Never had they seen such an awe-inspiring sight! Cordell, at full strength, had brought a mere forty horses and five hundred men.
Now they saw that many crossbowmen alone, followed by several hundred harquebusiers. The latter demonstrated their weapons in the center of the city square, stopping sharply and wheeling left at their captain’s command..
They raised the heavy weapons, each loaded with a full charge of powder-though no shot-and fired a thunderous volley. The report fell like a crash of thunder across the crowd, and the accompanying clouds of smoke instantly concealed the soldiers from view. They smartly faced right and resumed their march, emerging from the cloud with their weapons again braced over their right shoulders. J
Many of the Payits fell back in terror from the explosion more impressive than anything Cordell had shown them.
Then they slowly crept back to watch the grand spectacle.
Don Vaez himself, in a blaze of silken color and long, silver-blond curls, rode a white stallion. The creature reared and trotted, lunging this way and that, as the proud rider led his army through the city’s grand square.
Beside him rode Pryat Devane, and the cleric’s mode of transport impressed the Payits even more than did his commander’s. The cleric of Helm sat cross-legged upon a thin, floating piece of cloth, like a litter of pluma, only much smaller. As the flying carpet darted about, the Mazticans saw that the flight of this foreigner was far faster and more controlled titan any gentle floating of feathermagic.
The priest of Helm looked disdainfully at the savages around him, for he had inherited his mentor’s revulsion toward things Maztican. Indeed, the hatred Bishou Domincus had held for these barbarians and their bloodthirsty gods was one of the primary drives in Devane’s determination to follow in the Bishou’s footsteps. Now he enjoyed the sensation of his own superiority, and he darted the carpet back and forth to terrify and awe the onlooking Mazticans.
All around them were the pyramids, clean structures, many brightly painted, that had once been dedicated to the glory of Maztican gods. Since the city’s fall to Cordell, worship of those gods had been banned from public ceremony, though many citizens doubtlessly continued to worship them in private. Instead of the old temples, statues, and altars that once had honored their heights, the banner displaying the All-Seeing Eye of Helm fluttered from each pyramid.
Caxal, once proud Revered Counselor of Ulatos, had been reduced to a spokesman for the conquered after the battle with the Golden Legion. Now he stepped hesitantly forward to meet this new general, wondering if the nightmare his life had become now grew even darker.
Greetings, Silver One,” he said in common-speech. He used the term that the Mazticans had created for Don Vaez after they had seen the care he took with his shining locks“ And who are you?” asked the commander.
“Your humble servant, Caxal, spokesman for these folk of
Ulatos. Have you come to aid our conqueror, the captain-general?”
Don Vaez evaded the question. “Where is the captain general now? Do you know?”
“He journeyed to Nexal, Silver One, many months ago. There he intended to confront the great Naltecona. There he shall win his greatest victory!”
“Splendid!” replied the rider, with a tight smile. “And when he returns here, I shall be waiting to… reward’ him.”
The houses of Kultaka City stood empty as the streets resounded to the steady cadence of the vast, brutal army. Hoxitl’s column marched into the abandoned community, but well aware of the monstrous advance, the Kultakans had fled into the surrounding hills some days earlier.
Had their army been here, the courageous people might have stood against the onslaught. But the Kultakan force had accompanied Cordell to Nexal and had now been driven far to the south, beyond even knowledge-not to mention rescue-of their homeland.
The great colossus of Zaltec now led the army, and the humans fled from his image in terror whenever it loomed imminent. Hoxitl walked just behind the towering monolith! though his twenty-foot height was dwarfed by the size of Zaltec. The slavering beasts of the Viperhand followed tattle tracks of both monstrous forms.
Ogres and ores smashed through the doors of houses, seeking whatever foodstuffs had been left behind. Objects of gold and silver, plus the few weapons left in the city’s armory, fell into the hands of the brutal invaders.
The trolls scrambled up the stairs of the city’s pyramids, plundering the temples for their objects of value. All of the creatures sought human victims, but there were none to be found.
For the first time, as they pillaged the abandoned city, the creatures of the Viperhand began to work in the units that
Hoxitl had begun to designate. They divided the city into sections, and each area became the property of a great regiment of ores, accompanied by its masters, the ogres. The beasts took a savage joy in working in such brutal teams, and Hoxitl began to instill in them the discipline to remain together in their regiments on the march and in battle.
Finally, after only a few hours of rampaging, Hoxitl summoned the creatures before him once again.
“Creatures of the Viperhand!” The cleric-beast’s voice rolled through the great square, a deep and rumbling command. “We shall not tarry here. Our true target lies on the coast. Only there we will confront our destiny!”
The beasts formed into ranks for their long march, exhorted by their master’s commands. Their brutish faces turned once again to the east, and they started on the long leg of the march that would take them to Payit and Twin Visages.
Before them, as always, lumbered the monstrous monolith of Zaltec. The great stone image had come to represent a mountain of strength to these creatures, and behind an image so mighty, so obviously unstoppable, it’s no wonder that they felt a savage sense of invulnerability. Each of their leader’s footsteps caused the earth to tremble, and the numbers of his army swelled and pressed forward, ready to kill for their master’s pleasure.
Poshtli sensed a change in the ‘s flight as Qotal veered to the side, or coursed downward-or somehow altered his direction. Always that accursed ether surrounded them, and the warrior had no sense of direction or bearing.
“What is it?” he asked.
A summons-a plea, rumbled the great dragon. Someone calls me.
“Who?”
It is one of great power, great wisdom, else I should not be able to hear.
“Can you tell where he is?” Poshtli tried to see through the gray haze, but as always there was nothing there.
In the True World. I cannot go to him, hut I can let him feel my power. The dragon’s thoughts contained determination and regret.
“To help him? How, if you cannot go back there?”
He channels my power through himself.
“Is this a way for you to return? Can Erixitl, perhaps, bring you back this way?”
It is not a return, but a projection of power, and it entails dangers of its own. The Daughter of the Plume could per. haps reach me thus, but I would not ask it.
“Why not?”
Because such a transfer is not without cost-indeed, the cost is tremendously high.
“What is the cost?” asked Poshtli, though he began to suspect.
ft is nothing short of the life of the caller. The dragon began to dive.
Gultec stared in dismay at the climbing insects. A thousand or more of the giant ants lay at the cliff base, killed or broken beyond further menace. But those that still lived far outnumbered the slain, and the Itza warriors’ weaponry had been all but exhausted.
Now they picked up their macas, their spears, their clubs, and their knives. They had no more missiles to cast or to roll, so they could only stand to meet the onslaught with their courage and their strength.
Slowly, distracted by thoughts of his own failure, the Jaguar Knight passed his eyes over the brave warriors who stood with him here at the pass. They knew now that then was no hope, yet none wavered or fled.