reflexively, but the attack had been too sudden, too unexpected. He grabbed nothing but air.
But he grabbed the air, and it held him. With a soaring dive, his bright green tailfeathers instinctively steering his flight, he flashed across the surface of the water. And then he spread his wings and he flew.
Erix rose and paced the garden again, confused and nervous. Where was Hal? This was his longest absence since their arrival in Nexal a week earlier. The long shadows in the courtyard told her that sunset approached, and Hal's audiences with Naltecona had never before lasted much beyond noon.
Then the shadows darkened. She turned away, suddenly frightened, until she realized that it was only a cloud passing over the sun. Still, those black images continued to dance around the corners of her vision, filling the spaces around her with shadows.
A vague shudder passed through her body. She recalled the dream that had come to her in the desert, of Naltecona slain among the men of Cordell's legion. The shadows around her darkened the palace, darkened it even more than had the moonlight in her dream.
She thought again, wistfully, of Poshtli's visit earlier in the day. He had been so noble! His proposal had fallen on her like a shock, and she knew it offered a life such as, weeks earlier, she could never have imagined. A life of luxury and comfort, with slaves for every need, among the society of the grandest folk in all Nexal.
Why then had she rebuffed him? She was still not sure. She only knew that, after moments in his arms, her lips pressed to his, she sensed that he did not love her. Erix also knew that, though she was dazzled by his prowess and presence, her affections did not extend to love.
So, gently and quietly, she had told him so. He had accepted her decision with surprise, but not anger. Poshtli had bowed formally and left. The Eagle Knight had no sooner departed than she found herself anxiously awaiting Halloran's return.
But that had been hours ago. Her eagerness had turned to anxiousness, unease, and now it threatened to become fear. Surely the Revered Counselor wouldn't harm a visitor under his own roof, would he?
She looked out in the courtyard, where the gay splashing of the fountain seemed to mock her. Storm raised his head, as if the horse sensed her eyes upon it. Then the mare ambled to the fresh pile of clover and grass that the slaves had brought that morning.
Suddenly the horse, the whole scene, fell into darkness, as if something huge blotted out the sun. Again that terrible sense of a doom-filled destiny seized her. Involuntarily she clapped her hands to her eyes and moaned, willing the shadow away.
'What is it? Erix, what's the matter?' She felt the touch of strong hands on her shoulders and spun to grasp Halloran in a fearful embrace. He held her, soothing her gently, until finally she risked another look at the courtyard. Once again the slanting rays of the low sun cast bright illumination on the dancing fountain and its framework of blossoms.
She saw Hal looking around in alarm. 'It was… nothing,' she explained quickly. 'Just a sudden chill.'
He sensed that she wasn't telling him everything, but he didn't press the issue. He had noticed her sudden, brief distractions before, on their journey to Nexal, but she had never offered him any explanation.
Let Poshtli worry about it, he thought, almost savagely. Abruptly he dropped his arms to his sides and turned away.
Erix, surprised by his sudden shift, spoke tentatively. 'What happened? I–I was worried about you.'
He turned to her and she drew back, frightened by the look of anger on his face. 'I went for a walk. Through the market, to the floating gardens. I wanted to see the city.'
'But we were going to do that together when you had time!' Erix's objection came more from surprise than annoyance.
'Together? I hardly think that would be appropriate, anymore, do you?' The picture of Poshtli wrapping this woman in his arms flashed again through Hal's mind, and he winced at the painful memory.
'But…' Erix couldn't understand his anger. 'Why are you talking like this? What's the matter?'
Halloran whirled away, pacing across the garden. Words of anger and jealousy surged through him. Only with the greatest effort could he hold them back. In his heart, he knew that Poshtli had been too true a friend to deserve the vitriol that Hal wanted to spew.
Finally he turned back, speaking to her from several paces away. 'Naltecona has offered me a house. I can no longer stay here, for obvious reasons. I will move there as soon as it can be arranged. Until then, I will try to leave you your privacy.'
'What do you mean?' Erix felt a brief flash of panic.
But then her own anger took over. How could he treat her like this? She had been worried about him, relieved to see him. Suddenly the mere sight of him inflamed her. She had to get away from him or her anger would not be contained. In that moment, she knew that she would take the journey she had thus far delayed, to the one place in the world she could go.
'Never mind! I don't need this place either! I'm going home — home to Palul, to my father and brother! Take your house and live like a great, wise man!'
For a moment, Halloran stared at her, dumb with shock. He thought of Poshtli, wondering if the noble warrior knew his betrothed planned to suddenly depart Nexal. 'Home? But what about-'
'You can stay in Nexal — see the city all you want!' she shot at him, cutting him off. Suddenly she shivered as that shadowy presence crept into the room, against the walls and floor, muffling her sight. Darkness welled around her, casting the shadows across the garden, even blocking out the sun. Only Halloran stood out before her, in the light.
But she turned her back on that light, and then she was out the door.
'The cult of the Viperhand spreads quickly,' hissed the drow, his hood thrown back so that the crimson blush of the Darkfyre washed over his black face and white hair. 'But we control it well, for it lies under the thumb of the priests.'
The drow spoke to a circle of his equals, and to the Ancestor. The Harvesters had yet to begin their grisly night's work. For long moments, the group remained silent as the Ancient Ones meditated.
'The Viperhand does well. When our need arises, it will be ready.' The words came from the Ancestor, his voice rasping through the cavern. 'Let the humans spread their cult of Zaltec and let it further our own ends.'
'The priests want to give the white stranger's heart to their god,' said the drow, persisting.
'We require that the girl be slain. She alone, by the prophecy, carries the threat to us of ultimate failure. Yet this man helped to kill Spirali. He has protected her from Payit to Nexal, and still they remain together. Let the priests and their agents kill them both. It will serve as a useful warning to the strangers.'
'We cannot expect a single death to frighten them off!' objected another of the Ancient Ones.
'Of course not. But our vengeance will be exacted for Spirali. And the only one of the invaders to see Nexal thus far will be destroyed. The others will take some time to reach here.
'During that time, the cult of the Viperhand can grow stronger still, so that when the invaders arrive, we will be able to meet them with strength.' The venerable drow looked at his companions. His eyes, stark white and very wide against the midnight skin of his face, gleamed.
'Let the word be sent to Hoxitl,' said the Ancestor, his voice suddenly firm. He leaned forward in his thronelike chair. The cherry glow of the caldron disappeared, lost in the greater darkness that was the Ancestor.
'The girl and the man shall die tonight!'
'These are the sons of Takamal.'
Darien emotionlessly gestured at five warriors. The elven wizard had used her magic to learn the Kultakan tongue, speaking to the natives who had been summoned to their city square. Now she awaited Cordell's instructions. The once proud men now stood, almost naked, before their conquerors. The meeting took place in the center of the city of Kultaka, in the very shadow of Zaltec's pyramid.
Around the leaders stood the trim ranks of the Golden Legion and its Payit allies, surrounded by the silent masses of Kultaka.
'Why have they doffed their clothes?' asked the general. 'Tell them to put them on.'
'They say that their defeat has left them unworthy to wear the garb of warriors.'
