"The likenesses of the Revered Counselors of Nexal," explained Naltecona. "It is a line that goes back through fifteen men, all of them members of my family."

Poshtli watched Darien's and Cordell's eyes as they walked along the gold-lined wall. The elfwoman's were cold, unaffected by the riches. But Cordell's dark eyes flashed, washing over the golden objects with a lust that the warrior could almost feel.

"It is a grand tradition," said Cordell. "I want to assure you that we have no intention of bringing it to an end."

Naltecona paused and looked at the captain-general after Darien translated this statement. The two men found each others' eyes inscrutable.

"And now I must speak frankly," said Cordell. "I do so, knowing you will see and understand."

As he spoke, he raised his arms and stepped forward, blocking Darien. As soon as she translated his words, she added a quiet phrase of her own, an enchantment, as she cast the spell upon Cordell himself.

Naltecona gasped and stepped backward, awestruck as the captain-general began to grow. Poshtli reached reflexively for his maca, forgetting that he was unarmed. He stared in awe, unaware of Darien's spell. Cordell's body and his clothing and sword, began to increase in size until he quickly attained a height of some twelve feet. His head almost touching the inside of the thatched roof, the commander planted his fists on his hips and stared down at Naltecona.

The Revered Counselor took another backward step, but then stood firm, fighting an almost overwhelming compulsion to flee.

"You are a great man, Naltecona of Nexal." said Cordell, his voice a deep rumble. "But so, you must understand, am I. Let this little demonstration convince you of that."

"Indeed, so it does," whispered the Maztican. As Naltecona and Poshtli stared at Cordell, Darien slipped off to the side. She quickly and silently cast a spell upon the section of wall between two of the golden busts. This time, however, Poshtli observed the gesture. When Cordell spoke again, Darien picked up the translation smoothly, while Poshtli stared at the wall and wondered.

"Know, too, that any treacheries planned against us will be found out! We will learn of such acts through ways you cannot possibly imagine." Cordell turned, addressing the section of wall Darien had worked her magic on moments earlier. "Is this not so?"

The surface of the wall distorted and stretched for a moment, then revealed the clear outline of a giant human mouth. The lips and teeth and tongue were pale, like the wall, but their shape was unmistakable.

Then the mouth spoke. "Indeed, Master, it is so."

Naltecona shook his head in shock while Poshtli narrowed his eyes. Sorcery or not, the warrior knew that surprise would be difficult to attain if his enemy could gain information from the very walls themselves. When he turned back to face the looming commander, the Revered Counselor was in no mood to offer, or order, resistance. "We shall be true to our obligations as your hosts," he pledged.

"Excellent!" A whispered word from Darien, unheard by Naltecona, brought Cordell quickly back to his normal size. Poshtli saw this command as well. "And your hospitality, my lord, is most overwhelming. Such quarters as these surpass our wildest expectations. In truth, we are your humble guests."

A conch-shell horn sounded in the distance, announcing the start of the evening's sacrificial procession.

"You must excuse me," said Naltecona, with a deep bow. "My presence is required at the evening services."

"For the murder of helpless captives?" barked Cordell, knowing all too well the nature of these rituals. "Suppose a greater force compelled you to order that these pagan rites cease?"

Naltecona looked at him with a hint of regret in his eyes. "Should I give such an order, my people would fear that the sun would fail to rise in the morning. My influence over them would cease at that time, for they would know that I was mad.

"It would mean that a new Revered Counselor would take my throne. The rites, of course, would continue."

For a moment longer, Cordell glared at the Revered Counselor, tempted to challenge him on the issue. Something in the Maztican's level gaze convinced him that Naltecona spoke the truth, however. And the practice of sacrifice was far from their most pressing concern, he reminded himself, with a look at the gleaming wall of gold.

"Make yourselves comfortable here. Of course, slaves have been appointed for your use. There will be sufficient room for your men, I trust?"

"Yes, plenty. The Kultakans and Payit will camp outside the palace in that big square," Cordell said breezily.

"I need tell you again that the presence of our enemies among us, camping in the sacred heart of our city, is an affront to all Nexal. The people resent them and will quickly grow restless with restraint." Naltecona repeated the arguments he had made when Cordell's allies had first entered the city.

"We'll keep our eyes on the situation," promised the general. "But for now, they stay."

"As you command," replied the lord and master of Nexal.

Halloran recovered swiftly after his fever broke, though his wound remained a painful reminder of the battle. Still weak, he slept much. He also enjoyed the hot mayzcakes, beans, and fruits that Erixitl brought to him in a steady stream, at least while he remained awake.

Most of his sustenance came from the beans and mayz, though she prepared these with a variety of spices that made each meal a new and exciting experience. He even found himself enjoying the hot burn of the sharp peppers with which she laced his food. And the thin, spiced chocolate she gave him to drink was a rare treat.

They spoke little of the past, or the future. For a while, it seemed enough that they could be together. Indeed, it would be days before Hal's wound healed enough to allow them to think about much else. Although he could rest with little pain, the puncture became very sore when he moved around.

If his waking hours passed pleasantly enough, the same was not so with his sleep. He had vivid, terrifying dreams of the massacre and sometimes awoke tense with fear over Erix's safety. But these concerns he kept to himself.

One dark night he awakened after such a dream, sweating from an image of Erix run down by a charging line of lancers, led by Halloran himself. Hal lay still, staring at the thatched roof of the house, and gradually his terror passed.

Erixitl, he saw, was not in the house. He rose, noticing with mild pleasure that his wound was giving him less pain with each passing day.

"I couldn't sleep," he said, emerging from the house to find Erixitl in the yard. The moon was a half-circle in the east, rising high in the clear, star-speckled sky. A few hours remained before dawn.

The woman sat on the ground, her legs crossed, leaning back on her hands with her eyes skyward. "It's so beautiful up there," she said. "So crisp and clear."

Halloran settled beside her silently. He, too, looked at the night sky and saw its beauty.

"There's the ridge," Erixitl said, lowering her eyes from the heavens slightly. The great shadow of the high slope loomed over them. "It was up there that I was captured and taken into slavery." She turned to look at him. "I haven't gone back up there since I've come home. It's silly, I guess, but I'm frightened."

"You have good cause," offered Hal. He pictured Erix as a young girl, seized by a jaguar-skinned warrior who emerged from the bushes to take her and flee. "Anyone would want to forget." He thought of the battered town in the valley below, and of how much he wanted to forget that.