“There, to the east,” she said softly as Halloran turned to her. “That is where Poshtli flies, now Gultec as well. It is where I must fly, too. I know Poshtli shows us the path- toward what I’m still not sure.” She looked at her husband, and he nodded. He, too, had observed the eagle’s change of course. While a sheltered valley, with food and water, lay a day’s march to the southwest, Poshtli now soared over arid lands, a broken waste of jagged ridges and deep, barren gulches.
“I’m coming with you,” he promised. “But everyone?”
She shook her head. “Let the people go to the valley. They can stop there to rest. I believe Poshtli shows the path for me-for you and me-alone.”
Halloran looked to the narrow ridge that loomed to the east, knowing of the bleak desert (hat lay beyond. Silently he vowed to do his utmost to see Erixitl safely through that waste. It was all another part of their search for a home, he told himself. And someday they would find one.
As the Mazticans bestirred themselves, many already starting on the trail toward the southwest, Erixitl and Halloran found Cordell and Daggrande among the camp of the legionnaires.
“We need your help,” Halloran began. Cordell’s eyes flashed at the news, and his hand went instinctively to the hilt of his sword,
“Speak,” he requested.
“We are leaving the trail, following Poshtli to the east. He flies over the bare desert.” Then Halloran described the lush valley that lay to the southwest, knowing that Grimes and some of the other riders had already found it as well. “Go with the people and keep an eye out for attack. If you can make a defensible position there, set up a long-term camp.”
“Why do you think he’s taking you that way?” Cordell had known Poshtli as an adversary, and a courageous one. Too, he had witnessed the man’s appearance in the guise of the bird. But he wasn’t willing to let Halloran and Erix go without some plan.
“Qotal.” Erixitl replied simply. “Somehow I am tied in to his return. He is the only force that can counterbalance Zaltec and his creatures. I must do what I can to bring him back to the True World”
Halloran knew the resentment his wife felt for her enforced role in this game of the gods, yet he heard none of it in her voice. She spoke as a true believer, and Cordell accepted her faith without question.
“Good luck to you, then,” he agreed. “I’ll get the company together. The Kultakans will stand bravely, and so will these Nexalan warriors. I’m sure we can hold the bastards at bay!”
Cordell’s voice carried renewed enthusiasm at the prospect of battle and action, as Hal had known it would. He understood as well as anyone the heavy toll that the long retreat had exacted from the aggressive general. Still, to Halloran the commander’s optimistic assessment of his chances seemed almost reckless.
“I’m coming with you,” Daggrande declared, facing Hal and Erix. He coughed awkwardly. “That is, if you think you could use some help.”
Halloran looked at his old companion with deep affection. I know we could use your help, my friend.”
“Don’t get mushy on me,” huffed the dwarf, his own voice gruff with emotion. “Just let me get my whetstone-my damned axe keeps going dull, what with all the dust and all!”
Daggrande marched away, and Hal watched him with affection. A “dull blade” by the old dwarf’s estimate was still as sharp as a barber’s razor, he knew. The sturdy veteran’s presence would greatly enhance their chances of survival.
Several Mazticans approached. Hal recognized the priest Xatli and the Eagle Knight Chical. Erixitl explained their plans and accepted their good wishes for their journey. The cleric of Qotal looked at her seriously.
“Out there in the desert, sister, I sense that your destiny awaits. I would offer to accompany you, to offer whatever feeble aid I can, but I know this: You will have the aid of someone far greater than myself.”
“Who do you mean?” she asked, surprised.
The cleric shook his head. “1 do not know, but I sense it
about you. You will lie carried to your final challenge on the wings of your friends.”
“I hope you’re right,” Erix admitted with a shake of her long black hair. She pulled her cloak, growing brighter with each minute of increasing daylight, tightly around her shoulders.
The great monolith looked like a living form as it moved. Two great legs, thicker than massive tree trunks, supported it and carried it cumbersomely forward. Two arms, humanlike in shape but tipped with wicked talons of crooked stone, swung at its sides.
The form of Zaltec disdained the broken causeways that still connected the island to shore. Instead, the huge stone form waded into Lake Tezca. striding easily through the thick mud. The water came only to the monstrous form’s knees.
Then it emerged onto the lake’s south shore, its heavy footfalls crunching into the ground. It passed the smoldering remains of Mount Zatal without a sideways glance. Instead, the glowering eyes, gray orbs of granite in a stark, stone face, remained fixed upon the desert, in answer to some distant and unknown compulsion.
And Zaltec marched on, until a watcher on the rim of the valley could have seen only a huge, monolithic form, moving into the remote wastes of the desert, like a towering, sheer-sloped mountain.
A mountain that walked.
“Forward, beasts of the crimson hand’”
Hoxitl urged his minions into a lumbering advance. Earlier, while darkness still shrouded the desert, the ogres bad stalked through the camp, kicking and cursing their charges awake. Now the ranks of ores stood armed and restless, ready to move.
The route lay plain before them: the wide, flat-bottomed valley that curved gently through the desert, lb each side, ridges of windswept rock, red and brown in color, provided a jagged outline to the track of their quarry.
“Today we will find more humans, and there will be more killing!” promised the beastlord.
The assembled creatures snorted and stomped at the pledge, pounding spear-shafts against the ground or clashing macas and clubs together. The throbbing noise rolled across the desert, all the way to the camp of his hated enemies, Hoxitl hoped.
HOW he hated the humans’. The anger that had spurred him from the ruins to lead his army on this great march seemed a pale flame compared to the fiery loathing that now consumed him. With each slain body, with each life claimed for Zaltec, his fury had grown.
With an explosion of howls and roars, the beasts lumbered after Hoxitl as the great monster started to advance. They spread into a vast wave, moving down the same valley the humans had followed the day before, advancing at a steady trot. For an hour, the horde rushed forward, covering distances it had taken the humans four times as long to march.
The first clue was an odor on the dry wind, the sweet scent of prey. Hoxitl howled, and the cry arose from the ranks behind him until a horrid shriek of bloodlust filled the air, reverberating across the desert like a killing gust from the north.
Hoxitl searched the dry valley floor before them, but no sign of movement caught his eye. The humans had probably moved on early in the day, but his nostrils told him that they had been here, and very recently.
Then he saw them.
Atop one of the low ridges that bordered this desert valley, Hoxitl saw a flash of color. Squinting, he picked out several shapes-human, no doubt, though one seemed somewhat short and stocky.
And then a hot, hissing spear of light lanced into his eyes. The colors! The brightness! Screaming in pain and rage, Hoxitl tumbled backward. His clawed hands scratched at his eyes in agony.
Very slowly the pain faded away, and the beast, with a low growl, sneaked another look at the ridge. He blinked in confusion and fear, and red spots swam before his eyes, but no further blaze assaulted his vision. Yet he recognized it for what it was: pluma. Only the power of feathermagic could cause such pain to his powerful senses.
Dimly he realized that the attack had come from the ridgetop, from that point of color up there. And with this
