Then the swordsman's arm moved suddenly, but not to attack. Hal saw a great shadow momentarily block out the moonlight, and then powerful talons seized his sword arm and twisted. The harsh cry of an eagle rang in the Ancient One's ears.

Poshtli's beak slashed downward in a savage bite as his powerful wings pummeled the black head. The flying eagle tore at the Ancient One, his talons scratching at the scalp as the swordsman desperately tried to deflect the blows. Halloran darted to the side, getting his feet on solid ground, and attacked.

The bird suddenly pulled upward, flapping toward the night sky as the black steel blade swept toward it. A few feathers floated down, while one of the eagle's powerful talons remained clenched at the figure's hooded mask. With another beat of those powerful wings, the bird lifted away, and with him went the silken mask.

Halloran almost held his stroke, so shocked was he by the visage of the Ancient One. His face was twisted by hatred, but Hal saw the tall shock of white hair and the pale, almost luminous eyes, both contrasted by the ink-black skin. The slender physique and pointed ears left no doubt in his mind as to the nature of the creature.

His hand almost hesitated in his amazement and fear at this element of old-world evil, here flourishing in a new land. He almost delayed, but he did not.

Helmstooth darted like a hungry fang underneath the Ancient One's arm as the dark attacker struck upward at the eagle. The tip of the blade penetrated deep, avoiding the impervious steel of the chain mail and striking straight to the creature's heart.

The black-skinned face contorted into a leer of disbelieving horror. The wide, pale eyes bulged outward from the slender face, and the Ancient One's mouth worked soundlessly. Halloran swiftly withdrew his blade, holding it poised for another thrust.

But the enemy began to sag. A sound, like the dolorous sighing of a thousand condemned souls, groaned forth from his mouth, followed by a spray of dark blood. The luminous eyes fixed Halloran with a gaze of implacable hated that, as the body slumped, faded to the vacant stare of the dead. Poised on the edge of the pyramid, the body slipped over the lip and tumbled through the brush, toward the green earth below.

"The drow is dead," said Halloran curtly, watching the dark elf fall.

Captain-General Cordell gathered his Golden Legion in precise ranks. All the footmen were present, and most of the horse. A few patrolled the lands around Ulatos, claiming tribute from the surrounding villages.

The companies gathered beside the redoubt they now called Fort Helmsport. Ten thousand natives, mostly warriors but also many dignitaries and even some women and children, had gathered to witness this ceremony of their new rulers.

"Men of the legion!" Cordell's voice rang across the field and the lagoon. The blackened hulks of several ships were visible jutting from the water. The rest had sunk in deeper areas, and while they were all visible from the hilltop, most of them did not protrude above the surface.

"Our course is now determined! There will be no turning back, for one or for many. The legion will fight, it will succeed or fail, as a whole!

"And I tell you this, my brave men, my magnificent soldiers. The legion will succeed! Helm has provided us with righteousness! Our arms and steel provide us the strength! And our hearts give us the courage to prevail!

"We know many things about this great land of Maztica. We have an important, wealthy colony here, with a fine capital city. When our work is done, each and every one of you will receive rewards in lands and treasures.

"But first, our grandest task lies before us. We have seen some of the peoples of this land. But we have heard of another land, another people, a place whose richness pales the treasures we have already gained.

"That land is the true center of Maztica, the source of riches and gold beyond imagining. It is the land and the city: Nexal

"There, we know, are coffers of gold claimed from all the nations of Maztica. There are treasures worthy of our mightiest efforts, riches to make all the Sword Coast thirst for our good fortune.

"And I tell you this, my brave and loyal soldiers: Our task shall not be finished until the flag of the Golden Legion flies over Nexal, until that treasure, that city, is ours!"

Thunderous roars of approval rose from the men, frightening the natives, who did not understand what had happened. Then, by columns and by companies, the Golden Legion prepared to march.

The eagle settled to the top of the pyramid, moonlight shimmering across the bird's smooth feathers. The creature's form changed quickly, and Poshtli joined Halloran and Erix at the edge of the overgrown platform. Far below, at the base of the structure, the body of the Ancient One, the drow elf, lay twisted and broken.

Following the death of their master, the remaining hell hounds slinked toward the shelter of the jungle. Nevertheless, the three humans remained atop the pyramid for a little while, resting but alert.

"Your wounds must be tended," noted Erix. Halloran's arm was a mass of pain, and Poshtli had suffered a deep gash in his leg – his eagle's leg – when the drow struck upward at him. The cut had closed when the knight returned to his human form, but the leg remained very weak. "Let's get to the bottom, and I'll find something to wash and wrap them with."

Halloran wondered about Storm, whether or not the hounds had reached the loyal mare. He desperately hoped not, but he could see no sign of the horse across the moonlit clearing.

Working his way carefully down the steep side of the pyramid, Hal climbed alone. His arm was usable, so Erix helped Poshtli, whose leg wound made walking difficult. They descended slowly, without mishap. At the bottom, Hal whistled once and Storm galloped across the clearing. The mare had sought refuge in the shadowed edge of the clearing. Erix found some of the barrel-trunked plants that had provided them with water and used this liquid to cleanse their wounds.

Halloran forgot about the pain as his mind whirled with implications and implausibilities. "The drow… the Ancient Ones… Zaltec!"

He explained to Erix, and she translated for Poshtli, what he knew about the drow. They were subterranean elves of utmost evil, crafty in ways both arcane and mundane. Potent and numerous, they were known throughout the Forgotten Realms, but in most places they had been driven deep underground.

"And now they are working with a priesthood, one of unparalleled savagery, with an unquenchable thirst for blood. Why do they want all those hearts?"

Poshtli then told of the visions he had been shown. "The Sunstone showed me a woman of Maztica and a man from another world. If I could find them, find you, and bring you to Nexal, then perhaps might the doom of the city be averted.

"This knowledge of yours, the proof of this drow, may be the reason for my quest. Will you come with me to the city at the Heart of the True World?"

Halloran felt a sudden sense of weightlessness, realizing a kind of freedom he had never imagined. The Golden Legion was behind him forever, a part of his former life. The legion had turned on him, so he felt no trailing bonds of guilt. He lived in a new world, a world with untold wonders and unimagined secrets. And he, better than anyone else in that world, was in a position to see those wonders, learn those secrets.

Erixitl took his hands in hers and looked closely into his face. The moonlight filled her liquid eyes and overflowed in a warm cascade, wrapping Halloran in a feeling of rare joy.