twisted Alvarro's mouth. "But I see we have his woman."

The way he said "woman" sent daggers of fear along Erixitl's spine. Darien, too, noticed the inflection, though no one saw her smile within the shadows of her hood.

"His woman?" Cordell repeated in surprise.

Alvarro stopped, thinking fast. He hadn't told Cordell the full story of his encounter with Hal and Erix together, outside of Palul.

"Yeah," he explained quickly. "When he killed Vane, he was trying to get to her. Must have quite a thing for her." The red-bearded man looked at Erixitl's lithe femininity like a hungry animal. "Can't say I blame him!"

Cordell looked at the captain in mild annoyance, then turned back to Erixitl. "If he came for you once, perhaps he'll do so again. We'll keep you here for now. Perhaps you'll bring us bigger game."

"Kill her!" Darien spat. "He'll still come. He won't know she's dead." Her eyes glowed from the depths of her hood, but Erix held her head high and met the elf's fiery gaze. The elven mage had a dozen spells that should be able to strike this woman down, yet she knew that something powerful protected her against magic. This frustration only heightened her fury.

"No!" Cordell said firmly, so that all understood. He gestured to a pair of swordsmen. "Find a secure room and lock her up there."

Halloran and Poshtli tumbled down the stairway, pausing at the bottom to listen for sounds of pursuit. Apparently none of the legionnaires wanted to follow the maddened swordsman into that dark passage, however, for they heard nothing.

"I've got to go back for her!" Hal gasped during the sudden respite in flight.

"Yes, but not now!" Poshtli pressed Hal against the tunnel wall, hissing the words into his face with brutal force. "They're waiting for you up there. You know that! Do you want to throw your life away uselessly, or do you want to have a plan — something that's got a chance to work?"

For a moment, Hal's fists clenched involuntarily. His rage blurred his thoughts, and he almost struck Poshtli a blow that, in his fury, could have killed his friend. Then, with a strangled sob, he brought himself under control.

"What… how can we do that?" he grunted, forcing himself to think clearly.

"We still have the map," said Poshtli. "And there's got to be more than one entrance into Axalt's palace. Let's have a look around and see if we can't find some other approach."

Both of them thought of the inexorable sunrise, even now doubtlessly lightening the sky over the city. When next the sun set, the full moon would rise in the east.

"Good idea," said Halloran finally. "Let's get going."

"Is he not back yet?" demanded Hoxitl. He and Shatil had waited long hours outside the throne room used by Poshtli.

The courtier, who had also waited those hours, shook his head sullenly. He had long ago grown tired of the high priest's agitation and complaints. "He will announce his presence."

"This is an outrage!" snarled the high priest. Suddenly he stepped up to the courtier and reached for the door to the throne room. The noble stared at him for a moment, but something in the high priest's impassioned gaze caused his spirits to quail. Meekly the courtier stepped aside.

Hoxitl pushed open the doors and entered the throne room, followed by Shatil. The young priest still clutched the Talon of Zaltec, though he no longer expected to find his sister — his victim — here in the palace.

"Lord Poshtli! My lord, where are you?" Shatil couldn't understand Hoxitl's agitation as the high priest dashed about the room, looking into the corridors that opened from the side opposite the doors.

"This is terrible — disastrous!" declared Hoxitl, turning back to Shatil. "Is it possible they have indeed gone to rescue the Revered Counselor?"

The young priest didn't hear the patriarch, for his attention was distracted by something he had just noticed. "Look!" he cried, crossing the room to point to a dark line along the stone wall of the throne room.

"What is it?" asked Hoxitl. The priest's gaunt face pinched tightly as he scrutinized the faint outline.

"A crack — there's a door concealed here!" Shatil drew his dagger and slipped its stone tip into the crack in the wall. With a slow, steady prying, he forced the stone portal toward him. In moments, it stood open, revealing a darkened passageway to a steep flight of stone steps leading downward.

"They must have gone this way and failed to close it fully behind them!" cried Hoxitl.

The high priest's mind raced through a tumult of concerns. Erixitl must die! For Naltecona's death, promised by the Ancient One, would signal the start of the uprising — and that attack was doomed to failure and disaster if the woman, the chosen daughter of Qotal, was not slain first.

Outside, the cult of the Viperhand grew ever more restless. The other occurrence Hoxitl needed to prevent, at all costs, was a premature attack. The solution came to him naturally.

"I must marshal the cult," Hoxitl told Shatil. "Already they gather in the plaza, and they must be controlled until the proper signal is given. You must go after Erixitl! your sister will recognize you. She'll be glad to see that you're alive after Palul, will she not?"

Shatil nodded. His sister certainly assumed that he had died with all the other priests and warriors on the pyramid. From her perspective, no one had escaped.

Hoxitl continued. "That will let you get close enough to use the talon against her." The patriarch didn't need to conclude the plan, for they both understood that, if Hal or Poshtli accompanied Erixitl, such an attack would almost certainly cost the priest his life.

The young priest nodded. "It shall be as Zaltec commands." Shatil collected several reed torches, igniting one to light his way. He felt numb, detached from the preparations his body made. He watched himself go into a hole in the earth to kill his sister, giving up his own life in the process.

It seemed a proper fate for one who would be a tool of the gods.

Darien summoned Alvarro with a note. She requested his presence at noon, while Cordell inspected the legion's positions around the sprawling palace.

"Yes, my lady wizard?" inquired the red-bearded captain upon entering her darkened chamber in the palace of Axalt. She greeted him seated upon a mat. Awkwardly he sat before her.

"This wench — Halloran's woman, you claim — has angered and affronted me."

Alvarro nodded. Though he hadn't been present, he had heard the stories about how Erixitl had proven invulnerable to Darien's magic. The surviving swordsmen who had attacked the trio told terrible tales of Halloran's prowess, coupled with the failure of the fireball and magic missiles.

"I sensed earlier that your interest in her was something more personal," the elf said coolly, her ivory white skin glowing in the semidarkness of the room. Her eyes seemed huge to Alvarro, huge and beguiling. She wore a red silk dress, a thin sheath tightly outlining the curves of her body, and lust stirred in Alvarro.

"I will get you in to see her and give you time with her to do as you wish. Nothing in her room will be heard beyond those walls. However, in return, when you have finished with her, you must kill her."

"When should I do this?"

"Now. Today." Darien's voice was clipped. "She must die…" Her voice trailed away as she appeared to think for a moment. "She must be dead by sunset."

Alvarro blinked, thinking hard. The thought of Erix, alone and in his power, was like a powerful drug. Still, he wasn't an innocent recruit. Cordell had ordered the woman held prisoner. He regarded the elfmage suspiciously.

"What about the general?"

"I will see that he never knows who is to blame," Darien replied confidently.

It just might work, Alvarro told himself. He remembered Erix on the ground at Palul. His mind flamed at the prospect of holding her in his power.

"Why are you so anxious to have her dead?" he demanded.

Darien leaned back, her dress clinging seductively to her skin. "She makes me furious. She stands against my magic, she draws the eyes of men — Cordell's eyes," the albino replied. Her voice was like an icy wind. Alvarro thought briefly that the wizard didn't look furious, but then he thought again of Erix, and suddenly the wizard's motive didnt seem to matter.

The black-robed figure awaited Hoxitl in the darkened confines of the temple building below the Great Pyramid. "Greetings, priest," whispered the Ancient One.

The patriarch froze, wondering instinctively if this was an assassin sent to end his days. But the graceful figure advanced, speaking soothingly. "The death of Naltecona will occur tonight, after moonrise," said the Ancient One.

Hoxitl froze, taut with excitement and alarm. He thought of Erixitl, and of Shatil seeking her in the passages below the sacred plaza. Could he find her in time?

"My priest is seeking the girl, Erixitl of Palul, now. He will kill her as soon as he sees her!" Hoxitl blurted the explanation, fearing for his life again. Perhaps the Ancient One had assumed that she was already dead.

"That is fine." The words came from the robed figure dispassionately. The high priest stared in puzzlement, wondering why he didn't detect the heated insistence on Erix's death that had always been the tone of the Ancient Ones previously.

"But — but what if he doesn't find her? Did you not say that disaster would result if the attack began while she stili lived?"

Finally the voice grew harsh. "Do not concern yourself, priest. How fares the cult? Will it be ready?"

"Come with me and see for yourself," Hoxitl invited. "I go to address them from the pyramid."

"Answer my question!" hissed the Ancient One. He faced away from the afternoon light spilling through the doorway. Hoxitl remembered other things, of the robed figures searching the city at night, of their subterranean lair. He guessed that, whatever the nature of Ancient Ones, they couldn't bear the light of the sun.

"Very well. The cult gathers within the sacred plaza. We number twenty-five thousand brands now," the patriarch said proudly. "At the sign, we will fall upon the legions of Kultaka and the Payit gathered outside the palace. When their allies have been slain, we attack the strangers themselves. We will be ready tonight."

"Splendid. Do you have sufficient numbers for the task?"

"The rest of the Nexalan army will certainly join our attack," Hoxitl said confidently. He knew that the Jaguar and Eagle Knights chafed at the truce and were eager to fight. They would be incapable of holding themselves aloof once the fighting erupted. "All they require is an initial spark, and the cult of the Viperhand is the spark that will kindle the blaze. Within a few hours, a hundred thousandmen or more will attack.

"And the blaze of their anger will drive the invaders from the True World!"

The Ancient One nodded, apparently pleased. Then, with a suddenness that stunned the high priest, the dark figure disappeared.

For long hours, Halloran and Poshtli probed through the darkened confines of the tunnels below the palaces and the sacred plaza. They found corners and niches, connecting passages and dead ends. Working their way around the corridor that had led to their ambush, they investigated every feature that they could find.

Several ladders ascended shafts that led to the sacred plaza itself, rather than the palaces. They could plainly hear the talking or moving about of warriors overhead, and they knew that just beyond the flagstone cap to the shaft, they could find legions of Kultakans or Nexalans.

But they couldn't find another passage that would lead them toward Erixitl.

Halloran's light spell illuminated their path for a while, but finally the power of the spell waned. Then they made do with the dim illumination cast by Helmstooth. The glow of the magic sword did little more than prevent them from tripping over obstacles and walking into walls.

Finally they collapsed, out of breath, discouraged, and apparently lost. Halloran tried to avoid thinking about Erixitl, but with every moment of rest, a new image of her, alone among the likes of Alvarro, Darien, Bishou Domincus, and Cordell himself, formed in his mind. Who knew how enraged the commander might become at one of his former captains, who now attacked in the night and slayed his men?

Wonderingly, Hal thought of the tiny rings of plumage that had given him such powers. They felt soft and comfortable now, exerting no apparent effect on his body. Only when he pressed his own strength to the limit, it seemed, did the pluma affect him.

Suddenly they heard a sound, a shuffling of footsteps in the distance. "Look," Hal whispered, discerning the flickering glow of torchlight emerging from a side corridor.

He put his sword behind him to mask its light, noticing that the torch and its bearer came closer. Orange light suddenly flared before them as a man emerged from the side corridor, unaware of their presence.

"Who are you?" challenged Poshtli. They recognized the man as a bloody-scalped priest of Zaltec. The thin figure had a stone dagger. His arms and legs, dirty and scarred, seemed to be mere skin covering the bones of his limbs.

"The priest stopped and turned toward them, surprised but apparently not frightened. "I seek my sister. I fear she is lost in here."

"Are you mad?" demanded Poshtli.

"What's her name — your sister?" Halloran added.

"She is Erixitl of Palul."

"And you are Shatil, then." The young man nodded at Hal's statement. Erix had told Hal much of her brother, whom she had given up for dead atop the pyramid at Palul. The altar and statue had burned with such a conflagration that the identification of bodies had been impossible.

"Where is she?" asked Shatil suddenly. "Is she in danger?"

Halloran studied the priest. Everything about the man brought back memories of Marline's sacrifice and all the other rites of the brutal worship of Zaltec, routines of murder. He couldn't entirely suppress the revulsion he felt for everything this man stood for.

Yet Erix had spoken of Shatil kindly, and Halloran knew she had truly loved her brother. The man must certainly reciprocate the feeling.

"Yes, she is," he replied finally. "We're trying to rescue her. She's been taken by the legion."

Shatil's face twisted with a look of genuine shock and dismay.

"What are you doing down here?" Poshtli demanded. "Why do you seek her?"

Shatil's eyes met the warrior's squarely. Their dark eyes flashed in the torchlight. "Because I feared for her. Because Zaltec has warned me that she is in danger and told me where to look, that I could help her!" The priest held his voice level but urgent.

"Please, let me help you!" he urged. All the while, the Talon of Zaltec lay smooth and deadly in his hand.

"You must believe me! The danger is terrible, and it is tonight!" Erixitl stared into the black eyes of the man before her and he, not unsympathetically, looked back.

"But because you've had a dream?" Cordell replied, exhaling sharply in frustration. Some vague feeling made him want to trust this woman, yet all his years of caution warned him against such madness.

"Under the full moon," Erixitl explained again. "Naltecona will be slain by one who is of your legion. And when he dies, the True World dies soon afterward."

She and the captain-general had waged this discussion for nearly an hour. He stalked about the room where they had imprisoned her, clearly agitated. He didn't want to believe her, but he couldn't think of a good reason for her to make up such a story.

Erixitl looked around impatiently. They had placed her in some sort of storage room. She saw jugs of octal, baskets of mayz, and a large, locked door. High up on the wall, sunlight streamed into the room, and she could see flashes of clear blue sky, now streaming in from the west.

"How long before sunset — before the full moon rises?" she asked. "Do you really think you can protect the Revered Counselor if the gods have decreed his death?"

"Isn't that what you tried to do?" Cordell shot back. "If his death is ordained, how could your rescue have changed that fate?"

"Perhaps it couldn't," Erixitl murmured, grim defeat staring her in the face.

A sudden knock on the door pulled their attention from each other. "General, you'd better get out here!" The guard's voice, from beyond the portal, carried notes of urgency.

"What is it?" Cordell demanded irritably.

"Warriors, sir. They keep pouring into the plaza. They've got the Kultakans outnumbered already. They haven't attacked yet, but more of 'em keep coming."

Without another word to her, Cordell darted through the door. It slammed again, leaving Erix alone with her thoughts. She looked upward and saw that the sunlight still streamed into the room, but now the beams were black, as if the sun cast nothing but shadows.

Lost in her despair, she didn't hear the door open again. A cool whisper of air against her cheek was her first warning, and she spun to face the leering visage of Captain Alvarro.

The expression of animal hunger in his eyes sent chills coursing through her body.

"What do you want?" she demanded.

He opened his mouth and appeared to speak, but no sound came to her. Then Alvarro stepped closer to her, and as if he had passed an unseen barrier of silence, his voice became audible.

"… think you know what I desire," he said, his thin smile displaying his gap-toothed gums.

Erix saw the sharp dagger in his hand. "Did Cordell order you to do this?" she asked calmly.

Alvarro sneered. "He doesn't know. But you won't be able to warn him, either. Nothing that happens in here will be heard outside."

Her mind whirling, Erixitl tried to think of a plan, a counter to this beast's approach. He advanced smugly. "Hal's wench — and a mighty proud thing you are," he chuckled. He swaggered closer, confident.

No sounds, he had told her. Erix didn't understand how, but she suspected this meant that he had help from the elf wizard. Her mind flashed back to her immediate problem, Alvarro. She remembered the man from the feast at Palul. The man had swilled octal as if the drink was the nectar of life itself.

"Why should I make a sound?" she inquired, trying to keep the terror from her voice. Her eyes falling on the jugs along the wall, she lifted one. "Here. First you want a drink, I know."

The captain blinked, surprised at her lack of fear. He snatched the jug and sniffed it suspiciously. "Sure, I'll drink," he grunted, raising the flask and guzzling the fiery stuff. It ran from his lips, soaking his red beard and dripping to the floor.

Overhead, the sunlight on the wall began to fade. Erixitl turned her back on the man, sickened by the sight of him, desperate for escape. She had so little time, but what could she do?

She still had her token, inside of her dress, but while it might stop Darien's mightiest magics, it offered little protection against a crude approach such as Alvarro's. The pouch on her belt chafed her hip as she turned back. Her only other possession, it held only the little glass vial of potion.

The potion she had feared to allow Halloran to drink. She still remembered the shadowy explosion of black terror she had seen when he raised it to his mouth.

Alvarro smacked his lips, lowering the empty jug. "You're a pretty one, d'you know that? I bet you do things for Halloran!"

Her stomach churned as he looked her up and down. He took a step closer.

"Y'know, if you do those things for me, I just might not kill you," he lied. He reached a burly paw to her shoulder, and Erix turned slowly away, forcing herself not to strike him. She knew the stocky horseman could easily overpower her if she gave him cause to attack.

Her hand fell on the pouch, and she slipped the bottle out. She sensed it burning against her hand — a vile and dangerous thing, it was. Roughly he spun her around to face him, his mouth a few inches from her own.

"I–I give him octal" she said, trying to be calm through her terror. "He can drink very much. It — it gives him great pleasure!"

With false lightness, she turned away, snatching up another jug. A quick gesture dumped the contents of the vial into the octal before she whirled back to Alvarro. "Here — I can do the same for you!"

Her heart pounded as the man brushed the jug aside. "I can have that anytime," he grunted. "I want something a little more special."

Until she felt the wall at her back, Erix was unaware that she had been backing slowly away. Now she stood, trapped by one of Alvarro's arms on either side of her. She still held the jug in her hand and smelted the sweet reek of octal on his breath.

"Come. Can we sit?" she said, slowly and carefully. She must not arouse his suspicions!

Scowling, Alvarro nevertheless allowed her to step aside and sink to the floor. Obviously her reaction wasn't the one he had expected. He sat roughly beside her, a curious expression on his face. "Aren't you frightened?" he asked bluntly.

"Yes — I am," she admitted, "terrified, actually. "But we are a fatalistic people. Our gods teach us not to fight the inevitable. You are here, we're alone. I know that I am in your power."

Every muscle in her body screamed for her to strike out at this brute, to punch and pummel him. But a violent contest with Alvarro would certainly be futile, so she continued to use her wits. She raised the flask, not offering it to him but insuring that he saw it.

"Give me that," he grunted, snatching it from her hands. He raised the neck to his mouth and once again took a long swallow. Erixitl watched, trembling with fear. Would the potion, diluted by octal, have any effect at all? If it did, what would that effect be?

Alvarro set the half-empty container aside, smacking his lips. Suddenly, with shocking violence, he turned on her, pressing her to the floor and climbing on top of her. A mad fire gleamed in his eyes.

Then the man grunted once. His eyes widened and his tongue protruded. His fingers clutched for her neck, and his body shook with convulsions.

Finally he stiffened, gasping inarticulately, and died…

Groaning weakly, Erixitl crawled from beneath him, rolling away from the repulsive form. For long moments, she gasped for breath, nearly gagging. She looked at the little bottle, still in her hand. Reflexively she hurled it against the wall, watching it shatter.

She saw her hopes reflected in the shards of glass that scattered all over the floor, disappearing in the fading light of the sun.

Then she sensed movement beside her, and whirled in shock. Another figure had entered the room, not through any aperture — not through any means she could see. This one looked at her with a trace of humor in his slitted, unblinking eyes. Great feathery wings bent slowly, suspending a twisting, serpentine body in the air. His voice, when he spoke, was a sibilant whisper.

"Greetings," said the feathered snake. "I am Chitikas Couatl, and I have returned."

From the chronicles of Colon:

To the chronicler is given the sight, that afterward the tale of the Waning may be told.

The gods gather in the gallery of their immortal cosmos now to watch the arena floor below. Each is sublime and confident in his, or her, own presence. Each takes little note of the other gods, watching instead the play of the humans below.

This may be their undoing. Helm licks his lips as his men count their gold, an ever-growing pile within the palace of Axalt. The Bishou makes loud thanks, and the god basks in the praise.

Zaltec feasts upon the hearts that are offered, but the massive feeding does not slake his hunger. If anything, it inflames him. Now his sacred cult seethes and strains with warlike fervor. They crave the release of an attack, a chance to feed their god as he has never eaten before.

Neither of them shows awareness of the third immortal presence, the spidery essence of Lolth, slowly taking shape in the cosmic gallery beside them. She has eyes — vengeful eyes — for her wayward children. The drow, committed passionately now to the cause of their adopted god, have forsaken her completely.

And her patience wears thin.