The red-bearded captain, now on foot, clumped up to Cordell, his heavy horseman's boots scuffing across the pavement. Erixitl remembered that Halloran had told her his name was Alvarro. He stared at Erix again, and she squirmed under the pressure of his gaze. Surely he couldn't remember her. His mouth opened in a wide grin as he turned away, but she saw no sign in his eyes that he recognized her from the Payit battlefield.

"Now, what's this about a feast?" he asked.

Darien stepped carefully among the throng that had gathered in the plaza. The legionnaires, from long experience, moved quickly out of her path. Perhaps because of the troops' example, or else because her slight, muffled figure seemed mysterious and thus frightening, the villagers also moved aside to give her a wide berth.

Soon she found the type of place she sought – a shady path between two buildings, where several towering trees served to block out the sun. Also important, seven warriors relaxed here, enjoying the respite from the hot sun in the plaza. With relief, she threw back her hood. Even in the shade, the brightness was uncomfortable, but at last she could bare her head. And she must be unmasked in order to perform her assigned task.

Several Maztican warriors stood back as the elf walked among them. She smiled, passing her milky eyes over the men. When Darien smiled, she was a very beautiful woman indeed, and her beauty was not lost on these warriors.

"Come," she said to one, speaking the language of Nexal, which she had learned earlier through the casting of a simple spell.

The fellow, a tall, lanky spearman with a shirt of padded cotton and a headdress of green feathers, stepped quickly forward.

Darien led him down the pathway until they were out of earshot of his companions. Though these had started to follow Darien and the spearmen, another look from the mage – this one was not a smile – had quickly backed them off.

Darien reached her long white fingers to her ear and started playing with a strand of white hair. Her eyes stared into the warrior's, and then she passed a hand before her face.

"Ghirrina" she said, whispering the charm spell softly. Instantly the warrior's face relaxed into an expression of complete trust, and Darien knew the spell had been successful. The warrior now regarded her as a faithful friend and confidant.

She began to ask him questions, and he began to answer.

From the chronicles of Colon:

Seeking a worthy lord among a seething nest of godhood.

Zaltec's presence, always here, always hungry, is growing into a force to wrack the True World. The cult of the Viperhand, whereby young warriors – even some women and untrained youths – vow their hearts and souls and bodies to the god of war, has grown like a tumor in Nexal.

The god of the strangers, Helm, is also a presence I can feel. Eternally vigilant and watchful, he stakes his claim to Maztica boldly, a clear challenge to Zaltec.

Now, too, I have sensed a new and spidery essence, a goddess of darkness and evil such to make even Zaltec appear playful and benign. Her name is Lolth. This being is tied to the Ancient Ones, I know. She watches from a great distance, but her interest grows intense.

But she is also tied somehow to the strangers. This is a connection I cannot identify, but I sense that it is very real. And this frightens me deeply.

A connection between the True World and the land of these strangers that goes beyond the bounds of the human cultures is dangerous enough. A connection that is personified in the blackness of this spider queen has the potential for menace and disaster beyond belief.

Halloran and Poshtli clung to the horse and gave the powerful mare her head. Rejoicing in the countryside after weeks in the city, Storm galloped with the exaltation of a wild beast escaping to freedom from a cage.

The two men bore their steel swords. Halloran wore his breastplate, Poshtli the padded cotton armor of the Maztican warrior. Hal's other possessions – the potions, the spellbook, the leather snakeskin bond – these he had buried in the garden of his house back in Nexal.

They rode in grim silence, out of the valley of Nexal, past Cordotl, and along the mountain road. Their faces – one pale and bearded, framed in brown hair; the other brown, smooth, noble-featured beneath hair of black – reflected their inner turmoil.

Both of them were sick with fear for Erixitl.

Palul lay a mere two days' march by foot from Nexal, so they knew that the warriors of Naftecona's ambush had already arrived at their destination. The question was whether or not the two of them could get there before Cordell.

Halloran spent every moment of silence cursing himself, an unrelenting stream of rebuke that slashed mercilessly from all sides. How could he have let her go? Wallowing in his self-pity, he had committed a criminal act of neglect against the woman he loved.

And by Helm, how he loved her! The feeling burned like never before, brought home by his acute fear.

"I asked her if she would become my wife," said Poshtli after Storm slowed to a brisk walk. Hal jerked upright. He felt suddenly embarrassed about his unnoticed presence at that meeting.

"You are a very lucky man."

"She refused me," the warrior said frankly. He chuckled, a forced good humor. "An honor any family in Nexal would hail, but she said no."

Stunned, Hal didn't dare speak. His embarrassment turned to shame over the blind assumption he had made. Slowly he realized that his stupidity had driven Erix from him in Nexal, sending her, all unwittingly, to the center of a vast and growing storm.

Angrily he kicked Storm's flanks, and the mare broke into a fast trot. Despite the load of two men, she held the pace for hour after hour.

"It will be evening before we reach the village," said Poshtli, observing their progress.

"We'll get there in time – before Cordell." Halloran spoke with a forced confidence he didn't feel. In truth, he did not know when the legion would arrive in Palul, or how much delay would follow before the ambush.

Neither of them wanted to think about the other possibility, the thought that battle could be raging in Palul even now. But they couldn't avoid thinking about it. The question kept coming back, rearing up and taunting them in their imaginations.

What if they were too late?

To Erixitl, the feast seemed a grand success. They ate melons and citrus and venison and mayz and beans and chocolate. The foreigners seemed to enjoy the food. They made a great deal of noise when they ate, talking and joking and laughing. She saw the square in its natural sunshine, without the ominous cloak of shadows that had been so often here before. Still, she found that she couldn't entirely forget the sense of dire portent that had come with that darkness.

Erix sat on a huge feathered blanket with Cordell and Bishou Domincus, and also the Jaguar Knight Kalnak and the Eagle Knight Chical. The dour cleric of Helm remained silent, but the three men of war seemed to greatly enjoy exchanging tales of battles through Erixitl's translation. The Mazticans expressed great interest in Cordell's equipment, and the general allowed them to examine the blade of his sword.

Some time shortly after the feast began, the robed elf-mage joined them. Looking at her slight figure – Darien was shorter than Erix, and far more petite than the human legionnaires – the Maztican woman found herself wondering what lay behind that deep, cowled hood. Erixitl easily understood why Halloran had always found the elven wizard's presence unsettling.

Darien sat beside Cordell. She leaned toward the captain-general and, though Erix could hear nothing, it seemed as though a silent message was passed from the wizard to the commander. Indeed, Cordell suddenly stiffened. His black eyes narrowed to dark spots, and below hooded lids, he shifted his gaze from Kalnak to Chical, and then to Erix. She squirmed under that penetrating stare, feeling an anger and menace there that had previously been absent.