"But what has that destiny unleashed, now that Naltecona has died, and the chosen daughter of Qotal still lives?" asked Kizzlok.

"I cannot say for certain, but the portents are dire. We must cope with events now, as they occur." The Ancestor snapped his commands. "You, Kizzlok, will lead a group into the city as soon as night falls again. There you must, you will, find and kill her, or you will not bother to return!"

"Wait," said Darien softly. "Perhaps there is another way."

"What is that?" asked the Ancestor testily.

"I think that the woman will come here of her own free will," she said. "They seek to disrupt our plans for war. After last night, they know where to direct their efforts – toward us, the Ancient Ones. And certainly they will know to find us here."

The Ancestor paused for a moment, deep in thought. "Do you really believe this?" he asked, and his daughter nodded firmly. "Very well. We shall gather our strength here and await her arrival.

"And just to be certain that she does not arrive unannounced, we will place guardians outside the cave – those who might even solve our problem for us!" The Ancestor laughed, a sound like the crumpling of brittle parchment.

"Summon the jaguars!" he decreed.

Another chest laid open, another heart ripped forth, tossed into the gorged maw of the god, Zaltec. "Eat well, my master!" croaked Hoxitl, teetering from weariness after the long morning of sacrifice.

More than a thousand of the captive Payit and Kultakans had already given their hearts. Above them, the volcano rumbled its hunger for more, and so the priests worked diligently, killing and feeding, as the dawn lightened into day-light and the legionnaires watched from the walls of the palace that had become their prison.

Finally Hoxitl stepped back, leaving the grisly task to other priests. He barely felt his fatigue, such a powerful stimulant was this, the work of his god. He watched the file of captives march, for the most part placidly, to the altars, and he critically studied the work of his enthusiastic apprentices in completing the rites.

Other priests tumbled the bodies down the rear of the Great Pyramid, where they collected in a huge and bloody pile. As he observed the laboring priests, Hoxitl saw the chief of the Eagle Knights, Chical, ascend the pyramid, together with several Jaguar Knights and other feathered warriors.

"Our battle proceeds splendidly!" exclaimed the patriarch, beaming, as the men reached the upper platform. From the slow, deliberate trudge of their steps up the steep climb, he could see that they were as exhausted as he. "Now you must begin the attack against the foreigners."

Chical looked at him in surprise. "The warriors have fought a battle throughout the night. We have taken many prisoners already – more than in any battle during my lifetime. Now the men must rest. There will be time to attack the foreigners tomorrow."

Hoxitl's eyes flashed. "No! Zaltec craves their hearts! These of the Payit and Kultakans only whet his appetite! We must attack now!"

"Where is Lord Poshtli?" asked Chical, diverting the high priest. "He gives the orders we will obey."

The high priest scowled. He recalled his attempt to find Poshtli, when it seemed that the lord had entered the secret passage below his palace. "I do not know," he replied carefully. "He is nowhere to be found. I suspect that he died among the foreigners, even before his uncle."

Chical's shoulders sagged, but he didn't question Hoxitl's report. "Still, we must rest."

"The foreigners require rest, too!" the patriarch cried, his voice growing shrill. "Now is the time to attack, when they are too weary to defend themselves! We must strike them this morning, make them fight through the long day!"

Several of the Jaguar Knights grunted their agreement with Hoxitl's plea. Chical, looking more like a commander who had lost a war than one who had just won a great battle, sighed.

"Zaltec requires their hearts!" raged the priest. "Now! Now!"

"Very well," said the master of Eagles. "Let the banners be raised. The attack will commence at once."

"Halloran? Captain Halloran?" The legionnaire, one of Daggrande's crossbowmen, called to Hal where he sat with his companions, beside one of the great thatched peaks of the roof.

Looking at his companions in puzzlement, Hal rose. "What do you want?"

"The general would like to talk to you, sir. Could you come to see him?"

Halloran shrugged noncommitally. The sun rose into a misty sky, and exhaustion threatened to overwhelm him. Furthering his discouragement, Darien had escaped.

"Come along with me?" he asked the others. Erixitl had arisen, too, but now Poshtli and Shatil climbed wearily to their feet. The feathered serpent Chitikas, apparently tire-less, started to float across the rooftop toward Cordell's command post, and the four humans followed.

The general stood with Daggrande and the Bishou, overlooking the sacred plaza – quiet now, though littered with the blood and debris of battle – and the tall pyramid where the legion's allies met their deaths on the altar of Zaltec.

"Welcome, Captain," Cordell said wearily. "How fared your fight?"

Halloran remembered the thrill of that rank, when Cordell had first bestowed it upon him. That had been on a different continent, facing a different enemy. It might as well have been a different life.

"Just Halloran," he replied coldly. "I'm not a legionnaire now – perhaps you'll remember. And as to the fight, the wizard escaped."

Cordell sighed as Erixitl translated the exchange for Poshtli and Shatil's benefit. The general gestured to the plaza, where thousands of Nexalans rested, out of crossbow range but completely surrounding the palace. "It looks bad, doesn't it?"

"Very bad," Hal agreed. "Why did you want to speak to me?"

Studying Erix, wrapped in her bright cloak, and steely-eyed Poshtli, then scrutinizing the coiled form of the feathered snake, Cordell seemed to hesitate. Finally he spoke. "Will you join us in this fight?" he inquired. "Of course, you're pardoned of all charges that might have been brought against you, and I can offer you captainship of the lancers."

Halloran didn't even laugh, so surprised was he by the offer. But his response was quick and vehement. "I have done nothing that requires a pardon. But I want no part of your 'grand mission' – and I regret the small part I once played. You have come here for nothing more than a massive theft!"

Bishou Domincus had been glowering darkly during the exchange, but now he snorted. "Theft! To steal from barbarous savages who kill each other to feed their gods? Why, they don't even know the value of their gold!"

Hal turned to the cleric, with a meaningful gesture to the warriors in the plaza. "It seems that you are the ones who have placed a mistaken value upon gold. Now you see what it has bought for you.

"And as for savagery, there are good people here as well as bad. When we arrived with the likes of Alvarro and Darien, I wonder who are the savages?"

"You are a traitor!" Domincus raged. He stepped closer to Hal and then suddenly recoiled as the sinuous form of Chitikas interposed himself between them. The snake's eyes never wavered from the cleric's, and the Bishou took several steps backward, frightened.

"Darien," said Cordell quietly. "Where do you think she has gone?"

"I don't know" Halloran admitted. "This worries me. She is a great threat to Erixitl."

Suddenly Shatil, who had been following Erix's translation, spoke. "The Highcave," Erix interpreted for the others. "That is the lair of the Ancient Ones."