act, and with a great howl, he lumbered forward, cuffing his way through the ranks of his troops toward the hated enemy. The soft light of dawn fell incongruously on the harsh spectacle of pain and death, and the humans stared in horror at the monstrous apparition that now materialized in the dim light.
“There!” cried Cordell, sensing the faltering courage of the men at the appearance of the looming monster. Indeed, Hoxitl towered more than twice as high as a man on horseback.
Nevertheless the captain-general spurred his stallion forward, and the steed raced past the beastlord, Cordell’s sword cut a deep wound in Hoxitl’s thigh, and then the horse danced away, just beyond the monster’s near-deadly return blow.
Tokol and Chical, too, saw the menace of the monster’s attack and rushed forward to the aid of their ally. The Eagle Knight hurled his lance, and the weapon drove deep into Hoxitl’s flank. With a howl, the monster tore the weapon free and hurled it to the ground, but at the same time Tokol stabbed him in the back of his knee. Before he could face this new threat, Cordell’s stallion sprang forward, and the captain-general’s sword struck a new gash across the beast’s belly.
Howling madly, beset by painful wounds, the cleric’s nature took over the monster’s body. Fighting was a thing left to men of war, not their religious leaders. Still shrieking, Hoxitl stumbled away, driven by the painful blows of the human leaders.
Without the savage exhortations of Hoxitl, the ores lost heart as more and more of their number fell before the arrows, swords, and horses of the humans.
“Charge them!” urged Cordell. “Attack!”
His words were heard only along a short portion of the line, but here the legionnaires and Kultakans surged forward. The sudden shock of the advance broke the stalemate of the battle, and sent several hundred ores streaming away from the fight in panic. The ores’ retreat, sensed along the line, provided the weight to break the fighting morale of the rest of the monsters, at least temporarily.
Finally the wave fell back to the protection of the battle line, battered and eroded but still firm. Yet the beasts did not rout in terror, but rather withdrew in surly admission of their temporary failure.
Even as they slowly backed away, into the dusty v where they had made their previous camp, the humans the ridge sensed that their enemies would return.
Black shapes pressed forward, darker shadows among the impenetrable black of the ruin. They seethed and danced among the rubble, pressing like smoke against the circle of light formed by the companions.
“It’s a tomb,” hissed Daggrande. “These are the ghosts!” The dwarf’s voice carried an uncharacteristic tremor.
“They are indeed the spirits of the dead,” said Lotil. The blind man seemed to sniff the air, as aware of the presence! as any of them. “But they are not ghosts-not in the way that you think.”
The shades did indeed appear vaguely manlike, for they raised shadowy arms and extended black, smoking fingers toward the companions. Jhatli shivered, backing away from an apparition that reared up beside him, while Daggrande whirled this way and that, his axe held ready-for what, he didn’t know.
Halloran swallowed hard. He couldn’t fathom the raging horror evoked within him by these shapeless denizens. He only knew that they twisted his stomach with fear and almost compelled his steps to turn back toward the monsters that pursued them,
He saw a black, sack-like form rise up before him, and net lifted Helmstooth high. Something held his hand from striking-perhaps the fear that his steel could not affect anything so intangible-but in the face of the gleaming blade, the shade did not waver.
“Flee! They come to us!” Jhatli’s panic rang shrill in the cry of his voice as the youth turned and sprinted, piling into Erixitl and nearly knocking her off her feet. Beside Hal,
Storm reared back, neighing, her eyes rolled high into their sockets.
“Wait!” said the woman quickly, steadying Jhatli with a hand on his arm. “See? They do not attack.”
Indeed the shades seemed to linger at the very fringe of their vision, dancing in a somber cadence as they slowly circled the companions. They could have been human in shape, Hal thought, or nearly anything else about the size of
a man.
They closed in then, waving and swirling. Halloran saw tendrils of darkness reaching out toward them, and he felt cold terror grip his soul. Beside him, Jhatli whimpered, and he felt that the youth would have fled if not for the presence of his companions. Hal, too, considered flight as a serious alternative.
But some deeper calling bade him stay. He knew that the creatures outside this temple offered nothing but cold, sudden death. He had to trust the instincts of those who had led him here.
Coton started forward toward the ring of encircling darkness. Dimly Halloran saw something dark and intangible rise before the priest, and then Coton stopped, restrained by an invisible barrier. Hal’s flesh crawled at the sight of dim fingers of darkness plucking at the cleric’s robe, tugging him back toward the other humans.
If the cleric felt the same revulsion, he didn’t display it. Instead, he slowly yielded to the insistent force, stepping back until he again stood among his companions.
“Ah, these are the spirit wardens,” said Lotil softly, as if announcing a pleasant revelation. “They stand astride the paths of the gods, barring the paths to all.”
Before the blind feather-worker, Coton nodded gently, as if agreeing with Lotil’s assessment.
“To all?” Halloran, his fear rapidly fading, growled in frustration.
“So it is said,” Lotil replied with a shrug. “Though gods are fickle. Perhaps the right sacrifice may open the path.”
Coton turned to regard Erixitl. The priest’s eyes were soft and understanding. Behind them, they heard heavy footfalls and growling, snapping commands as the beasts of the Viperhand followed them into the ruin. Several guttural barks sounded close, and it seemed that the monsters followed the same path into the tangled ruin as the companions had.
Erix hesitated for a moment. She cast a pain-filled look at her father, and though the blind man could not see her, Lotil nodded slightly. Raising her hands to her shoulders, Erix lifted the leather thong suspending her amulet over her head. Holding it gently, allowing its dazzling presence to swing lightly in her hands for the last time, she stepped past the priest and laid it on the ground, at the very feet of that dancing shades.
Then the way lay open before them, though they couldn’t see the darkness recede. Instead, it was a sense of lightness. that propelled them forward, and they sensed no barrier to their flight.
The pale light of Hal’s sword lit their path as he stepped into the lead. Coton led the horse, while the keen- eyed Daggrande brought up the rear. They followed a winding corridor, sensing its descent under their feet.
Behind them, the howls of their pursuers echoed from the stone walls, a cacophony of chaos hastening them along. Then the snarls turned to yelps of terror, and soon the sounds of pursuit turned to flight as the monsters fled the nightmare wardens of the tomb.
*****
From the chronicles of Coton:
In the long darkness of escape, we strive to reach the dawn.
Through the night we flee, following the roads of the gods beneath the City of Tewahca. Halloran calls on his power of sorcery, a power J have never seen, and brings a bright glow to the tip of his sword. This lights our way through the deepest of the maze.
And here we pass tombs of great kings and the graves of
brave warriors. Rich chiefs, too, lie here amid great treasures-heaps of gold that sometimes rise higher than the burial mounds themselves or floating images of pluma [hat waft temptingly overhead.
from these hallowed niches, dark figures move toward us some wrapped in their burial shrouds, others bare skeletons, animated by some dim and forgotten power. They stumble and shuffle in a ghastly facade of attack, and our courage is tested by each new nightmare.
But always die blessing of the spirit wardens looms over us, and it gives us passage where others would surely die. Finally we move from the deep tombs, working our way again toward the surface. The long night march leaves my companions and me exhausted, but there is no talk of pause nor of rest. Indeed, as we press forward and
