of all-seeing Helm, patron god of the Golden Legion. Outlined in black, the eagle shone vividly from a background of metallic, gleaming golden fabric.
'They come toward us quickly, with little thought of tactics. Matters will reach a head in good order — it will take them some time to reach us, and when they do, we hold the high ground.'
The speaker turned, with the assurance of command, from the advancing army, addressing the small group of captains at his side. He was a small man, but he spoke and moved with a confidence so ironclad that other men could not help but listen. A black beard, too sparsely grown to hide his pockmarked skin, surrounded his tight mouth. Currently that mouth curved upward in an ingratiating, genuine smile.
'Almighty Helm has granted our enemies into your hands, captain-general Cordell.' Another man, tall and bearded, his slender form cloaked in a brown robe, nodded to the leader. A shirt of chain mail showed through an opening in his robe. His hands were cloaked in metal gauntlets, and each gauntlet bore the realistic image of a wide — staring eye — the unblinking symbol of Helm the Vigilant. The man carried a tall staff and wore a mace suspended from his belt. Though he towered over the others, his movements showed the stiffness of age. His bearded face was weather-beaten and dour.
'And he has granted me the tools with which to break them, Bishou Domincus.' Cordell nodded warmly at the cleric. 'You have seen to the spiritual strength of the legion well, my friend. Now we shall test that strength.'
'May Helm find us worthy,' said the Bishou humbly, nodding his thanks at the praise.
The captain-general turned to another warrior, heartily thumping this steel-clad companion on the back. 'Now, Captain Daggrande, is the ambush prepared?'
'My crossbowmen are ready, Captain-General.' Captain Daggrande was shorter still than his commander, his broad shoulders and bowed legs marking him as a dwarf. He wore a shiny steel breastplate, and his skull was protected by a shiny helm with an encircling, uptilted brim. 'I'll join my men now, sir.'
'Indeed.' Cordell nodded, dismissing the dwarf, utterly confident of the grizzled veteran's abilities. Daggrande and his hundred crossbowmen were in many ways the central weapon of the legion, for their deadly missiles allowed Cordell to engage an enemy before that enemy contacted his armored swordsmen or cavalry.
A more penetrating concern showed in his eyes as he looked around the group. 'Where's Broker?'
'He sent us, General Cordell — Captain Alvarro and myself,' Sergeant — Major Halloran answered. The young horseman wore a light chain shirt and bore a slender sword and small shield. A sleek black charger stood behind him, slowly tapping the earth with one hoof. Beside him stood Alvarro, a cavalryman with hair and beard of blazing red and teeth staggered in a gap-toothed grin. Alvarro was an older warrior who currently looked with unconcealed scorn at the young speaker. 'His wounds,' continued Halloran, 'prevent Broker from fighting today.'
Cordell nodded, studying the two men. Broker, his trusted captain of horse, was lost for the battle. Indeed, from what Cordell had seen of Broker's wounds, the captain might never fight again. So his current choice was obvious.
'Sergeant-Major — no make that Captain Halloran — you have command of the lancers in Broker's absence. Take tactical command of the Blue and Black companies.'
The commander turned to regard Alvarro, staring frankly into the man's flashing eyes. Cordell made no attempt to justify his decision to promote the younger man. He had given an order and it would be obeyed. 'You have tactical command of the Green and Yellow companies. Be certain you wait for the signal to charge!'
Again the brisk nod before continuing. 'I want all four companies of lancers to charge together, in echelon from the right. Blue and Black companies take the lead, behind your banner. Captain Alvarro should follow with the Yellows and Greens.'
'Yes, sir.'
'But wait until the trumpet sounds your charge. I want no interference with Daggrande's volleys. Let the crossbows prepare them for your lances.'
Halloran smiled grimly at the prospect, and suddenly his face looked much older. 'We'll ride when the trumpets sound, and not a moment before.'
Cordell eyed Halloran keenly, the commander's black eyes quickly taking the measure of the young warrior. Hold on to yourself and serve me well! he thought. Cordell had observed the courage and skill of these men for many years. Alvarro was the finer horseman, the more relentless and punishing fighter. But Halloran possessed a self-assurance that seemed to attract the confidence of other men. And Hal just might have the discipline to hold the high-spirited riders in check, something the impetuous Alvarro could never do.
The roar of the pirate charge grew louder as they swept into the last mile below the legion's hill. Quickly the captain-general turned to his other captains, admonishing his sword-and-buckler men to hold firm in the center, his reserve to remain in position until called forward. The other captains turned to their own companies, and soon Cordell stood alone on the low rise except for one other.
This one was not armored like the warriors, nor tall nor broad enough to seem at home with the company. Cordell's companion was not, in fact, a manly fighter. She had white hair and pearl-colored, translucent skin. A deep, cowled hood shaded her face, protecting every surface of that skin from harsh sunlight. If the hood had been thrown back, an observer would have noticed the pointed ears characteristic of the elves. Her flowing robe, with its many pockets, marked her as a magic-user.
'When the moment is right, you, my dear Darien, should begin the destruction.' Cordell's voice was softer than it had been with his captains. He took the mage's hands in his and looked directly into her pale eyes, wondering as always at the hidden depths there. In the ten years since she had joined him on the bloodstained field of Cordell's only defeat, she had become a necessary fixture of his life and his legion. Indeed, the two of them had, together, recruited the captains who now formed the legion's core.
'Icetongue will give them pause.' Darien's slender fingers gently pulled a short black stick from her robes. 'But their numbers are many.'
'We will take them today,' Cordell replied. 'All veteran captains, the best men I've ever commanded. The Golden Legion is the finest company along the Sword Coast, and they answer to me alone!' Darien smiled ironically at him, her lips faintly visible in the depths of her robe.
The pirate army, preceded by the smoking columns of its fiery cyclones, surged closed. The shrill cries of three thousand voices reached their ears, a dissonant backdrop to their speech.
'Be careful,' Cordell warned earnestly. 'But kill them!'
'I shall,' whispered the hooded one, her voice ice cool. Cordell felt a slight chill. As always, he found her dispassion toward death faintly disquieting. But that dispassion was unquestionably a great military asset, and he forced the feeling away.
'By tonight, all of Amn will celebrate our victory,' Cordell reminded her. 'And by tomorrow, we shall have an appointment with the Council of Six itself!'
The general turned back to the pirate army. He paid no attention to the fire magic, studying instead the colorful buccaneers. The enemy moved in a shimmering wall of silken splendor, their crimson shirts, emerald tunics, and blue and golden sashes all giving the force a festive holiday appearance. And still they advanced in their broad formation.
Darien let go the general's hand, with a lingering caress. The tight smile still creased her tiny mouth.
'Come, my dear.' Cordell doffed his helm, broad-brimmed like Daggrande's, and gestured gallantly toward the field below. 'We have a battle to win.'
Hoxitl, high priest of bloody Zaltec, picked his way into the cavern of the Ancient Ones. He came in darkness, leaving his attending band of young initiates to wait on the windswept slopes near the great volcano's summit. As always, his hair was blood-caked and pointed, and ashes thoroughly covered his skin.
He wondered, as he had wondered throughout the long climb, why his counselors had summoned him. It had been ten years since last he had spoken with the Ancient Ones. Then he had reported that the girl Erixitl of Palul had disappeared into the brush, presumably the victim of a jaguar. Though Zaltec had been robbed of his sacrifice, the Ancient One had seemed satisfied with the girl's disposal.
No jaguars guarded the entrance this time, but in the dim red glow of the cavern, he saw a pair of knights, dressed in their spotted hides, casually watching him through the open jaguar jaws of their helmets. The claw
