"But a slave, riding? Carried by pluma?" She could not help exclaiming her astonishment in the presence of Kachin, her new owner. She saw six other slaves, strong men, standing beside large bundles. She suspected they carried goods from Kultaka such as turquoise and obsidian, perhaps traded for tropical feathers or cocoa brought by the Payit cleric to Kultaka.
The cleric regarded her strangely. The gleam in his dark brown eyes frightened her, yet there was something vaguely paternal in the smile that slowly creased his wizened face.
"A slave no longer, Erixitl. Now you are a virgin priestess of the Payit, and as such you cannot be expected to walk."
"A priestess?" Erix's astonishment made her bold. "But I know little of your god!"
"Qotal is the god of us all, whether we know it or not," Kachin replied, smiling.
She shook her head, confused. "Even so, why does a young priestess ride while you, the high priest, walks? And why did you come all this way for me? Have you no virgins in Payit?" She bit her lip, suddenly regretting her stream of questions.
But Kachin only laughed. "You are special for many reasons, dear Erixitl. And those reasons will become clear to you in time."
"But…" Common sense overtook her arguments, and she bit her tongue before objecting. Still, she could not help wondering what sort of man this was. What kind of religion would sanction an arduous journey and the spending of valuable treasure to purchase a priestess? She sat upon the litter and it gave softly beneath her, conforming to her body as she raised her legs and reclined. Her body tingled with delight at the luxury.
Now, to the Coast Road!" Kachin barked. The expedition also included a trio of Payit warriors, wearing only loincloths. These dusky young men carried short spears tipped with jagged obsidian blades, very different from the two-handed obsidian swords, or macas, carried by Nexalan and Kultakan fighters. The warriors wore their thick black hair tied in a high knot on their heads, adorned with several long green feathers. Also, these jungle dwellers dressed far more lightly than Erix's own people, scorning the padded cotton tunic that commonly served as armor.
They departed Kultaka early in the morning as the dawn mist still cloaked the mountains around them. Men and women already toiled in the vast fields of mayz surrounding the city, but by the time the haze lifted, the small pyramids of the city had fallen behind them.
The litter bore Erix sitting upright, or allowed her to recline partially or completely, at her wish. She simply moved her body into the desired position and the soft, feathery cushion adjusted its own shape to hers. The ride was luxurious, but this very luxury caused Erix to feel self-conscious, not a little embarrassed as they passed slaves and farmers toiling in their poor fields.
Erix could not dispel a strange feeling of wistfulness. Even though she had been taken to Kultaka as a slave, her life there had not been unpleasant. Indeed, her memories of Kultaka could not help but be more vivid and meaningful than her childhood recollections of far-off Palul. Now she was leaving this land, and once again her path took her away from Nexal, Heart of the True World. Silently she vowed to return someday to her own land, to set her eyes upon the wonders of that city before she died. Yet even as she made the vow, she knew that she could no more choose to go to Nexal than could a piece of driftwood select the beach upon which it would land.
The gently descending path toward the coast rolled easily under the feet of the slaves, and Erix quickly learned to enjoy the comfort of the litter. It floated along, level and smooth, moving at the pace of the rest of Kachin's party. Often she got out and walked for a time, stretching her legs while the litter followed docilely.
For several days, the little procession made steady progress. Each night they stayed in a comfortable inn, and Kachin always rented a private room for Erix. This was a land of simple country fare, yet she enjoyed the homey hospitality of the farmers and innkeepers they met along the way.
Slowly the mountains surrounding Kultaka fell away, leading to the broad coastal savannah. The dense foliage of the lower mountains gave way to dry grasslands broken by occasional villages and their surrounding fields of mayz. Each of these was distinguished by its pyramid, though none of these structures even approached in size the one in Kultaka City. And that itself, she thought, was a mere pile of stone compared to the great pyramid in Nexal!
Many times during the journey she tried to strike up a conversation with the other slaves. She gathered from their speech that they, too, were Nexalan. But they universally ignored all of her endeavors to communicate.
The three warriors spoke only Payit, so Erix conversed only with the bilingual Kachin. The cleric tutored her in his tongue, and the young woman learned Payit rapidly. Mostly Kachin told her about Ulatos, the city they journeyed toward. She wondered, as Kachin spoke of temples and arts and painting, if the cleric even understood that he was a barbarian. Erixitl decided to spare his feelings, and so she did not rebut his boasts with descriptions of the wonders she knew could be found in Nexal. He told her of his proud pyramid, covered with lush growth and brilliant flowers, and she listened politely.
Still, this god called Qotal was different and interesting, quite unlike Zaitec, the ever-hungry deity of war.
"Witness the butterflies," Kachin said one day, stopping the procession to observe the colorful creatures flitting about a vast field of wildflowers. "The Plumed Father loves them, loves the flowers that nurture them. It is this love that makes him the mightiest of the gods."
"Why, then, are the numbers of his followers so small?" Erix asked boldly. She had grown more comfortable with the cleric during their journey.
Kachin shrugged. "People — people like the Nexala and Kultakans — crave the shedding of blood. They cannot imagine a god who does not desire the same."
Erix's eyes widened at the implication of his statement. Kachin spoke as if the gods were created to suit man's need! Silently she prayed that such sacrilege would go unnoticed, for she had become fond of the old man.
"You, too, are known by Qotal and have been blessed, even if you do not know it," Kachin continued. "You carry a reminder of his beauty and tranquility."
"What do you mean?"
"That token, the feathered medallion you take such pains to hide. It speaks with a voice of its own, proclaiming the might and glory of the Plumed God. You should not cover it up. Qotal is a god of the air and the wind and the sky. His symbols should partake of those pleasures."
Sheepishly Erix removed the token from inside her gown and suspended it outside of her clothing. Perhaps it was her imagination, but the wind seemed to prance quickly around her, freshening the air with the scent of fragrant blossoms. But how had Kachin known of the token? She had concealed it carefully, fearing that he might take it from her because of its unique beauty. There seemed to be much about this cleric she did not understand.
The litter ride was languid and comfortable. Erix slept a little, other times walked beside the floating platform, often wished the cleric would discuss something meaningful. The road once again curved up mountainsides, twisting along narrow ridgetops, winding above vast, yawning canyons, and eventually descending into a region of lush valleys similar to Kultaka.
Eventually Erix saw the telltale shape of a pyramid rising from the grassy plain before them.
"Pezelac… this city is subject to Nexal now, but it was once an independent land," explained Kachin as they drew near the town. "The Pezelans are an artistic people, quiet and peaceful. I think you will like them.
"And when we leave here," the cleric announced enthusiastically, "we will enter the lands of Payit… your new home."
The Payit cleric was well received in Pezelac. The party proceeded to a large house beside a small temple, and here he was given comfortable, airy quarters for himself and his companions.
A young girl carried hot water to Erixitl's room after dinner, and the priestess enjoyed a luxurious bath. The youngster stood wide-eyed beside the tub, offering brushes and soaps and towels to her mistress.
"Why are you staring at me like that?" Erix finally said to the girl.
Quickly the girl's eyes dropped to the floor. "I–I'm sorry. You are so pretty, and I forgot myself."
Erix laughed, drawing an eager grin from the girl. "I am glad you think so. In truth, your bath has done much to make me feel pretty again."
The lass, Erixitl guessed, was perhaps nine or ten years old. She realized wistfully that she herself had been no older when she had been snatched from her home. Now that distant day seemed like a time from a different life, her home in Palul a place remembered from a dream.
"Are you the high priestess of all Payit?" the girl asked shyly.
"No, I don't think so! I don't know what I'm going to do there, or even why I'm going there." She thought to herself that a priest who obtained his priestesses by purchase might do anything. "Are all these Payit as crazy as Kachin?"
The girl looked frightened for a moment. "Don't say the cleric is crazed! He follows the mightiest of our gods, the one true god of all Maztica!"
"Who tells you these things?" demanded Erix, surprised by the girl's vehemence. "How can you say that one of our gods is the true god and risk the wrath of the others?"
"I know it's true. My grandfather is a patriarch of Qotal here in Pezelac, and he taught me about the true god before he took his vow!" The girl looked wistful for a moment, then explained.
"He learned so much that Qotal made him take a vow of silence. That means he's not allowed to talk. And since he knows more than men are allowed to know, he promised not to tell anyone else."
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to belittle your god." Erix started to towel herself, enjoying the conversation.
"Our god — even the Payit!" The girl nodded her head with enthusiasm, her dark eyes serious. At the same time, she gently took the towel from Erix and completed drying her mistress.
"Only the Nexala — your people," she added shyly, "and the Kultaka glorify war, raising Zaltec to his lofty height. The Payit still await the return of Qotal. Indeed, Grandfather told me they have built two great stone faces in the cliffs of the eastern headlands, a man and a woman who look to the east in eternal watch for the Plumed God's great canoe.
"Twin Visages, it is called, and it is consecrated to the return of Qotal from the oceans of the East."
"Praises to Zaltec!" Hoxitl started the ritual.
"High praises to the god of night and war!" the Ancient One responded, but he seemed to the cleric to be agitated. Indeed, the dark-cloaked figure immediately continued.
"The girl has escaped again! Our counsels, from Zaltec himself — " the Ancient One paused long enough for Hoxitl to absorb the import of the remark — "have informed us that she has been bought by a cleric of Qotal. She now journeys to Payit."
"Payit?" Hoxitl was surprised. "That is far from the Heart of the True World. Perhaps she is no danger to us there."
"Idiot!" The Ancient One's voice dripped with venom. Never had Hoxitl been the target of such rage, and the feeling caused his bowels to tie themselves into a firm knot. "She is more of a threat than ever! And now time is passing us like water over a cataract!"
"Very well," Hoxitl whispered, struggling to regain his composure. "We have — that is, the temple of Zaltec has clerics in Payit. I will send word immediately, and she will — "
"There is no time!" The figure's voice was almost a reptilian hiss. "You will stay here for the day. We shall have need of the Viperhand." Hoxitl nodded, realizing that sunrise was but an hour away. Any powers the Ancient Ones would employ must await the coming of the next nightfall. The power of Zaltec, focused in Hoxitl's red palm, tatooed in the pattern of the Viperhand, would be necessary to propel the Sending for the distance required.
"At sunset, you will join us in the dark circle. From there, we will make a Sending. Talonmagic will carry the message to Payit in the night. We have not a day to lose. The girl must be put to death!"
ACROSS THE TRACKLESS SEA
First day, aboard the Falcon.
I shall keep a journal of my legion's progress as we explore to the westward. Preparations have gone smoothly, and we are well provisioned. Darien and I purchased many potions yesterday, the last additions to our stores. The rest is in the hands of Helm, aided by the sturdy backs of the legionnaires.
Predawn tide carries us smoothly from the harbor. Freshening wind off the starboard quarter speeds our departure. Land is gone by midday.
Nightfall. Headlands of Tethyr appear before us at sunset. Anticipate turn toward Asavir's Channel by dawn.
For ten years, I have gathered warriors to my banner. I believe they are the finest soldiers in the Realms. The captains are, to a man, staunch and brave. Daggrande and Garrant — my staunch veterans. Hot-blooded riders like Halloran and Alvarro. All the rest!
My heart bursts with pride for these splendid men, embarking on a mission to the unknown out of loyalty and courage. Seeing the array of our sails around me, I feel certain that we will, we must, triumph!
"What are you thinking, Father?" Martine joined the Bishou in the bow of the Falcon. "Of the many glories of Helm," replied Domincus reverently. "Think of it, my dear! Great masses of pagans who have yet to hear of our almighty avenger! You and I shall have the glory of carrying Helm's word to them!"
"Must you be so serious, Papa?" she teased. "Think of the adventure, the sights and smells and sounds of it all! Whatever it is that we find, I'm already fascinated!"
"Do not make light." The Bishou frowned, stern creases marking his high forehead. "I fear already it was unwise to bring you on such a voyage!"
"Don't be ridiculous. You couldn't have kept me at home!"
"I know you're right," sighed the cleric. "But just the same, be careful."
Sixth day, aboard the Falcon.
Mild headwinds caused us to take two days to pass Asavir's Channel, but all has been smooth since. Taken on water and food at Lantan Island; will be last known landfall. All provisions at maximum levels.
Crews relieved to embark again. The Lantans, worshipers of Gond the Wondermaker, are a disquieting sort, very bizarre and secretive.
Departing at dusk on course 15 degrees south of west for waters unknown.
The steadiness of the men awes me. Our journey will be long and arduous. No troops but the Golden Legion would dare even to embark!
My captains, spread among the vessels as they are, serve to embolden the men still further. I have some concerns about Alvarro and Halloran; the former still holds tbe latter's advancement against him. Perhaps I should have left Alvarro behind, but he is too great a fighter for such an ignoble fate. Why can he not see that his value lies in his sword, not his brain?
I will need to maintain a careful observation here.
"When will you finally get that axe sharpened?"
Daggrande snorted. "When this boat lands on the sandy beaches of Shou Lung, and not a moment before!" The dwarf continued with his whetstone, honing the fine steel to a hairsplitting edge.
"I thought you didn't believe we'd land in Kara-Tur!" Hal countered. He knew that Shou Lung was the greatest empire upon that distant continent.
"I don't, we won't, and I meant what I said!"
"If it's not your axe, then you're tightening the spring on your crossbow or polishing your helm!" Halloran wouldn't let up.
"What else is there to do on this blasted barge?" demanded the dwarf, huffing impatiently and turning back to his work. In truth, the sea made him edgy, and his companion knew it.
A huge, lanky dog sauntered over to Halloran and leaned against him. The creature was one of the greyhounds that accompanied the legion. This one, called 'Corporal' by Hal, had taken a liking to the young lancer and pestered him more or less constantly for food.
Amidships, Storm and two other chargers stood impatiently in the makeshift shelter the crew had rigged. A long voyage, Hal suspected, would be harder on the horses than on the men.
But suddenly Halloran paid the animals no attention, for
their own Osprey had veered to within a hundred paces of Falcon, and the young horseman had eyes only for the flagship.
Or rather, for one of the passengers on that vessel. The Bishou's daughter, Martine, had just stepped from the cabin, her red hair catching the sunlight and bursting with its own fire. She walked slowly about the deck of the other ship as she did several times a day, chatting with the sailors and occasionally relaxing against the rail.
Once she had noticed Halloran watching her and had given him a friendly wave. He had shyly returned the gesture, but now he took pains to be discreet in his observations, pretending to busy himself with his horse or equipment.
Still, whenever the two ships sailed near each other, he made it a point to watch the Falcon, hoping for a glimpse of of Martine. When he saw her, the memory put a rosy glow over the rest of the day.
Meanwhile, Daggrande started to sharpen his dagger, keeping his own eyes anxiously over the bow.
Twenty-sendond day, aboard the Falcon
Last night was the heaviest weather of the voyage; with relief, we counted fifteen vessels in the dawn. Swanmay lost a mast; morning spent in repairing damage. By noon, we're at speed again, backed by a good wind from the northeast.
The uncertainty begins to weigh upon us all. Never have men sailed so far to the west. Around us is naught but the rolling swell of the deep sea.
When will we make landfall? Some grumbling comes from the men, but it is to be expected. Strong, healthy troops are bound to grow restless over the course of a long voyage.
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