Zochimaloc nodded, unsmiling. His eyes were soft.
'In using this judgment, I have decided that I must leave Far Payit, leave these lands and learn more about the nature of the threat you perceive.'
Now the teacher's head bobbed in a slow, sympathetic nod.
'I will endeavor to return when I am needed, for the learning you have given me is a debt that I can only begin to repay. But until then, I must travel elsewhere to seek the future.'
'Where will you go?' asked Zochimaloc finally. Gultec noticed that his teacher showed not the slightest bit of surprise.
'You have given me the powers to fly across the land. I shall go everywhere, until I find that which I need to know.'
Zochimaloc smiled gently. 'I have given you precious little, my proud jaguar. All I have done is to help you open doors to powers you have always possessed. But let me give you one last thing before you depart: advice.'
The old man chuckled grimly. 'Do not try to go everywhere, for that will lead you nowhere. Instead, know that, if you wish to save a life, you must save the heart.' Zochimaloc sighed and pressed a hand to the warrior's shoulder.
'And the Heart of the True World is Nexal.'
From the chronicles of Colon:
In amusement for the massive vanities of men.
And even the Ancient Ones, the drow elves who live for centuries and consider themselves as gods, even they are caught up in the disaster of their own arrogance.
They believe that the cult of the Viperhand is their tool, used to subvert the humans of Maztica to their own path. Even Zaltec, in the minds of the drow, has been reduced to a plaything and servant.
They forget their own god, Lolth; and the spider queen does not take such neglect kindly. They insult Zaltec with their disdain for his might, while all the while they feed his hunger by pouring hearts into the Darkfyre.
One day, and it will come soon, the gods will grow tired of their pompous vanity. Then they — we all — will have to pay.
A DARKER NIGHT
'Yes, there is a chance we can do it — a slim chance, but I agree that we must try!' Poshtli grimly clapped his fist into the palm of his other hand. Erix and Halloran, visible for these past few hours, nodded in relief.
The noble warrior had been stunned to speechlessness when they had called to him, invisible, from before his throne. At first, Poshtli had bristled in superstitious fear, but when they touched him, he became convinced of their presence. In any event, the effect of the potion had dissipated shortly after they had begun to speak.
Poshtli showed no surprise at Erixitl's tale of her dreams, and the premonition about Naltecona perishing below the full moon. He agreed that the counselor should be spirited out of Axalt's palace immediately. They had less than twenty-four hours before the rising of the full moon.
'Do you speak directly with Naltecona in his quarters?' asked Halloran. 'Can we get to him that way?'
Poshtli shook his head. 'I see him alone, but we are always guarded. We could not effect an escape that way.'
Halloran's heart fell. They had achieved one objective in reaching Poshtli, but that was only useful if they could proceed to the Revered Counselor himself. 'You told us, long ago, about secret passages designed by the rulers and hidden in their palaces. Is there any way you could find these — perhaps use them to get to Naltecona?'
'That might be possible,' Poshtli agreed. 'It is traditional practice for the Revered Counselors to conceal escape routes in their palaces, and a route of exit could certainly be used to gain entrance as well.'
'Are there others in the palace of Axalt?' asked Halloran, growing hopeful again.
'I do not know for certain, but I would suspect that they exist,' Poshtli replied. 'The problem will be to locate them. I will visit Naltecona's Lord Architect. He lives here in the palace. He would know about the secrets of this palace, and perhaps the palace of Axalt as well.'
They heard a deep rumbling, a powerful throbbing in the air that they could feel in the pits of their stomachs. In moments, the vibration reached the ground, and for several seconds the floor trembled.
All three of them looked at each other in shock. Poshtli, the first to recover, shook his head grimly. 'The volcano, Zatal, growls. Wait here, in my private chamber.' Their friend ushered them into a smaller gallery leading off one side of the throne room. 'I'll see if the Lord Architect can help'
Then, with a swish of the curtain, he was gone.
Shatil hurried to the temple building in the sacred plaza. The bulk of the Great Pyramid towered above him, dark now, hours after sunset. The moon, one night short of full, illuminated the vast square with its thousands of restless warriors. He entered the stone structure, descending through the doorway into the dank coolness of the temple proper. Jaguars skulked in the shadows, and the red brazier cast its glow across the statue of the warrior god Zaltec.
'What is it?' asked Hoxitl, turning from the statue and recognizing the young priest.
'I have been to Halloran's house. Erix was there, but no more,' Shatil explained breathlessly. 'They are here, in the sacred plaza. They seek Poshtli; they will try to rescue Naltecona from the strangers!'
He spoke in excitement. As Shatil had considered his sister's mission, he had begun to suspect that perhaps Hoxitl had been wrong. Indeed, Erix would be a great heroine if she could bring the Revered Counselor out of the enemy clutches. Surely this was not the act of an enemy of Zaltec!
Hoxitl's reaction surprised him. The high priest's eyes widened in alarm. 'She must be stopped' he cried in sudden panic. Swiftly, angrily, he whirled away and fought for self-control.
Hoxitl remembered vividly the warning of the Ancient One: Naltecona's death, among the strangers, was to be the signal for the uprising. If he were rescued, the signal might not occur. The cult of the Viperhand, coiled and aching for release, might be thwarted of its great explosion.
'Shatil spoke tentatively. 'But, Patriarch, is this not good? Would not Naltecona's rescue allow us the freedom to strike at the strangers?'
'No! Can't you see designs of those who would thwart Zaltec?' Hoxitl turned savagely on the young priest. He couldn't tell him of the warning of the Ancient One — that had been too private, pertaining to Naltecona's and the high priest's own fates. Yet he needed Shatil's help, his obedience.
'We must go to Poshtli and try to stop your sister. Do you have the Talon of Zaltec?' At Shatil's nod, Hoxitl continued. 'We will seek Erixitl in the palace. If we find her, you must be prepared to use it.'
'I understand,' said Shatil, swallowing a bitter objection. He was a priest of Zaltec. He wore the brand of the Viperhand. He had no choice but to nod humbly and obey.
Helm, patron god of the Golden Legion, was represented by his faithful as the All-seeing Eye. Those who worshiped ever vigilant and watchful Helm would not be surprised by enemy ambush or strategem — or so claimed his clerics. The All-seeing Eye would provide his faithful with warning and alarm.
Now the ever watchful one tickled a cautious nerve in the mind of his devout cleric, Bishou Domincus, awakening him from an early, fitful sleep.
Tingling to a sense of danger he had learned never to ignore, the tall, bearded cleric emerged from his sleeping chamber and started toward the rooms of Cordell and Darien. On the way, he passed the guarded chamber where Naltecona was held.
Here alarm prickled the hair on his neck, and the Bishou hurried to his general. He encountered Alvarro, drinking octal with some of his riders in a palace garden.
'Come with me,' he said to the captain, then turned to the men. 'Get to Naltecona's chamber! Double the guard! There's treachery about!'
The captain-general, aroused by the tumult, emerged from his chamber with a cotton tunic thrown over his
