Coton, however, seemed to see a path before them, for he led them deeper into the structure, turning his wad through a maze of twisting corridors with uncanny accuracy.
“Wait,” said Daggrande, suddenly bringing them to a halt.
“Do you see them?” asked Erixitl.
Around them, dark shadows pressed, and Hal raised the] sword. Puzzled, he saw that the light did not penetrate! these shadows.
Then his blood chilled. He saw that the shadows them-! selves came closer.
Poshtli shuddered under the impact of a blow of incredible violence. For a moment, he felt certain that he had bee killed, but slowly his senses returned. His talons clung lightly to something, some long trailing thing that he vaguely identified as the feathered mane of the Plumed Dragon.
Rage coursed through the eagle’s proud body, fury directed at the bestial god who tried to drive Qotal from the True World. He shrieked his anger and tried to break free. to once again dive at that despised foe.
But the plumage of the dragon’s body seemed to take on a life of its own, seizing and grasping the eagle’s claws, holding it fast. Poshtli beat his wings in frustration, wondering why the god refused his aid, but he couldn’t break free.
The battle passed its climax, and he could sense the Feathered Dragon’s might failing. Knowing his mortal blows could help but little, Poshtli nonetheless craved the chance to flail against the hated figure of Zaltec.
Still he could not break free. Finally, vaguely, he became aware that the battle had faded to silence around him.
The monsters of the Viperhand attacked the Nexalan refugees before dawn, hurling themselves in a vast wave up the shallow ridge that separated them from the humans and their lush valley Atop the ridge stood a thin line of Kultakan and Nexalan warriors and legionnaires.
The Mazticans showered the attacking horde with arrows. Cordell’s soldiers, those with crossbows, waited until the squinting, pig-eyed forms materialized from the darkness. Then the weapons chunked loudly, delivering a devastating volley into the attacking ranks.
In another moment, the two forces clashed with sudden, brutal violence. Spears set to meet the charge, the native warriors stood firm, driving their stone-tipped weapons home. But the bulk of the attackers pressed on heavily and many of the spearshafts snapped and splintered from the force of the collision.
Obsidian-edged macas in the hands of both sides chopped and hacked furiously The line twisted and bent, collapsing in places only to reform as the human warriors counterattacked and drove the monstrous foes back. The Mazticans fought with an unaccustomed fury, striking to kill instead of to capture.
And the monsters knew only to kill, for each death on the field was a sacrifice rendered directly to Zaltec
The few horsemen remaining to Cordell charged into the line of ores, and the humanoids proved as helpless as had the Maztican warriors to resist the plunging lancers.
“The ogres! Slay the ogres first!” The captain-general howled the command, and his riders turned their lances toward the hulking brutes, few in number, that loomed among the ores.
A small band of ores burst through the line. Howling, they
turned upon the flank of the defenders. Cordell’s only reserve, several companies of Kultakan archers, fired volley after volley against the breakthrough, cutting down most of the ores before The line could collapse. Finally the remainder of the ores turned back toward the breach, only to find that it had closed behind them. The reserve company moved forward, cutting down the last of them with macas and daggers.
On the right. Tokol roared and shouted among his warriors, leaping into each breach with a shrill howl of combat! lust, laying about with the bloody blade of his sword, singled handedly driving the ores before his blows. The Kultakan leader fought like a wild man. driving his men to equal heights of frenzy. As his father, Takamal, bad done for seven decades, Tokol elicited the greatest levels of courage and dedication from his warriors.
To the left, Chical, Captain of Eagles, stabbed with his 1 lance, standing firm and, l›\ example, holding the long line! of Nexalan warriors. The tip of his weapon, formed from*8 sharp steel knife, drove into the bellies of the largest ogres and the mighty strength of the Eagle Knight drove the weapon home, killing the beasts whenever they lumbered toward him. His example, like Tokol’s, steadied and inspired his warriors to emulate him.
In the middle, Cordell himself fought like a maniac from! the saddle of his prancing stallion, driving home his own I lance until the weapon snapped in two Then the shaft of his* sword grew bloody at the cost of the orcan horde, while his steed bucked and kicked, crushing skulls and breaking! limbs among the howling attackers.
In the end, these three men would carry the burden of victory or defeat.
Hoxitl watched the battle from the rear of his army, at] first exulting in the momentum of the charge. But as the fight stabilized along the defenders’ line, he sensed that the monstrous forces, without the trolls to form a spearhead, lacked the iron-fisted punch necessary to shatter the humans’ line. The beastlord knew that he had to act, and with a great howl, he lumbered forward, cuffing his way through the ranks of his troops toward the hated enemy. The soft light of dawn fell incongruously on the harsh spectacle of pain and death, and the humans stared in horror at the monstrous apparition that now materialized in the dim light.
“There!” cried Cordell, sensing the faltering courage of the men at the appearance of the looming monster. Indeed, Hoxitl towered more than twice as high as a man on horseback.
Nevertheless the captain-general spurred his stallion forward, and the steed raced past the beastlord, Cordell’s sword cut a deep wound in Hoxitl’s thigh, and then the horse danced away, just beyond the monster’s near-deadly return blow.
Tokol and Chical, too, saw the menace of the monster’s attack and rushed forward to the aid of their ally. The Eagle Knight hurled his lance, and the weapon drove deep into Hoxitl’s flank. With a howl, the monster tore the weapon free and hurled it to the ground, but at the same time Tokol stabbed him in the back of his knee. Before he could face this new threat, Cordell’s stallion sprang forward, and the captain-general’s sword struck a new gash across the beast’s belly.
Howling madly, beset by painful wounds, the cleric’s nature took over the monster’s body. Fighting was a thing left to men of war, not their religious leaders. Still shrieking, Hoxitl stumbled away, driven by the painful blows of the human leaders.
Without the savage exhortations of Hoxitl, the ores lost heart as more and more of their number fell before the arrows, swords, and horses of the humans.
“Charge them!” urged Cordell. “Attack!”
His words were heard only along a short portion of the line, but here the legionnaires and Kultakans surged forward. The sudden shock of the advance broke the stalemate of the battle, and sent several hundred ores streaming away from the fight in panic. The ores’ retreat, sensed along the line, provided the weight to break the fighting morale of the rest of the monsters, at least temporarily.
Finally the wave fell back to the protection of the battle line, battered and eroded but still firm. Yet the beasts did not rout in terror, but rather withdrew in surly admission of their temporary failure.
Even as they slowly backed away, into the dusty v where they had made their previous camp, the humans the ridge sensed that their enemies would return.
Black shapes pressed forward, darker shadows among the impenetrable black of the ruin. They seethed and danced among the rubble, pressing like smoke against the circle of light formed by the companions.
“It’s a tomb,” hissed Daggrande. “These are the ghosts!” The dwarf’s voice carried an uncharacteristic tremor.