'Patriarch, there is but one reward I could ask.'
'Speak your wish,' urged Hoxitl. Outside, dawn's purple glow had begun to color the sacred plaza.
'With this dawn's sacrifice, I wish to pledge my life and body to Zaltec — to serve him in war as well as in ritual. Please, Patriarch, grant me the brand of the Viperhand,' asked Shatil levelly.
'It shall be as you desire — but not this morning. Tonight,' came Hoxitl's reply. 'You must rest now. Come here.' The cleric took Shatil's wounded hand and led him to one of the sleeping cells. By the time they reached it, Shatil saw with amazement that the savage bite had healed.
'Column, forward!' Daggrande barked the command, and the first company of the legion, the crossbowmen, started on the road to Nexal. In moments, companies of sword and spear fell in after them.
Cordell remained behind, mounted on his prancing charger. Darien, riding a sleek black gelding, waited beside him.
Gradually, like a huge snake uncoiling itself from the confines of Palul, the army began to march. Great ranks of Kultakan warriors joined the procession, raising their spears to the captain-general as they passed. He had led them to a victory greater than any in their history against the hated Nexalans. Even Cordell's decree ordering that none of the captives be sacrificed had failed to dim their loyalty.
Dawn had barely purpled the sky when the first legionnaires set out, but the eastern horizon was pale blue by the time the last of the warriors, the Payit, marched out of the town. These men had played little role in the previous day's fighting, and Cordell sensed that their pride was stung a bit when they saw the great success of the Kultakans. The Payit would be doughty fighters, thought the captain-general — if he needed them.
'The city is well protected by its lakes,' explained Darien as Cordell and the elfmage started out, riding through the fields beside the great marching file. 'What is your plan of attack?'
Cordell smiled, a narrowing of his already thin mouth. 'I don't think an attack will be necessary,' he replied. He sensed Darien's surprise in the sudden tilt of her head, but she said nothing.
'I am making a guess about our prospective foe, the great Naltecona,' Cordell explained. He was pleased with his deduction, and he thought it sound, but he desired Darien's confirmation of his judgment, so he continued. 'I'm guessing that he is very much awed by us now. I shall not be surprised if we are welcomed into his city as guests.'
Darien's smile was as tight as the man's. 'I hope you're right. It is a gamble.'
'So is this march today,' countered Cordell. 'I know the men need rest, but look at them.'
He gestured at the troops, Maztican and legionnaire, that they passed. All the men held their heads high — and marched with a quick, firm step. Many saluted the captain-general as he rode by.
Indeed, the army marched swiftly. Before too many hours had passed, they saw the looming bulk of the twin volcanoes, Zatal and Popol, rising from the horizon ahead. Between them lay the pass leading to Nexal.
Cordell's pulse quickened as the road carried them to they cooler heights. He thrilled to a sense of epic momentum as the approached the pass.
He knew that his destiny lay beyond.
The wound began to fester on the first night, and the next morning Halloran did not awaken. Fever pressed its fiery clasp around him as he lay senseless, unable to eat or drink or speak. Throughout that long day, his temperature climbed and sweat burst from his every pore.
Occasionally, in cruel mockery of the fever, chills wracked Hal's body and convulsions threw him about the straw mat like a child's toy, shaken hard by its owner. Delirium claimed him by evening, and he grunted and cursed through the night.
Erixitl remained by his side, trying to keep him cool, trying to cleanse the infection that seeped from his wound. His mutterings recalled past battles as he spoke of blood and smoke without an apparent pattern.
Just once, when his back arched and his body grew rigid, he uttered a cry like a lost youth. 'Erix! My love! Please!' His voice choked, spitting garbled syllables. Then he formed words again: 'By Helm, I love you!'
His eyes flashed open, unseeing, and then he collapsed limply on the bed. He seemed to rest for a few minutes before the sickness wracked him again.
By the second dawn, his breath came in rasping bursts, sometimes seeming to cease altogether. His pulse became too faint for detection even by Lotil's sensitive touch.
As the sun climbed all that morning, so did the fever. At high noon, the hot sun blazed against the whitewashed house, though the loose thatch of the roof shielded some of the heat. Within, Hal writhed and Erix administered cool, sponging baths. The water all but sizzled, she thought, as she touched it to his skin.
But as the sun sank and the cool evening breezes arose, the heat wracking Hal's body slowly dissipated. By sunset of the second day, he slept comfortably, even waking once to smile faintly at Erix and gently squeeze her hand.
He was going to live, she knew.
He would live, and he loved her. Unimaginable relief flooded through her at his recovery, and a strange warmth gripped her at the knowledge of his love. Releasing her caged emotions at last, she held him as he slept, rejoicing in the steady, strong rise and fall of his chest beneath her head.
And she knew that she loved him in return.
Shatil joined the other initiates in climbing the steep stairs to the top of the Great Pyramid. A sense of deepest reverence gripped him as he looked below to see the priests leading the file of captives. Each would give his life and his heart for one of the initiates into the cult.
The captives were mostly Kultakans, among the few prisoners taken by the Nexalan warriors outside Palul. Not knowing of Cordell's edict, of course, Shatil assumed that the hundreds of Nexalans taken prisoners there faced a similar fate upon Kultakan altars.
At the top, he looked to the east. High up the slope of the valley, in the saddle between the two great volcanoes, he could see the glittering fires of the legion's camp. They would reach the city tomorrow — and Naltecona would admit them as his guests.
'Kneel!' Hoxitl barked the command as Shatil, first of the initiates, stepped forward.
Shatil knelt, anticipation tingling through his body as Hoxitl sliced open the chest of a captive and pulled forth the slick, bloody heart. The high priest held the flesh toward the setting sun, then tossed it into the heart of the statue.
Turning toward the kneeling figure of Shatil, Hoxitl extended his hand, then paused. Blood dripped unnoticed from his fingers as he fixed Shatil with a penetrating stare.
All the young priest's past failings, he felt, were bared to that gaze.
But so, too, was his passionate devotion to Zaltec, and this was the knowledge Hoxitl sought.
'With this brand, your life belongs to Zaltec, everlasting master of night and war. Your blood, your heart, your very soul itself are his, to be spent as he desires, in the furtherance of his almighty name!'
'I understand and accept,' Shatil intoned. He lifted his head and bared his teeth, preparing for the touch of Hoxitl's hand.
'Through this sign, let the might of Zaltec protect you! May it harden your skin, proof against the silver weapons of the enemy. May it sharpen your eye and quicken your wit, that when the killing begins, you shall neither falter nor fail!'
Joy surged through Shatil's body. He was ready now for the brand.
But in truth, nothing could prepare him for the searing agony that hissed into his skin, crackling like lightning through every nerve and fiber of his body. He stiffened reflexively but didn't cry out. Clenching his teeth, Shatil felt sweat break out across his face, trickling unhindered across his skin and onto the ground. Still he kept silent, grimacing. The leering face of the high priest filled Shatil's vision as Hoxitl leaned over him.
The stench of burned flesh wafted upward from the wound, and finally the patriarch pulled his hand away. Shatil swayed drunkenly, but then he felt a new, tingling sense of might surge through his body. He sprang to his feet, the brand still smoking on his chest.
Energy thrummed through his body. A fire blazed hot in his heart, and Shatil knew that he was ready to kill or die for Zaltec. He felt invincible. Numbly, striving to contain his exultation, he stepped to the side and watched.
