Halloran groaned inwardly Still, it seemed to him that he and his companions, crouched in the shadows and concealed by the raging dust cloud, had not yet been seen. But how much longer could they remain concealed?
Slapping Daggrande’s arm to get his attention, Halloran indicated the monsters as still more of the beasts pressed into the temple to watch their master’s battle-their master’s victory.
For indeed it seemed that Qotal had faded from sight in the face of Zaltec’s relentless might. Poshtli, too, had vanished. The huge stone figure began to lower its arms, and slowly the wind began to fade.
Halloran remembered the other door, in the east wall. “Come on!” he shouted, prodding the others ahead of him. With gestures, he urged them toward the door.
They crept along the base of the wall, desperately hoping to avoid the notice of the monsters. Halloran stayed in the rear, his hand near Helmstooth’s hilt. He didn’t want to draw the weapon prematurely, for its gleaming blade would certainly draw the attention of the trolls still stumbling into the temple. Daggrande, he noticed, carried his axe, the now useless crossbow slung across his shoulder beside his empty quiver.
Finally they reached the towering opening, as big as the one on the west, where they had entered. Behind them, Qotal shrieked in fading frustration. The contest obviously was nearly over.
“Run!” Halloran shouted. “Get down while there’s* still time!”
The little party burst from the temple, starting toward the steep stairway that lay only a few steps away. They had crossed half the distance when bellows of rage sounded on either side of them.
A pair of monstrous trolls, drool spraying from their curving fangs, sprang at them from beside the doorway. With startling quickness, Jhatli raised his bow and sent a stone-tipped shaft driving into the troll’s belly.
Helmstooth seemed to leap into Hal’s hand of the sword’s own will. He lunged forward with liquid smoothness, driving the steel tip deep into the other troll’s gullet. The pluma strength of his hand backed the blow, and then tore the blade free with a gory rip to the side. Daggrande, meanwhile, hacked at the beast that had been wounded by Jhatli. Fury and fear tightened his muscles, and the keen axe blade bit deeply into the troll’s thigh.
Both beasts, painfully wounded, bellowed their agony as they fell. The surface of the pyramid shook to the heavy steps of their brethren, charging around the temple. In moments, more of the monsters burst into sight, charging from both sides.
The companions stood trapped on the strip between the temple and the edge of the pyramid. The stairway dropped steeply away, far too sheer a drop to allow for a fighting withdrawal. Any blow from an attacker above would send one tumbling down the stone steps hundreds of feet to the
ground below.
“Your token, Daughter! Use it now!” Lotil spoke urgently. The blind man sensed, as clearly as any of them, their mortal danger.
“Use it? How?” demanded Erixitl. At her throat, the green-plumed jadestone medallion seemed to float in the air, but she was unaware of what power it possessed to stop the rampaging attackers.
“No time now. Take my hand. All of you, link hands!” Lotil barked the words like a warrior, startling Erixitl, Coton, and Jhatli into compliance.
But Hal and Daggrande stood to either side of the party, facing the onrushing monsters. The dwarf chopped savagely knocking another troll off the side of the pyramid, while Halloran held his sword ready to meet the first crush, mere seconds away. “My hand! Take it!” Erixitl shouted, sensing her father’s intentions. Desperately Halloran reached behind him, feeling her firm clasp on his left hand. With his right he stabbed at the leading troll.
Daggrande, busily recovering his balance, focused on the charging horde. The dwarf didn’t see Colon’s hand extended toward him.
”Jump!” cried Lotil, urging them off the edge. Halloran heard, stumbling to the side as Erixitl pulled him. He hesitated at the lip of the steep drop, and then felt a tug as his wife hurled herself out into space. Groaning, he leaped after her.
Coton, patriarch of Qotal, looked up as he followed Lotil and Jhatli. With a sudden twist, he reached out and seized Daggrande’s elbow. The dwarf cursed as his swing passed wide of its mark.
But then he, too, followed the others off the precipice. The dwarf clenched his eyes shut, preparing to die.
A soft swirl of wind arose underneath them, pressing upward like a cushion of down. They struggled awkwardly, twisting under a feeling of weightlessness. Erixitl’s feathered token floated out from her neck, as if raised by the gentle breeze. And slowly, easily, like a leaf that falls from a tree, the companions drifted toward the earth below.
Howling madly, several trolls hurled themselves into the air-, trying to reach the slowly settling party. Their leaps fell short and the creatures plummeted earthward, striking the stairway about halfway down and tumbling to the bottom, shapeless jumbles of shattered bone and torn skin.
The wind gusted, and the cushion drifted away from the pyramid, circling northward and then curving toward the west, still drifting earthward. In their haste to pursue, the beasts of the Viperhand raced down the steep stairs, several more of them stumbling and falling to their deaths. And always the steady wind carried the companions farther and farther away.
Too terrified to speak, they clutched each other’s hands and prayed the spell supporting them would not break. Nothing visible or tangible supported them, and they couldn’t escape a horrifying sense of falling.
“Don’t look down,” Halloran gasped, suddenly queasy when he made that mistake.
Settling slowly, drifting with the faintest breezes, the cushion of pluma supported them safely. They saw that it carried them toward the ruined avenue they had first walked along when they approached the pyramid.
Finally, with a parting swirl, the wind set them gently on the earth and gusted away. Half a mile away, the monsters howled with glee and charged, while the temple atop the pyramid had grown suddenly, ominously quiet. Nearby gaped the black doorways of the ruined building they had passed on their approach to the pyramid. The many columns on its porch still stood, so many mute sentries barring passage to an unimagined interior.
“Storm!” cried Halloran as he saw movement around the corner of the ruin. The black mare galloped toward him. She had fled at the approach of the monsters, but now she kicked up her heels in delight.
Coton silently raised his hand and pointed toward the black doorways. They all sensed his suggestion: They should take refuge there. “That could be a dead-end trap!” growled Daggrande. “We cant outrun them,” grunted Hal. “We might as well fight them where we can put our backs to the wall.”
Without further hesitation, they started through the forest of stone columns toward the black doors. Even in the darkening twilight, Hal could see that each column was carved elaborately into the standing shape of an Eagle or Jaguar Knight, with the customary helmet, beaked or fanged, capping the structure at perhaps ten feet tall.
Then they reached the first of the doorways, a ruined aperture with a capstone atop an almost fully arched entry. Beyond, a smell of must and decay, odd for its dampness in this harsh clime, wafted forth.
Coton led the way, with Daggrande and Jhatli close behind. Erixitl took her father’s arm and followed, while Halloran, with Storm beside him, brought up the rear. He held Helmstooth high, ready for the pursuit he knew must eventually follow. Around them, he saw walls and dim, rubblestrewn chambers. They turned a corner and the doorway disappeared from sight.
Very quickly full darkness closed over them, broken only by the pale light from Helmstooth. A damp and oppressive sense of age seemed to linger here, along with a dim presence that Halloran could not identify. It was not his sense of smell or hearing-or any sense, really-that alarmed him, but the swordsman felt a vague menace that raised the hackles at the base of his neck.