Erixitl stared as cold, inexorable fear gripped her soul. She felt as though she was observing a play on a stage, a performance aloof and detached from her involvement. She could do nothing as events unfolded.
Then she shook her head, her black hair floating tike a cloud around her. She had been brought here for a purpose, she knew. In her determination to act, she had overlooked a thing she had learned before.
The purposes of Chitikas Couatl were not given easily to understand.
"Push! The cursed thing has to open!" urged Halloran, below Poshtli on the narrow ladder.
"I–I can't move it" gasped the warrior, slumping away from the tightly shut trap door above them.
"Let me try!" Hal squeezed to the side as Poshtli dropped several rungs to allow his companion to reach the top.
Hal feared for the destruction of this land, for he believed implicitly in Erixitl's premonition. But mostly he drove himself forward because of fear for her and bitter hatred for those who imprisoned her and threatened all his hopes. He had to reach her!
Feathermagic pulsed around his wrist. His fist crashed upward, and the trap door cracked in two, each piece flying back from the opening. He sprang through the opening, drawing Helmstooth in the same motion, not knowing whether they had reached a palace chamber, courtyard, or garden.
Or roof. He looked around at a broad, flat expanse. He saw a group of legionnaires some distance away and heard a vague rumbling from the vast square around them. The sound had apparently masked the noise of his emergence from the soldiers, for none of the men-at-arms turned toward him. Swiftly Poshtli, and then Shatil, climbed from the trap door.
They were on the roof of a palace, Hal saw the palace of Nahecona's father, Axalt. They hadn't wandered as far as Hal had feared during their subterranean explorations. He saw the Revered Counselor, apparently addressing the unruly gathering below. Slowly, with shocking awareness, he took in the huge numbers of warriors gathered across the plaza.
"There must be a hundred thousand of them!" he breathed in awe.
"More," Poshtli said quietly, his trained warrior's eye assessing the throng.
"Where is my sister?" Shatil wondered, looking quickly around.
Crouching where they stood, the moon casting their shadows long across the roof, they searched the area with their eyes. They saw dozens of legionnaires and their captains, together with the wizard and the Bishou. All stared at the drama before them, sensing Naltecona's failure to appease the crowd. Most of the roof lay exposed to the cool moonlight, though the thatched peaks left a few areas of deep shadow.
"She's not here," Halloran said nearing despair.
"Look!" Poshtli whispered, pointing to the crowd below. They saw the Nexalans surging angrily toward the palace, a stormy sea of humanity around their perilous island. Yet the warriors did not attack. "Erixitl's dream — the death of Naltecona among the legion! It could happen now!"
Hal shook his head. "I can't believe Cordell would have him killed. Not now, not like this. Naltecona is the only thing holding them at bay."
"Hey! You over there!"
The harsh bark of a sentry told them that they had been discovered. Halloran whirled to see several crossbowmen, their heavy weapons menacing, advancing from the opposite portion of the roof.
"It's Halloran!" shouted one of the sentries. Instantly the attention of the captains turned toward the trio, clearly illuminated in the bright moonlight. For a moment, Hal thought of diving through the dark trap door beside them. The three of them could easily disappear into those narrow tunnels.
But that course was an admission of failure, and he wasn't ready to admit that they had failed. He saw Darien, her pale face studying them coolly, and he remembered her spellbook in his pack. He seized upon a desperate hope.
"I want to talk to you," he called, meeting Cordell's eyes.
"Come forward," said the captain-general cautiously. "Keep your hands in plain sight." He watched them approach for several moments. "That's close enough."
Hal, flanked by Poshtli and Shatil, stopped about ten paces short of his old commander. Beside Cordell, he saw the albino elfmage, still regarding him with a gaze so devoid of emotion it reminded Halloran of a reptile's.
The crowd beyond the palace surged noisily. Naltecona turned away from them, regarding the confrontation curiously.
"I want to make a trade," Halloran said, looking at Darien. "I have your spellbook — and you have a person who means very much to me… to us. I offer you the book in return for the woman."
Cordell looked at Darien, an expression of cool interest on his face. The wizard, to the surprise of all of them, began to laugh. The sound had a cruel, harsh ring to it.
"We must go to them!" whispered Erixitl, her voice straining with urgency. "There is little time!"
"Wait," said Chitikas calmly. They remained in the dark shadow below a peak of the roof, unseen by the others before them.
Erix looked at the couatl in surprise, then shook her head vehemently. "I'm going!"
She started forward, sensing the snake sigh heavily beside her. After one step, however, her foot stuck to the planks below her. She tried to turn on Chitikas and found her other foot equally immobilized. She couldn't move.
Twisting her body, she angrily opened her mouth to demand that he free her. But no words came forth. He held her spellbound.
"Wait" ordered the couatl again. "We cannot be seen yet."
And Erix could only turn to watch, as dull horror rose within her soul.
"What is the humor?" the captain-general asked his mistress. "I should think it a sensible exchange — your spellbook for Halloran's woman."
"The humor is in this man's foolish naivete!" Darien barked, her mouth still twisted in grim amusement. Her eyes, however, remained cold and lifeless.
Halloran felt a chill of fear.
"He is in my power now," Darien continued. "Without the wench to protect his body, my magic can tear the secret of the spellbook from his mind!
"But before your soul becomes mine," she added, "there is another thing you should know."
Now Halloran's blood froze in his veins, and he imagined her words before she spoke.
"Your woman is already dead!"
"What?" demanded Cordell. "She was under my protection. How dare you-"
"Your protection?" Darien scoffed. "Like the legion is under your protection — the safety of your wisdom, your keen planning?"
"What do you mean? Explain yourself!" Cordell growled. The legionnaires edged nervously back, never having witnessed such an exchange between the general and his elven mistress.
"You have been a useful tool," she sneered, "but that use is finished. The girl is dead…"
The pause that followed seemed to leave room for the sun to rise and set, yet still that bright, full moon hung suspended in the sky.
"And know this," Darien continued, almost conversationally. "There will be war."
Suddenly she raised her finger and barked a sharp, magical command. A bolt of hot magic burst like an arrow from her finger, slashing forward to explode in her victim's chest. Another, and a third, and still more magic missiles darted forth. Each struck deep into her target's blistered skin, crackling and sizzling with arcane power, ripping his body apart, driving him backward. Blue sparks hissed while the others stood, shocked and speechless.
As the spell finally waned, Naltecona's torn and bleeding form tottered on the edge of the roof. A sudden hush fell across the mob below. Then, already dead, the mangled figure of the Revered Counselor toppled from the roof to crash to the paving stones of the plaza below.
Magic still sparked across the roof, a residue of the killing power that had slain Naltecona. This power sizzled as light, flaring upward and then falling back, casting everything alternately in brightness and shadows.