Yet as he sensed the impact of what had happened, he began to realize that Cordell, Alvarro, Bishou Domincus – none of them would be content to let him escape. They would come after him with all the powers at their disposal, and Hal knew these to be considerable. In that same instant, he made another decision.

"When I spoke to you of staying with me, I forgot… that is, you can't," he began, awkwardly. He forced the words out. "You can't come with me. I can't be around you!"

"Why?" Erix demanded.

"It's not safe. The legion is sure to chase me, and they'll probably find me. You would… well, you'd get in the way if I had to fight," he lied.

Erix leaped to her feet. "And just what will you do? Do you think, with your hairy monsters and your metal shirt, you can go where you please in Maztica? Do what you will?

"No, Captain Halloran. You will be killed, and your heart will be fed to Zaltec or Tezca. Only with me do you have a chance to stay alive. And don't worry… if something attacks you, I won't get in the way."

Halloran blinked in surprise at her outburst. He hadn't intended to offend her. Couldn't she see that he only wanted her safety? That no place in Maztica was likely to be as unsafe as by his side?

"You don't understand!" he blurted. He wanted to explain to her his terrible guilt over Martine's death. She had to see that he could not be responsible for another such violent fate! But even as the reasons, the explanations, whirled through his mind, he began to feel that perhaps he didn't understand things fully either.

"I'm not a slave!" Erix declared forcefully. "And I will not be dismissed like some bothersome child!"

She took several steps away from him and then looked back, her eyes softening. Some of the tension left her body. "You are a brave man, Captain – especially so, that you would send me to safety even though it would leave you helpless in my country.

"But you need me," she finished, sitting again beside their small fire. "You have saved my life when I would have given it up. That is a debt I will not easily ignore."

He looked at her in gratitude, realizing how very fearful he had been about her departure. "You're right. I need your help to survive. And I'm grateful that you're offering it." He shook his head, angry at himself. "I'm sorry about what I said. I don't believe for a minute that you'd get in the way. But you must listen to me. There could be great danger, terrifying attacks that you cannot imagine. If something strange happens, I want you to get away from me quickly. Do you understand?"

She nodded at him, still glaring. He was certain that she understood, but quite uncertain that she would obey.

With a sigh of resignation, Hal adjusted his backpack, currently employed as a pillow. "What's this?" he wondered aloud.

He examined the leather satchel, particularly the bottom, where he thought it had been reinforced. He realized instead that something flat and solid had been inserted into a secret compartment there.

After a moment, he found a concealed flap and pulled it upward, revealing a leather-bound tome wrapped in a black ribbon. Pulling the heavy book out, he gasped in astonishment.

"What is that? Is it good?" asked Erix, puzzled by the look of mingled wonder and fear on Hal's face.

"No… not good. I don't know how bad." He looked directly into Erix's eyes. "It appears that I have inadvertently stolen the spellbook of the wizard, Darien." He explained the significance of the find, knowing that this tome held a copy of each magical spell in Darien's arsenal.

"Of course, they aren't useful to anyone except a trained magic-user. You can go mad trying to read a spell that is beyond your abilities. More than likely, it just won't make any sense."

Yet as he spoke, the smooth leather cover seemed to beckon invitingly from his lap. His eyes wandered downward, intrigued and tantalized. He held the book, shut, for a long time, eventually noticing that Erix had dropped off to sleep.

How much do I remember? he mused, over and over. Finally he flipped the book open to its first page.

A searing flash burned his eyes, and he slammed the cover shut, blinking. Yet within the brief instant of that flash, he had recognized symbols, words of arcane power.

Carefully he opened the book again. This time the flash was not so bright. He forced his eyes to remain fixed on the page and was elated as he identified the enchantment.

A sleep spell! This was one he had once known.

Could he learn it again? Carefully he scrutinized the symbols. Some of them became clear to him, but others seemed to waver on the page, just beyond the reach of his understanding. His head began to throb, but still he studied.

Finally it was sheer fatigue, and not magic, that caused his head to drop back and his eyes to close.

Halloran dreamed of Arquiuius. The old wizard counseled him on his magic missile spell, cuffing his ears when he mispronounced a syllable or let his attention wander. In the dream, he studied the spell and attempted it dozens of times, always failing in one crucial aspect or another.

Then suddenly he got it right, firing the enchantment off in a sparkling trail. He leaped up, thrilled with the success, but his tutor passed it off with a gruff "That is acceptable." Immediately Arquiuius gave him another task, the learning of the light spell. He labored over the new incantation, trying to cast it again and again, but he could not capture the rhythms of the enchantment.

Arquiuius left him and went to sleep. Still the youthful Halloran practiced, and still he failed. Tears of frustration rolled down his cheeks, but no one offered sympathy. Again he studied, his eyes straining under weak candlelight to read figures that seemed to slip elusively across the page.

Over and over and over he tried the spell, and each time his task grew more difficult. But always he went back to it, and now, finally, he felt that he was getting close. He was almost there!

He shouted a word, something from his distant past, and suddenly sat upright in fright. Instantly the inside of the grotto blossomed with cool, white light, harshly gleaming against the dark night above.

Did I do that? was Hal's first thought. Then he heard the howling.

"If the white men want the gold of this house, let them come and take it themselves! Now leave me!" Gultec growled at the plump nobleman, a nephew of Caxal's. The little fellow squealed in terror and fled down the street as the Jaguar Knight angrily slammed the gate.

For some time, Gultec brooded in the garden before the House of Jaguars. Several of the younger warriors crouched listlessly in their chambers, while others wandered aimlessly among the flowers and ponds. Most of the rooms were empty now, their former occupants lying on the field beyond the city.

Why was I spared? Why, when so many young knights, so many fathers and brothers, so many with so much to live for, perished? Why was I, who have nothing, spared?

Gultec pulled his flint dagger from his belt and cut long slashes in his forearms. He watched the blood drip to the ground, but his act of penance brought no healing to his spirit.

He stood and stretched, catlike, looking at the House of Jaguars wistfully. This elegant mansion, home for members of his order who had no wives, no families, had sheltered him for more years than he cared to remember. Always it had been a symbol of the invincible might, the unassailable pride of his order.

Now that might had been broken on the field of battle. The pride lay in shambles across the treasure-littered plaza of Ulatos, where the nobles of the city hastened to do the bidding of their new masters.

Once again came the banging at the gate, and this time Gultec recognized the voice of the Revered Counselor.