Young Jaguar, The Read Online Free PDF Page A

mortals, for a
little longer, to witness the captives you brought being sacrificed to the
glory of our wonderful keepers.”
    “I pray for this, Revered Emperor,” answered Tecpatl
gravely. “I pray you will guide us for many moons to come, before embarking on
your Underworld journey.”
    “We all join in the Warlord’s prayer,” murmured the
men in the background. There were four more of them, the ruler’s closest
advisers, and they stood at some distance, apparently not missing a word.
    Tecpatl fought the urge to wipe his forehead, to get
rid of the sweat that accumulated above his eyebrows, threatening to penetrate
his eyes, running down his back. The unbearable heat of the midsummer could
have been tolerated more easily inside the plastered walls of the Palace, but
for the two braziers glowing in the proximity of the revered person, whose old
fragile body was carefully swathed in feathers and soft skins.
    The old man smiled faintly and shook his head.
    “Come closer,” he whispered. 
    Tecpatl shifted forward, uneasy with the request. He
wasn’t allowed so near the Revered Emperor before. Very few of the advisers
were, and he was not even one of them.
    He blinked, hoping the sweat beads would remain
where they were, as he watched the old man raising his head with an effort.
    “Closer.”
    The reek of the dying flesh hit Tecpatl’s nostrils
worse than the stench of the temple priests. He forced his face to remain
still, not allowing his throat to swallow.
    “Keep an eye on Tezozomoc. He will rule after me. He
is not the First Son, but he is strong. He will keep the empire together. He is
good at managing things. My other sons will receive each a province for
themselves, to rule as they see fit.” The dying man coughed and his strained
gaze blurred. Tears ran from the old watery eyes. Tecpatl shuddered and was
about to rise in search of some water, when the heavily lidded gaze cleared,
holding his. “Beware of Xicohtli, the First Son. He may… try take… take
control. Tezozomoc is better fit to run the Empire. I have chosen him. Xicohtli
can’t rule, he’ll ruin everything I have achieved with so much hard work. Make
sure, will you?”
    “But how can I?” Tecpatl stared at the old wrinkled
face, dumbfounded, at a loss. He was the Chief Warlord, but he was not even a
member of the council. His Great Uncle was. The old ruler should have talked to
his uncle or some of his peers. They were all there, waiting anxiously outside
the royal chamber.
    “You are my Chief Warlord,” blurted the cracked
voice. “You are the best of my warriors. I trust you. Advisers are not for
this; they have their own interests to take care of, you understand?” There was
a hint of a sly, almost playful smile in the corners of the empty mouth. “You
came back in time. It’s a sign. Make sure. Tezozomoc is to rule the empire. He
is the one I chose. Make sure.” The blurry gaze clouded, drifted. “Make sure.
It’s so cold. They should carry me out into the sun. Tell them. Now go.”
    Obediently, Tecpatl rose to his feet, his body stiff
after kneeling there for a long noon.
    Every pace measured, he went past the group of the
closest advisers, trying not to notice their gazes scanning his face,
attentive, consumed with curiosity.
    They peered at him, desperate to know what had
transpired, what had been said, why the dying ruler had chosen to whisper into
his Chief Warlord’s ear.
    Ignoring them, he picked up
his weapons and sandals, relieved to step through the wide doorway into another
set of richly decorated rooms.
    So, Tezozomoc is to rule, he thought. Well, he is
not a bad man. He may prove as fierce, as powerful, as domineering, as his
father, not a complete nonentity to be sure. He would abide by his great
father’s laws and guidelines, so the empire would not fall apart.
    On the positive side, he, Tecpatl, as a Chief
Warlord, was likely to receive more independence to plan his campaigns. It will
be good, he thought.