"Of course they are," agreed the commander. "I want them to see us, and wonder."

Daggrande nodded approvingly. Payit informants had told them that the Kultakan army was large and fierce, second only to Nexal in the military heirarchy of Maztica. Still, none of the legion's officers shrank from the inevitable clash that their march was certain to provoke.

"Darien is observing Kultaka even as we march," explained Cordell as Bishou Domincus joined them.

"May the vigilance of Helm open her eyes wide." The tall, dour cleric scowled at the green valley, willing the enemies of the legion into view.

"She will find them," assured the general.

"Yeah," said Daggrande, with a spit to the side. "That she will." The elven mage Darien, with her white skin and albino's bleached hair, had always unsettled the dwarf. Her abilities would inarguably prove useful, perhaps even decisive. By now, she no doubt flew over the Kultakan cities, invisible. Nevertheless, something about her never failed to arouse Daggrande's ire. He buried his feelings forcibly, knowing that his commander loved the elven woman with a passion as consuming as it was mysterious.

"Helm curse all these devils!" snarled the Bishou, though there was still no sign of movement in the Kultakan valley. Since the death of his daughter on a sacrificial altar in Payit, the Bishou had sworn a grim vendetta against all of Maztica.

A red-haired horseman rode up to them, reining in his steed but not dismounting. He flashed a grin at the others, displaying many gaps in the teeth that showed through his thick, orange beard. "I hoped they'd be here to meet us," he laughed, with a contemptuous look at the valley before them. Still laughing, he kicked the flanks of his horse and galloped on, riding beside the column that twisted its way down the far side of the pass.

Cordell shook his head, trying to conceal his concern. "Captain Alvarro has always been a little too eager to fight," he said so that only Daggrande could hear. "I hope he's ready when the time comes."

Now their allies, the Payit warriors, passed before them. These tall spearmen wore headdresses of multicolored feathers. They marched proudly, brandishing their weapons for their new commander's benefit.

"They've recovered well from their defeat," observed Cordell. Barely a month had passed since the legion had dealt these warriors the stunning battlefield defeat at Ulatos.

"They're looking forward to giving some of the same to their neighbors," remarked the dwarf. "They've never cared much for the Kultakans." Daggrande had helped to train the Payit, and had come to understand a little about the Maztican mind – not a great deal, but certainly more than any of his comrades.

One more man came to join them as the warriors filed past. This one dismounted awkwardly and wheezed as he took the few steps upward to join them. The others ignored his arrival until he spoke.

"This is crazy!" exclaimed Kardann. The High Assessor of Amn, he accompanied the expedition in order to tally the treasure they gained. He had never imagined himself marching with a small column of soldiers into the heart of an enemy-held continent. "We'll all be killed!"

"Thanks for sparing my men from the insight of your prescience," said Cordell wryly. "In the future, I expect you to keep such outbursts to yourself."

Kardann bit his lip, scowling at the general. He feared Cordell, but it was not the fear of the soldier for the harsh commander. Kardann feared Cordell the way the sane man fears the mad. The accountant suppressed a shudder as he recalled the outcome of their last disagreement. Cordell had ordered his entire fleet of ships sunk, simply to convince his men that they were here to stay.

Now Kardann wanted to point out the folly of their venture, but he was afraid to speak. He hated the thought of this expedition into the unknown, but he hated even more the thought of being left behind. Besides, he knew that Cordell didn't take his warnings seriously.

The captain-general slapped his gloved hand against his thigh, reinvigorated by the sight of his troops. The land before them looked smooth, rich, and inviting.

"Come, my good men!" he commanded, including Kardann in his expansive gesture. "On to Kultaka – the first step on the road to Nexal!"

Far from Maztica, deep in the nether regions, dwelled Lolth, spider goddess of the drow. Her presence on the continent of Faerun lay far to the east, and far beneath the lands washed by the sun. Those of her dark elves who lived to the west, beneath the place called the True World, formed a small tribe, insignificant among the vibrant, savage nations of the drow.

Yet Lolth was a jealous goddess – a deity who would brook no faithlessness. Now she heard the words of the Ancestor. She heard them and seethed.

Forsaken by their god? So they claimed now. They worshiped Zaltec, they fed him and used his priests like puppets. Now they worked his people into a frenzy, using their power – seated in the Darkfyre – to form this cult called the Viperhand.

So the Ancient Ones despaired of Lolth? Indeed.

Before she finished with them, the black spider goddess vowed, they would learn the true depths of despair.

Takamal, war chief and Revered Counselor of Kultaka, was widely known as the wisest man in the Time World. Had he not defended his homeland against Nexalan depredations throughout his lifetime of more than seven decades? True, the Kultakans were a fierce and warlike people with a fine warrior tradition, but their numbers were only a quarter or less of the equally warlike Nexalans.

Only once, when the forces of Nexal had been commanded by the young but highly accomplished Eagle Warrior, Lord Poshtli, had the two sides exchanged equal numbers of prisoners. Always before and since, the Kultakan forces left the field with two or three Nexalan captives for every one they lost.

But now Takamal confronted a problem for which his long rivalry with his inland neighbor had not prepared him. He was an old man, but still spry, and so he stalked about his throne room in Kultaka, loudly demanding answers from the empty room. For this was the way Takamal pondered.

"Are they truly mighty? They defeated the Payit in a great battle at Ulatos – so? Does this mean they can defeat the Kultaka? Can they beat me?"

Takamal pounded his fist into his palm, seething. Just this once, he wished that the gods would answer! He heard the clatter of javelins in the courtyard outside as young tribesmen trained under the strict eyes of older warriors.

Perhaps that was his answer. In truth, he knew that it was. He would face this problem as he faced every other threat to his domain.

"My observers say they bring five thousandmen of the Payit – bah! They do not concern me. And the tale of their battle against the strangers, fighting them in an open field!

This is foolish, when the gods have provided them with ground to conceal them!"

Now, Takamal sensed, the gods listened. One god, in particular, he wanted to take heed.

"Zaltec, your shining spear shall precede us to war! I will meet these strangers and their fawning Payit slaves – but I will choose my ground with care."

He scowled, nodding his head so that his feathered headdress bobbed in the air. He stood tall and crossed his arms across his breast, addressing the image of Zaltec, god of war, in his mind. Takamal reached a decision, and as always the deciding lightened his spiritual burden.

"The entire might of Kultaka shall gather, a league of thirty thousandmen! Our Jaguars will rend, our Eagles pursue, and we will send these foreigners back to the sea!"