"Master! You live!" Gankak, his venerable slave, cackled with glee and hobbled into the courtyard. "Jaria! Come quick! I told you he'd return!"

"Told me nothing, you old he-goat!" Jaria, white-haired and rounded but remarkably nimble, passed her husband and bowed to Halloran and Erix as they entered the anteroom. "I said that you still lived, Master. It was Gankak who was certain that – well, it was otherwise."

Horo, the litle, pretty one, and Chantil, short and plump beside her fellow slave, came happily out of the kitchen and chattered around them. It was a homecoming that surprised Halloran, and that he found deeply heartwarming.

"This is my wife, Erixitl," he said. The slaves bowed deeply to the woman, obviously pleased for their owner's happiness. For a few minutes, Hal forgot about the bleak view of Erixitl's vision, relaxing in the warm togetherness of his household.

"I'll see you later," Erix said as Horo and Chantil finally swept her away for a tour of the house.

"Master, it is good you return now. These are dangerous times in Nexal," said Gankak ominously.

"I know that my countrymen have entered the sacred square," Hal noted.

"That is not the worst. They have taken Naltecona prisoner, and they keep him with their own troops in the palace of Axalt. And Naltecona forbids his warriors from raising weapons against them!"

"That's something, at least." Hal knew their chances of success would probably vanish entirely if war erupted before they reached Naltecona. "We have much to do. Can you tell me, is there any word of Lord Poshtli?"

"Yes, indeed. He occupies Naltecona's throne room, speaking for his uncle. It is said that the Revered Counselor's captivity weighs heavy upon him."

Halloran imagined his friend's frustration, entrapped by his responsibility to serve his uncle and barred from attacking those who held him hostage.

Perhaps they could reach him. And if they did, perhaps they could offer him some hope.

"You must take charge of an important task, my nephew," said Naltecona. Poshtli stood attentively before him, wondering why the Revered Counselor had summoned him to his quarters in Axalt's palace so early on this bleak and cloudy day.

"I shall follow your commands unto my own death," pledged the warrior.

"You must gather the gold of Nexal, as much of it as you can. Gather it and bring it here." Naltecona stood tall. Only the deep lines around his eyes showed the humiliation he suffered at the request.

For a moment, Poshtli stood speechless. He couldn't imagine the immense arrogance behind such a demand, yet he knew that it must have come from Cordell. Did the man think all Nexal was his conquered serfdom, free for the plundering?

"You must do this, Poshtli, as difficult as I know it will be." Naltecona's pain now carried to his voice, and his nephew's heart broke at the abject surrender so apparent in this great man's bearing. At the same time, the warrior wanted to strike the counselor across the face in his blind anger, to somehow express the rage he felt at the proud nation's debasement.

"My pledge to you stands, my uncle," Poshtli said. "And if this is your sincere wish, so shall it be." His voice deepened, passionate. "But think of what you are saying! We are surrending our city, our people, our gold, all to this one who comes as a guest to our city, then seeks to treat us as his slaves!"

Poshtli saw that his arguments hurt Naltecona, and he took a savage glee in the knowledge that the Revered Counselor could still be made to feel shame.

"Please, my uncle. Let us attack them and destroy them. We can drive them from Nexal or slay them all! They are not our masters, and you cannot give your people into slavery without the chance to fight for their freedom!"

"What's the use?" Naltecona sighed, a sound that reminded Poshtli of a lifeless desert wind. "We tried to stop them at Palul. You know of that disaster even more than do I. Think of that slaughter, multiplied a hundredfold because it occurs here, in the Heart of the True World."

"But think of what is coming to an end. Uncle. Think of the legacy of Maztica, the True World! And coming to an end for what? Surely you don't believe that the strangers are gods. You have seen their acts, heard their speech!"

Naltecona chuckled, a grim sound. "These are good words, my nephew. But they are mere words, and I must think of lives. I must avoid a conflict that could destroy us utterly."

"But through this, Revered One, we destroy ourselves." Poshtli forgot himself for a moment, speaking with inappropriate vehemence.

"That is enough," said Naltecona quietly, gently.

"Forgive me, Uncle." Poshtli bowed deeply, torn by conflicting emotions. His overwhelming feeling was a sense of inevitable tragedy, and he stoically accepted this awareness, beginning to understand that his uncle suffered even more than he did.

"It shall be as you command," the warrior said quietly, bowing once again before he left.

The officers of the legion met their captain-general in a chamber that had once sheltered the ruler of all Maztica. Perhaps, thought Daggrande, it did so again.

The throne room of Axalt was as imposing as that of Naltecona. Cordell, however, had ordered his carpenters to build him a large wooden chair, for he didn't trust the floating pluma seat of the type used by Nahecona.

Now Daggrande, Kardann, Darien, Bishou Domincus, Alvarro, and the other captains met the general, seeing in the icy cold flash of Cordell's eyes that their leader had important news.

"We must practice the most extreme vigilance over the next few days," he announced. "At the same time, we face the prospect of reaping the ultimate reward."

He briefly related his encounter with Naltecona and the counselor's aquiescence in the matter of his people's gold. "We shall presently be faced with a mountainous trove, a pile of treasure such as few among us have ever imagined."

Cordell's manner turned menacing. "However, we must face the possibility that his people will resist such a demand. This, as you know, could lead to war."

"It will lead to war!" Kardann squealed, no longer able to hold his tongue. "Your demands are premature! They will certainly destroy us all!"

Daggrande turned to the pudgy assessor and confronted him, poking a blunt finger into Kardann's ribs. "Seems you still havent learned to listen when the general's speaking." His finger pushed forward, and the accountant gasped for breath. "Now, shuddup!"

Kardann's eyes bulged, and for a moment, he wavered between terror of the indirect threat of a Nexalan uprising and the direct threat of a further rebuke from the dwarven captain of crossbow. The immediate threat took precedence, and the assessor shut his mouth.

Beside him, Alvarro licked his lips, recalling the pile of gold in the secret storeroom. The picture of many more such piles glowed seductively in his mind. "There's the matter of transport, sir," he said. "How do you intend to get it back to Helmsport?"

"We'll wait to see what kind of amount we're talking about. Then the carpenters will build us sleds. We'll use the Payits to drag them along when we march."

"Do you expect Naltecona to go along with this?" asked the Bishou. He despised everything about these people, but he couldn't believe that they would offer such a complete gesture of submission without a fight.

"Naltecona will go along with it," replied the captain-general. "The question is whether his people will follow."

Darien, unnoticed by any of them, pulled her hood over her face. She made the gesture to hide a rare, and very secret, smile. As the officers dispersed, Darien left the room before Cordell could speak to her.