“Yes, of course,” Lotil agreed. “Many of the stories predicted that Qotal would one day return there. But how can he, since he lacks the power to overcome Zaltec?”
“We can help him!” Erix said firmly “We can hold Zaltec at bay long enough for Qotal to enter Maztica and reach his full strength. Then he can defeat the god of war and regain his former station.”
“Let us go!” Jhatli cried. “We will fight our way there if we have to! I will fight at your side, sister!”
She smiled gently “1 know you will, my friend, and I am grateful to you. I know that all of you will, but it will not be easy”
“How far is it to Twin Visages?” asked Daggrande. He had seen the place-all the legionnaires had-when they had made landfall there. But he had marched and fought and fled very far since then.
“I don’t know,” Erixitl replied bluntly “It will take us a month, perhaps more, just to cross the desert. Then we will reach the lands of Far Payit. Only when we have crossed those thick jungles will we reach the Payit country and finally Twin Visages.”
Erixitl looked at her father, at all of her companions, frankly. “J was too hasty to condemn Qotal for a thing he could not control. I didn’t understand that a god, like a mortal. can be constrained by factors beyond his power.” She lowered her eyes, then looked up again before continuing, “And perhaps 1 have been forced to admit that we need gods-or a god, in any event. We have all seen the threat
presented by Zaltec. Qotal, it seems, is the best hope we have.”
Colon rose stiffly from the boulder. He crossed to the woman and took her hands in his, looking steadily into her eyes. Erixitl met the silent cleric’s gaze for a moment, them collapsed, sobbing, into his arms.
At the same time, Storm raised her head, ears cocked for ward, alert. Daggrande and Halloran followed the mare’s gaze down the ravine toward the open valley beyond. “I think we’ve got company,” grunted the dwarf. Instantly the others turned to look, their hearts chilling at the apprehension in Daggrande’s voice. The narrow ravine floor twisted slowly downward, the first bend some hundred yards away.
The first creature to come into sight was a hulking troll its arms nearly dragging on the ground. Its black, expressionless eyes fastened upon the companions, and it threw back its head to utter a sharp, harsh bark.
Hal saw others, then-vacant-faced trolls with out stretched, clawlike hands, emerging from around the bend in the gully. The first troll leaped forward, covering the distance between them with prodigious bounds.
“Come on! Up the ravine… go!” barked Halloran, He took [.mill’s arm and bodily lifted her onto the back of the prancing Storm.
“Take her and her father! We’ll try to hold them back!” he barked at Colon. With surprising quickness, the cleric took the horse’s reins and started up the narrow draw. Lotil touched the mare’s shoulder and started to follow, stumbling, but then Erix and the priest quickly boosted the blind! man into the saddle.
Daggrande fired a bolt and Jhatli launched a steady stream of arrows into the approaching horde. The missiles cut deep wounds in their flesh, forcing howls of pain from the beasts. But even the trolls that fell continued to advance slowly squirming forward in the wake of their charging! comrades.
Halloran, with Helmstooth ready for blood, stood between and slightly ahead of the two archers, The trio
blocked the narrow ravine floor. Several dozen of the beasts rushed toward them now, with more coming into sight every moment. Their snarls and barks filled the. air, prelude
to a slaughter. The only victory he and his companions could hope to gain, Halloran knew, was time for the others to escape.
The tribe from Sunhome linked up with Traj’s warriors after only two days’ march. Luskag saw with pleasure that those doughty fighters had progressed well with the plumastone weaponry. Nearly all of Traj’s dwarves carried blades of the shiny black stone.
Other bands of desert dwarves joined them steadily as they moved toward the City of the Gods, until nearly a thousand stocky fighters-called, by Mazticans, the “Hairy Men of the Desert”-marched across the House of Tezca in a long, apparently tireless column. More than half carried weapons of enchanted stone that seemed every bit the
equal of steel.
The last of the tribes to reach them was Pullog’s, since they had had the longest march. But finally the entire nation had massed, and with Pullog and Luskag in the lead, they began to march toward the dry valley near the center of the desert.
The night before their arrival, they camped in a low, dusty bowl a dozen miles from the City of the Gods. But even from this far away they could hear the thunderous conflict raging through the desert night.
“We are too late,” muttered Traj dejectedly. “We hear the world torn to pieces before us!”
“Nonsense!” barked Pullog, surprising and pleasing Luskag with his encouragement. “We hear the sounds of battle joined, but we will arrive before a decision is reached.” The southern chief patted the hefty stone axe at his side, a plumastone blade given to him by Luskag.
“Aye,” grunted Luskag, who had emerged as their overall leader, since it had been his initiative that had gotten the
tribes together in the first place. “Though I sense that must make haste.”
SO urgent was this sense that the dwarves broke camp without sleeping and trudged through the long night. At dawn, they arrived on the ridgeline surrounding the city of the gods.
And they saw their enemy below.
“Watch your back!”
Daggrande’s shout pulled Halloran’s attention around. The bloody tip of Helmstooth followed a split second later, plunging into the heart of the troll that had somehow slipped around him. Fortunately-and it was the only good fortune they had right now-the steep sides of the ravine kept most of their hulking attackers in front of them.
Hal turned back to the pressing numbers there. Daggrande, his crossbow slung over his back, now hacked with the keen blade of his battle-axe. Jhatli, following the orders of the two soldiers, had fallen back, and now sent his arrows arcing over their heads into the monsters that crowded the bottom of the narrow ravine.
Halloran didn’t have time to see if Erixitl and the two old men had disappeared from view. A heavy club descended toward his skull and he skipped to the side, striking off the arm that bore it. A green — taloned troll lunged for him, and he sent the beast crawling, legless, back to its compatriots.
Daggrande hacked into the leg of another troll, crippling it. The stocky dwarf ducked nimbly away from yet another of the creatures, springing up beside Halloran to drive a third monster back with sharp chops of his own dripping blade.
“Can’t… hold out… much longer,” he gasped.
The bands of pluma around Hal’s wrists sustained him, driving his blows with tremendous force. The magic couldn’t overcome his own rapidly growing fatigue, however, but he roughly forced it away from his awareness. Hammering his weapon with brutal, mindless strength, he
bashed and hacked and crushed the attackers in the apparently endless horde.
“Go,” he panted. “Take the kid… see that others get to safety! I’ll hold them off… as long as I can!”
With the fury of desperation, Halloran suddenly attacked, driving the whole pack of beasts away from him with a whirlwind series of blows. One troll, too slow to retreat, howled in agony as Helmstooth sliced open his gut. Daggrande, following, silenced the brute with one chop of his
axe. “Can’t leave you now,” growled Daggrande. “Not when we
just got back together again!”