village. She, assumed that her brother, trapped atop the pyramid, had fallen during the massacre. Still numb with shock, she began to ache with a foretaste of her pain, for she hadn't yet grasped the full extent of the disaster. Her village had died today.
Erix left the road that ran through the mayzfields lining the valley bottom. She circled to the north of Palul, finally reaching the stream that ran past the town. Here she stopped for a quick look around.
She spotted two silver-plated riders on the road, about a mile away. From the black atop the helm of one of the riders, she recognized him as the captain of the savage horsemen. For a long, hateful moment, she wished she was a warrior, with a powerful bow, so intensely did she want to strike him from his saddle. Then she saw his face turn toward her, and she dropped into the shallow streambed, knowing such a thought for the utterly futile desire that it was.
She splashed through the shallow water, staying low, and started to move along the stream bank on the opposite side. For half a mile, she worked her way back toward the town.
Finally Erix reached a bend in the stream, near the base of the ridge below her father's house. Here she broke from cover, darting up the bank and through another field of mayz toward the security of the brushy slope before her.
Sudden hoofbeats pounded behind her, and she knew she had been spotted. Without looking back, she guessed the identity of her pursuers, and that knowledge spurred her to deerlike swiftness.
But the horses were swift, too. Before she reached the undergrowth, Erix felt a charger thunder close, and suddenly a brutal weight smashed into her body, sending her crashing to the ground.
With a savage scream, she sprang to her feet and whirled, only to see the red-bearded legionnaire leap from his saddle and crash into her with the full force of his metal-armored frame. Again she smashed into the ground, this time driving the air from her lungs.
The legionnaire's companion pulled up beside him, casting a hungry glance at her. He dismounted, then stood to the side, looking around them.
Erix scratched blindly, hatred driving her fingers, but the horseman only laughed. With one brawny hand, he pinned both of her arms to the ground. She smelled the octal on his breath, saw the mad flush in his eyes. His laughter dropped to a menacing chortle.
'You're a pretty one, aren't you!'
She spat at his face, and he sneered.
'Spirited, too! I can see what Halloran liked about you.'
At the name, she stiffened reflexively, then cursed to herself as she saw the pleased smile crease his gap- toothed mouth.
'Now,' he said, reaching a bloody paw to the bodice of her dress. 'Let's have a look at you!'
Lolth tasted the blood, felt the heat of the battle, and began to take a great interest in the faraway realm of Maztica. Her attentions, originally fixed upon the rebellious drow who dared worship another god, began to grow.
Perhaps her vengeance should not be hasty. Measuring in the time scale of godhood, she felt no hurry to punish her wayward children. They would feel the lash of her anger soon enough.
But perhaps, before then, she could enjoy the show of slaughter and butchery presented by the humans.
And in the near future, this land called the True World seemed likely to yield a plentiful harvest of blood.
FLIGHT AND SANCTUARY
Halloran didn't need to ask Poshtli; he knew the plume of black smoke billowing into the air before them marked the town of Palul. Still miles from the community, they began to meet haggard Mazticans fleeing down the road to Nexal. These refugees invariably scrambled into the brush or mayzfields beside the road at the approach of the two riders on the roan mare.
Sickened with apprehension, Hal felt acute shame at his own appearance, dressed as he was in the uniform of their enemy. Children saw him and shrieked with horror. He saw an old woman with badly injured legs crawling from the roadway, trying pathetically to reach the shelter of the undergrowth.
But Hal's overwhelming fear for Erixitl compelled him to forge ahead.
'We'll never find her!' Hal groaned as they closed to within a mile of the town. They could see the village pyramid, a small, bright blaze marking the temple and its bloody altar. The conflagration had blackened whole rows of houses. They saw few Mazticans this close to Palul. Those they did encounter were badly wounded or numb with shock.
'Do you think she would have recognized us?' asked Poshtli, wondering if they had already passed Erix among the fleeing villagers.
'I don't know,' Hal groaned. 'I wouldn't blame her if she ran and hid as soon as she saw the horse.'
'Perhaps we should separate,' said Poshtli. 'We can circle Palul in opposite directions and meet beyond the village. If we don't find her, then we can slip into town and see if she's still there.'
'Her father's house,' said Hal, remembering Erixitl's description. 'She said it was on the ridge above Palul, near the top. She might have gone there.'
They both saw the looming green slope on the far side of the town.
'Let's meet at the foot of the slope.' Poshtli squinted into the distance as he dismounted. 'There, near that waterfall.' He indicated a bright cascade where a small stream plummeted from a gorge in the side of the ridge.
'All right,' Hal agreed. He clasped the warrior's hand. 'Keep your eyes open. There'll be legionnaires about.'
Poshtli nodded brusquely, then turned and slipped from the right side of the road into a tangle of low trees. Hal reined Storm to the left, starting into a field of mayz. Anxiously he looked around, hoping desperately to catch some sight of Erixitl.
He rode for several minutes, trying to avoid the Mazticans he found — pathetic family groups hiding among the mayz, old couples, speechless and stunned by the events of the day. The most horrifying to Halloran were the lone children, crying waifs, some of whom didn't even know enough to hide at his hoof-pounding approach.
He tried to look past them, to seek Erixitl beyond, on some clean, windswept slope above the fields, but he couldn't. Halloran sensed that, with this battle, something deep and irrevocable had fallen between himself and his former comrades. No longer did he feel like a fugitive, wanting only to avoid the soldiers of the legion. Now he began to feel like their enemy.
Suddenly he squinted, distracted by something he glimpsed through a tree line — a flash of color, nothing more, that reminded him of Erixitl's cloak. Spurring Storm to a gallop, he raced toward the row of greenery. As he suspected, it marked the course of a shallow stream. The mare plowed through the water, throwing a curtain of spray before bounding easily up the far bank.
His eyes flared as he saw Alvarro some distance away, straddling someone on the ground. Another legionnaire, dismounted and held two horses nearby. The latter looked up at Hal with a wicked grin, expecting one of his comrades.
Halloran recognized him as Vane, an unscrupulous bully, one of Alvarro's regular companions.
'Hal!' Erix cried, struggling beneath the red-bearded brute. Alvarro looked up and stared at Halloran in shock, while Vane sneered and leaped into his saddle. Drawing his sword, he thundered toward Hal.
Grimly Halloran turned Storm into Vane's charge, drawing and raising Helmstooth at the same time. He thrust instinctively with the steel blade as the two horses smashed shoulders. The collision threw Hal from the saddle even as the mare moved nimbly to the side.
Vane's horse stumbled and fell, but its rider paid no heed, for Halloran had stabbed him through the heart.
Alvarro, meanwhile, leaped up, leaving Erix gasping on the ground. Blindly Hal sprang to his feet and
