memory of the sacrifice had been the priest's throwing the cool, still heart into that savage maw.
Despite his averted eyes, the image of that snarling face, vaguely human but combining elements of serpent and lion as well, remained embedded in his brain. It symbolized to him ultimate barbarism, the callous murder of innocents to feed the insatiable appetite of a monstrous god.
Martine! Why couldn't they have taken me instead?
All of his annoyance with the woman had vanished at the moment of their capture. Now he groaned under a sense of all-encompassing failure and sorrow.
His hatred burned with white-hot fury, but he could not break away from the snakeskin rope that bound him. He hated these savage warriors. He hated this hot, primitive land. And mostly he hated the ash-streaked, scarred priest who had performed this abominable rite. Halloran fixed his cold eyes on that priest, and the man flinched and finally turned away.
The priest had argued at some length with the warrior in the spotted skin, and Hal sensed that his own fate had been the topic. Apparently the warrior had prevailed, for the priest made no move toward him. In fact, the legionnaire almost hoped that he would be selected for sacrifice. In the guilt of his massive failure, he did not feel that he deserved to live after Martine had been so brutally killed. For some moments, he considered hurling himself off the edge of the steep-sided pyramid, the ultimate self-punishment for the ultimate failure.
But somewhere deep within himself, Halloran's warrior's heart burned with the need for vengeance. Without life, there could be no vengeance, and so he would have to live.
At least, he would have to live long enough to kill.
'Muster the legion!' cried Bishou Domincus. 'Disaster threatens!'
'Quiet, man!' urged Cordell, as gently as possible. 'We don't know for certain yet just what's wrong.' The two men, together with Darien and Kardann, stood with a panting swordsman beside the legion's camp on the wooded shoreline. 'There was no sign of Halloran or the Bishou's daughter?'
'No, sir,' gasped the man. He had just descended the tall stairway from the bluff top, racing to report to the captain-general. 'We found four men, all dead — along with quite a few of the natives.'
'Helm's curses on his head, on his soul!' cried the Bishou, waving his fist in the direction where Halloran had last been seen.
'She may be all right! It doesn't do any good to start turning against our own, especially when we don't know what's happened!' Cordell struggled to stay cool.
'You don't, perhaps,' groaned the cleric, nearly sobbing, 'but I do! Terror has struck. My daughter suffers at the hands of evil! I know this. I can feel it!'
'Perhaps we should get back aboard the ships,' urged the assessor of Amn. Kardann had grown increasingly nervous as the Bishou's distress became more obvious. Now Cordell looked at him with ill-concealed scorn.
'If there is a danger, it is certain to be a threat the legion can face. If you wish, you may reembark now. My men are staying ashore.'
'Yes, perhaps that would be wise,' the assessor agreed, nodding, completely missing the barbed tone of the commander's voice. 'I shall oversee matters on the ships!' The pudgy accountant turned toward shore, eagerly seeking a longboat to haul him out to the Falcon.
'I'll send more parties up the bluff,' said Cordell. By now, scouts had discovered three broad stairways climbing the escarpment. Only the central one, the one passing between the two monstrous faces, showed signs of regular use.
'May Helm grant that we are not too late!' groaned the Bishou.
Spirali moved when darkness once again cloaked the world, but the Ancient One traveled in ways unknown to the rest of Maztica. His journey began in the Highcave, on the peak above Nexal.
He spoke a single word, and then he was in Ulatos, chief city of the Payit. The Ancient One arrived in the courtyard of Zaltec's temple, though none could see him in the darkness. Spirali's black cloak, soft, dark boots, and cloaking hood all made him a part of the night.
A single young apprentice stood beside the temple gates. Spirali sensed at once that the place was otherwise empty. The Ancient One stalked toward the apprentice, though the youth did not see him until he spoke.
'I seek Mixtal, High Priest of Ulatos.'
The youth's jaw dropped, and he stepped backward in terror. He could see a dim, dark shape before him, and he heard a voice of unquestionable strength. The apprentice stammered awkwardly, struggling to speak.
'The c-coasi… they went this morning. They saw the strangers come…' *The fellow ran out of words, and only then did he notice that the dark stranger had already disappeared.
'Hey, Captain, maybe this one can tell us something!' Grabert, the ranger, still leading, turned back to Daggrande with a struggling form clasped in his brawny arms.
The dwarf saw a young woman, a black-haired, copper-skinned beauty who kicked and scratched in a vain effort to escape the ranger's grasp. The man winced once as the girl landed a sharp kick, but he simply clasped her more tightly as one of the crossbowmen seized and held her feet.
Daggrande grunted, studying the girl, or woman… he was not sure which. Her smooth-skinned face and slender form bespoke late adolescence, but something in the girl's glaring eyes, in the firm set of her mouth, made the dwarf suspect her to be an adult.
In return, Erixitl studied these strange men who had taken her, new captors now after her one brief day of freedom. All of these strangers had hair growing out of their faces. Their skin was a sickly pale color. She especially recoiled from some of their unnatural eyes, watery blue orbs that seemed more properly the eyes of fish than men.
Some of the men were very short, she noticed, though this did not make them seem any less fearsome. If anything, the bushy facial fur and gnarled limbs of these smaller strangers made them even more ferocious- looking than their human-sized comrades. She remembered tales of the Hairy Men of the Desert, who supposedly dwelt in the arid reaches south of Kultaka and Nexal. Legends said those folk were short, broad of shoulder, and bowed of leg. Such a description matched the shorter warriors among the strangers as well.
'Well, I don't think she's the one who did the killing and capturing,' speculated Daggrande. 'But I don't think it would be smart to let her go until we find out a little more about what's going on.'
The dwarf nodded to a couple of the crossbowmen. 'Tie her up and bring her along. And be quick about it! We're moving on.'
Erix couldn't understand the harsh, barking speech of the strangers, but their intentions became clear enough as the hempen rope curled around her wrists. Her struggles in the arms of these burly humans were as a child wriggling in the grasp of its mother. Soon she was bound as tightly as before, though the strangers did not gag or blindfold her.
In the meantime, the swordsman at the point of the column had pushed forward several steps and now crept slowly backward.
'Captain, look at this!' he called, with a new sense of urgency.
Erix knew he had seen the pyramid and its scene of gory sacrifice.
From the chronicle of Colon:
Serving as always the resplendent glory in the memory of the Golden God.
I watch the young Lord Poshtli as he leaves the city by the south causeway. He departs Nexal alone, but this in no way diminishes the grandeur of his mission.
Poshtli carries a pair of spears, an obsidian-edged maca, his bow, a quiver of arrows, and a waterskin. He will shun the lands of Kultaka and Pezelac. Instead, he will strike out over the House of Tezca, the great desert that marks the True World's southern extent.
He still wears the mantle and helm of the Eagle Knight, but he will not make this quest by wing. Instead, he laces his high sandals tight and marches toward lands as barren as any nightmarish pestilence of the gods. His goal is the truth and nothing less — a quest that might keep a man searching for a very long time.
But Poshtli has dreamed of the Sunstone. Such a dream must provide a nicker of hope, for it shows the presence, however faint, and the will of the Plumed One. And, too, this vision was given to him by the couatl, the
