"Thank you," said Hal, suddenly finding it difficult to speak.

Poshtli nodded, a half-smile on his face. He held up his weapon, and Halloran saw that several of the obsidian teeth were chipped. "Hard skin," the Maztican grunted, indicating the corpse at his feet.

"Just a minute." Turning to his saddlebag, neatly stowed in a corner, Hal withdrew a weapon from within a rolled-up blanket. It was a straight, slender longsword, with a double edge of razor-sharp steel. Halloran had kept it even after he had regained his lost Helmstooth, knowing that the weapon was priceless in the True World.

"Will you take this?" he asked, extending the hilt to the former Eagle Knight. "Now that you don't have your order behind you, perhaps you'll need a good weapon in front of you."

Poshtli took the weapon and hefted it, surprised by its tightness. He knew, having seen Hal use his blade in combat, that it could cut through any weapon wielded by his countrymen and render their cotton armor useless.

"Thank you," said the Maztican sincerely. "It may not replace my feathers, but it gives me an effective claw."

"Perhaps we'll need it. I've left my legion, and now you have departed your order. It looks like it's you and me against Maztica, friend."

Hal fell his comradeship with this brave man deepen. He regretted his earlier jealousy, though the memory of Erixitl in Poshtli's arms still gave him a sharp jab of pain. Still, the terrible sense of loneliness he had felt at her departure began to lessen. Was there any real purpose in his being here? Could he in fact make some kind of difference? Halloran resolved to find out.

Poshtli laughed, but there was a serious edge to the sound. "We're both lone wolves, Halloran of the Sword Coast. But perhaps not so alone as we might think."

"What do you mean?"

"At first light, I suggest we seek an audience with my uncle. We'll see what the great Naltecona has to say about an attack under his own roof."

Her first night out of Nexal, Erix had barely enough time to cross the causeway to the mainland before sunset brought a temporary end to her journey. She sought shelter for the night in one of the travelers' inns that commonly dotted the landscape near Nexal.

These simple hostels offered a straw mat for sleeping and a bowl of beans or mayz, for a few cocoa beans or other barter goods. Fortunately, she had brought a small pouch of beans with her when she left the palace. The beans, her new feathered cloak, the pluma token from her father, and her dress were the only things she had taken with her.

She paused outside the inn and looked back at the valley, sharply etched as it was in the slanting rays of sunset. Shadows wisped like black smoke through the streets and across the lake, and she could no longer tell if they were the products of her disturbing premonitions or the actual descent of evening.

Beyond the city, she saw Mount Zatal clearly outlined against the sky. The mountain seemed ready to burst, swollen as it was from the volcanic pressure within. She imagined the folk of Nexal, busily going about their evening tasks. Cant they see it? Don't they understand the danger? With a deep sigh, she tried to accept the fact that they could not.

One person down in that city she thought about in particular. How could Halloran have hurt her so? He hadn't tried to stop her from leaving, hadn't offered to come along. A lump caught painfully in Erix's throat, and she roughly tossed her head, looking away. So be it, she decided, though the decision of her mind did not extend to her heart.

A file of slaves entered the yard of the inn, followed by a plump merchant. Erix saw them set down great bundles of brightly colored cloth while the merchant, with a curious look at her, passed inside. Her sense of melancholy grew as she looked at the bright materials.

The colors brought back memories of her father. How he had loved his colors! The way his fingers could work a single delicate plume into a work of art had always amazed and thrilled Erix. She wondered if he still worked at his art, or even if he still lived. Would he know her, this woman who had been a girl when last he saw her?

Sighing, impatient with the journey before her and depressed by the man and the city behind, she turned to the door and entered the low building. She drew immediate stares at the inn, for a woman traveling alone was an unusual visitor. She shrugged off the looks, and also the attentions of several young Jaguar Knights who were on the road to Nexal. After sleeping lightly, Erixitl left at first light.

The next day took her out of the valley of Nexal, into the high country that began to look very familiar. She spent that night in the village of Cordotl. From there, she could see the glorious city behind her.

But also from there Erix could look into a rich, green valley to the east. At the far side, she could barely make out the squat bulk that was the pyramid in Palul. The tiny glimpse made her heart pound, and she could sleep but little that night, leaving early again the next day. By walking fast, she hoped to reach Palul while there was still time left in the day.

Her pace accelerated even more as, shortly past noon, she reached the mayzfields below Palul itself. The steeply climbing trail was no deterrent. She even imagined she could see the tiny dot of her father's house high on the ridge above the town.

Erixitl entered the town and paused, looking around at the whitewashed, flat-roofed buildings. The pyramid still stood in the center of the plaza. Once it had seemed huge, but now it looked like a cheap imitation of the grand edifices in Nexal. The trees looked somewhat bigger, and she didn't see anybody that she recognized, but it wasn't hard to remember that this was the town where she had spent her first ten years.

Erix started through the square, toward the trail that led up the ridge to her father's house. Suddenly she stopped, appalled. The whole plaza had gone dark around her. A terrible sense of foreboding gripped her soul, weakening her knees. Erix couldn't lift the shadows by rubbing her eyes, so she kept her gaze directed downward. Frightened, she hurried through the town as quickly as she could.

Past the pyramid, she saw the low stone building that housed the priests of Zaltec. A pair of statues, depicting squatting, fierce jaguars, stood to either side of the dark doorway. For a moment, she considered stopping at the temple and inquiring about her brother, Shatil. But she discarded the idea, since the priests had little time for women, and, in any event, the news might be bad. Erix well knew that only about half of the apprentices actually advanced to the priesthood of that grisly order. The others usually made the ultimate payment for their failure.

And in truth, it was her father that she truly longed to see again. She wondered about stopping to ask someone if Lotil the featherworker was well, if he still lived in the white house on the ridge, but this knowledge, too, she preferred to gain for herself. Through the town, she nearly ran up the trail that cut steeply back and forth as it ascended toward the house.

Finally she stood before it. The whitewash had fallen away, she saw with surprise, leaving the walls cracked and in need of repair. Nor did the flower beds around the house show the life they had once exhibited. Her father had planted and tended them, for he loved to be surrounded by color.

Hesitantly she advanced to the door. There she saw the familiar figure, hunched over his feather-loom. Perhaps a little more bent, more frail than she remembered, but it was him. She felt her breath catch in her throat, and for a moment she choked, speechless. Then she found her tongue.

"Father!" she cried, bursting through the door. Lotil looked up quickly in surprise. His expression crinkled into a grimace of disbelief as he stared past her, climbing to his feet.