"Douglas Niles - Forgotten Realms - Viperhand" - читать интересную книгу автора (Niles Douglas)

increase in his own hunger. Zaltec needed more hearts, more blood.
And with Qotal, once hailed as preeminent among the gods of Maztica. The
Plumed One, however, had long since been banished from the True World by those
who thought gods could only be worshiped with the shedding of blood and the
taking of lives. Qotal sought to smooth the confluence of peoples and gods,
but his power was weak, his presence all but unknown.
And also, below them all, seething with the darkness of her hatred and evil,
so it was with another godтАФa god whose presence and interest the deities of
Maztica did not
*┬г>*
DOUGLAS NILES
even suspect. Lolth, the spidery essence of darkness and evil, dwelled far
from the others, in the infernal reaches themselves. Queen of the dark
elvesтАФthe drowтАФLolth's hatred now focused against those of her children who no
longer held her name in awe.
To Lolth, to them all, the Sand called Maztica was a gaming board, a table
upon which lay the pieces of their immortal contest. It required but a
thoughtless breath, or the casual flick of a limb, to sweep the board clean.
THE HOUSE OF TEZCA
Halloran felt certain they would die here in this miserable, waterless waste.
The sun assaulted them from all sides, searing their skin, parching their
dusty mouths, blinding their eyes with an unceasing glare.
His tongue swelling in his throat, Hal looked about, only dimly aware of the
infernal surroundings. He and his two companions trudged wearily across the
House of Tezca, the great desert named for Maztica's god of the sun. Harsh
yellow shards of rock jutted from the sandy ground, and low, windswept ridges
marked the horizon on all sides. In the far distance, purple mountains, capped
with blinding snowfields, loomed against the skyline, taunting them with their
unattainable promise of cool heights and rapid, icy streams.
Long since discarded, Halloran's steel helmet and breastplate were now lashed
to the saddlebags of Storm, his once-proud war-horse. The sturdy charger
plodded listlessly, sometimes tripping or stumbling. A few more hours without
water, Halloran knew, and the steed would collapse.
Reluctantly, blinking against the pain, he looked to the man and the woman who
were his companions. They, too, could last but a matter of hours unless they
found water.
Poshtli, the Eagle Knight, seemed least affected. The proud warrior led the
way, maintaining his steady stride across the rocky, undulating terrain of the
desert. For days, Poshtli's strength had guided and propelled them. He had
brought them to the desertтАФfor good reasons, Hal understoodтАФbut now the
torched landscape had become a trap. Burdened by this responsibility, the
warrior drove himself mercilessly, leading the way without a backward look.
11
DOUGLAS MILES
Erixitl, the beautiful young woman who had showed him so many wonders of her
land, seemed but a distant memory to Hal now. It broke his heart to see her in
this wasteland that must soon claim them all.
She looked at him now, her eyelids swollen by sun and dust. Her lips, cracked,
sunburned, and bleeding, could no longer smile. She had not spoken since the
merciless sun had risen uncounted hours earlier. If even her exuberant spirit