Cordell rushed a company of reinforcements, led by Daggrande, toward the place. Daggrande assembled two score men and led them in a charge onto the roof. Before they could reach their embattled comrades, however, the attackers swarmed back down their ladders and withdrew from the wall.

They took some dozen legionnaires with them.

All day the companions climbed and traversed the high slopes of Zatal, seeking the entrance to the Highcave. Bitter, sulphurous smoke swirled around them, and sheer cliffs plummeted below. Steep ridges formed most of the mountainside, and they scrambled up and down many of these.

Halloran led the group with fanatical determination, driving himself mercilessly. Poshtli followed watchfully in the rear, while Shatil and Erix struggled to maintain the pace. Chitikas floated about, saying nothing, investigating ledges where the approach was too dangerous for the earthbound climbers.

Shatil noticed, as Hal pressed on, that the snakeskin band around the soldier's waist had begun to drop away, unnoticed. The priest followed the man closely, pulling away from his sister. When the bend of hishna finally fell free, he snatched it up and wrapped it around his wrist, under his robe.

The priest continued to follow numbly, terribly confused.

Where once Shatil understood clearly the mission before him, now his mind reeled with haunting questions.

He reminded himself of the vow he had made, the pledge of his life and his soul to Zaltec. That god, the protector of the Nexalans, would reward his faithful. Or so Shatil had always believed.

Before he had scorned as weaklings those, including his sister and his father, who had professed that gods could be gentle and kind. Always he had had the proof of Qotal's disappearance before him, to show that gods like that could not survive in Maztica. They would be driven out by strong, virile gods – gods who feasted upon human hearts.

But now, before his very eyes, here was the couatl, the harbinger of Qotal. The creature had led them against the Ancient Ones, spokesmen of Zaltec, and had prevailed! What did this mean? Could it be that Shatil, that his whole faith, was wrong? He looked at his sister, wrapped in the soft, billowing cloak. She had become very strong, very beautiful.

And Chitikas! How swiftly the couatl had brought them here! Now they searched for the cave, seeking the entrance among the rocky ridges and plummeting gorges of these smoky, steaming heights. And what if they found it?

Angrily the priest shook aside the notion. The couatl was like any other enemy of his faith – a powerful, magical enemy to be sure, but one who could certainly be killed. He watched the colorful creature dart suddenly forward, disappearing around a mountain shoulder before them. Shatil felt the dagger in his belt and touched the Talon of Zaltec in his pouch.

It would be dark soon, he knew. Shatil had a feeling that it would be a long night.

"Bring the first captive forward!" Hoxitl barked the command, the cruel glee plainly audible in his voice. Priests half-dragged, half-carried the hysterically sobbing figure of one of the captured legionnaires to their patriarch, stretching him backward across the altar.

"Praises to Zaltec!" cried the priest, raising the knife over the captive's chest. The man's eyes grew wide, and he babbled something incoherent as the cleric observed him with scorn. These foreigners certainly didnt know how to die! Hoxitl prolonged the moment, enjoying the spectacle, so long desired, of the pale foreigner awaiting the strike of his blade.

Swiftly the stone knife dropped, and with one brutal gesture Hoxitl sliced open his chest and reached inside the man's dying body to tear out his heart.

A great cheer arose from the warriors of the Viperhand, all the surviving members of which were gathered below the pyramid. The cheering continued as the rest of the dozen prisoners were dragged, one at a time, to the altar. There each gave the essence of his life to Zaltec. By the end of the gruesome ceremony, dark night surrounded the pyramid, and a steady rain soaked the city.

After the last of the sacrifices, the shouting, whistling, and stomping in the plaza created a pounding drumbeat of noise throughout the city. The celebration went on and on, and Hoxitl encouraged them. He knew that the enemy, trapped within the palace in the midst of the joyous mass of warriors, would understand what had occurred.

"I told you coming here was a terrible idea!" moaned Kardann, wringing his hands. "Now we'll never get out of here alive!"

"Shut up!" barked Cordell. "Or I'll send you to join those brave men on the pyramid!"

A grim silence descended over the assembled officers. The scene at sunset had left not one of them untouched, and this, more than their commander's rage cowed them. They met now in one of the rooms that they had used to dine so luxuriously.

"Now," said the captain-general, pacing back and forth before his officers. "We've got to make a plan. I need suggestions!"

Before him sat Daggrande, Garrant, Bishou Domincus, and Kardann. The four squirmed awkwardly, understanding as well as Cordell that their situation was indeed dire.

"Let the horsemen charge them again," declared Daggrande finally. "But back them up with the footmen. We can fight our way out of here!"

"Through that gate? Down these streets? You're mad!" objected Garrant, the Golden Legion's resolute commander of swordsmen.

"What else can we do?" asked Kardann. "You've got to try something!"

Bickering swept through the ranks as Cordell shook his head in dismay. Indeed, what else could they do? Yet without spells, without the magic of Icetongue, without Darien…

With a groan, Cordell sat down at the table, placing his head in his hands. How could she have betrayed him? He wallowed in his self-pity for a moment before forcing himself free of the mire, to once again stand and pace before his men.

"They seem to have withdrawn at nightfall, at least to some extent," observed the Bishou. "Perhaps that's our chance, to break out of here in the middle of the night."

"The clouds have moved in," added the dwarf. "It's a dark night – and still raining."

"I have some spells that might prove of some use to us," interjected Bishou Domincus. "An insect plague, perhaps, to clear them from our path. Or wind and water, such as Helm grants me to use."

"Perhaps you're onto something," said Cordell, desperate for any hope. "One thing's for sure – to remain here is death, death for all of us." He made his decision quickly.

"Tonight, then!" said the captain-general, a trace of his old commanding presence returning to his posture and his voice.

"But how many lives will we lose?" squeaked Kardann.

"We know which life you are concerned with, my good assessor," said Cordell dryly. "And rest assured that we shall do our best to get it to safety.

"You, on the other hand," he continued, "must complete the plans to move several tons of gold. You have two hours."

From the chronicles of Coton:

A note before I retire, while the city dies around me.

Now at last Qotal sends his sign, as the couatl again strives in his name. Forgive me, Great Wise Master of my faith, that I do not record my gratitude at this event. All my pleas and prayers to this end notwithstanding, hoping – nay, begging – for you to take some action.

But now I must ask why? Why has the couatl come? What purpose is there to any struggles at this hour, in this dark night?

Now, when it is too late for all but the dying?