Halloran whirled away, pacing across the garden. Words of anger and jealousy surged through him. Only with the greatest effort could he hold them back. In his heart, he knew that Poshtli had been too true a friend to deserve the vitriol that Hal wanted to spew.

Finally he turned back, speaking to her from several paces away. "Naltecona has offered me a house. I can no longer stay here, for obvious reasons. I will move there as soon as it can be arranged. Until then, I will try to leave you your privacy."

"What do you mean?" Erix felt a brief flash of panic.

But then her own anger took over. How could he treat her like this? She had been worried about him, relieved to see him. Suddenly the mere sight of him inflamed her. She had to get away from him or her anger would not be contained. In that moment, she knew that she would take the journey she had thus far delayed, to the one place in the world she could go.

"Never mind! I don't need this place either! I'm going home – home to Palul, to my father and brother! Take your house and live like a great, wise man!"

For a moment, Halloran stared at her, dumb with shock. He thought of Poshtli, wondering if the noble warrior knew his betrothed planned to suddenly depart Nexal. "Home? But what about-"

"You can stay in Nexal – see the city all you want!" she shot at him, cutting him off. Suddenly she shivered as that shadowy presence crept into the room, against the walls and floor, muffling her sight. Darkness welled around her, casting the shadows across the garden, even blocking out the sun. Only Halloran stood out before her, in the light.

But she turned her back on that light, and then she was out the door.

"The cult of the Viperhand spreads quickly," hissed the drow, his hood thrown back so that the crimson blush of the Darkfyre washed over his black face and white hair. "But we control it well, for it lies under the thumb of the priests."

The drow spoke to a circle of his equals, and to the Ancestor. The Harvesters had yet to begin their grisly night's work. For long moments, the group remained silent as the Ancient Ones meditated.

"The Viperhand does well. When our need arises, it will be ready." The words came from the Ancestor, his voice rasping through the cavern. "Let the humans spread their cult of Zaltec and let it further our own ends."

"The priests want to give the white stranger's heart to their god," said the drow, persisting.

"We require that the girl be slain. She alone, by the prophecy, carries the threat to us of ultimate failure. Yet this man helped to kill Spirali. He has protected her from Payit to Nexal, and still they remain together. Let the priests and their agents kill them both. It will serve as a useful warning to the strangers."

"We cannot expect a single death to frighten them off!" objected another of the Ancient Ones.

"Of course not. But our vengeance will be exacted for Spirali. And the only one of the invaders to see Nexal thus far will be destroyed. The others will take some time to reach here.

"During that time, the cult of the Viperhand can grow stronger still, so that when the invaders arrive, we will be able to meet them with strength." The venerable drow looked at his companions. His eyes, stark white and very wide against the midnight skin of his face, gleamed.

"Let the word be sent to Hoxitl," said the Ancestor, his voice suddenly firm. He leaned forward in his thronelike chair. The cherry glow of the caldron disappeared, lost in the greater darkness that was the Ancestor.

"The girl and the man shall die tonight!"

"These are the sons of Takamal."

Darien emotionlessly gestured at five warriors. The elven wizard had used her magic to learn the Kultakan tongue, speaking to the natives who had been summoned to their city square. Now she awaited Cordell's instructions. The once proud men now stood, almost naked, before their conquerors. The meeting took place in the center of the city of Kultaka, in the very shadow of Zaltec's pyramid.

Around the leaders stood the trim ranks of the Golden Legion and its Payit allies, surrounded by the silent masses of Kultaka.

"Why have they doffed their clothes?" asked the general. "Tell them to put them on."

"They say that their defeat has left them unworthy to wear the garb of warriors."

"Nonsense!" Cordell smiled at the Kultakans – the full, ingratiating smile that helped him command, to the death, the loyalty of his men. "Tell them that we have not conquered them, that we are in fact very sorry so many of their brave warriors have died in battle against us."

Darien turned and translated as Cordell looked around at Kultaka. The city showed far less opulence than had Ulatos. Unlike the capital of the Payit, many of the structures here had been built for defense. The flat housetops were surrounded by waist-high walls. Windows were small. The streets were still lined with flowers, but the profusion of feathermagic that was so extensive in Ulatos was completely absent here.

It had taken only hours to discover that the Kultakans were much poorer in gold than either their jungle neighbors to the east, or, reputedly, the Nexalans to the west. What few treasures they had were stacked here, willingly offered by the abject sons of the slain war chief.

"The oldest, this one catted Tokol, asks why you show such kindness. Is this how you prepare your captives for sacrifice?" Darien pulled Cordell's attention back to these men. And now his plan for them was complete.

"You are not our enemies! We did not want to attack you. We merely sought passage through your lands, and some food. We are on our way to attack the treacherous Nexalans, whose land lies beyond your own."

Cordell saw, without surprise, that the Kultakans were intrigued by his reply. Tokol spoke again. "Surely it is a great tragedy that we did not know this, for the Nexalans are our greatest enemies! It is good that you attack them."

"And truly, we shall beat them," replied the captain-general. "For we have been tested this day against the finest warriors in Maztica!"

Now he saw the heads come up, some measure of pride returning to the sharp-featured faces. Tokol spoke again. "We offer you what food you desire, and ourselves as slaves. May your march be a success." Tokol, mimicked by the others, bowed deeply.

"I could never see such men as you reduced to slaves," objected Cordell, raising his voice. "No! Indeed, I can only see you as warriors! Proud, strong men, marching against Nexal!"

He had seen the worth of the Payit in battle, and now he found a force of warriors that showed far greater skill, and larger numbers, than the legion of his Payit allies. As he continued, he saw in the faces of Takamal's sons surprise at his words. A faint look of hope in their eyes convinced him that he took the right tack, he sensed that these warriors would do anything to regain their own manliness.

"Will you not join me? Your hosts, added to my legion, will make a splendid spectacle for the march on Nexal!"

Tokol saw no need for hesitation or consultation before he replied.

"We are eternally grateful for the kindness of our conqueror. We offer you whatever captives you need to celebrate your victory. The rest of us shall be proud to march with you to Nexal!"

"Captives?" Cordell suddenly saw their meaning. "No! We do not slay our enemies to feed our god. Instead, there will be this decree, the one law I will place upon you."

Now the general's eyes flashed as Darien translated. The Kultakans stood as if spellbound, awaiting his command. "There is to be no sacrifice among you! Hold your captives as slaves or let them go as you wish. But you may not offer their hearts to your pagan gods!"