Daggrande could see no sign of human presence save the squat pyramid a mile or so down the coast. He spent no time wondering where Martine, Hal, and the swordsmen had gone. Instead, he quickly turned the formation to the right, toward the pyramid, forming a skirmish line a hundred paces long. The legionnaires started to march, probing the brush as they advanced.

In another minute, they found the bodies.

Erixitl watched breathlessly, frozen in the minimal safety of a clump of bushy ferns. She saw the high priest who would have slain her leading the way, his gaunt and bony form plunging recklessly forward. He was followed by his apprentices and a company of warriors. Erix saw the prisoners, including the young woman tied just as Erix herself had been, with blindfold and gag and hands bound before her.

Most curious of all was the shining warrior who stumbled along behind the woman, neither gagged nor blindfolded. His silver shirt, she saw, was a solid piece of metal, and she knew it must be unbelievably heavy.

"Him you must rescue," came the supple voice at her ear, and she barely suppressed a scream of shock.

"Chitikas!" she gasped as the downy serpent slithered from the undergrowth to gather in a soft coil beside her. Though this was only the second time she had seen the creature, she felt a sense of joy at his arrival, as if she had just found her oldest, wisest friend. Suddenly she questioned her reaction. She gazed frankly at the winged snake. "Tell me, what's happening? Why has the priest taken that strange woman and the warrior?"

"He takes the woman, thinking she is you, to the altar of Zaltec for sacrifice."

She turned to the procession in disbelief. "How can he think she is me? We have different skins, our hair is not alike, nothing – "

"The power of plurrta hazes his eyes." Chitikas fluttered his great wings easily, and it seemed to Erix that the gesture resembled a human chuckle. "Seeing you, the cleric moves to obey his god."

Erix remembered the greeting Chitikas had given her. "You said I must rescue him. Why? And how? What do you mean?"

The snake dipped his head, flickering his tongue back and forth before him. "This I command you, to rescue him, in return for which I save your life, for the priest thinks it is you he slays. He will seek you no more."

"No!" Erix whispered fiercely, straining to control her disbelief. "I'm not your slave, and I will not do your bidding! I escaped by myself, with no help from you! So you can change her back into herself if you want and let the priest come after me! You cannot order me to obey!"

"I cannot." Chitakas swayed his head slowly, almost mournfully. "It is the will of the gods."

"Gods? What gods? Zaltec, perhaps? Or his children, Azul or Red Tezca?" Erix's voice rose in pitch, but fortunately the procession had moved past them and disappeared into the jungle. She could not avoid a tone of scorn. "What have those gods ever done for me besides crave my heart on a stone altar?"

"There are more gods than you name. You have been the beneficiary of great attention." Chitikas now looked at her sternly, but she met his snaky stare with a proud glare of her own.

"Perhaps Qotal, the Silent Counselor himself, now deigns to speak to me, a slave girl and fugitive! Everyone knows he only talks to his highest priests, and only after they vow not to talk to anyone else!"

Chitikas lowered his head, and for the first time, Erix saw a hint of menace in the long creature's posture. His yellow eyes stared upward without blinking. "Believe as you will," he hissed softly, "but you must pay heed."

"I will leave you now!" Erix stood angrily, challenging the feathered snake to stop her.

"Very well," whispered Chitikas. With a single beat of his wings, the snake darted into the air, swirling among the dense tree trunks and almost instantly disappearing from sight.

Still glaring, Erix watched the flying serpent vanish. Then she whirled and started to move through the jungle on her own. She did not notice that she again followed the path of the priest and his prisoners.

Halloran stumbled down the jungle trail in a daze. Martine lurched ahead, beyond his reach or ability to comfort. He knew four brave men lay dead behind them. The prisoners now marched in the middle of the procession of warriors and priests, with two brawny spearmen flanking each of the captives.

Martine! How could this happen? He groaned inwardly, racked with despair. A small part of him wanted to rail angrily at her, for it had been her stubbornness that had gotten them captured. But mostly he remembered the look of stark terror on her face as the priests had seized and bound her. That part of him remained torn by guilt and inadequacy. He had failed!

The time before their capture, bare minutes ago, seemed as if it were another lifetime. He remembered the leering faces of the natives. The trio in the leopardskin cloaks, their faces framed by the widespread jaws of their helms, had looked the most bizarre, but the ash-streaked priest, with his twisted, fanatical grin, had been the most frightening.

The natives had been very curious about them. Immediately after their capture, Hal's steel breastplate in particular had received a great deal of attention, since many a spear or stone-bladed sword had smashed against it during the fight. The huge, scowling warrior wearing the spotted skin and skull scrutinized him with particular interest, poking the armor with his fingers, taking and keeping Hal's keen longsword. The breastplate and his steel cap with its upturned brim remained with him, however.

They had left the bodies of the swordsmen and natives on the field where they had fallen. Two of the three spotted warriors, as well as several dozen spearmen, had perished in the fight. Halloran deduced that the spotted warrior and the priest had disagreed about leaving the bodies behind, for the pair had spoken with great animation before leaving. Apparently the priest had prevailed.

Hal's mind whirled with images of disaster, and he still could not fully comprehend how quickly catastrophe had overtaken them. For what terrible purpose had they been taken captive? Of the pair, only Martine had been gagged and blindfolded. Hal thus suspected that the woman was earmarked for some special purpose, a thought that made his blood run cold.

"Martine!" he ventured to call out once, his voice a probing whisper. He saw the woman's back stiffen before him, and then his skull shuddered under the impact of a heavy cuff.

The warrior behind him growled, grabbing Hal's arm and pushing him along roughly. The spearman pressed his hand over Halloran's mouth, and the captain understood the meaning clearly.

The stifling heat of late afternoon finally began to break as a slight breeze stirred the foliage. A solid blanket of limbs and leaves blocked out any view of the sky, and Halloran had no idea as to the direction they traveled. The jungle trail twisted and turned so chaotically that he was certain they must have backtracked over their own path several times. However, something about the leopardskin-clad warrior – the man who obviously commanded the column, though he deferred slightly to the black-robed priest – made Hal certain that they were not lost.

Slowly the captain's mind started to work again as he reminded himself that inaction meant certain disaster. What can I do? His brain recoiled from the prospects of extended captivity, or worse, among these…

He didn't know what to make of his captors. They exhibited a higher level of military skill than the legion had encountered in any of the natives the expedition had met thus far. Indeed, Hal noted as he strained against the constricting snakeskin thong that still held his arms, these people used magic and fought in large, disciplined formations. Furthermore, the twin faces carved on the cliff and the pyramid atop the bluff bespoke of greater building skills than previously seen.