The son of Takamal wondered if he had led his people into annihilation by placing their trust and their service in the hands of the conquering legion. The battle here was lost, he knew, and all that remained to him was to try to save as many of his warriors as he could.

Grimly he spread the word, and the Kultakans tightened their ranks. Upon a whistled signal from their leader – a sound that carried somehow above the din of the battle – the allies of the Golden Legion charged the Nexalan hordes. Their tight formation pushed through the chaotic jumble of the attackers as they drove toward the gate of the sacred plaza.

Soon the Nexalans parted before them, still fighting but making no desperate attempt to prevent the breakout. Tokol led the way, his maca dripping with gore, his heart bursting with the tragedy he had brought upon his people. Of the twenty thousand warriors he had brought to Nexal, a little more than half of them escaped – and only because their enemies let them go.

As for Hoxitl and the cult, they knew that the true enemy remained trapped inside the palace of Axalt. Alone now, bereft of allies, the Golden Legion's fate would soon be sealed.

More black arrows arced through the moonlit night, but Chitikas saw them coming and blinked the four humans out of the way before they landed. Once again Halloran and Poshtli pressed home the attack against the drow, and again the dark elves flashed away before their swords could reach Darien.

Another drow lay dead upon the roof, but Poshtli and Halloran bled from several wounds each. Gasping with exhaustion, the companions paused to breathe.

"There!" Erixitl shouted, pointing around a corner of the peaked central roof.

The men, including Shatil, leaped to Erix's side as Chitikas again whisked them into an attack. Again and again, the battle of teleportation raged all around the palace roof, with neither side gaining a clear advantage. The legionnaires took little note of this fight, engrossed as they were in the defense of the building itself.

Throughout the long, bright night, Hal, Poshtli, Erix, and Shatil pursued the dark elves across the rooftop of the palace, while the square around them reeled under the raging battle. Eight or nine of the dark elves perished in the chase, but always Darien escaped.

Finally, as dawn began to color the eastern sky, the Ancient Ones blinked out of sight and did not reappear.

From the chronicles of Coton:

Amid a surging sea of blood, the Temple of Qotal remains a shrinking island of calm.

Around me rages war – total, uncontrolled, hateful battle that can only result in complete annihilation. The priests of Zaltec thrill, now, to their victory, little realizing the future cost of their triumph. The Ancient Ones, serving Zaltec, strive to kill the chosen daughter of Qotal, but now – and they must know this – it is too late to avert disaster.

They remain unaware of Lolth, creeping ever closer, growing ever larger. The spider goddess watches, with pleasure, the bloodshed. She bides her time, not yet ready to add to the killing, when the humans do such a splendid job on their own.

But soon it will be time for her to strike.

Cordell stood on the palace roof with Daggrande and the Bishou, watching the Kultakans fight their way to the gates of the sacred plaza. The commander's sense of discipline wanted to condemn them for their flight and abandoning their allies.

Yet his soldier's spirit admired the courage and precision of their attack. In the pale blue light of dawn, they made their escape, and Cordell couldn't find it in his heart to blame them. The battle around the palace waned as the Kultakans broke from the sacred plaza, and the Nexalans paused to rest. Cordell knew that, despite the momentary calm, the next attack must come soon.

"Captain-General! Captain-General Cordell!" The breathless cry pulled his attention away from the courtyard.

"What is it?" he demanded, seeing Kardann puffing toward him. The pudgy assessor's face was flushed, his eyes wide with fear.

"It's Captain Alvarro, sir! He's been killed – by that woman!"

"Woman?" the general snapped. "Explain yourself!" Even as he spoke, he suspected the answer.

"The wench we captured, the one who came with Halloran! She murdered him!" Kardann gasped out the news as if it was the most important development in this long night of catastrophe.

Cordell sighed, raising a booted foot to the parapet and looking over the plaza. Alvarro. Such a willing tool for Darien's betrayal. It wasn't hard to see what had happened. The fool had disobeyed his commander, for whatever incentive the wizard had offered, and gone into the cell to kill the prisoner.

Only somehow the woman had turned the tables. The general could feel no regret at this news, save for the fact that his own punishment of the impetuous captain was now thwarted. In any event, he had far greater problems confronting him.

"The woman is still here, in the palace!" cried the Bishou, enraged. "She can be caught and punished!"

Cordell looked at the cleric as if he had lost his mind. He knew that Erix, and Halloran, and those two natives – together with that bizarre and frightening snake – had fought through the palace all night, chasing the drow elves that had teleported from one place to another across the roof.

"Thank you for the information," the general said to Kardann. "Now I suggest you go down to the trove. Make a plan for moving the gold, as much as we can. We shall not remain here for long."

The assessor from Amn looked at Cordell in shock. He hadn't considered the possibility of flight, particularly if such flight took them beyond the protecting walls of the palace. Yet something in the captain-general's eyes dissuaded any attempt he might have made at argument.

"Very well, sir," he agreed, with a bow.

"But the witch!" Domincus argued, turning on Cordell. "Surely you want her dead."

"The only witch, I fear, is the one who deceived me – deceived all of us – and is now beyond our reach. As for Halloran's woman, her death would gain us nothing."

"Look, General," said Daggrande grimly. The dwarf pointed across the plaza.

They all stared as the growing light clearly revealed the file of prisoners – Payit and Kultakan – standing on the steps, extending from the lofty temple of Zaltec to the ground, and continuing to wind around the base of the Great Pyramid. As the sun crested the horizon, the line began to move.

Darien stepped forward, passing among the robed figures of the Ancient Ones until she stood at the lip of the great bowl of the Darkfyre. Here she knelt, bowing deeply to the Ancestor as that venerable master of the drow sat back in his throne.

"My Father, I have returned," she whispered.

"And you bring us nearer to success than ever, my daughter," replied the Ancestor, his voice a harsh rasp. He raised his head, his white eyes blazing from his skull-like visage at the other drow gathered around the deep caldron.

"But still that ultimate triumph eludes our grasp" he said. "You tell me that the girl still lives, that she eluded the attacks of all of you!"

"She is protected by powerful pluma," said a drow, Kizzlok. He still wore the black chain mail and dark steel sword that he had taken to the palace, one of the few survivors of those who had answered Darien's summons there.

"It is true, Father," Darien added. "My strongest spells were useless against her, as long as she wore that token."

"Then we must try again, and keep trying until she dies!" snarled the leader, his voice low but heated. "My visions stressed the importance of slaying her before the war began, though we have failed in that, she cannot be allowed to survive any longer! Perhaps there is still time. Destiny shall pivot on the events of the next days. We cannot afford to fail again, when we are so close."