And in his reflections, the hours passed. He saw the graves outside of Palul, and he pictured the legion encamped in Nexal. Amid the wonder and the horror, what catastrophe might ensue? Whatever the fate, he felt that the culture around him deserved better than to be plundered for its gold.
Erixitl returned at sunset. Hal noticed her extreme agitation as soon as she came around the bend in the trail below the house.
"What is it?" He ran to meet her.
"They've taken Naltecona captive!" she gasped, breathless from a hurried climb.
"The legion? Where?"
"In Nexal, the sacred plaza. It was true, what we heard about Naltecona giving Cordell the palace of Axalt. Now Cordell has brought the counselor to the palace and holds him among the legion!" They moved into the house, and Erix looked wildly, in panic, from her husband to her father.
"Why are you so frightened, child?" asked Lotil.
"The shadows! As soon as I heard the news, everything became dark! I could barely see to climb the hill, as if it were the middle of a cloudy night." She took a deep breath, trying to calm down.
"I had a dream, Father, the first time I saw this spreading darkness. It was the night the macaw led us to water in the desert," she told them. The words poured forth, and the men could sense her relief as she unburdened herself of the tale.
"I saw the end of the True World in this dream. It began beneath the glow of a full moon, in Nexal. Naltecona was slain by the strangers — atop a building I didn't know then, but I recognized it when we reached the city. It is Axalt's palace!"
"But surely the warriors have attacked," declared Halloran. "The city must be torn by battle!"
"It sounds very strange" Erixitl admitted. "But there is no fighting. Slaves take food to the legion every day, and Naltecona himself appears — from the palace, from the roof — to discuss his contentment. He claims that he is there of his own free will."
"Perhaps he is," said Hal skeptically.
"Even if he is, the danger is still terrible. And in my dream, his death was only the beginning. The devastation that followed spread like nightfall, as if the world itself was destroyed!"
"If you see this, then it can come to pass," said Lotil, "for you are one whom the favor of Qotal has granted special knowledge."
"What do you mean?" asked Erixitl.
Lotil smiled. "Look at your cloak, the one from the featherworker in Nexal. What do you note about it?"
Erix removed the garment and spread it on her lap. Halloran, too, leaned over to look at it closely. "It's even more beautiful than I remembered," she said. She ran her fingers along the brilliant plumage, tracing strands of red, green, white, and blue. Each color formed a long, narrow plume, which overlaid others of the same and different colors.
The whole cloak, unfolded, covered a fan-shaped area some five feet long by an equal width at its full extent. It was several inches thick, with a light, airy mass that nonetheless seemed well-padded.
But Erix was busy following the strands of color together, toward the apex of the cape. Each quill joined its neighbors into a single plume, and these plumes merged again higher up on the cloak. At the top, she noticed as she carefully ran her fingers along the cloak, all of the feathers merged into one strong, supple stem.
"It's a single, giant feather!" she said, astonished. "But from what?"
"What indeed?" asked Lotil, his face creaking into an amused grin.
"What do you mean?" interrupted Hal. "So it's a single feather. So what?"
"The Cloak of One Plume is the gift of Qotal himself, the second harbinger of his return. I have known since you returned to me," said Lotil softly.
"His gift, like the return of the couatl, is his mark upon you. You are his chosen one. Keep this cloak safe, my dearest. There will be a time when it shall give you the blessing of Qotal."
"But chosen for what?" Erix snapped, frightened. "What do you mean? Why do I have this cloak? Just to see disaster before us?"
"Perhaps it has been given that you can do something to avoid that disaster," suggested Lotil quietly.
"But what? How can I?"
"Maybe we can do something!" Hal pressed his fists against his forehead, seeing Erixitl's agony, her absolute conviction that she had foreseen catastrophe. He thought for a moment, seeking some sort of a plan, and then spoke impulsively.
"You said that, under the glow of a full moon, Naltecona was killed by the legion atop the palace of Axalt. Well, what if he never goes to the roof? What if he's out of the palace altogether?"
Halloran quickly warmed to his topic, yet he needed to convince himself that his idea was not mere madness. "Perhaps we can rescue Naltecona, and get him to safety. If we can find Poshtli and get his help, we just might have a chance."
"But how? Break into the palace, through the legion's guards?" Erixitl's initial look of hope fell as she considered the obstacles.
"Didn't Poshtli tell us something about secret passages in those palaces? Remember, when we first got to Nexal. Maybe he knows where some of them are!"
Erixitl wondered at the thought, surprised as Lotil spoke. "Go to the door, daughter, Tell me where the moon is now."
"It's low in the east."
"Some time past sunset, correct? I feel the evening chill."
"Yes."
"Well, then," said the featherworker, turning his wrinkled face from Erixitl to Halloran and back again. "It would seem that you have about three days until it is full."
The priests dragged the Kultakan warrior forward, and Shatil saw that the victim was merely a strapping youth, too inexperienced to avoid capture by the retreating Nexalans at Palul. The sun touched the horizon as the scarred, gaunt clerics stretched him across the altar. Shatil's knife fell once, and then he raised the youth's heart to the great warrior statue of Zaltec.
The statue grimaced back, standing tall and broad, with its fanged mouth gaping. Tossing the pulsing flesh into that maw, Shatil turned back to the altar. Priests had already carried the body away, while others brought the next offering.
This one was older, a slave who had been given by his Jaguar Knight master to Zaltec. That warrior, having just received the brand of the Viperhand, had failed to acquire a captive during the recent battle. He made the offering of his lifelong slave in sincere atonement.
The slave didn't quite see it that way, and he struggled helplessly until the last moment. Shatil gave this heart to his god with a vengeance, embarrassed by the man's lack of faith.
And so it went. Hoxitl, Shatil, and a few of the other senior priests of Nexal tried to slake the ravening hunger of their god. Overwhelmed by the honor shown him — he was much younger than any of the other priests performing these desperate rites — Shatil strived to make each sacrifice perfect. Every heart must be another contribution to the strength to Zaltec. Soon now, Hoxitl had promised, would come their call to action.
The cult of the Viperhand flourished in all corners of the city, though its members remained outside the sacred plaza for the most part. The strangers never ventured beyond the walls of the palace of Axalt. Food was supplied daily by the servants of Naltecona, and the Revered Counselor often walked upon the palace roof, apparently happy and serene.
Full darkness settled across the valley before the final sacrifice had been offered. Finally the priests gathered before the altar to hear Hoxitl.
"I have seen the Ancient Ones," explained the high priest. The hearts of his exhausted compatriots pulsed to the news. They awaited his words with awed anticipation.
"Zaltec is pleased with our efforts. When the battle begins, his power will shield us from the metal weapons of the invaders. But we cannot strike yet. This is most important!"
Shatil's heart sank at the news. He sensed the disappointment of the other priests. Impulsively he blurted, "But, Patriarch, why can we not attack while the blood of the cult runs fresh and hot?"
Hoxitl sighed, a patient sound. "This is why it is forbidden: The Ancient Ones have had a warni
ng. There is one who can destroy our plan. She is a young woman selected by the gods, who can by her very existence give victory to the invaders and utter, cataclysmic disaster to us!
"As long as she lives, our uprising would face disaster. Therefore, our entire task, for now, is to find this woman so that her heart can be given to Zaltec and our ultimate victory assured!"
"Where is she? Who is she?" The priests clamored for information, but Hoxitl quieted them with a look. His gaze came to rest on Shantil, and his voice was gentle.
"We are to wait for her to come to Nexal. She may be in the company of the stranger, Halloran." Shatil looked up with a start, to find Hoxitl's eyes squarely upon his own.
"She is your sister, Erixitl of Palul."
Chical, proud captain of the Eagle Warriors, came to see Poshtli in the throne room of Naltecona's palace. Poshtli did not sit atop the dais, but the chamber itself seemed to be the best place for him to conduct the business of the city and nation in the absence of his uncle.
In the presence of Chical and other ranking nobles, Naltecona had entrusted these tasks to his nephew, along with a grim admonishment to maintain peace with the strangers camped in their midst.
Poshtli's primary headache had been relations between the Kultakans and Nexalans in the sacred plaza, surrounding the palaces. The warriors of the city trained in the plaza and frequented the temples and altars there. The Kultakans, and to a lesser extent the Payit, had not yet interfered with these activities, but Poshtli expected a clash at any time.
Now he welcomed the arrival of his old captain, though he already guessed Chical's business.
"When will you order the attack?" demanded the Eagle.
"There will be no attack until Naltecona commands it. You yourself were there when he said this!" Poshtli shot back.
"Surely you could see that he spoke under the threat of the strangers' swords!"
"I saw no such thing. Is it your belief that the Revered Counselor would lie to his people out of fear for his own life?" The question held a grim undertone of challenge, and Chical dropped his eyes.
"No, it is not." When he looked up, deep pain showed in his eyes and in the tight set of his mouth. "But the spirit of Nexal, of all Maztica, is breaking beneath the weight of this outrage," he said quietly. "Our enemies may one day conquer us, but let it be through battle, not as our guests!"
"I am bound by my uncle's word to carry out his wishes, but if the strangers should do him any harm, that bond is broken. And know this, old warrior," Poshtli said, fixing Chical with an aggressive stare. "Before I will submit to conquest, there will be war!"
Privately he wondered if it was not already too late.
They camped in a high meadow, amid a riotous array of alpine blossoms. Staying off the main road, Hal and Erix traversed the shoulder of the northward volcano, Popol, high above the tree line. The only creatures they saw were birds, white far below them, in the valley, lay Nexal. They enjoyed a brilliant sunset while they ate. After dark, the city stood clearly outlined by ten thousand torches and candles.
But for the two lovers, this was a night still to look upward toward the heavens. The torches of the city paled to insignificance against the millions of stars that dotted the great blue-black dome of the sky from one horizon to the next. The moon, past the third quarter in brightness, still couldn't overcome the stars.
The night was just chill enough to make their blankets necessary and comfortable. For a long time, they spoke to each other without words. The terrors of the coming days still loomed, but each became a wellspring of strength for the other, making any horror tolerable so long as they could face it together.
Erixitl suddenly looked away from the city as they sat. Hal wrapped his arms around her, felt her trembling, and understood.
"The shadows come even by night now," she said, burying her face against his chest. "The city goes black. I see the torches and fires blink out one by one. Cant you feel the earth shaking?" she moaned.
He said nothing for a while, just holding her until her turmoil slowly faded. "We will find Poshtli," he declared finally. "With his help in the palace, and my steel-"
"And my pluma" Erix added, sitting up again.
"Yes." Hal winced at the thought of Darien, the biggest threat he perceived to their entrance into the palace.
Erixitl's token seemed to offer her, or them, some protection against the wizard's power. How much, they couldn't know, but she had described in intimate detail her experience with the blast of the frost wand.
"Together" Halloran agreed, holding her warm body to his own. There didn't seem to be any other way, and he began to feel grateful for the fact.
They came together then, with abandon, as if they both feared there would be no tomorrow.
From the chronicles of Colon:
A gallery of godhood waits for the contest to begin.
Lolth arises to her full presence and begins to take the measure of the gods, especially Zaltec, who claims the worship of her wayward drow. She studies the others, and she is pleased.
Zaltec feasts, all unknowing of the spider goddess. He is ready for the explosion of the Viperhand across the land, and he knows the hearts gained by the victory will grant him unchallenged mastery of the True Wbrld.
Helm observes as the legion gathers its gold. This warrior god from across the sea remains vigilant. He waits, prepared for anything.
And all across Maztica, the shadows lengthen.
POINT OF NO RETURN
The Revered Counselor answered the summons from his captor with all the regal dignity of his office. Naltecona didn't walk to Cordell's audience chamber, he rode through the halls of Axalt's palace on his great feathered litter. His cloak of exquisite plumage floated behind him, and an escort of slaves marched before.
A pair of hairy-faced guards halted the slaves at the door. Naltecona rose and stalked between them, entering the chamber to find Cordell and Darien standing impatiently.
"Why have you summoned me?" asked the Maztican ruler.
"Come this way." Darien translated Cordell's directive as the captain-general left the room by a side door. The elf-mage and Naltecona followed. Cordell walked for a minute in silence, finally coming around a corner and turning to regard the Revered Counselor.
"Do you have more of these rooms hidden around the palaces?" demanded Cordell. He gestured, indicating to the speechless Naltecona the huge array of gold before them.
The Maztican stared at the vast trove and felt a cold numbness seep into his body. He had never seen this magnificent hoard, but he knew of its existence. Never had he expected the strangers to tear open the very walls of the palace in their search for plunder. But so they had.
"This is the trove of my ancestors. It is a fabled cache, reputedly hidden somewhere in my grandfather's palace. I have never seen it before," explained the Revered Counselor quietly. "I think you have discovered it all."
"I dont believe you." The captain-general's voice, equally soft, challenged him. Darien, however, shook her head slightly. Cordell turned away, angrily stroking his chin. He tried to control his anger, still believing that the Maztican was somehow deceiving him. Yet perhaps Naltecona spoke the truth. In any event, Cordell knew that he couldn't push matters too hard yet.
Nexal had begun adjusting to the delicate state of control. Naltecona remained in Axalt's palace, ostensibly as a voluntary hostage to insure the cooperation of his people. He met with his officials and had a full household of slaves tending him in his customarily luxurious manner.
Meanwhile, the city functioned, on the surface at least, normally. The market was open, and legionnaires — in groups of a dozen or more — wandered there, or explored the other wonders of the city. The attitude of the individual Maztican toward them varied between hesitant interaction and sullen avoidance.
"Very well." Cordell quickly reached a decision. "Perhaps we have discovered the 'trove of your ancestors,' but I know you have more gold than this. I want it gathered befor
e this palace. You must give the order"
Naltecona stared at Cordell, surprised. He had heard of the unquenchable gold-hunger of the bearded strangers, but never had he imagined its directness. He could think of no reason why anyone would care so much for the pliable yellow metal. Did they consume it? Did they worship it, or burn it, or build with it? He could not know.
He felt it was obviously their ultimate desire. When confronted by the ravenous hunger of the gods, Naltecona, all his life, had learned to give them food.
"Very well," he said. "We shall bring you our gold."
Hoxitl gasped as he emerged from his meditation cell and saw the body on the floor. He froze at the door to the central sanctuary of the temple, with its looming statue of beastly Zaltec and its smoking pots of incense.
Kneeling, the high priest saw that one of his apprentices had been slain. The body showed a thin wound over the heart, far too smooth to have been caused by a stone knife.
"A warning, priest." The voice, from the darkened corner of the sanctuary, chilled Hoxitl like a blast of icy wind. Quaking in fear and surprise, he rose.
"You." he whispered, involuntarily stepping backward. His eyes wide, he stared at the black-robed figure that approached.
The Ancient One moved with oily smoothness. The slim body was completely muffled within the robe, except for the hands. These, of dark black skin and long slender fingers, hung free at the figure's sides.
Dully, the high priest became aware that several of the robed figures were in the temple with him. He wasted no time wondering how they had gotten here. He had no doubt that the Ancient Ones could have entered, unnoticed, by any of several means.
"A warning — a warning of what?" he asked. "The girl who can spell doom for the faith returns to Nexal. Her death is more essential than ever. You cannot fail again!"
"No — no, I shall not! Where is she?"
"We do not know. But the wisdom of the Darkfyre — the very will of Zaltec himself — tells us that she arrives here soon. You will have all your priests, all your apprentices, join the search for her. We, too, will be in the city during the hours of darkness. She must be discovered and slain."
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