"Open up, Gultec!" groaned Caxal. "I've got to talk to you!"

Angrily the warrior threw open the portal. He looked with scorn at his chieftain as Caxal stumbled inside. The man's expression was tearful, his position cowed.

"Gultec, you must give up the gold in the house! The foreigners demand it! You have much gold; you will make them very happy. They feed on the yellow metal and need it to live!"

"Let them come and take it, then. Let me die a warrior's death facing them!"

Caxal looked at the Jaguar Knight with compassion. "This I would tell them, but they will not come after you only. They will raze the city if we do not yield our gold!"

Gultec wanted to shout at him, even to attack him. Some part of the Jaguar's pride desperately needed to blame the counselor. If only Gultec could have deployed the army in the forest, as he had desired.

But in his heart, Gultec knew that his own tactic, while it might have saved more warriors, would not have held the strangers out of Ulatos. Ulatos had been doomed, and it was Caxal's destiny to preside over the first city of Maztica to fall to the invaders. For the first time, he felt a measure of pity for this pathetic chief.

"They will come tomorrow to search the houses," urged Caxal. "Think of the children, Gultec!"

The Jaguar Knight tried to think of the children. He tried to think about anything, but all he saw was a black void. His life was behind him. He had failed at his destiny. Now there was nothing.

"My house is your house," he said softly. He walked away from Caxal, seeking the darkest corner of the garden. Here he squatted and faced the wall as the gold from the House of Jaguars was taken to the plaza.

Gultec watched the young Jaguars meander dejectedly from the house. One by one, they carried golden ornaments up the street to the House of the captain-general, as Caxal's palace was now called. They went to answer their new lord's command.

None of them spoke. Never had Gultec imagined a scene of such tragedy, such utter humiliation. Every Jaguar stood ready to accept death upon the battlefield or honorable capture and sacrifice upon an enemy's altar.

But the warriors now entered the palace and did not emerge. They remained there, prisoners of the invader, Cordell. The captain-general had loudly proclaimed that sacrifice was now forbidden, and none knew why he gathered the warriors to himself.

Gultec could not make himself rise. He sat in the garden until night fell, and then waited throughout the long hours of darkness for the soldiers to come and take him. When he resisted, they would kill him.

Inside the warrior, a great, caged feline paced angrily back and forth, growling and snarling at the confining bars. But outwardly Gultec showed no expression, moved no muscle for the many hours of night. The pacing became a restless obsession, though still with no outward display.

And with the passing of hours, he knew that even his enemies had forgotten him. His destiny had been destroyed on the battlefield, crushed by the might of his enemy. Now that enemy would not even grant him the dignity of a warrior's death.

His life finished, Gultec rose and left the garden under the rosy glow of dawn. He did not turn toward the palace. Instead, he went south, out of the city and through the cleared fringe of fields. At full daylight, he reached the jungle's edge.

Now a great spotted cat sprang into the middle branches of the trees, above the choking growth along the ground. Supple muscles rippled under the smooth pelt, and bright yellow eyes probed the greenery for the sight of game. The great cat was hungry.

And Gultec was free.

Footprints marched steadily down the beach, appearing one after another to mark the track of the invisible stalker. Helmstooth, Halloran's silver longsword, swung about three feet above the ground, just as if a human warrior held the weapon at the ready. Like the needle of a compass, it swung tentatively for a bit, then quickly steadied in the direction of its quarry.

The stalker possessed inhuman patience and tenacity. It could only be drawn to a physical world such as this one by the command of a powerful wizard. The stalker was compelled by the summoning spell to perform the task assigned, and so it searched for the man named Halloran. Not until it found him and completed the command would it be free of the wizard's will.

It had searched the battlefield of Ulatos for hours before finally locating the spoor. The man had mounted a horse, and the steed had thwarted the stalker's previous efforts at detection.

But now it followed that horse along the beach, and the footprints and sword made steady progress. Suddenly they stopped as the stalker sought a spoor invisible and undetectable to mortal senses.

Then the footprints turned from the beach and entered the jungle. Leaves rustled, as if to mark the passage of a short burst of wind, and soon the sword danced toward the entrance of a rocky grotto. Within, it sensed the dying coals of a fire.

And its quarry.

Cordell pried the gold nugget from the belly of the delicately carved turquoise statue. He freed the metal and let the statue drop and smash on the hard stone of the plaza. Placing the heavy nugget between two of his molars, he grinned as the pliable metal conformed slightly to the pressure of his bite.

Though the time was past midnight, great bonfires lit the plaza and the men of the legion showed no weariness as they watched more and more gold brought before them. Like Cordell, they tore the golden elements from artwork, compressed wiry statues into compact lumps of metal, and pulled the feathers and shells from delicate pictures embroidered with gold.

Long into the night, the captain-general toiled at his enjoyable task, until finally fatigue claimed him. He would meet with the assessor in the morning, and for once he looked forward to the meeting.

Halloran sat up in alarm, his magical dream forgotten even though the soft light still washed through the grotto. Corporal stood nearby, growling softly. The legionnaire listened to the distant howling, carried by the night breeze, and the sound sent an uncontrolled shiver down his spine.

"Erix?" he called softly. "Wake up."

She sat up quickly, and he sensed that she had already been awake for a little while. "Do you recognize that sound?" he asked.

"No…" She looked at him, and he had never seen her so frightened. "Is that more of your monsters?"

He shook his head and cast a glance at Corporal. "Greyhounds don't bay when they follow a trail. When they do bark, it doesn't sound anything like that." The musical, mournful cry again ululated through the night, still distant but intensely menacing.

"But you made this light, did you not?"

"Yes… that's one of the magic spells I told you about. I don't know if I could do it again. I was having a dream, and when I woke I cast it."

Erix looked around, her expression a mixture of fear and wonder. The cool white light filled the narrow niche, reflecting softly off the rocky walls. They had slept comfortably in the sheltered grotto, Hal wrapped in the blanket and Erix in her plain cotton mantle. But now neither of them wanted to rest.

The howling came again, noticeably nearer. Hal recalled the various powers and enchantments available to the Bishou or Darien, wondering if this might be the work of one of the spellcasters. "I think we'd better move on," he suggested. Erix was already up, rolling her mantle into a tight bundle.

Halloran lashed his backpack, blanket, and other supplies to Storm while Erix quickly splashed some water on herself. She joined him beside the horse as he was examining something from his pack.