knows he only talks to his highest priests, and only after they vow not to talk to anyone else!'
Chitikas lowered his head, and for the first time, Erix saw a hint of menace in the long creature's posture. His yellow eyes stared upward without blinking. 'Believe as you will,' he hissed softly, 'but you must pay heed.'
'I will leave you now!' Erix stood angrily, challenging the feathered snake to stop her.
'Very well,' whispered Chitikas. With a single beat of his wings, the snake darted into the air, swirling among the dense tree trunks and almost instantly disappearing from sight.
Still glaring, Erix watched the flying serpent vanish. Then she whirled and started to move through the jungle on her own. She did not notice that she again followed the path of the priest and his prisoners.
Halloran stumbled down the jungle trail in a daze. Martine lurched ahead, beyond his reach or ability to comfort. He knew four brave men lay dead behind them. The prisoners now marched in the middle of the procession of warriors and priests, with two brawny spearmen flanking each of the captives.
Martine! How could this happen? He groaned inwardly, racked with despair. A small part of him wanted to rail angrily at her, for it had been her stubbornness that had gotten them captured. But mostly he remembered the look of stark terror on her face as the priests had seized and bound her. That part of him remained torn by guilt and inadequacy. He had failed!
The time before their capture, bare minutes ago, seemed as if it were another lifetime. He remembered the leering faces of the natives. The trio in the leopardskin cloaks, their faces framed by the widespread jaws of their helms, had looked the most bizarre, but the ash-streaked priest, with his twisted, fanatical grin, had been the most frightening.
The natives had been very curious about them. Immediately after their capture, Hal's steel breastplate in particular had received a great deal of attention, since many a spear or stone-bladed sword had smashed against it during the fight. The huge, scowling warrior wearing the spotted skin and skull scrutinized him with particular interest, poking the armor with his fingers, taking and keeping Hal's keen longsword. The breastplate and his steel cap with its upturned brim remained with him, however.
They had left the bodies of the swordsmen and natives on the field where they had fallen. Two of the three spotted warriors, as well as several dozen spearmen, had perished in the fight. Halloran deduced that the spotted warrior and the priest had disagreed about leaving the bodies behind, for the pair had spoken with great animation before leaving. Apparently the priest had prevailed.
Hal's mind whirled with images of disaster, and he still could not fully comprehend how quickly catastrophe had overtaken them. For what terrible purpose had they been taken captive? Of the pair, only Martine had been gagged and blindfolded. Hal thus suspected that the woman was earmarked for some special purpose, a thought that made his blood run cold.
'Martine!' he ventured to call out once, his voice a probing whisper. He saw the woman's back stiffen before him, and then his skull shuddered under the impact of a heavy cuff.
The warrior behind him growled, grabbing Hal's arm and pushing him along roughly. The spearman pressed his hand over Halloran's mouth, and the captain understood the meaning clearly.
The stifling heat of late afternoon finally began to break as a slight breeze stirred the foliage. A solid blanket of limbs and leaves blocked out any view of the sky, and Halloran had no idea as to the direction they traveled. The jungle trail twisted and turned so chaotically that he was certain they must have backtracked over their own path several times. However, something about the leopardskin-clad warrior — the man who obviously commanded the column, though he deferred slightly to the black-robed priest — made Hal certain that they were not lost.
Slowly the captain's mind started to work again as he reminded himself that inaction meant certain disaster. What can I do? His brain recoiled from the prospects of extended captivity, or worse, among these…
He didn't know what to make of his captors. They exhibited a higher level of military skill than the legion had encountered in any of the natives the expedition had met thus far. Indeed, Hal noted as he strained against the constricting snakeskin thong that still held his arms, these people used magic and fought in large, disciplined formations. Furthermore, the twin faces carved on the cliff and the pyramid atop the bluff bespoke of greater building skills than previously seen.
Still, the black-robed madman had attacked with a primitive savagery that chilled Halloran. His blood-caked hair, cadaverous features, and filthy aspect were unspeakably grotesque — Were all of these people so bloodthirsty, so fanatical?
This is worse than the foul beast that devoured Arquiuius, he told himself, as his thoughts leaped unbidden to that previously darkest day of his life. That disaster had motivated him to abandon his former life of arcane study and depend upon the strength of his arm and the keen steel of his sword.
Now his arms were bound behind him, and his sword was carried by another man, an enemy. For a fleeting moment, he regretted the completeness with which he had abandoned his studies. Even a swordsman could possibly use the help of a subtle magic spell now and then. Even so, he was hard-pressed to imagine how his limited assortment of spells might have aided him here.
A sharp tug on the rope brought his attention back to reality. He felt a cool breeze against his face, and the smell of the sea told him they had turned back toward the coast. The verdant canopy overhead blocked out direct sunlight, but he realized that it was nearing sunset. Somehow that fact struck him as significant.
Halloran thought again of his magic studies. He had mastered several spells, but those incantations were simply a blur of vague images now. He shook his head, wondering why he so suddenly dwelled on a time of his life that he had buried for more than ten years.
Suddenly the procession halted as they broke into a clearing in the jungle. Rough hands threw Hal to the ground. From his awkward position, Halloran saw the spearmen dispersing through the jungle. He observed several casting their javelins and then rushing quickly and silently forward.
In moments, the two prisoners were hustled into the clearing, and Hal saw the small pyramid they had first observed from the ship. Three legionnaires lay dead at the base of the structure. Obviously Cordell's first scouts had reached the pyramid only to die in this surprise attack.
The priests quickly herded Halloran and Martine toward the pyramid. The leading cleric started up the steep steps, and the warriors and apprentices prodded the captives along behind.
To the west, the sun touched the treetops. With an unconscious shudder, Hal realized that it would set in minutes.
'Tell Cordell there's been an attack… four scouts killed. Can't see Hal or the Bishou's daughter,' Daggrande barked at the swordsman, who nodded quickly. 'We'll try to pick up the trail.'
The man started down the stairway toward the beach far below, shouting for attention, but the dwarf had already turned his men toward the jungle.
'Grabert, you worked with the rangers, right?' Daggrande asked one of the swordsmen in his detachment. When the man nodded, the dwarf continued. 'Take the lead. See if you can pick up their trail.'
Even as the ranger turned to follow the tracks that had battered the ground in the clearing, Daggrande shouted orders to the rest of his legionnaires.
'Here it is, Captain. They headed into the jungle,' Grabert quickly announced. Immediately the troops fell into column.
Daggrande placed two crossbowmen immediately behind Grabert, followed by himself and then staggered pairs of crossbow and sword to the final swordsman bringing up the rear. The native war party had left a wide trail, and the ranger had no difficulty following the spoor. Thus the column marched quickly through the dense jungle.
Daggrande stepped quickly but quietly, ignoring the heavy, humid heat. His breastplate rested comfortably on his shoulders, and his heavy boots tromped through the brush, impervious to thorn and thistle.
The dwarf cast a quick look to the rear and saw that his legionnaires marched at full alert. The group included a half-dozen dwarves, and Daggrande knew that humans and dwarves alike were all steady veterans, brave and skilled fighters.
But he wondered what they marched against. And a small, reluctant part of him wondered what had become of Halloran.
Daggrande worked hard to keep that part of him quiet, for he considered such overwrought concern for a
