Yet it filled him with pride, and guilt, to see how willingly they followed his command. But he could see no other alternative.
“Then, when the creatures move up, we shall attack.”
Poshtli sensed no hunger, no thirst. It never grew dark, nor did the gray mist show any signs of thinning or dissipating. Yet he knew that many days must have passed since he and Qotal had escaped from the Temple of Tewahca.
For all that time, he had ridden on the great dragon’s shoulders. Nestled among the bright, flowing plumage, he fell no danger, knew no desires. He had not spoken, nor had the Plumed Serpent made any communication with him. A sense of timeless peace possessed Poshtli, and it seemed to him that it didn’t matter where they were or where they went. His human body seemed like an old friend.
Finally, though, he knew that this sense of stasis must begin to fade. He felt something that was not boredom, but instead a slow, restless stirring that compelled him to speak or to act.
“Where are we?” he asked finally, his voice low but level.
We soar through the ether, away from the plane of men.
The answer came into his mind clearly, and he could almost imagine it spoken in low, articulate tones. Yet there had been no sound after his own question.
“Why am 1 here with you?” Poshtli inquired.
I admired your bravery. You were willing to die for me in the battle. We lost that fight, but there will be another.
“When? How?”
The woman, the Daughter of the Plume, is very wise. She will know where the battle must be fought, and she will go there. We wait for that moment, and then I shall challenge Zaltec again.
And I will triumph.
Poshtli wanted to ask more questions, to talk about the details of their entry into the world. He wondered briefly how long their wait might be, or how much time had passed since they had entered this stuff that Qotal called “ether*) But something in the dragon’s mental tone discouraged any further questions, so he settled back into the lush plumage.
There would be time enough, he suspected, for all these answers and more.
A flight of two dozen eagles soared overhead, following the dusty spoor across the rolling desert terrain. On the ground, Cordell and fourteen other riders held their steeds] to a walk in order to conserve their strength- The journey to] Helmsport would be a long and tiring one, but no part, would be as difficult as this first leg, the crossing of the “ House of Tezca.
For the first week they had moved northward, retracing the route of their flight and following the path of the horde, which now apparently returned to Nexal. Water had been plentiful along this route, and they carried sufficient food for the passage, at least until they again entered settled lands.
But now they cut to the northeast, both to avoid the tail end of the monstrous army, which moved much more slowly than the riders, and to trace a more direct path toward the Payit lands. Chical and the other eagles soared
ahead and above, informing them that the fertile lands of Pezelac lay another week’s journey in this direction.
Loading the horses with as much water as they could carry, the men carefully rationed the precious liquid and embarked upon this scorching trek. Cordell, accompanied by Captain Grimes, the assessor Kardann, and twelve stalwart lancers, rode toward Helmsport. The rest of his legion and its Kultakan allies marched toward the sea.
Only the gods, or fate itself, would decide whether they would again be reunited.
“Gultec, I must speak with you now.” Zochimaloc said with uncharacteristic force. Despite the mounting pressures of the attack that he was about to launch, the Jaguar Knight turned to heed his teacher. Around him, the warriors of Tulom-Itzi crouched among the underbrush, awaiting his command.
“I understand the importance of this attack, and I know that Itza warriors, perhaps many of them, will die as they make it,” continued the old man.
Gultec nodded, uncomfortable under Zochilmaloc’s patient gaze.
“But take care of one thing, my student and my friend,” he said. Gultec flushed with pleasure. Never had his teacher called him “friend” before. “Take care that you survive the battle.”
“Why do you tell me this?” Gultec scowled. “I cannot lead the warriors into battle, all the while taking care to preserve my own life!”
“You are important to us, to all Maztica. Perhaps more important than you know. If you were to perish now, all that you have won for us would be lost. The future would become despair.”
“What have I won for you?” the Jaguar Knight challenged “Thus far, your city has been sacked, your people have fled into the jungle, and now they stand at the brink of disaster. You know that the ants must be diverted, or at least slowed
here. Otherwise we will never make it to the pass in the mountains. There will be no future for the Itza!”
“Please do not ask me to explain,” continued the teacher. “But promise me that you will take care. Keep my words in your mind.”
Once again Gultec felt very strongly his teacher’s deep and patient power. What this strength personified, other than intelligence and wisdom, the warrior did not know. But he sensed it as a majestic might that could only be obeyed.
“This I will do,” the warrior promised. “Now the attack must begin.”
“Fare well in the fight, my son.”
“I will do the best that I can, Grandfather,” Gultec said with a bow.
He turned back to the warriors. Already the hulking black forms of the ants were visible among the underbrush. With a heavy heart, his teacher’s words ringing through his mind, Gultec ordered his warriors forward.
The shrill howl of a thousand war cries split the jungle stillness, heralding the attack against the head of Darien’s inexorable column. The monstrous ants, marching eight or ten abreast, didn’t hesitate, nor indeed take any notice of the assault.
Instead, the first rank trekked forward into the chopping daggers and axes of the Itza. These ants fell, quickly overwhelmed by the onrushing warriors.
The next rank, too, advanced to its doom, and the third followed. Still the insect legs drove the segmented bodies forward, while cold eyes sought enemies for the killing. The humans, too, pressed forward, a savage wave spreading to both sides of the massive insects, disrupting the march and forcing the column to dissipate and turn to its flanks.
But soon the creatures began to exact the price of battle in human blood, which quickly soaked into the damp earth of the forest. The ants reacted with mechanical precision,
chopping and mangling targets as they presented themselves, marching forward as long as no obstacle stood before them. But as brave men fell to the rock-hard mandibles, others swept around them, still pressing the attack.
In moments, the column of ants disrupted into complete confusion. The creatures turned upon themselves, seizing the torn bodies of their fellow insects and instinctively carrying the corpses to the rear. Others turned to the sides, striking and advancing to the right or the left, and the impact of the narrow column diffused into the tangled forest. The file spread, and the insectoid advance lost all sense of direction.
Warriors threw themselves at the monstrous foes, striking for eyes, trying to hack the glistening black bodies apart where the bulbous segments joined. A wild melee spread beneath the jungle canopy as men and insects both perished in mortal clash.
“What is the humans’ intent?” Darien demanded from her position with the other driders near the center rear of the column. The attack had caught her by surprise, but she felt curiosity, not dismay. She believed implicitly that human warriors could not hope to stand in battle against her mighty, unfeeling host.