trolls.
“During our walk through the paths of the dead,” said Erixitl, softly, “the spirits have bestowed gifts upon us.” “In exchange for your token,” said Halloran quietly “And the trolls didn’t come after us.” Daggrande added this important point.
They heard a clatter of stones, and Halloran instinctively reached for his sword, but soon Jhatli slid into view, rapidly descending the steep slope of the gully
“I saw Tewahca!” he cried. “That way, to the south! And look! I’ve got a fresh supply of arrows!” Jhatli pulled forth a slender shaft, narrower than Daggrande’s, with a thin sliver of a head. His own quiver held several dozen of the weapons. The keen tips, like the dwarf’s, were formed from shiny black stone, thinner and sharper than obsidian.
For several moments, they absorbed the news, none of them venturing a suggestion to move. Finally Halloran felt the need to lake some action, at least to plan.
“Where do we go from here?” he asked. “Back to the Nexalans?”
Erixitl gently pulled away from him and walked a few feet along the floor of the ravine. She turned to face the group and sighed slowly before speaking.
“Zaltec has barred Qotal’s entry here. My cloak, which opened the path, is lost. There is no hope of Qotal returning to the True World through this portal.”
“Indeed,” agreed Lotil as Coton nodded silently.
“We cannot give up!” Jhatli barked. He brandished his bow, one of the new arrows nocked. “If not here, then somewhere else!”
“Precisely!” Erix agreed. “When the god spoke to us, he said that this was one of but two places in the world where he could seek to return.”
“Great. He didn’t tell us where the other one is, as I recall,” interjected Daggrande.
“He didn’t have to. I know where it is,” Erixitl replied Only
Colon’s face brightened at her words, though none of the others noticed the cleric’s delight. “Where would he come, if not to the city of the gods?” asked Jhatli.
“To the place that was built in anticipation of his return, the place from which he left Maztica so many lifetimes ago!” “Twin Visages!” exclaimed Halloran, suddenly understanding. He well remembered the two huge faces carved in the coastal cliffs of Payit. It had been the first landfall of the Golden Legion along the shores of Maztica, and even at the time, it had seemed a place of great sacred tradition.
“Yes, of course,” Lotil agreed. “Many of the stories predicted that Qotal would one day return there. But how can he, since he lacks the power to overcome Zaltec?”
“We can help him!” Erix said firmly “We can hold Zaltec at bay long enough for Qotal to enter Maztica and reach his full strength. Then he can defeat the god of war and regain his former station.”
“Let us go!” Jhatli cried. “We will fight our way there if we have to! I will fight at your side, sister!”
She smiled gently “1 know you will, my friend, and I am grateful to you. I know that all of you will, but it will not be easy”
“How far is it to Twin Visages?” asked Daggrande. He had seen the place-all the legionnaires had-when they had made landfall there. But he had marched and fought and fled very far since then.
“I don’t know,” Erixitl replied bluntly “It will take us a month, perhaps more, just to cross the desert. Then we will reach the lands of Far Payit. Only when we have crossed those thick jungles will we reach the Payit country and finally Twin Visages.”
Erixitl looked at her father, at all of her companions, frankly. “J was too hasty to condemn Qotal for a thing he could not control. I didn’t understand that a god, like a mortal. can be constrained by factors beyond his power.” She lowered her eyes, then looked up again before continuing, “And perhaps 1 have been forced to admit that we need gods-or a god, in any event. We have all seen the threat
presented by Zaltec. Qotal, it seems, is the best hope we have.”
Colon rose stiffly from the boulder. He crossed to the woman and took her hands in his, looking steadily into her eyes. Erixitl met the silent cleric’s gaze for a moment, them collapsed, sobbing, into his arms.
At the same time, Storm raised her head, ears cocked for ward, alert. Daggrande and Halloran followed the mare’s gaze down the ravine toward the open valley beyond. “I think we’ve got company,” grunted the dwarf. Instantly the others turned to look, their hearts chilling at the apprehension in Daggrande’s voice. The narrow ravine floor twisted slowly downward, the first bend some hundred yards away.
The first creature to come into sight was a hulking troll its arms nearly dragging on the ground. Its black, expressionless eyes fastened upon the companions, and it threw back its head to utter a sharp, harsh bark.
Hal saw others, then-vacant-faced trolls with out stretched, clawlike hands, emerging from around the bend in the gully. The first troll leaped forward, covering the distance between them with prodigious bounds.
“Come on! Up the ravine,.. go!” barked Halloran, He took [.mill’s arm and bodily lifted her onto the back of the prancing Storm.
“Take her and her father! We’ll try to hold them back!” he barked at Colon. With surprising quickness, the cleric took the horse’s reins and started up the narrow draw. Lotil touched the mare’s shoulder and started to follow, stumbling, but then Erix and the priest quickly boosted the blind! man into the saddle.
Daggrande fired a bolt and Jhatli launched a steady stream of arrows into the approaching horde. The missiles cut deep wounds in their flesh, forcing howls of pain from the beasts. But even the trolls that fell continued to advance slowly squirming forward in the wake of their charging! comrades.
Halloran, with Helmstooth ready for blood, stood between and slightly ahead of the two archers, The trio
blocked the narrow ravine floor. Several dozen of the beasts rushed toward them now, with more coming into sight every moment. Their snarls and barks filled the. air, prelude
to a slaughter. The only victory he and his companions could hope to gain, Halloran knew, was time for the others to escape.
The tribe from Sunhome linked up with Traj’s warriors after only two days’ march. Luskag saw with pleasure that those doughty fighters had progressed well with the plumastone weaponry. Nearly all of Traj’s dwarves carried blades of the shiny black stone.
Other bands of desert dwarves joined them steadily as they moved toward the City of the Gods, until nearly a thousand stocky fighters-called, by Mazticans, the “Hairy Men of the Desert”-marched across the House of Tezca in a long, apparently tireless column. More than half carried weapons of enchanted stone that seemed every bit the
equal of steel.
The last of the tribes to reach them was Pullog’s, since they had had the longest march. But finally the entire nation had massed, and with Pullog and Luskag in the lead, they began to march toward the dry valley near the center of the desert.
The night before their arrival, they camped in a low, dusty bowl a dozen miles from the City of the Gods. But even from this far away they could hear the thunderous conflict raging through the desert night.
“We are too late,” muttered Traj dejectedly. “We hear the world torn to pieces before us!”
“Nonsense!” barked Pullog, surprising and pleasing Luskag with his encouragement. “We hear the sounds of battle joined, but we will arrive before a decision is reached.” The southern chief patted the hefty stone axe at his side, a plumastone blade given to him by Luskag.
“Aye,” grunted Luskag, who had emerged as their overall leader, since it had been his initiative that had gotten the
tribes together in the first place. “Though I sense that must make haste.”
SO urgent was this sense that the dwarves broke camp without sleeping and trudged through the long night. At dawn, they arrived on the ridgeline surrounding the city of the gods.
And they saw their enemy below.
“Watch your back!”
Daggrande’s shout pulled Halloran’s attention around. The bloody tip of Helmstooth followed a split second
