Hal stammered some kind of acknowledgment, too thrilled for articulate speech. He could scarcely believe his ears, and his luck! Here was the woman he had admired over the entire voyage, the one eligible woman on an expedition of hundreds of men – Darien, of course, didn't count – and she was talking to him!

"I'd like to walk down the beach. Will you come with me?"

Never had Hal felt so masculine, so romantic. Neither had he ever felt so shackled, nor so frustrated by the responsibilities of soldierhood.

"I'd – I'd like to," he groaned miserably. "But I have to stand guard here at the – What's that?" He squinted at the brush as he saw a large figure moving there. Martine, rebuffed, turned away and then froze as her eyes settled upon the jungle.

Corporal barked a gruff warning, and several other greyhounds joined in. All eyes turned toward the jungle as the hesitant figures came into view.

The creatures emerging from the jungle were humans, perhaps two dozen in number. They had thick black hair and skin of a deep, slightly coppery brown. They were naked but for tattered loincloths, and carried nothing resembling weapons. Several carried large gourds or bundles wrapped in leaves.

Halloran stepped in front of Martine, his sword in his hand. However, he saw no threat in the appearance of these people. He sensed that they came in peace, but he would remain vigilant.

"What pathetic savages!" said Martine softly. Halloran had to agree with her assessment.

Cordell had expected the spice lords of the Orient to greet them. Thus the captain-General, too, was sorely disappointed at seeing these primitive people. The first encounter with Kara-Tur was not proving auspicious.

One native, taller than the others but still a full head shorter than Cordell, advanced toward the party on the beach. The general watched him, not concealing the disappointment on his face. Finally he and Darien stepped forward to meet him. The jungle dweller bowed, and Cordell calmly acknowledged the gesture. The native suddenly jabbered something in an unintelligible tongue.

Then Darien stepped forward, quietly speaking a quick enchantment. She spoke to the chieftain in the same language, and the man immediately started talking to her, gesturing around them, often pointing to the vessels anchored offshore.

Several of the other natives, all of whom were male, moved closer to Halloran and Martine. The pair looked curiously at their flat faces and broad noses. Each of the men had a sharp stick driven crossways through his nose, extending several inches to the right and left of his face.

One stepped hesitantly toward Halloran, Martine, and several other legionnaires nearby. He bowed deeply and often before extending the gourd in his hand toward them.

Hal took it, feeling the liquid swish inside of it. Another tentatively extended a bundle of leaves, and they saw that it contained an assortment of lush fruits.

And then Hal's attention fell on the man's necklace, and his heart pounded with excitement. He felt Martine gasp beside him, thrilled to the touch of her hand as she took his arm.

"They look so poor, so miserable," Halloran whispered.

"But they're not, are they?" Martine's voice was also hushed as they both observed the band of natives. "I think the expedition is a success."

Suspended from the necklace of this native, and also several others nearby, swung a crude ornament of pure, heavy gold.

Erix awakened with a pounding headache, and for a long time, she could not remember where she was or how she had come to be there. She remembered that something was wrong, but what had happened?

Darkness surrounded her, and the air smelled of masonry. The stone floor had no reed mat nor straw pallet, accustomed amenities for even the lowliest of slaves. Erix couldn't tell whether it was day or night.

She remembered more, but her mind seemed to go backward. She pictured her family's cottage in Palul, she saw her father's face. With a gasp, she reached for her neck, then sighed with relief as she found her feather token still suspended there, her only remaining link to that distant era.

The picture of a Jaguar Knight snatching her from Palul came into her mind, and then she remembered Kultaka, where she had known Huakal's gentle mastership, Callatl's brutality. With a low moan, she sat up as the rest of the pieces fell into place: her purchase by Kachin, the journey to Payit.

Her head throbbed with agony as she remembered the eager grimaces of the Jaguar Knights who had intruded into her bath. Had they hurt Chicha? she wondered, desperately hoping the girl was all right. Why did they want Erix, anyway? And where was she?

Erixitl almost sobbed in despair. Her entire life had been spent following the dictates of authority. Since childhood, she had been subject to masters who had claimed her by force, or who had purchased her from her captors. Even the feather-lined comfort of her journey to Ulatos was in reality simply a softer form of bondage.

The dingy cell around her indicated that she had now been taken by harsher masters. In fact, the lack of comforts suggested strongly that she was not intended for slavery but for sacrifice. She knew that victims who might be expected to resist the Flowered Altar were often imprisoned in bleak cells until the moment of ceremony that would end the prisoner's life.

Strangely, the thought of dying on the altar did not particularly terrify her – at least, no more than had her sale to Kachin or her battle with Callatl. Instead, she began to grow angry, and as her anger grew, it turned into a fiery resentment against the fates that had swept her along for so much of her life.

"No!" She surprised herself with her vehemence.

Feeling groggy, ignoring the pain in her skull, she stumbled to her feet and leaned against the stone wall of her enclosure. She took a step and felt another wall before her, quickly ascertaining that her cell was a square about three paces on a side. She felt a low wooden door in one wall.

They will not have me! Her anger burned with steadily increasing fury, until her body began to tremble. She pushed away from the wall, growing stronger, and turned to face the door. Sooner or later, she knew, they would open that door for her.

And when they did, she would attack.

"I don't like it! I just don't like it, not one bit!" Mixtal, priest of Zaltec, wrung his hands and nervously bit his lip. He took handfuls of cold ashes and smeared them across his face and arms, habitually covering himself in a manner befitting a high priest of the war god.

"Be quiet!"

Gultec's voice came out a rumbling snarl. The Jaguar Knight reclined on a bench and glared contemptuously at the cleric through the jaws of his spotted armor. "Who are you to question the will of the Ancient Ones? Even I know that when your god and his counselors make a Sending, the likes of you and I had best obey!"

The two men conversed in the courtyard before their apartments, where they had been observing the night sky over Ulatos. Behind them rose a small pyramid, not far from the looming bulk that was the Pyramid of Qotal.

"But our Temple of Zaltec here in Payit is not the esteemed institution that it is in Nexal! Hoxitl must know that, but he fears to tell the Ancient Ones! I don't like it!" Mixtal raised his hands to his scalp, tearing at the blood-caked spikes of his hair.

"The sign of the Viperhand is the ultimate command," Gultec reminded the priest. "And it is granted to the patriarch of Zaltec in Nexal, not Payit. The order is Hoxitl's to give and yours to obey.

"Just be thankful we shall accomplish our task with little further difficulty," growled the warrior. In truth, the priest's anxieties made him nervous.