valley of Nexal by midmorning, and in a few hours, the lathered mare raced across the causeway, carrying him through the streets of the city, into the sacred plaza, to the doors of Naltecona's palace.
Leaving Storm with a pair of terrified slaves, he ordered them to water and feed the horse. Then he quickly made his way through the palace corridors to the doors before the great throne room itself.
Poshtli placed the ritual rags over his shoulders and entered the throne room. He saw his uncle pacing on the dais, his agitation visible in every abrupt gesture, every dark flash of his eyes.
Naltecona gestured Poshtli forward quickly, before the warrior had performed the three floor-scraping bows normally required of visitors to the throne.
'Where have you been?' demanded the Revered Counselor. 'I have sent messengers to search for you over the last two days.'
'To Palul,' the warrior replied. 'I have seen the devastation there myself. Now I come to offer my services in the defense of the city. I will fight wherever you want me, though as you know, I no longer carry the rank of Eagle Knight.'
Naltecona brushed the explanation aside as if he had not heard. 'You must remain by my side now,' the counselor directed his nephew. 'You, among all my court, have come to know something about these strangers. I will need you with me when they enter the city, which — according to the Eagles who watch their march — will be very soon!'
'Enter the city?' Poshtli stood, stunned. 'Don't you mean to fight them?'
'What is the point?' asked Naltecona sadly. 'They cannot be beaten, and perhaps they should not be. Perhaps they are destined to claim Nexal, to inherit the feathered throne of my ancestors.'
Poshtli couldn't believe what he heard. 'Uncle, I advise you to fight them before they reach the city! Pull up the bridges, meet them with a thousand canoes full of warriors! True, the invaders are mighty, but they can be killed! They bleed and die as men!'
Naltecona stared at Poshtli, a hint of the old command in his eyes. The younger man pressed his case. 'We outnumber them a hundred to one! If we hold the causeways, they cannot reach us here!'
But Naltecona shook his head slowly, looking at Poshtli as a parent regards a child who simply doesnt grasp the subtleties of adult life. He patted his nephew's shoulder, and the young man's spirit cried silently when he saw the look of dejection and defeat lurking deep within his uncle's eyes.
'Please, Poshtli. You stay by my side,' said Naltecona.
His heart breaking, the warrior could only nod and obey.
Shatil crept through the darkened streets of Nexal. He limped on raw and bleeding feet, still clutching his gored wrist to his chest. He had run for the full day following the massacre, but his steps had slowed to a walk by nightfall. Now, eight hours later, he shuffled toward the Great Pyramid in the hours between midnight and dawn.
Still holding the parchment, though the rust-colored stain of his blood marred one edge of it, Shatil thought of the message he carried. He had looked at it earlier in the day and was unable to suppress a gasp of astonishment when he unrolled it. The sheet was blank!
Too devoted a priest to question his patriarch's instructions, he had continued his mission. He knew that there were many mysteries of Zaltec he had yet to understand.
His robe and the ritually inflicted scars on his face and, arms distinguished him as a priest of Zaltec, so the Jaguar Knights guarding the gate to the sacred plaza allowed him to enter with no questions. He stumbled toward the pyramid, stopping at the small temple building below the looming massif.
This was a square, stone structure, sunk halfway into the ground. It had sleeping and eating quarters for the priests serving at the Great Pyramid, as well as holding cells for the victims of upcoming rituals.
Shatil passed through the low doorway and staggered down the short stairway into the dark main room. In the darkness, he heard a low growl, and he froze. For a moment, he remembered the great war creature of the strangers, wondering if the beast had somehow risen from the dead and found him here. At the same time, he recognized the delusion for what it was, realizing that his wound and journey were taking a terrible toll. Then the tall figure of a Jaguar Knight stepped into the semidarkness near the door.
'What do you want, priest?' he inquired.
'I must see Hoxitl. It is very urgent!' Shatil gasped, slumping backward to lean against the cool stone wall.
'Urgent enough to wake the patriarch from his sleep?' asked the warrior skeptically.
'Yes!' spat Shatil, pushing himself upward to stand straight. He was the equal of the Jaguar in height.
'What is it? Do you bring word from Palul?' The question came from the darkness within the temple, but Shatil recognized the high priest's voice. 'The Eagles have already reported that the battle was a disaster.'
'Yes, Patriarch,' Shatil said, his voice growing stronger. 'The high priest Zilti perished in that fight, as did many of our people. So, too, would I have, but Zilti ordered me to flee that I could bring this to you.' Shatil held out the parchment, and Hoxitl quickly took it.
'You have done well,' said the patriarch. He unrolled the sheet and held it up so that Shatil and the Jaguar Knight could look over his shoulders at the page.
Shatil gasped as he saw a picture take shape there. That's the square!' he said, pointing to the feasting multitudes of Mazticans and legionnaires. 'This is what it looked like before the battle.'
The sheet resembled a fine painting in its detail and complexity and brightness of color. They looked first at the whole plaza, as it might be seen by a soaring bird. Then the images became more precise, and they saw Cordell speaking pleasantly with Chical and Kalnak.
'How can this happen?' Shatil inquired, amazed at the appearance of the picture at all, not to mention its clarity and accuracy.
'The magic of hishna' explained Hoxitl brusquely. 'The power of the fang and the talon. The recreation of images is one of its greatest strengths. Now be silent.'
As they observed the picture, Shatil's amazement turned to shock. The picture began to move. They saw the black-robed wizard speaking to the warrior behind the houses. The scroll made no sound, but the warrior's meaning was clear.
'The traitor!' spat the Jaguar. 'He tells the enemy of our ambush!'
'Through sorcery,' observed Hoxitl. 'See?' They watched the mage and the warrior disappear behind the house, screened from view. Then the picture shifted, and they saw the scene from a different place, with a clear view of the woman and her victim.
The pale woman touched her cloaked hand to his throat in a gesture that seemed almost tender, but then the warrior's back arched and he fell like a log to the ground. He lay there, stiff, turning blue as his eyes nearly popped from his head. Without a backward look, the woman left as soon as it was clear that he was dead.
Then they watched numbly as the battle unfolded, until at last Shatil had to turn his eyes away. It had been enough to live through that horror once.
Hoxitl and the warrior stood for a long time, engrossed by the scene even as they were appalled. When Shatil looked again, the plaza was a smoking ruin, bodies and blood scattered everywhere.
'So it was in Palul,' muttered the Jaguar Knight as Hoxitl finally rolled up the sheet. 'But it will not be in Nexal! We can pull up the bridges on the causeways, mass the warriors on the shore. When the strangers come to the valley, we shall see that they never leave!'
'We shall indeed see that they never leave,' agreed Hoxitl, 'But not in the way you imagine.'
'What do you mean?' asked the warrior.
'Naltecona has decreed that the strangers be welcomed to our city as gods. The causeways will not only remain in place, but they also will be decorated with flowers to honor our 'guests''
'How can this be?' demanded Shatil, appalled. 'They must be stopped before it is too late!'
'Would that our Revered Counselor was as wise as a young priest,' said Hoxitl wryly. 'But until that time, we must plan and prepare… and wait. The cult of the Viperhand grows daily and will be ready to strike when the time comes.
'But come, Shatil, you are injured. You must now have food and rest. Your message has proven most enlightening, and its delivery shall not go unrewarded.'
Shatil bowed his head, warmed by the praise from this, the highest-ranking member of his order.
