Also, it had been a night of closeness they had not repeated since. He studied her face as he asked the question.

"Yes – yes, of course," she said quickly. A flush crept over her features, and she looked away from him.

"I wish, somehow, that we could go back to that feeling of…"

Of… what? Simple love? He couldn't define even for himself what he was trying to say. He gritted his teeth in frustration. Why couldn't he tell her how he felt?

Erix stood and looked at him with understanding. "We can't go back to that. We have enemies now… the priests of Zaltec and the Ancient Ones certainly still seek us, though perhaps we have avoided them for a while. And the Golden Legion – will your old comrades leave us in peace?"

As if to emphasize her remarks, at that moment they heard a call from beyond the reed curtain doorway to their apartments.

"Enter," called Erix.

A tall Maztican man entered and bowed stiffly. He wore a headdress of red feathers and a cape of feathers, golden, green, and white. Two large pendants of solid gold hung from his ears, and his lower lip bore a golden ornament. He was followed by two slaves dressed in clean white tunics.

The visitor's eyes met Halloran's. "The Revered Counselor, Naltecona, requires your presence in his throne room."

"Allow me a few minutes to prepare," replied Halloran after a moment's pause. The invitation wasn't a surprise, but it had caught him off guard. He wanted to polish his breastplate and carefully don his armor for this meeting. "We will be ready soon."

"You are to come alone," said the courtier. "Without the woman." His eyes never wavered from Halloran.

Out of the corner of his eye, Hal saw Erix clench her jaw. "I need her to translate" he objected.

"The counselor was most specific. Females are never allowed into his sight during the day, unless he specifically requests their presence."

Hal searched for another objection, feeling very vulnerable about the prospects of going on his own. He was surprised when Erix gestured, and he turned to look at her.

"Go!" she told him, in the common tongue. "You must not dispute the will of Naltecona."

"Very well," he agreed, watching as she stalked from the garden into her own sleeping chamber. Switching back to Nexalan, he told the richly garbed messenger that he wished to dress. The man stood silently as Hal donned his breastplate and boots and set his helmet on his brow. Girding his sword to his belt, he followed the man from the apartment, cursing the haste that had given him no time for spit and polish.

They marched silently down several long corridors, then stopped before a pair of massive doors. Here, to Hal's surprise, the courtier doffed his feathered accoutrements, handing them to an attendant who gave him in return a tattered leather shawl. The nobleman placed this shawl over his shoulders.

The attendant lifted another of these ragged cloaks, looking meaningfully at Halloran. But the noblemen shook his head slightly, leading the former legionnaire into the throne room as the slave looked after them in surprise.

Halloran's steps slowed as awe overwhelmed him. The inside of the chamber was huge, with a high ceiling of thatched leaves supported by heavy beams. Gaps between the ceiling and the top of the wall allowed natural light into the room.

Perhaps two dozen people stood in the chamber, Hal saw. With one exception, they wore the tattered leather cloaks and torn rags such as the messenger had just donned.

The exception, Halloran knew, was Naltecona.

The Revered Counselor of Nexal reclined on a floating litter of brilliant feathers. The litter hovered over a platform several feet above the floor of the room. The attendants, Hal noted, all stood on the floor.

He was surprised when Naltecona rose to his feet as Hal approached the throne. The ruler wore a headdress of emerald feathers, long plumes of iridescent green that waved regally high over his head. Gold chains encircled his neck, and golden ornaments weighted his wrists, ankles, ears, and lip.

As the counselor rose, a great cape of feathers spread behind him, floating weightlessly in the air and trailing after Naltecona as he moved forward.

"Greetings, stranger," said the Revered Counselor, approaching Hal and then stopping two paces away to look him up and down.

"Thank you. Your… Reverence," replied Halloran, uncertain of the correct title. His Nexalan, which had begun to flow so smoothly with Erixitl, all of a sudden felt like a clunky foreign tongue, something he would never master.

Naltecona clapped his hands, and several slaves brought forward bundles to lay at Halloran's feet. "Please accept these presents as a token of welcome to our land," offered the ruler.

Halloran looked down at the array, suddenly dizzy. He glanced quickly past the feathered cloak and thick bolts of cloth, instead focusing on two bowls that had been placed with the treasure. He wanted to kneel down and scoop up those bowls, one of which contained a pile of metallic yellow dust and the other a pile of smooth, cream-colored pebbles, but he managed to marshal his restraint. Instead, he bowed formally, studying the treasures surreptitiously as he bent over them. Gold! And pearls! His heart leaped in excitement.

"Your generosity overwhelms me, Excellency," he said haltingly. "I regret that my poor traveler's lot does not allow me to repay you in kind."

Naltecona held up a hand, dismissing the apology. He obviously relished the role of the beneficent one. "Are you an emissary – a speaker – for your people?" inquired the ruler.

Halloran phrased his answer carefully. "No. I am a solitary warrior, one who travels the land such as your nephew, Poshtli. I seek a destiny that is mine alone."

He didn't want to admit that he was a fugitive from the legion, a man who undoubtedly had a price on his head by now. But neither could he misrepresent himself as Cordell's agent.

Naltecona nodded thoughtfully at the explanation, scrutinizing Hal as he spoke of a search for destiny. Obviously the ruler was a man who believed in destiny.

"Hoxitl, Colon… come here," ordered Naltecona. Hal saw two elderly men – one filthy, scarred, and emacialed, wearing a robe of stained dark clolh, the other clean and well fed, dressed in a white tunic – step forward from the crowd of attendants behind the counselor. The clean one, Colon, reminded Halloran of Kachin, a cleric of the god Qotal who had died defending Erix from the drow elf Spirali. Naltecona confirmed this connection with his next words.

"These are my high priests, Hoxitl of bloody Zaltec, Colon of the Butterfly God, Qotal. I wish for them to hear your answers to my questions. Now, tell me… who is your god?"

Halloran looked up, startled by the question. Gods had never played much of a role in his life. Still, it seemed to be a question that required an answer.

"Almighty Helm, the Eternally Vigilanl" he said. That warlike god, patron deity of the Golden Legion, was as much of a spiritual light as Hal could claim.

"We have many gods in Maztica," explained Naltecona. "Zaltec and Qotal, of course, but there are also Azul, who brings us rain, and Tezca, god of the sun, and many more."

"Many, and enough," added Hoxitl quietly. That cleric, his face smeared with dirt, ashes, and dried blood, regarded Halloran with hate-filled, burning eyes. "We have no room for a new god in Maztica!"

Halloran met Hoxitl's gaze with a challenge of his own. Though no great devotee of Helm, he would not yield to the cleric's implicit assertion of Zaltec's sovereignty.

"You must learn more of our gods," continued Naltecona. "Tonight it will please me to have you attend our rituals. You may accompany me to the Great Pyramid, for the sunset rites of Zaltec."

Hoxitl leered at him as Hal's heart pounded and his mind reeled with horror. He recalled the rituals of Zaltec, the hearts torn from captives and offered to sate the hunger of the bloodthirsty god. Halloran did not fear for himself, but his revulsion was so strong that the thought of the rite almost sent him lunging for the depraved Hoxitl, his hands clawing for the priest's throat.