Helm observes as the legion gathers its gold. This warrior god from across the sea remains vigilant. He waits, prepared for anything.

And all across Maztica, the shadows lengthen.

The Revered Counselor answered the summons from his captor with all the regal dignity of his office. Naltecona didn't walk to Cordell's audience chamber, he rode through the halls of Axalt's palace on his great feathered litter. His cloak of exquisite plumage floated behind him, and an escort of slaves marched before.

A pair of hairy-faced guards halted the slaves at the door. Naltecona rose and stalked between them, entering the chamber to find Cordell and Darien standing impatiently.

"Why have you summoned me?" asked the Maztican ruler.

"Come this way." Darien translated Cordell's directive as the captain-general left the room by a side door. The elf-mage and Naltecona followed. Cordell walked for a minute in silence, finally coming around a corner and turning to regard the Revered Counselor.

"Do you have more of these rooms hidden around the palaces?" demanded Cordell. He gestured, indicating to the speechless Naltecona the huge array of gold before them.

The Maztican stared at the vast trove and felt a cold numbness seep into his body. He had never seen this magnificent hoard, but he knew of its existence. Never had he expected the strangers to tear open the very walls of the palace in their search for plunder. But so they had.

"This is the trove of my ancestors. It is a fabled cache, reputedly hidden somewhere in my grandfather's palace. I have never seen it before," explained the Revered Counselor quietly. "I think you have discovered it all."

"I dont believe you." The captain-general's voice, equally soft, challenged him. Darien, however, shook her head slightly. Cordell turned away, angrily stroking his chin. He tried to control his anger, still believing that the Maztican was somehow deceiving him. Yet perhaps Naltecona spoke the truth. In any event, Cordell knew that he couldn't push matters too hard yet.

Nexal had begun adjusting to the delicate state of control. Naltecona remained in Axalt's palace, ostensibly as a voluntary hostage to insure the cooperation of his people. He met with his officials and had a full household of slaves tending him in his customarily luxurious manner.

Meanwhile, the city functioned, on the surface at least, normally. The market was open, and legionnaires – in groups of a dozen or more – wandered there, or explored the other wonders of the city. The attitude of the individual Maztican toward them varied between hesitant interaction and sullen avoidance.

"Very well." Cordell quickly reached a decision. "Perhaps we have discovered the 'trove of your ancestors,' but I know you have more gold than this. I want it gathered before this palace. You must give the order"

Naltecona stared at Cordell, surprised. He had heard of the unquenchable gold-hunger of the bearded strangers, but never had he imagined its directness. He could think of no reason why anyone would care so much for the pliable yellow metal. Did they consume it? Did they worship it, or burn it, or build with it? He could not know.

He felt it was obviously their ultimate desire. When confronted by the ravenous hunger of the gods, Naltecona, all his life, had learned to give them food.

"Very well," he said. "We shall bring you our gold."

Hoxitl gasped as he emerged from his meditation cell and saw the body on the floor. He froze at the door to the central sanctuary of the temple, with its looming statue of beastly Zaltec and its smoking pots of incense.

Kneeling, the high priest saw that one of his apprentices had been slain. The body showed a thin wound over the heart, far too smooth to have been caused by a stone knife.

"A warning, priest." The voice, from the darkened corner of the sanctuary, chilled Hoxitl like a blast of icy wind. Quaking in fear and surprise, he rose.

"You." he whispered, involuntarily stepping backward. His eyes wide, he stared at the black-robed figure that approached.

The Ancient One moved with oily smoothness. The slim body was completely muffled within the robe, except for the hands. These, of dark black skin and long slender fingers, hung free at the figure's sides.

Dully, the high priest became aware that several of the robed figures were in the temple with him. He wasted no time wondering how they had gotten here. He had no doubt that the Ancient Ones could have entered, unnoticed, by any of several means.

"A warning – a warning of what?" he asked. "The girl who can spell doom for the faith returns to Nexal. Her death is more essential than ever. You cannot fail again!"

"No – no, I shall not! Where is she?"

"We do not know. But the wisdom of the Darkfyre – the very will of Zaltec himself – tells us that she arrives here soon. You will have all your priests, all your apprentices, join the search for her. We, too, will be in the city during the hours of darkness. She must be discovered and slain."

"Is she alone?" inquired the priest.

"She was seen with the stranger called Halloran."

"Very well," announced the priest. "I shall assign my priests to search. We will double the guards at all entrances to the city, and also I shall speak to Naltecona. He may know where the man is."

"The Revered Counselor has not long to live," continued the Ancient One. "His death will signal the attack of the cult!"

"Are you going to slay him?" asked Hoxitl, suddenly appalled.

The robed figure remained inscrutable. "Destiny will control its own pace, but that destiny will throw the cult of the Viperhand into battle with a great passion for killing. Zaltec will be pleased.

"But remember," hissed the Ancient One, his voice muffled but menacing through the dark cloth of his robe. The figure gestured to the corpse at Hoxitl's feet. "Do not fail us again."

Staying off the road, Hal and Erix reached the lakeshore, where tall grasses extended from a broad marsh, with open water perhaps half a mile away. Full darkness surrounded them, a low overcast conveniently blotting out the moon. Approaching Nexal, they knew they had tonight and the two following days before the rising of the full moon.

Fishing villages lined the shore of the lake, and the pair chose a path close to one of these, in the hopes of finding a canoe. They came upon a number of the craft pulled onto the shore and quickly slipped one into the water. In moments, they had paddled onto the smooth, dark waters of Lake Zaltec.

Torches winked in the distance, marking the vague outlines of the great city. They both felt relief for the protective darkness, which allowed them a good chance of entering Nexal undetected.

"Let's go to my house first," suggested Hal when they were safely away from shore. "The slaves might know something about Poshtli – where he is, or how we can find him without alerting Cordell."

Erix agreed. They crossed the huge lake swiftly, and soon the city sprawled before and around them. They paddled silently, unnoticed, into a wide canal, and Hal guided the narrow dugout toward his house. The many waterways crisscrossing the city made their passage fast and easy, though confusing.

In fact, Hal wasn't certain they weren't lost until they pulled up to the courtyard itself. He recognized the stone pool and clumps of palms, knowing at last that this was his own garden. The rooms of the house, all opening onto this central yard, spread protectively around them.

How different this crossing was from their first entrance into Nexal, Hal reflected, when Poshtli had boldly taken them into the palace itself. Now they slipped like assassins through the dark of the night, reaching his home without attracting the attention of anyone.