Young Jaguar, The (19 page)

Her fingers caressed the smooth obsidian, still
clutched inside her palm. The cool, glassy touch gave her strength to enter the
litter that they hurriedly brought for her.

Chapter 17

Tecpatl peered through the terrace’s doors.

Careful not to show himself, he peeked out for long
enough to see the wide path twisting into the gardens, leading to the main
gates, quiet and peaceful in the gentle light of the rising sun.

He could hear the creaking of the wooden screen down
the hall as the axes and clubs pounded on the weakening wood, amidst the
agitated voices of his warriors – so painfully few! Yet, the peacefulness of
the outside was more unsettling.

Carefully, he stepped onto the terrace, ready to
duck should his ears pick up a suspicious sound.
Nothing!
The rebels had
obviously thrown everything they had into this upfront assault on the Emperor’s
quarters.

Most stupid of them! He would have placed enough
archers and dart-throwers around the attacked parts of the building, to make
the defenders keep clear of the openings. It would have helped to unbalance
their spirits, even if the archers would not manage to pick many targets. However,
their attackers were sloppy and unprepared. Good. But not good enough. Until
his warriors arrived, he would have to hold on under an outright siege.

Where were they? Why had it taken them so long?

He scanned the twisting path once again, angry with
the swaying trees of the gardens. If those would stop rustling, he might be
able to pick out the sound of the arriving reinforcements. Amatl should have
been more efficient. And Atolli… Had Atolli managed to find them?

His heart twisted at the thought of his son, worried
sick but proud, oh so very proud! He had been wrong about the boy all along,
never knowing him well, making the mistake of thinking about this promising son
as a replica of himself.

Well, the youth was nothing like his father, but he
was as good, probably even better, with this bubbling energy and those
spontaneous, unexpected solutions, his vitality, his unpredictability. Had the
opposition come to know him well? Had they tried to enlist him for his own
merits and not only for being a son of the Chief Warlord?

The volume of noise rose, and he rushed back toward
the doors that were under assault, listening to the wooden screen as it cracked
miserably. It wouldn’t hold for much longer.

The warriors glanced at him and went back to
watching the partitions, seeing the answer in his face. No reinforcements, not
yet.

He could hear the enemies doubling their efforts,
anxious to break in, knowing they had no time.

Setting the screen on fire would have helped, he
thought randomly. Even if risking burning down the whole Palace. He would have
done this if he were them.

“I wish they would just get on with it,” murmured
someone. “Why don’t we just open and fight?”

“The Warlord wants to make them work, the filthy
rats. Let them sweat and pant before we slice them into twenty little pieces
each.” Some of the warriors chuckled, but humorlessly. They were so few and
tired after the sleepless night. They were just the Emperor’s guards, not his
elite warriors.

“Such an annoying noise!” murmured an elderly man.
“I wish it were still thundering. The night’s storm would make a nice diversion
from this annoying pounding. I wish the lightning would strike them.”

The lightning! A diversion!

The thought hit him so suddenly, he gasped, startling
the warriors, making them jump. He didn’t see any of it. A fire! A fire would
create a great diversion, would make their attackers split their forces. Where?
The other side of the building, of course. The
enemy’s
side.

He glanced at them briefly. Risky to split such a
small force, but what choice did he have?

“Come,” he said curtly. “You, you, and you.” He
picked the three freshest looking men. “The rest stay here, and if they break
that screen, fight to the death. I don’t want to see any of you alive if they
reach the Emperor.” He glared at them to drive the message home, then turned to
the picked trio, “Come, quickly!”

Passing the spacious rooms where the Emperor and his
family, slaves and attendants were huddled together, anxious and afraid, he
hurried toward the terrace. He should go in and reassure them, but there was no
time.

“Listen carefully,” he said once back upon the
terrace. “We are going to climb over the railing and along the wall. There has
to be enough ledges. If not, jump down and run around the building, then climb
the opposite terrace. It is our destination. Do you understand me?”

They nodded eagerly, welcoming the chance to busy
themselves.

“Once up on that opposite terrace, we set it on
fire.”

They stared at him, appalled.

“With all the marble the Palace will not burn down,
but it may keep them busy, allowing our reinforcements to arrive. Is that
clear?” He examined their faces one by one, gaze piercing. “I want to hear you
say that!”

“Yes, Honorable Warlord.”

“Good!”

As he went over the railing, he thought again how
stupid Xicohtli’s people were. To put not a single archer or slinger outside
the attacked terrace? Those people were beyond contempt.

***

Atolli was tired but kept his pace as they ran up
the main road, a lethal brilliant-blue wave of clattering swords and rustling
feathers.

The market frequenters darted out of their way,
watching from a safe distance, fascinated and spellbound, as a crowd would
watch a magnificent show of wild animals, a battle, a thunderstorm, something
dangerous but enticing and beyond control.

Elated, Atolli refused to fall behind, although
Amatl tried to make him go home. The veteran of so many battles had had his
doubts about the youth of fifteen, already famous for his insubordination and
his time spent with the enemy – few things escaped Amatl’s sharp eye – yet this
time he let himself be persuaded. After all, the Warlord’s son had proved his
worth that morning. Cuatl, the giant warrior from the terrace who had
accompanied the youth, testified as to the truthfulness of Atolli’s story.

Most of the warriors had been already rallied when
the two escapees of the siege reached them, bringing along the message from the
Warlord himself. Those who were still not found – not every warrior spent his
night snug at home – would have to catch up. And so, the fiercest force in the
Empire had set out for the Palace, with everyone, groups of other warriors
included, scattering out of their way.

Having no sword, and, of course, no brilliant blue
cloak, Atolli had had to put up with a simple club, heavy and cumbersome to
carry along as he ran. He didn’t care. To be part of this elite group was such
an honor he felt he would agree to fight naked and with his bare hands.

Well, he was almost naked in his muddied, partly
torn loincloth and nothing else. When he sneaked out to eavesdrop this morning,
he didn’t plan on running around the city with the most exalted warriors on
earth. But at least he managed to grab a pair of sandals from some market
stall.

“What are you smirking about, Jaguar Boy?” Cuatl’s
elbow stuck into his ribs, but in a friendly fashion. The giant warrior was
running along beside him, sweaty and panting, seeming to be as tired as he was,
noticed Atolli with some satisfaction.

“It’s nice outside. Good weather.”

Cuatl chuckled and said nothing. After Atolli had
managed to convince the Warlord to send them out, the formidable warrior seemed
to thaw, watching Atolli with a genuine interest, listening to his suggestions,
not itching to chop him into twenty little pieces anymore. Together they had
sneaked through the royal forest behind the Palace’s gardens, climbing the low
wall, then running to find Amatl, working in unison, respecting each other’s
opinions. He was all right, this impressively giant Cuatl.

“Oh gods, what a sight!”

Atolli followed the glance of his companion. A group
of warriors was trotting ahead, their progress cumbersome due to the closed palanquin
that half of them carried.

“This city has gone completely mad.” Cuatl laughed,
showing a few missing teeth. “Warriors carrying a litter? What’s next?”

“Next they’ll be sweeping this road,” chuckled
Atolli. “Imagine that.”

He watched the warriors with the litter changing
their direction, darting away from their path.

We should attack them
, he thought suddenly.
They
are running away too guiltily, and who knows whom they are carrying in this
litter. Maybe someone of importance.

If not the direction they were heading prior to the
encounter, he would assume they were carrying the Emperor’s fleeing brother.

His stomach twisted. What would happen to Chictli?

***

To reach the opposite terrace was not a task as
easily achieved as Tecpatl had surmised, knowing Atolli had done this before.
How,
in the name of the Underworld, had the young rascal managed to advance along
the slippery ledge with only a few bulging stones?
They were forced to jump
down shortly after leaving their terrace, getting all cut and scratched by the
low bushes beneath the walls.

To climb the terrace held by the enemy was even more
difficult. Tecpatl hung onto the railing, gesturing to his followers to stay
still, waiting for the voices up on the terrace to disappear, his other arm clutching
the small pottery containing a burning coal, his mind numb with exhaustion.

What sort of warfare was that? he asked himself. The
Chief Warlord was not trained to hang under balconies, waiting to set the whole
Palace on fire. Even when he was a young man, stuck in difficult situations
with Sakuna’s people, it never got that bizarre.

The voices faded, and he pulled himself up, falling
over the railing ungracefully, cursing his inability to climb. Atolli must have
inherited his catlike qualities from his mother. Cuatl was right; the boy was a
jaguar all right.

The thought about Sakuna made his stomach shrink.
Later, he promised himself. He’d make things right with her later.

Sword out and ready, he slipped toward the opening.
The hall looked quiet and seemingly abandoned. The enemy really was throwing
all they had into the attempt to break their defenses. After setting this place
on fire, he could try to surprise them from behind. Would the three warriors he
brought along be enough? Of course not, but it was worth a try.

He could hear his warriors climbing heavily, as
awkwardly as he did. He gestured them to keep quiet, then studied the floor
concealed under the abundance of mats. Perfect. He picked the nearest mat and
carried it outside.

“Bring more,” he whispered. “Spread them across the
floor.”

In no time, the terrace looked like a military camp.
He took out his coal and puffed on it, trying to make it come to life.

Shouts erupted, and he could hear footsteps running.
Something smashed against his back, sending him sprawling. The coal burned his
palm as he clutched it, rolling over to avoid the attack. Yet, nothing
followed. His men were fighting inside, but the terrace was still empty. A flat
stone lay beside him. He tucked the coal into the straw of the nearest mat and
sprang to his feet, thanking the gods that the stone had missed his head.

Inside the room, a fight was progressing. Four
warriors, wild eyed and surprised. Hacking at one of them, Tecpatl made the man
retreat a step. He pressed the attack, wishing to finish this encounter fast,
still hoping to achieve the surprise of attacking their enemies from behind.

The warrior retreated another pace, then turned and
ran. There was no point in chasing him. The surprise was spoiled.

“Finish them off and hurry out,” he shouted to his
man and rushed back onto the terrace to take care of the coal.

It was not necessary. The smoke was rising already,
choking in its thickness, tongues of flame consuming the dry straw hungrily. He
darted back inside and chopped at the first warrior he saw, not caring to
observe the accepted rules of never interrupting hand-to-hand.

“Hurry up,” he yelled. “Out, out now!”

They followed obediently, hopping between the
billowing flames. He thought about the lined walls of the second floor. The
polished wood would catch fire readily. Was he correct in resorting to such
methods? This time, they went over the railing with no reservations.

People were screaming above, but Tecpatl’s ears
picked out another sound as he rolled down the slope, breaking more bushes in
his fall. An unmistakable sound of a battle ensuing. Somewhere around the
corner, maybe near the main entrance, people were killing each other; there
could be no mistake about that.

Not bothering with the possibility of arrows, he
ran, his sword ready, his heart beating fast. Those must have been his
warriors. Who else would give a great enough fight to be heard at such
distances?

Sure enough, the river of blue was streaming up the
wide stairs, their opposition crumbling, the shower of arrows and darts
weakening with every stair taken.

He joined them amidst the wild cheering, unable to
suppress his joy, his elation at seeing them, of being in his element again, of
returning back to control the events.

“Come on!” he yelled, leaping up the slippery
stairs. “Let us not allow even one dirty manure-eater to get away.”

They cheered wildly and now, standing above them, he
could make out an odd spot in the river of blue. Atolli, disheveled, muddied
and scratched, almost naked in his torn loincloth, was weaving a club, looking
happy and perfectly barbarian.

***

She clutched onto the planks of the litter, trying
not to slip out. It jerked unmercifully, tossing from side to side. The
warriors were no litter bearers, that much was obvious.

At one point they changed their direction so
sharply, she smashed her cheek against the wooden partition. But she made a
point not to complain. She clenched her teeth and swallowed the gasp that was
about to burst out. She would give them no such satisfaction. If she was going
to die, which was most probably going to happen, she’d go with honor and no
whining or pleading. Tecpatl would be proud of her.