"And her life is in danger! I have brought this trouble upon her! By marrying her, I hoped to protect her!"

Colon stood and stepped to the door of the small chamber. The sun had long since set, and he saw the dying torches on top of ihe great pyramid, left there by the priests of Zaltec hours earlier, before they had descended from their grim evening rituals. Poshtli turned to follow the cleric with his eyes.

"I have seen the destiny of Nexal, Grandfather! It is to lie in ruins – in black, smoking wreckage!" The Eagle Knight stood. "My visions have shown me that this stranger offers some hope of salvatation, but now he, too, is seized by events beyond his control!"

Poshtli abruptly reached his hand to his shoulder and plucked one black, white-tipped eagle feather from his cloak. He offered the plume to Colon, and the old cleric reached out to take it.

"If I aid Halloran, I shall break the vow to my order, for this I have been forbidden to do." Now the knight's pain was mirrored in the cleric's eyes.

"I have spent my life striving to be the finest Eagle Warrior the True World has ever known. Now the life of a man from another world can snatch that away from me. For I know this, Grandfather: I cannot let him die."

Colon nodded, his face expressionless. As always, however, the silent cleric had helped Poshtli in some mysterious way to clarify what was in his own mind. Now the warrior nodded respectfully and thanked the cleric for listening. Then he stepped quickly from Colon's temple.

Some unconscious sense of urgency propelled Poshtli's step as he slarted into the palace, toward the apartments Naltecona had provided for his friends. As he drew closer, his hurried gait broke into a trot, and then a run.

Poshtli dashed around the corner before the apartments, somehow certain that danger loomed. He saw a group of slaves huddled outside the door, listening in terror but not daring to peer inside.

"Move, damn you!" he cursed, knocking the slower ones aside.

He sprang through the door and immediately saw the dead Jaguar Knight illuminated in the strange pale glow that emerged from Halloran's room. A growl in the corner called his attention to the shadows, where he saw Halloran backed into a corner, facing three monstrous felines.

Poshtli barked a sharp sound, the shrill, keening cry of the hunting eagle. Instantly two of the jaguars spun to face this new threat, while the third crouched before Hal, its tail twitching tautly from side to side.

For a moment, the Eagle Knight froze. His maca fell light in his hand, eager for blood. But suddenly the memory of his vow, the clear orders from the leaders of his order, came back to him. He was prohibited, by the terms of that vow, from aiding Halloran against the forces of Zaltec.

The great cats crept forward, threatening growls rumbling from their deep chests.

Poshtli ignored the feline attackers for a moment. Then slowly, deliberately, he lifted his Eagle helmet off his head and tossed it aside, shrugged his cloak of feathers from his shoulders, and let it settle to the ground around his feet.

Now he crouched into a fighting stance with his maca raised toward the cats. "Tell me when," hissed Hal, lifting the silver shaft of his longsword.

Poshtli nodded. "Now!"

Slashing downward with the wooden club, Poshtli leaned forward. The blade, studded with razor-sharp bils of obsidian, chopped into the back of one of the jaguars. The creature howled in agony, trying to twist away, but Poshtli circled with the creature's turn, using it to block him from the attack of the other enraged feline.

Meanwhile, Halloran darted at the third cat. The animal reared up, slashing toward the man's face, but Hal ducked under the attack and drove his blade into the beast's heart. Before it had stopped twitching, he leaped across its fallen body and drove his blade into the last of the jaguars.

For a few moments, they stood panting among the four bleeding bodies. The last three shifted back to human form as they died, feet and arms and legs and hands growing from the spotted feline limbs.

"Erixitl?" asked Poshtli, slowly and fearfully.

"She's… safe. She's gone," Hal answered.

"Gone?" The Eagle Knight didn't hide his surprise.

"Back to Palul, to her home." Hal explained Erix's sudden decision to the knight, omitting the details of their argument. He found it hard to rekindle his jealous anger, much of which had previously focused on Poshtli. While he missed Erixitl already, he was grateful that she had been gone on this night.

To Hal's surprise, Poshtli seemed pleased to hear of her departure. Indeed, Hal couldn't figure out why the warrior wasn't more distraught at the sudden absence of his bride-to-be.

"That could be the safest thing," he replied. "Who else knows where she's gone?"

"No one, so far as I know. Just you and me." "Let's keep it that way. I think it is best for her if Erixitl of Palul disappears for a while."

From the chronicles of Colon:

Seeking the light among the deepening shadows…

The darkness haunts my dreams nightly, this same blackness of which Poshtti speaks. It is a vision of a wasteland, a place of death and decay, of monstrous deformity and perversion. It is a ruined expanse of ash and grime, and it is called Nexal.

I fear this vision more than I have feared any other thing in my life. It is a grim destiny that may be greater than any of the humans who hope to stand against it.

And if it prevails, I fear that we of Maztica – our city, our nation, our people – I fear that we will soon be but a memory, a distant vision that will vanish forever with the lives of our children.

"That light – what is its source?" Poshtli gestured to the milky glow that still emanated from Halloran's room.

"It's… sorcery. Something like your pluma" Hal pointed to the glowing aperture. "Kirishone" he said, and instantly darkness cloaked the rooms.

"Kirisha!" He repowered the spell, enjoying the look of surprise on Poshtli's face.

"Can all of your people do this… sorcery?"

"No. I studied this craft when I was much younger, but I know very little of real power. I can illuminate a room, shoot a bolt of magic, maybe make someone fall asleep if I try hard – that's about all. But there are those who devote a lifetime to the practice of magic – they are to be feared greatly." The picture of the elfmage Darien came vividly to mind. It was a picture he hoped he would never have to face in the flesh.

The knowledge that he held her spellbook intruded itself once more, uneasily, into Hal's mind. Often he wished that he could simply return the tome to her, but that was impossible. Undoubtedly, however, she was very much interested in regaining it.

"You come from a wondrous and frightening people, Halloran. My only hope is that you are not to be the ruin of Maztica."

Poshtli fixed him with a level gaze, and Hal squirmed, finally looking down in discomfort. His eyes fell on Poshtli's cloak, now stained with the blood of a dead Jaguar Knight, on the floor.

"Why did you take your cloak off?"

The immediate pain in Poshtli's face shocked Hal, all the more so since it was the first such emotion he had ever seen the stoic warrior express. He regretted the question as soon as he uttered it.

Poshtli took a deep breath. He knelt, wiping the blood from his weapon on the spotted cloak of one of the slain men. When he rose and looked at Hal again, his face was lined with strain. "I cannot tell you. But I have no regrets, and I am no longer an Eagle Knight."

The inference was not difficult. By aiding Hal, the knight had violated some trust of his order. He had shed his cloak and helmet before the fight deliberately. And yet it was a decision he had made resolutely.