“Men of Tulom-Itzi, you make me proud,” he whisperedGultec… hear me well, my son.
The voice came into his mind, though no sound had been carried on the wind. Instinctively he looked to Zochimaloc,
still seated upon the high rock outcrop in the center of the pass. The old man was a great distance away, perhaps two hundred paces, and dust from the rockslide still drifted thickly through the air.
Yet Zochilmaloc’s eyes hovered before Gultec’s face, so clear that the warrior felt he should have been able to touch his mentor’s face.
“What is it, Grandfather?” he asked quietly, understanding without question that his teacher could hear.
Take the warriors now. Fall back down the valley, toward the rest of the people.
“But that is folly! Here is the only place to fight them- here, at the crest of the pass. Perhaps we cannot win, but here we can make them pay for our deaths!”
Hear me and obey, ordered Zochimaloc, his voice thrumming with uncharacteristic strength. This is my command, and it shall be the last J ever give to you.
“What do you mean?” Suddenly Gultec feared for the wise man, his teacher and mentor. Why did he give such a rash order? What could he hope to gain by resuming flight? Surely he understood that the folk of Tulom-Itzi could not flee forever!
Go.
The final word, sent with such a quiet air of confidence, and a hint of sadness as well, removed from Gultec any further desire to argue. The Jaguar Knight raised his hand in a single, sharp gesture, the signal to retreat. He was surprised to note that all the warriors along the ridgetop seemed to be watching him, as if they had sensed his internal debate with their chief.
But unhesitatingly they turned to obey Gultec’s order. swiftly, silently, the men of Tulom-Itzi fell back from the Pass and left Zochimaloc there alone.
The Jaguar Knight was the last to go. As the ants crept steadily up the sloping wall of the high pass, he cast an imploring look at the old man who meant so much to him. But Zochimaloc paid him no more attention.
Slowly Gultec stumbled away nearly sick with grief. Why did his teacher have to remain? He, Gultec, was the warrior-he was the one who should die before the onslaught of their enemies.
Then the Jaguar Knight fell a strange stirring in the ground below his feet. Zochimaloc remained immobile, sitting cross-legged atop his promontory of rock.
The chief of the Itza raised both of his hands over his head. He uttered a strange, ululating cry.
Then Gultec felt the power in the air, and it was the power of Zochimaloc. But it was also the power of the Feathered Dragon
From the chronicles of Coton:
Encounters in the wilds, and our future course remains beneath a shroud.
They have gone, now, to the aid of Gultec and the Itza warriors.
Halloran and Erixitl, fearing for their friend, Gultec… Jhatli, once again thrilling to the promise of battle… Daggrande, Luskag, and the dwarves, because there is another job to do… and even the Little People, because their Lord Halloran goes.
Lotil and I remain here, with the Itza, and we learn of their trials and terrors. It is a tale that seems all too familiar, for in a sense it is the tale of the Nexala, of all Maztica. We humans see our land taken from us, given over to the rampaging of evil. Everywhere we are driven from our homes, pursued and slaughtered.
But suddenly now, like a flash of pure lightning through a dark, cloudy night, 1 sense him. Qotal is near! His power is a bolt of hope penetrating the True World.
And it strikes very close.
16
“They gain the summit!” cried Hittok. Along with the other driders, he stood with Darien in the valley bottom, looking upward at the ants creeping steadily toward the rounded, rocky crest. The creatures of Lolth had witnessed the attack of their army, had seen it weather the heaviest defenses the humans could muster.
Impassively they had watched their soldiers slain by the hundreds. They had seen the march up the mountainside slowed by the deluge of arrows and rocks. Imperturbably they had observed the dust cloud that cloaked the slope, obscuring the ants from their sight. Then they had seen the dust fall away, and were not surprised when the ants appeared. still numerous and still steadily ascending.
True, a great number of ants had fallen during the attack, especially to the destructive power of the man-made rockslide. Yet more than half the ants survived, and they represented more than enough power to overwhelm the last mortal line of resistance.
The driders remained behind, at the fringe of jungle before the swamp. They watched the army advance and anticipated its inevitable triumph. They didn’t shout or cheer, yet each drider’s eyes blazed with a frightening intensity, like the wicked gleam of a cat before it crushes the life from the hapless mouse.
“Indeed, they have done as I expected,” Darien said quietly. Hittok looked at his pale-skinned companion. Why did she not share his triumphant joy?
“Do you feel that?” Darien asked, her voice a harsh whisper. The white drider settled her great body to the ground, cowering as if in fear.
“What? What do you mean?” the black drider asked.
She didn’t reply. Instead, she kept her eyes fixed upon the summit of the pass. The six-legged insects continued to work their way up the wall, the first rank already disappearing from sight.
“The human warriors-they have gone,” she said, still in that soft, thoughtful tone.
“They flee-not that it will do them any good!” Hittok replied with a sneer. “They will live a few moments longer. That is all.”
“No, wait.” Darien stared at the pass. “Look. One remains, the man sitting at the very top.”
Hittok squinted. The sky was overcast, but the brightness still caused him discomfort. “Where?”
“He is very dangerous. I can feel it,” replied the female.
“I see him! Wait… no, I don’t. Where is he?” Hittok squinted at the sky, cursing the shimmering that seemed to trail along the top of the ridge.
“He was there, moments ago. Now 1 cannot see him, but worse, I feel him, down deep. I feel a great menace in the air.”
Then they heard, or felt, a rumbling within the earth itself. The ground below them heaved and buckled, staggering the driders. Gaping upward in terror and awe, the creatures saw waves ripple across the land. Several shelves of rock broke away from the slope, slowly tumbling downward, carrying a few of the ants with it.
The ground heaved again, and even the eight-legged beasts of Lolth had to squat low to keep their feet. Energy surged through the earth. The crashing of the rock shook the very foundations of the mountains.
An explosion wracked the valley then, like an unspeakably monstrous crash of thunder. The man at the top of the pass vanished in a cloud of dust and smoke. More rumbles emanated from the ridgeline, and the horizon shimmered and shifted under a wave of convulsive pressure.
Great cracks, each with the explosive volume of a thunderclap, shot along the rock face of the high ridge. More convulsions twisted the ground, sending huge rocks soaring
into the air. Many of the ants tumbled from the sheer wall, shaken free by the force of the upheaval to crash among the bodies at its base.
Suddenly the whole mountain collapsed in a deluge of rock and earth. Sheets of cliff broke away, and the ridge itself collapsed. Thunderous explosions rocked the driders, and they watched the heart of the ant army swept away by rockslide and avalanche. Darien and her companions remained safe, beyond the destruction, but they watched the instruments of their power obliterated before them.
Massive sheets of gray rock broke free, tumbling and pounding into shards on the stone shelves below. The ridge collapsed, swept away by a force the driders could not see but with effects that wracked the broad vista before them.