"Chicha is your slave, my priestess," the cleric explained. "She will see to your needs until we sup."

"I don't need a slave!" she protested, but Kachin simply smiled in his grandfatherly manner and walked away.

"Oh, I will be good!" declared Chicha, and Erix saw that the girl was on the point of tears.

"I'm certain you will, Chicha. I didn't mean…" She paused, wondering if one apologized to a slave. Certainly no one had ever done so to her! "Show me my apartments, please."

The girl excitedly led her through a reed curtain into a room with its own small veranda. A clean straw pallet lay on the floor, and a massive golden sun disk rested in a niche in the wall.

The bath proved even more spectacular, as Chicha merely pulled a plug from a hollow log in the wall to allow cool, clean water to fill the large basin. The princess stripped her travel-worn cloak and mantle away, though she kept her golden token around her neck. She felt almost giddy with excitement. A real bath again!

Erix settled easily into the water, feeling the dust and grime float away from her skin. She leaned back and closed her eyes, the bath as always giving her a feeling of exhilarating freshness and vitality.

A harsh crash made her open her eyes. She saw a male slave fall into the bathing room, his face a gory mask of jagged claw marks. Chicha screamed, and four spotted figures stalked into the room, each brandishing an obsidian-tipped club.

"Who are you?" demanded Erix, feeling more anger than fear.

Her only answer was the sharp blow of a club against her scalp. She slumped senseless into the bathwater that slowly turned pink, then red.

Thirty-ninth day, aboard the Falcon

Darien and Bishou Domincus have sustained us, each calling upon the deepest strains of power, bending the wind to their commands. When one collapses from exhaustion, the other takes over, carrying us steadily westward. Now, finally, a natural breeze arises, true from the east, and we sail rapidly again.

And now we have hope! Flocks of birds sighted each of last three days. Crews work with vigor, all eyes…

I must go, hearing a disturbance on deck.

"Land!"

"Land!" Halloran heard the cry and passed it along, racing to the bow of the Osprey. He could see the lookout atop the mast of one of the carracks, perhaps Dragonfly, gesturing frantically.

"What's this? Probably another cloud bank, if you ask me!" Daggrande clumped up to Hal's side, squinting forward in annoyance.

For several minutes, they could see nothing. Other men of the legion gathered around them, as all unoccupied hands stared intently to the westward.

One by one the mast-top lookouts called down their confirmations, and the breeze seemed to freshen with the expedition's aroused hopes.

Gradually Hailoran saw it. Mutters of speculation, quickly growing to a rumble, spread among the men as the image before them slowly took on color, shape, substance. Finally it became a line of green, close to the horizon but extending for many miles from west to east.

Almost imperceptibly, more details became apparent: white-crested breakers upon a wide reef, a smooth shore of tight sand, palm trees and other vegetation growing back from the beach. The lookouts even saw a bright stream flowing into the sea, offering the promise of fresh water.

From the chronicle of Colon:

May the wisdom of the Silent Counselor guide my brushes and my hand.

In the age when the gods and man were young, there came the time of the Great Dust. The rains failed ten years in a row, and heat blistered the land. This was the time of the Ancient Ones, when the cult of Zaltec began to nourish. His priests adorned themselves with blood and cried out that only through sacrifice could the favor of the gods be restored. Deep in their caves, the black-shrouded Ancient Ones watched and smiled.

Finally, in the tenth year of the drought, the speakers of the tribes heeded the call of Zaltec and the Ancient Ones. Great ceremonial battles occurred, and thousands of captives gave their hearts to fresh altars, newly consecrated to Zaltec. Gone were the flowers and butterflies and feathers offered to Qotal; instead, warm, pulsing hearts were given to the glory of Zaltec.

The rains returned to Maztica, and once again mayz ripened in vast, green fields. But the people had sworn fealty to Zaltec now, and always his hunger must be sated with blood.

Qotal, in his anger and shame, left the land of Maztica, spurning the True World. Turning to the east in his great canoe, bedecked with the golden plumes that were his symbol and his image, he rode the friendly wind beyond the ken of man. A few of his faithful priests stood at the shore, beseeching him to return.

To these few, Qotal promised to one day come again as the King of the True World. His canoe will lower like a mountain in the sea, and his footsteps will shatter the land. The peoples of Maztica will rise up in freedom and joy, when they have proven themselves worthy of his presence.

But until that time, he made these, the highest of his priests, vow their silence. Observing and watching the True World, we cannot advise nor command its inhabitants. And so we remain the Silent Patriarchs until our Immortal Master again returns.

Twin Visages

Fortieth day, aboard the Falcon

The fifteen ships stand away from shore, behind the protection of a small reef. A fair westerly wind comes from the tropical landmass, but any hard blow from the east will scatter the ships along the beach like matchsticks.

I will take that risk to plant my banner on this, the first western shore to greet us.

"In the name of Helm the Vigilant, Ever Watchful Sentinel and Protector of the Golden Legion, I claim these lands!" The golden pennant snapped straight in the steady breeze, its eagle emblem flapping its wings as the fabric fluttered. The eye emblazoned in the eagle's breast, the symbol of Helm, now seemed to stare perpetually, even as the pennant flapped in the wind.

The captain-general planted the staff of the pennant deep into the sandy shore, surrounded by threescore of his men, with the Bishou, Darien, and Kardann, the Grand Assessor, at his side. The Bishou's daughter stood near the shore, watching several men fill water barrels from the clear stream. Five longboats, transportation for the shore party, rested high on the beach.

Halloran and several other handpicked warriors stood watch over the periphery of the gathering as Kardann began to speak, enumerating the shares of ownership: profits from the venture to be divided among the merchant princes of Amn and the legion itself.

Hal peered curiously into the dense tropical growth pressing close to the beach. The big greyhound, Corporal, paced at his side, surprising him with his obedience.

Looking at the forest again, Halloran had the odd feeling that the jungle watched him in return. Behind him, Cordell went on to define the boundaries of his new domain, a region beginning here and extending an imprecise but extensive distance to the west.

"Hello." The voice behind Halloran fell like tinkling music on his ears; at the same time, his heart leaped into his throat and stayed there. Martine! She talked to him!

"Uh…" He turned to face her, feeling his face flush. "I'm Halloran! And you're Martine!"

She laughed, easing his nervousness a bit. "And this is a paradise, don't you think?" She gestured excitedly along the length of the verdant shore.

"Yes, that is, uh, yes… yes, it is!" He nodded foolishly, and again she laughed. Hal thought that perhaps he had never heard a lovelier sound.

"I've heard of you, you know," said the cleric's daughter, with a coy look. "The general thinks very highly of you, the way your charge broke Akbet-Khrul."