"Now, by Helm!" Daggrande's bark suddenly carried over the battlefield. The brimmed steel helmets of his crossbow-men suddenly popped over the stone wall, followed instantly by the sharp clatter of a hundred heavy crossbows casting their missiles.

Intent upon the line of sword-and-buckler men a hundred yards farther up the hill, the pirates faltered at the sudden onslaught from the missile troops. Smoothly, Daggrande's men began to recock their cumbersome weapons, while Akbet-Khrul and his lieutenants hysterically commanded their men to renew their charge. A savage yell rippled through the air, rasping from thousands of pirate throats.

"Shoot, and again!" The second volley of bolts took a savage toll, the powerful weapons driving through the bodies of unarmored defenders and penetrating the metal shields and chain shirts of the occasional armored pirates with lethal force.

A great blossom of fire exploded in the enemy's center, fire magic working for the legion now as Darien cast two great fireballs into the midst of the pirate army. The inferno created by each spell dealt instant death to anyone caught in the effect.

Halloran felt his mare easing forward. For a moment, his hold on the reins relaxed, but then he pulled in sharply. He cast a harsh glare down the line of eager lancers, even as he wondered at Daggrande's audacity. Does he have time to shoot again?

The howling mob of pirates came on with undiminished savagery. Halloran watched the bowmen laboriously crank their weapons, certain they could not fire before the scimitars of the pirates cut them to ribbons. The leading attacker – Akbet-Khrul himself, Hal felt certain – was less than fifteen yards away when the first crossbowman raised his weapon. The pirate's face was twisted beyond human recognition, a fanatical picture of battlefield savagery.

The shrieks of the attackers pounded in Halloran's ears. I can't wait any longer! We must charge now! But then another crossbow, a dozen more, were loaded and aimed, their foes a scant ten yards away. Why don't they shoot?

In another instant, the full rank of missile weapons stood armed and ready… five yards. "Shoot! And charge!" A brass trumpet from the hilltop brayed its exclamation point to the order as Daggrande's bark was lost in the din.

"Forward, lancers!" Hailoran's own bellow seemed monstrously loud, though still inaudible, but the tilt of his pennant gave his men the sign. A hundred horses sprang from the grove, some leaping the wall among Daggrande's archers while others swept through a meadow off to the side, riding obliquely into the heart of the pirate horde.

Even as his horse sprang over the stone barrier, Halloran saw the effects of the last volley, delivered at deadly short range. The powerful bolts of the crossbows sometimes ripped through two pirates in succession, and all across the route of their advance he could see broken and writhing bodies.

The shock of the charging lancers completely shattered the momentum of the pirate onslaught. Hal looked for Akbet-Khrul, thought he recognized his torn body among several crossbow shafts, and then thundered forward with the exhilarating momentum of the charge.

Naltecona rode the feather platform to the top of the great pyramid, unconsciously cursing the slow, graceful pace of the regal lift. The high priests and magicians of Nexal, together forming his closest advisers, climbed the steep stairs below as they all sought the vantage of the high temple.

For the gods once more surrounded Nexal with signs and omens. Where once they had incinerated the temple of Zaltec atop this very pyramid, this time they displayed their displeasure not with a fiery temple, nor indeed with any sign directly striking the huge city around him. The gods vented their wrath beyond the city, where it could be seen by all of Nexal.

The great city of Nexal, Heart of the True World, lay amid the crystalline splendor of four broad lakes. Each lake was crossed by a causeway, giving access to the city from all directions. Canoes harvested wetland crops and fish from the lakes, and massive floating gardens further extended the domain of Nexal every day.

The lakes were named after the four predominant gods.

The three largest, to the north, east, and south, contained the freshest water and supported all the commerce. They were called, respectively, Zaltec, Calor, and Tezca. The smallest, to the west, was brackish and salty. This was named for the Silent Counselor, Qotal.

Now great columns of steam rose into the air, hissing from three of the lakes, billowing skyward in massive clouds that threatened to block out the sun. Sharp, unnatural waves hurled tepid water into the many canals of the city, toppling canoes and threatening to inundate low buildings. Only the brackish Lake Qotal remained calm, the only waves on its surface caused by the normal kiss of a light breeze.

Naltecona avoided looking at the lakes, but the sight of the priests and magicians offered him no comfort. In the plaza below the temple stood his many courtiers and lords, but they seemed even less useful than the advisers on the pyramid with him.

Lately the one man whose counsel helped, whose presence gave Naltecona confidence, had been his nephew Poshtli. And now that proud Eagle Knight was commanding a military expedition to punish the vassal state of Pezelac, far from Nexal. Naltecona felt very lonely, and the gloriously colored lift, slowly raising him through the air beside the temple, seemed only to emphasize that loneliness.

Almost desperately, the Revered Counselor looked up. A great emerald fan swirled with regal grace, freely floating in the air above Naltecona's head. Around him spread the blue summer sky, a great cloudless dome. Soaring into that sky jutted the three massive volcanoes surrounding Nexal. Despite the summer heat, two of the mountains wore caps of gleaming snow. The third, Zatal, was the highest, but the heat of its internal fires kept the mountaintop clear of snow.

The featherlift reached the top, setting Naltecona on the platform with the airy smoothness of pluma. The ruler spun through an angry circle, confronted on all sides by the portentous omens of the gods.

"More signs! Why must you plague me with mysteries and dire portents?" He shook his fist at the lakes, as if challenging the gods for whom they were named. Ignoring the anxious looks of the priests and magicians, who gasped for breath as they joined him on the platform at the pyramid's summit, he shouted, "For once give me an answer instead of more questions!"

Naltecona raged, his anger divided between the assembled advisers before him and the invisible forms of the gods beyond. What does it mean? The great ruler forced himself to regain control, but the latest evidence of the gods' displeasure made it very difficult.

The Revered Counselor paced atop the great pyramid, the grandest structure in all Nexal. A dozen priests scuttled from his path and then scurried to remain close behind him. An equal number of magicians also hovered near. The latter possessed few real powers, but practiced spells that allowed them some knowledge of future events. For this reason, the counselor sometimes demanded their services.

Nearby on the platform stood the great temple of Zaltec, rebuilt after the mysterious fire a decade before. The statue of Zaltec himself, within the temple, was now caked with the dried blood of thousands of sacrifices. The hungry mouth of the god gaped open, and this was the receptacle into which the sacrificial hearts were thrown.

"Go from me, all of you!" the counselor suddenly roared. "Wait, Colon… I desire you to stay."

The other high priests glared at their colleague as they started down the long column of steps. In a mythos crowded with jealous and vengeful gods, the worshipers of each deity cast careful eyes upon their rivals. That Colon, the patriarch of a long-forgotten god, one who did not even expect the sacrifice of human victims, should receive special notice from the Revered Counselor seemed to the others a dire threat.