“What in Helm’s name is fhat?” gasped Halloran. Jhatli and the dwarf, equally surprised, could only stare in astonishment.
The valley to the east was surrounded by steep ridges, its floor an expanse of dry, sandy flats broken by massive clumps of jagged boulders. It was a place of wilderness, uninhabitable and uninhabited.
Vet that was the most astonishing thing about it, for in the center of the valley rose a structure so magnificent, so immaculate in its crisp lines, so fresh-looking in its brightly painted colors, that it could have been completed yesterday.
It was a pyramid, certainly. Yet it was a pyramid three times or more the height of the great pyramid in Nexal. It rose like a mountain into the sky, a series of tiers encircling it at regular intervals. The walls above these tiers were painted in bright colors, depicting abstract images of parrots, jaguars, and snakes in an eternal chase around the pyramid. A steep stairway ascended the side facing them.
Erixitl recognized the place, for her knowledge of the True World was the most complete of the four. More to the point, the place triggered a deep sense of reverence in her soul, and she felt that the object of their quest lay before them.
“This is Tewahca,” she said- “The City of the Gods.”
Zaltec lumbered southward. The monstrous stone figure covered twenty human paces with each step. Yet some profound sense of urgency caused the god to increase his pace until the earth thundered under each crushing footstep.
The god of war marched inexorably across the desert, taking no note of the parched land, the complete lack of life, The mountainous form stood out like some jagged, natural bluff, worn by wind and water into the crude resemblance of monstrous features. Yet in its motion, it belied the explanation, for it became a menacing, monstrous object of impossible scale.
Zaltec moved in a straight line, not veering for mountain or canyon. His eyes always remained fixed before him, as if he searched for a place he remembered from a long time ago.
A place where, finally, his destiny compelled him to return.
The companions approached the pyramid of Tewahca with an unconquerable sense of awe. Though it had seemed to loom, huge and near, from the ridgetop, its very size made that proximity an illusion. Each step they took toward it made it grow even larger, until they could only believe that the thing had been made by the gods themselves.
It had been midday as they recovered from the shock of the teleportation. Yet the sun had neared the crest of the western ridge by the time they had descended and crossed the valley floor before the pyramid. The structure stood in
pristine beauty, shining over the wasteland of the valley
On top of the mountainous edifice stood a tall stone temple. Unlike the sides of the pyramid, which were decorated \w detailed mosaics and murals etched in vivid color, the temple walls were barren of symbology. Its door, huge and open, gaped like a black mouth awaiting nourishment.
As the companions walked, they noticed other shapes around them. Here was a square framework of stone, visible at the base of a dune. There stood a series of stone arches, surrounded by waste now, but once they must have supported a grand structure. A much smaller pyramid, now broken and eroded, with sand dunes drifting around its base, squatted off to the side. Gradually they realized that they walked among the skeletal remains of a once massive city
“Tewahca,” Erixitl breathed softly so that her voice did not break the thrall of awe that bound them. “Built by humans as a battleground for the gods.”
Always the great edifice loomed above them, but now they identified a second, smaller pyramid off to the side. As they neared the base of the huge structure, they saw that they walked down what had once been a wide avenue, leading directly to the pyramid.
What had first appeared to be shapeless mounds of sand now assumed regular, evenly spaced forms-the remains of old buildings. Palaces, perhaps, or great temples.
“Look at this one,” Daggrande indicated as they passed a wide, flat plaza, like the porch of some great structure. Square, blocky columns stood in long rows, like silent sentinels guarding a ghostly abode. Behind the columns, dark doorways, framed by partially collapsed stone mantels, gaped like dead, silent eyes.
Shadows lengthened among the many stone columns, and the companions shuddered, sensing the lingering presence of ancient lives.
“This place must be centuries old,” Halloran whispered, as if he worried that the gods could hear.
“Many centuries,” Erixitl agreed. “I can feel the age in the dust under my feet. It’s been more than a thousand years
since these buildings were abandoned. And how long before that were they built?”
“And all ruined,” said Daggrande. “All except that one!” He gestured toward the great pyramid.
“It might have been painted yesterday” Jhatli whispered. “The colors are so bright, the pattern so vivid.”
They reached the foot of the massive structure. The shadows lengthened around them as the fading sunlight slowly climbed the western face of the pyramid.
The steep stone stairway extended up the side of the pyramid before them, though from directly below, it was visible only as far as the first terrace.
“Look!” Halloran, gasping in surprise, looked at the dirt around the pyramid’s base. He indicated a clear outline of hoof-prints-the prints of an iron-shod horse!
“Could one of Cordell’s scouts have found this place?” Daggrande asked.
“Not likely. He’d have to cross the same ground we teleported over. Can’t see any horseman coming across that if he didn’t have to.” Halloran followed the prints along the base of the pyramid.
“They’re fresh,” Jhatli explained, looking at the dust swirling into the faint depressions. “Less than an hour old.”
Further questions died on their lips as they rounded the corner of the pyramid. Two men stood there, before a black mare that nickered tentatively as Halloran came into sight. “Storm!” he cried, astounded but absolutely certain that this was his faithful war-horse. He had given the steed up for lost, since Storm had been in the very heart of Nexal on the Night of Wailing.
Then he turned to the men, aware that Erix had already rushed into the arms of… her father! The blind featherworker was here, in the desert! Halloran identified the other man by his garb as a priest of Qotal, more wrinkled and stooped than others he had seen.
“My daughter! My son!” Lotil embraced Erixitl and reached out a hand to clasp Halloran. The old man displayed joy but not a great deal of surprise, Hal noted with interest. “This is Coton, patriarch of Qotal,” added Lotil, indicating the priest. “Now we must hurry.”
Erixitl looked at her father in surprise. “Hurry? For what? Why are you here? What should we do?”
“Why, to welcome the Plumed One, of course! Why do you think that we are here?”
Harak blinked his deep-sunk, bloodshot eyes as he scanned the horizon for signs of the quarry. The huge troll was grateful that the brightness of the midday sun had begun to fade, yet he was irritated that he seemed unable to find the trail of the humans and the dwarf.
He led a portion of his creatures across the broken ground between the two ridges. The trolls, fearing for their lives should Hoxitl learn of their failure, had hastened to the east, propelled in that direction by some instinctive awareness that their quarry fled somewhere before them.
As dusk settled around him, Harak quickened his pace, at last leading the band of trolls up the steep ridge that followed their rough crossing. His heart pounded, and he felt as though he approached a place of great power. It awakened some dim, primordial feeling within him, a feeling that mixed loathing and terror with the most joyous exultation.
Before the Night of Wailing had showered its god-sent change upon Harak, he-like most of the other trolls-had been a priest of Zaltec. The transformation had left his mind shriveled and weak, yet some of his learnings remained with him.