companion to be dangerous to his objectivity as a commander. Nevertheless, he could not deny the fear that threatened to become panic whenever he thought of his young protege in the hands of savage tribesmen.
Idly he noticed that it was almost twilight.
'Come on, by Zaltec, move!' Gultec roared at the column of spearmen that slowly worked its way along the jungle trail. The Payit army, a hundred hundredmen strong, had started from Ulatos shortly before dusk. The serpentine columns marched slowly by Gultec's standards, but still the thousands of warriors maintained a steady trot along the network of winding jungle trails converging at Twin Visages.
Now the Jaguar Knight stood in the shadows beside the path, watching the warriors jog past. Each group of hundredmen wore its own distinctive feather headdress, each group's a different color. The natives carried javelins and spear casters that enabled the warrior to throw the weapon much farther than a bare-handed toss. Some wielded heavy wooden clubs, and many — the veteran warriors — carried heavy, obsidian-edged macas.
The Payit army moved smoothly, two abreast, but Gultec still felt a vague unease. Certainly they would outnumber the strangers, but the appearance of these newcomers was so unusual and their equipment seemed so mighty that Gultec could not feel utterly confident about fighting them. Then again, perhaps the encounter would not come to battle.
Suddenly a figure joined Gultec beside the trail, and he turned to see the rotund cleric Kachin studying him. The man's gray hair, still tied in a single knot, hung over his shoulder and down to his belt. The Jaguar Knight felt a momentary urge to turn into the jungle, to vanish in his feline form. Instead, he met the gaze of the cleric squarely.
'There is hesitation all around,' remarked Kachin casually. 'No one, not even the Revered Counselor of Ulatos, Caxal himself, knows what to make of these visitors. Do they invade us, Gultec?' The Jaguar Knight studied the cleric as the man spoke, puzzling over his simple white mantle, protruding belly, and round face. He looked so unusual, not at all like the filthy, emaciated clerics of the younger gods. Gultec found it hard to believe that this man could truly be religious.
'They are very strange in appearance, and they move as warriors.' The Jaguar Knight thought carefully as he answered. 'I suspect they do not come in friendship.'
'Caxal is worried that these strangers are the harbingers of Qotal himself, that the Feathered One returns to Maztica at Twin Visages, even as was prophesied.' Kachin spoke ironically, and Gultec regarded the cleric of Qotal curiously. It was not at all like a priest to speak in such tones about his own god.
Kachin chuckled wryly. 'I surprise you. I will tell you a thing, Jaguar Knight, and you should believe it. These men are not the servants of Qotal. Their vessels do not carry the Silent Counselor back to our shores.'
'How can you know this?' Gultec demanded. 'Have you seen them?'
'Do you think a priest of Qotal would not know if his True Master were even now awaiting a proper welcome?' Kachin looked harshly at Gultec, his stare making the warrior feel like a worm twisting on a dangling hook.
'Listen to me, Gultec! These are men, and they are dangerous men. It will be up to Payits such as you and me to make sure that their menace does not become our catastrophe!'
The knight regarded the cleric with growing respect. This man was very different from the weakling Mixtal. For a brief moment, Gultec regretted the training that had planted him among the Jaguar Knights, the worshipers of warlike Zaltec.
The cleric seemed to read his thoughts, for he said, not unkindly, 'The glory of a god does not need to be measured by the pile of bodies heaped in his honor. This is the error of the younger gods, and their bloodlust may well cause the disaster that will destroy the True World.'
Kachin's tone suddenly grew harsh — 'I meant what I told you in Ulatos. If you or that knife-wielding 'priest' has slain the girl, Erixitl, I will exact retribution… in blood.'
'Then why do you offer me counsel now?' snarled the knight.
'We face a more urgent challenge than our own quarrel,' replied the cleric, and Gultec could sense the deep sincerity in Kachin's voice. 'I fear that the future of the world we know is at stake.' Kachin's voice hushed slightly, betraying his profound concern.
Gultec growled inaudibly. He did not seek the counsel of clerics, did not like it when it was offered. Yet there was something ultimately believable in this cleric that forced Gultec to respect him. He was clearly very wise, and his bravery could not be questioned either. Never had a cleric dared to speak to Gultec as this one had — and twice in one day! And if this cleric was frightened by the strangers, Gultec thought that they must be very dangerous indeed.
'Do not let her get away!' Mixtal admonished the four apprentices, each of whom held one of Martine's limbs. 'She shall not escape us again!' The priest did not see the puzzled looks on the young clerics' faces, and they had given up trying to point out that the captive was other than the girl, Erix.
'Bring the man, too!' Mixtal gestured at Hal, and several warriors prodded the pair up the steep steps to the top of the pyramid. They swayed dangerously on the narrow ledges that served as stairs. Halloran wondered briefly if a fast, fatal fall might be preferable to whatever awaited them above.
Mixtal finally reached the top, where he threw his head back and laughed, delighted at last. He faced the setting sun, letting its rays fall over him as it touched the treetops. She will not escape me now! The Ancient Ones will be pleased!
He looked back at the assemblage, again cursing the haze that seemed to float eternally across his eyes. He looked to the sea. The strange winged objects seemed to be very far away, their shapes becoming shadows in the sunset.
Closer, his apprentices and the warriors gathered around the top of the pyramid. Why are they so somber? Mixtal squinted, but he could not quite see their faces… that accursed haze!
The apprentices pulled the blindfold from the girl's eyes and severed her bonds, jerking her toward the altar. She twitched and kicked, her eyes widening in terror, but the young men easily held her. Mixtal stared at the girl, at her coppery skin, her inky black tresses, all the details he saw and knew.
Everything became perfectly clear. Halloran's blood chilled at the sight of the grisly altar. The stone block was the size of a small table, and the red-black stains smearing its sides clearly indicated its function. The squatting beast statue, with its gaping maw, crouched beside the altar. Martine screamed, the sound barely stifled by the gag, as the priests seized her.
'No!' Hal screamed, twisting desperately in the grip of the two warriors. 'By Helm, no!'
The high priest, his face distorted madly, turned toward the legionnaire. The man's matted hair hung in a ragged mane around his head as he held his right hand forward and slowly clenched it into a fist.
Halloran gasped as he felt the magical thong around him tighten, threatening to crush his ribs with the pressing force of his breastplate. His head throbbed and his vision grew red. His mouth worked reflexively, gasping for air that could find no space in his lungs.
The last of his breath emerged in a ragged groan as Hal slumped to his knees, struggling to remain conscious. The pressure on his body was about to crush him, and then suddenly it eased.
Halloran collapsed facefirst, paralyzed as his lungs sucked desperately needed air. Slowly he lifted himself to his hands and knees, and then the two warriors lifted him to his feet. They easily held him as he tried to lunge toward the altar.
He could not prevent the priests from stretching Martine backward across the altar. Her eyes turned toward him, widely staring, shocked.
'No!' He roared his rage again as two more warriors restrained him. Martine lay absolutely helpless. Halloran twisted, but he was powerless to intervene, powerless to do anything.
The high priest raised his hand, raised the stone dagger. For a moment, the dark gloss of obsidian caught the last rays of the sun, a glowing reflection of the rage and murderous hate burning in Halloran's eyes.
Then the blade dropped as the priest performed the act he had performed so many times before. Martine released one shocked, final gasp, while the apprentices held her firmly, allowing no twitch of movement. Mixtal's hand moved quickly and steadily, his cut swift and deep and sure.
And then the high priest held her heart in the air. It seemed to pulse in dying cadence to the fading light of
