This was a square, stone structure, sunk halfway into the ground. It had sleeping and eating quarters for the priests serving at the Great Pyramid, as well as holding cells for the victims of upcoming rituals.

Shatil passed through the low doorway and staggered down the short stairway into the dark main room. In the darkness, he heard a low growl, and he froze. For a moment, he remembered the great war creature of the strangers, wondering if the beast had somehow risen from the dead and found him here. At the same time, he recognized the delusion for what it was, realizing that his wound and journey were taking a terrible toll. Then the tall figure of a Jaguar Knight stepped into the semidarkness near the door.

"What do you want, priest?" he inquired.

"I must see Hoxitl. It is very urgent!" Shatil gasped, slumping backward to lean against the cool stone wall.

"Urgent enough to wake the patriarch from his sleep?" asked the warrior skeptically.

"Yes!" spat Shatil, pushing himself upward to stand straight. He was the equal of the Jaguar in height.

"What is it? Do you bring word from Palul?" The question came from the darkness within the temple, but Shatil recognized the high priest's voice. "The Eagles have already reported that the battle was a disaster."

"Yes, Patriarch," Shatil said, his voice growing stronger. "The high priest Zilti perished in that fight, as did many of our people. So, too, would I have, but Zilti ordered me to flee that I could bring this to you." Shatil held out the parchment, and Hoxitl quickly took it.

"You have done well," said the patriarch. He unrolled the sheet and held it up so that Shatil and the Jaguar Knight could look over his shoulders at the page.

Shatil gasped as he saw a picture take shape there. That's the square!" he said, pointing to the feasting multitudes of Mazticans and legionnaires. "This is what it looked like before the battle."

The sheet resembled a fine painting in its detail and complexity and brightness of color. They looked first at the whole plaza, as it might be seen by a soaring bird. Then the images became more precise, and they saw Cordell speaking pleasantly with Chical and Kalnak.

"How can this happen?" Shatil inquired, amazed at the appearance of the picture at all, not to mention its clarity and accuracy.

"The magic of hishna" explained Hoxitl brusquely. "The power of the fang and the talon. The recreation of images is one of its greatest strengths. Now be silent."

As they observed the picture, Shatil's amazement turned to shock. The picture began to move. They saw the black-robed wizard speaking to the warrior behind the houses. The scroll made no sound, but the warrior's meaning was clear.

"The traitor!" spat the Jaguar. "He tells the enemy of our ambush!"

"Through sorcery," observed Hoxitl. "See?" They watched the mage and the warrior disappear behind the house, screened from view. Then the picture shifted, and they saw the scene from a different place, with a clear view of the woman and her victim.

The pale woman touched her cloaked hand to his throat in a gesture that seemed almost tender, but then the warrior's back arched and he fell like a log to the ground. He lay there, stiff, turning blue as his eyes nearly popped from his head. Without a backward look, the woman left as soon as it was clear that he was dead.

Then they watched numbly as the battle unfolded, until at last Shatil had to turn his eyes away. It had been enough to live through that horror once.

Hoxitl and the warrior stood for a long time, engrossed by the scene even as they were appalled. When Shatil looked again, the plaza was a smoking ruin, bodies and blood scattered everywhere.

"So it was in Palul," muttered the Jaguar Knight as Hoxitl finally rolled up the sheet. "But it will not be in Nexal! We can pull up the bridges on the causeways, mass the warriors on the shore. When the strangers come to the valley, we shall see that they never leave!"

"We shall indeed see that they never leave," agreed Hoxitl, "But not in the way you imagine."

"What do you mean?" asked the warrior.

"Naltecona has decreed that the strangers be welcomed to our city as gods. The causeways will not only remain in place, but they also will be decorated with flowers to honor our 'guests'"

"How can this be?" demanded Shatil, appalled. "They must be stopped before it is too late!"

"Would that our Revered Counselor was as wise as a young priest," said Hoxitl wryly. "But until that time, we must plan and prepare… and wait. The cult of the Viperhand grows daily and will be ready to strike when the time comes.

"But come, Shatil, you are injured. You must now have food and rest. Your message has proven most enlightening, and its delivery shall not go unrewarded."

Shatil bowed his head, warmed by the praise from this, the highest-ranking member of his order. "Patriarch, there is but one reward I could ask."

"Speak your wish," urged Hoxitl. Outside, dawn's purple glow had begun to color the sacred plaza.

"With this dawn's sacrifice, I wish to pledge my life and body to Zaltec – to serve him in war as well as in ritual. Please, Patriarch, grant me the brand of the Viperhand," asked Shatil levelly.

"It shall be as you desire – but not this morning. Tonight," came Hoxitl's reply. "You must rest now. Come here." The cleric took Shatil's wounded hand and led him to one of the sleeping cells. By the time they reached it, Shatil saw with amazement that the savage bite had healed.

"Column, forward!" Daggrande barked the command, and the first company of the legion, the crossbowmen, started on the road to Nexal. In moments, companies of sword and spear fell in after them.

Cordell remained behind, mounted on his prancing charger. Darien, riding a sleek black gelding, waited beside him.

Gradually, like a huge snake uncoiling itself from the confines of Palul, the army began to march. Great ranks of Kultakan warriors joined the procession, raising their spears to the captain-general as they passed. He had led them to a victory greater than any in their history against the hated Nexalans. Even Cordell's decree ordering that none of the captives be sacrificed had failed to dim their loyalty.

Dawn had barely purpled the sky when the first legionnaires set out, but the eastern horizon was pale blue by the time the last of the warriors, the Payit, marched out of the town. These men had played little role in the previous day's fighting, and Cordell sensed that their pride was stung a bit when they saw the great success of the Kultakans. The Payit would be doughty fighters, thought the captain-general – if he needed them.

"The city is well protected by its lakes," explained Darien as Cordell and the elfmage started out, riding through the fields beside the great marching file. "What is your plan of attack?"

Cordell smiled, a narrowing of his already thin mouth. "I don't think an attack will be necessary," he replied. He sensed Darien's surprise in the sudden tilt of her head, but she said nothing.

"I am making a guess about our prospective foe, the great Naltecona," Cordell explained. He was pleased with his deduction, and he thought it sound, but he desired Darien's confirmation of his judgment, so he continued. "I'm guessing that he is very much awed by us now. I shall not be surprised if we are welcomed into his city as guests."

Darien's smile was as tight as the man's. "I hope you're right. It is a gamble."

"So is this march today," countered Cordell. "I know the men need rest, but look at them."

He gestured at the troops, Maztican and legionnaire, that they passed. All the men held their heads high – and marched with a quick, firm step. Many saluted the captain-general as he rode by.