'To be sure.' Cordell paid her little attention. 'Excellent. We will land the entire legion here. The savages will quickly learn the folly of attacking the Golden Legion.'
'Let the war begin,' whispered Darien, so softly that even her man did not hear.
Spirali rested inside the dark shrine of Qotal. He felt no sense of irony at taking shelter within a building devoted to the rival of Zaltec. In truth, Spirali felt little of anything.
The fight with the swordsman had exhausted him, but only daylight had forced him to teleport away from the battle. Even so, he was not certain he could have bested the human.
Indeed, these invaders were of a breed quite different from the natives of Maztica. Of course, he, like the other Ancient Ones, had long known of the lands across the sea, the lands referred to by their inhabitants as 'the Forgotten Realms' or 'The Sword Coast,' or by other exotic names.
For many years, it had been the task of the Ancient Ones to prepare the land for the coming of these strangers, prepare it so that Zaltec would feed well and the Ancient Ones would grow strong.
Spirali regarded his problems coldly, dispassionately. Yet he nearly cursed when he thought of the girl escaping his arrow. That the missile had claimed the corpulent cleric was little satisfaction.
Now the hot sun blistered the world outside this stone building. Even the pale light spilling down the stairs burned his eyes and forced him to avert his gaze.
He could only wait until nightfall.
The white sails had remained visible against the horizon for several hours as Halloran and Daggrande, led by Erixitl, pressed westward along the shore. Eventually the fleet overtook them and continued on farther to the west, never coming closer to land.
The shoreline was mostly smooth beach backed by jungle, and they made good time. Along the way, they encountered several small groups of fishermen on the shore. These natives took one look at Halloran in his steel breastplate and blond hair or the grizzled visage of Daggrande scowling from beneath his heavy brows and quickly fled into the jungle or took to sea in their long canoes.
'I'd like to get my hands on one of those canoes,' said Halloran as another trio of fishermen desperately paddled their slim craft through the surf, away from shore.
'Perhaps we can find one when we reach the delta,' replied Erix. 'I can take you that far before I turn toward Ulatos.'
Late in the day, they saw the billowing canvas veer landward, and Hal's heart thrilled to the hope that the fleet would drop anchor and allow them to rejoin their companions. He tried, unsuccessfully, to bury the bleak sense of failure that would accompany his return. He felt, again, his guilt over Martine's loss. Somehow his shame seemed even more tarnished when he realized that he had been enjoying Erix's company for some time without a single thought of the Bishou's daughter. What kind of a man am I? he wondered.
'That is the delta, where the ships go now,' explained the woman. She remembered descriptions of Ulatos she had heard from Kachin, complete with details and maps sketched on the ground. 'I know there are many canoes — traders and fishermen and flower gatherers — working among the mangaroo groves.'
The shorelands here were more open, and Daggrande clumped along ahead of the man and woman. Halloran saw large fields of the plump, rich vegetable they had sampled at every landing in Maztica. 'I see you, too, make use of this 'mayz' plant,' he observed to Erix as they passed a particularly lush field, separated from the beach by a row of palm trees and a narrow, straight canal.
'What place in the world could live without mayz?' asked Erix in bewilderment. 'It is the food sent to man by the gods, brought by Qotal himself before he fought with his son Zaltec and was driven from Maztica.'
Hal smiled. 'We have grown to adulthood never knowing of mayz until the last few weeks. It is a wondrous plant, but unique to… 'Maztica'?' he pronounced tentatively, to her shy laughter.
'Maztica. Maztica meaning 'the True World.' But perhaps the world is a larger place than we have known.' She turned and looked at him.
'Tell me, where is it you come from? Are there many humans there?' Erix had decided for herself, beyond any sense of doubt, that these visitors were men and not gods. Complex and interesting men to be sure, but as mortal as herself and her people.
'It is a place called the Forgotten Realms, from lands along the Sword Coast. My general is a great man, a man named Cordell, and he has led his legion here in search… ' He suddenly let his words trail off. Their mission, the plundering of these people's gold and the conquest of their lands, suddenly seemed less righteous than before, now that he was here, face to face with Erix.
It had been a simple matter when the inhabitants of these lands had been faceless savages, rude barbarians. The legion's mission became even more just when the natives attacked him by surprise and then performed the shocking ritual of Martine's sacrifice.
But now he had seen the courage and kindness of these people as well. No legionnaire had ever died a braver death than had Kachin, stopping the arrow intended for Erix. And that young woman had shown herself to be wise and patient, even in the face of events that could easily have overwhelmed her.
Such thoughts, he reminded himself sharply, were disloyal, perhaps even treasonous. Roughly he forced them from his mind, replacing them with the vivid memory of Martine's brutal sacrifice, the chilling cruelty of the priest. Whether he had been mad or not, many others followed his orders with apparent willingness, so even in madness he had not been alone.
Nevertheless, Hal felt certain that there was more to these people than Bishou Domincus, or even Cordell, suspected. This was a complex issue, and Halloran disliked complex issues on principle. Unconsciously he scowled, then smiled at Erix's sudden expression of worry when she saw his face.
'My mind is wandering,' he explained.
He saw that they approached a region of densely tangled vegetation extending far into the sea. Stretches of glassy water were visible, winding among the trees, which Erix called 'mangaroo.'
'See how the limbs entwine?' she said. 'The mangaroo creates its own islands as it expands. There is the Ulatos delta. They say it is always growing, that islands creep farther into the ocean every day.'
'We've got to find a canoe!' declared Hal, suddenly anxious to return to the fleet. She looked at him sharply, surprised by his sudden, rudely abrupt declaration, but then shrugged and led him onward.
A small dock marked the border of the mangaroo delta — it looked like a swamp to Halloran — and here they found several canoes left by the hurriedly fleeing natives. They selected a large dugout, made from a single log that had been hollowed by fire and patient chiseling.
'I will leave you here,' said Erix quietly, disturbed and slightly frightened by the sudden tension in this tall man. 'May you have a good journey to your great canoe, your 'ship.''
Daggrande lowered himself into one of the wobbling boats as Hal turned to say farewell. He found his tongue frozen in his mouth. This native girl disturbed and intrigued him in a way that Martine never had. Halloran's conscience troubled him deeply as he realized that the legion's mission would almost certainly make them enemies.
'Thank you for all your kindnesses,' he finally blurted. 'I hope that we meet again, and that fate is kind to you until that day.' Bowing awkwardly, he climbed into the stern of the canoe. He and Daggrande each took a paddle, and soon the nimble craft disappeared among the winding mangaroo groves, heading for the open sea.
Erix watched them sail away, fighting a powerful sadness growing in her heart. She would remember the pale, tall soldier, with his mighty prowess and his strange, burning sense of drive. Truly if the other strangers were his equals, the invaders were a powerful and deadly force, perhaps equal to the might of Nexal itself.
Suddenly she shuddered. Her thoughts had briefly touched on both the city of Nexal and these strangers. For a stark second, her brain had flashed with a vision of distant Nexal in ruins, black smoke shrouding the sky above her lakes.
In her imagination, these strangers were everywhere.
'Do not debark the horses until dark,' ordered the captain-general. 'We have seen no sign of mounted travel here. Perhaps they will provide an unpleasant surprise for the foe come tomorrow.'
His captains were gathered before him on the deck of the Falcon, receiving their final instructions. Cordell had commanded that the legion debark before nightfall. The troops would bivouac on the shore, in full view of the
