The man shook his head in amazement. “Dint do too bad, did they?”
Daggrande smiled, his eyes glowing brighter, “That’s dwarves for ya. You can take the dwarves out of the fight, but you can’t take the dwarves out of the fight… no, that’s out of the war… something like that.” He shook his head, suddenly morose at the lapse in his memory,
“I know what you mean.” Hal chuckled.
Suddenly the dwarf looked up. “Where’s yer wife?” he asked.
“Isn’t she right over…” Hal’s head whirled around 1 dunno,” he admitted. He climbed awkwardly to his feet, surprised when the ground seemed to shift under him. Odd the way the stars whirled around, too… “1 better go find her,” he mumbled.
A cool wind blew across the desert, cresting the bluff of their camp briskly, with freshening force. The air seemed to clear his head slightly, but Hal still found it difficult to maintain his footing. Not knowing why he did it, he headed toward the edge of the crest, away from the dwarves and his companions.
In a few minutes, he saw, or imagined, a brightness ahead of him. He was not surprised when he found Erixitl sitting quietly and looking upward at the stars.
He sat-fell, actually-beside her, and she laughed gently. When he tried to explain, she placed a hand to his lips to silence him.
For a long time, they sat together, watching the stars wheel gracefully across the heavens. A feeling of well-being encircled them in hope and promise, and they did nothing to break the spell.
“Our lives have changed these last few days,” Erixitl said softly, “We start on anew path-a long journey across the face of the True World.”
Halloran held her tightly He wanted to remind her that they had new allies now, and new prospects for success. They were together, they would have a child… A million thoughts raced through his mind.
For now, he remained silent, sensing that she knew these things and shared his contentment. Challenges and hardships awaited them, they both knew, and the success of their mission was far from guaranteed.
But for now, for tonight at least, all would be well with the world.
Hoxitl groaned in weariness, a bleak sense of exhaustion he had never before suffered. The fight against the humans had been savage, so close to victory! But ultimately so futile.
How he had missed the trolls! If only he had kept those savage creatures alongside him, instead of sending them after the woman! The monsters had returned to his camp now, with their own tale of failure, and a great lethargy settled over all the beasts of the Viperhand.
Somehow, although the flush of victory fed him and his creatures with energy, the frustrations of defeat sapped their strength in equal measure.
He considered the effort needed to make another attack against the position defended by legionnaires, Kultakans, and Nexalans. He could plainly see the breastworks on the ridge above him, and once again weariness coursed through his body.
Instead, Hoxitl squatted on the ground and tried to focus on a plan. His army remained strong, still savage and bloodthirsty.
Then, deep within Hoxitl’s awareness, Zaltec called to him again. The god of war had but one true enemy, and that enemy had been deflected but not destroyed. The Plumed One could not return to Tewahca. The altar had been destroyed, and this was the scene of his defeat.
But where else could he go? Nexal? That ruined metropolis, heartland of Zaltec’s power, certainly could not beckon
one such as the! Yet, still, Nexal had hosted temples to Qotal and the other gods as well as to Zaltec. A great fear began to grow in Hoxitl, a fear that even as he stood here, wasting his time in battle with these humans, his true enemy could be taking shape behind him, sneaking his way into Nexal itself.
Zaltec’s summons finally stirred Hoxitl’s beast body, and the cleric felt the threat foreseen by his god. Roughly the monster rose to his full height, still stiff and battered from his epic struggle. Zaltec, he knew, would gather his strength for the battle with Qotal that was still to come. Hoxitl, meanwhile, mustered his force. They would turn from the humans before them.
Instead, they would return to Nexal, and there they would await the command of Zaltec.
“My master! I come in answer to your summons!” Gultec bowed deeply before Zochimaloc, relieved to let the peace and serenity of Tulom-Itzi once again wash over him.
“Ah, my brave warrior; said the teacher affectionately. “I wish it were not so, but now we have need of your skill. You must lead our people in war.”
“With the scourge that mars the jungle?” Gultec asked. “I have seen its spoor, but I do not understand its nature.”
“Yes, this is the enemy, arisen from the bowels of the earth and now spreading its stain across all the lands of Far Payit.”
As always, Zochimaloc was a mountain of solidity in the world. Gultec felt a peculiar joy in his heart just to be with the old teacher again. His words, the warrior thought, offered the wisdom of the ages.
The pair spoke in one of the gardens of Tulom-Itzi, beside a fountain that sent shimmering rainbows of light dancing in the sun. Yet that beauty fell away, forgotten in the horrors that the teacher described to his student. Zochimaloc told Gultec of the ants he had seen in his vision, of the villages that had been reduced to decaying compost, and of the inexorable march of the great insect army.
“You saw its path, swinging to the east,” he concluded. Hut now our people hear that the army has turned back. No I longer does its path wind like a snake across the land. Now the ants march true, cutting a straight swath toward their target.”
“They come here, do they not?” Gultec already knew the’ answer, though Zochimaloc nodded his assent. “How far away are they now? And how fast do they march?”
“It seems that they will reach Tulom-Itzi in four or five days, unless we stop them first. Gultec, can we stop them?”
The warrior growled, oddly discomfited at being asked a question by one he had always assumed knew everything. “We can only try,” he admitted.
For the next three days, he gathered together the men of Tulom-Itzi. Though the people had no tradition of warriorhood, they were skilled hunters, and during his studies under Zochimaloc, Gultec had trained them to put these skills to battle use. Now the women made arrows while he sent parties of men into the jungle to observe the approaching army and to learn how to harass its seemingly inexorable approach.
These parties came back with tales, not only of the monstrous ants that seemed almost impervious to arrows and spears, but also of the horrible creatures that led the insects toward war. These dark, bloated figures, scuttling upon insect bodies with the heads and torsos of men, seemed to Gultec an even greater and more unnatural menace than the ants themselves.
He listened to a tale of a large village, well prepared for the attack and even surrounded by a thorny wall of wood, that had lain in the path of destruction. The ants had swarmed over the wall, tearing it down in the process, then scurried through the huts and buildings, even crawling over the village pyramid. Wherever warriors had tried to stand against them, they had perished to the last man. Only a few ants had died in the entire battle.
He tried to plan a firetrap to ensnare the insects in a forest blaze before they reached Tulom-Itzi. But here the rain god, Azul, schemed against them, for daily showers drenched
the jungle, and the foliage remained constantly wet and steaming. Despite their most vigorous efforts with oil and tinder, it could not be made to burn.
Finally he went to his teacher again, knowing that the ants would reach the city on the following day. His heart broke as he looked into Zochilmaloc’s eyes, so wise and now so sad in the twilight of his life.
“My teacher,” Gultec said haltingly, “it grieves me to speak thus to you, to give you this message that tears the heart from my body. But I fear I have no other choice.”
