Ironhelm

CONQUEST

At sunset, the surviving people of Ulatos gathered in somber ranks along the avenues of their lush city to witness the entrance of the conquerors. Though the battle had never reached the city itself, every resident of Ulatos knew the tale of this day's fighting. Nearly every family had lost a father or brother, or even a younger sister or grandparent caught up in the massacre.

First came the measured columns, six abreast, of Garrant's swordsmen and Daggrande's crossbows. Banners flew above the men, and trumpets and drums paced their step. They advanced in a steady, even cadence, faster than a normal walk. The legionnaires marched precisely, stealing glances to the right and left at the many splendors around them. They saw gardens and flowers such as they had never imagined, and clean white houses. Water flowed in many places, always clean and clear.

Next came twenty-one horsemen, three abreast. The blue and yellow pennants flew from their upraised lances, and the riders took great pleasure in wheeling and bucking and prancing with their mounts, to the great awe of the onlookers. Alvarro rode at their head, on a black gelding he had commandeered from one of his men. Often he pulled savagely against the bit, causing the horse to rear and kick while the red-headed captain brandished his sword.

Cordell rode into Ulatos in the center of the Golden Legion, mounted and followed by horses bearing Darien and the Bishou. The other twenty horses, and then the last companies of foot soldiers, completed the grand procession.

The legion moved along the wide avenues quickly, soon reaching the large plaza at the heart of the city. Trees and flowers grew in profusion around the square. Several narrow canals reached the fringes of the plaza, crossed by the avenues on wide wooden bridges.

Dominating the plaza was the great green bulk of a verdant pyramid, higher than the one near Twin Visages and also distinguished by the profusion of vines and flowers growing from each of its terraces. Atop the temple splashed a high fountain of clear water, and the liquid leaped down the stepped sides of the edifice in a merry trickle, as if to mock the solemnity of the humans gathered below.

The soldiers broadened their ranks to cover the square as Cordell and Darien dismounted. The two walked slowly toward the figures awaiting them at the base of the green pyramid.

One man, distinguished by his resplendent mantle and his collar of green feathers, stepped forward and bowed low. He began to speak, but Cordell cut him off.

"Are you the chief of this city?" the captain-general demanded as Darien quickly translated. The man, shocked and frightened by Cordell's rudeness, stammered and then responded.

"He is Caxal, the 'Revered Counselor' of Ulatos" Darien interpreted.

"Tell him to bring me all of the gold in the city — now. We shall also require food and quarters. But first the gold. They are to bring it here." Cordell gestured to a raised square in the center of the plaza, a foot above ground level.

Darien translated, then Caxal turned and spoke urgently to the lords and chiefs behind him. "Tell him that if they attempt to conceal any of their gold, their city will be destroyed!"

Caxal's expression was desperate as he spoke to Darien. "We will bring you all of our gold. Please know that we are not rich. This is not Nexal! We are but the Payit, and our gold is yours."

Showing interest, Cordell nodded to Darien. "We will learn more about this place 'Nexal.' But for now, let us count the gold before us!" He turned back to the counselor of Ulatos.

"Caxal, you are to lead your lords to every house in your city. You will claim all of the gold in my name and bring it to me here. When you have finished, my men will search. If we find that you have deceived us, your city will be destroyed!" The counselor hastily turned and collected his nobles, sending them scurrying off in all directions.

"My general, the pennant," Bishou Domincus urged, joining the pair at the base of the pyramid. Several men-at-arms and the sergeant bearing the legion's standard also came up.

"To the top!" exclaimed Cordell, with a flourish. The little party climbed the pyramid. At the top was a lush garden, complete with clear bathing pools, grassy walkways, and beds of brilliant blossoms. At the center of the square area stood a raised dais, with a statue upon it.

"A demon!" cried Domincus, spitting upon the image of the Feathered Serpent, Qotal. "Tear it down!"

Instantly the men-at- arms toppled the squat carving, knocking the leering dragonlike head off its encircling mane of feathers in the process. In moments, they had rolled both pieces of the statue over the edge, where they tumbled down the side and smashed to rubble in the plaza below.

Already, Cordell could see, natives hurried to pile objects in the center of the plaza. He could see the metallic gleam of gold on many statuettes, chains, and bracelets. Other objects, swathed in cloth for the moment, he imagined were ingots and large chunks of the precious yellow metal.

"The pennant! For the glory of Helm!" Bishou Domincus tossed back his head and shouted. He snatched the standard from the sergeant and leaped onto the now-vacant dais. His gauntlets, each emblazoned with the blazing eye of his god, gripped the flagpole as he raised it high. With a powerful blow, he planted it in a crack between two rocks. The pennant unfurled, its golden eagle emblem snapping taut, the great staring eye of Helm in the eagle's breast glaring imperiously about the city.

Behind the pennant, the crystal plume of the fountain slowly sank back into its pool. Then it died altogether.

The smokeless fire cast a warm glow against the shiny walls of the grotto. Halloran emerged from the clear pool, his skin raw from scrubbing. Corporal still swam joyfully in the shallow stream, while Storm grazed on a profusion of tall grass.

Hal discarded the root Erix had provided him, an herb that had frothed with the water to form something she called 'soap.' It had proven so effective that Hal now felt uncomfortably clean.

He slipped into his leather jerkin and woolen leggings with some relief, ignoring Erix's wrinkled nose. They both relaxed now, comfortable and reasonably safe for the moment, in any event. Hal had located this steep-sided rocky niche, only a few hundred paces from shore but masked by verdant growth on all sides.

"We will find you a mantle," she said. "Clean and cool. You will like it."

Hal grunted noncommittally. In fact, he immediately noticed the itching of his present rough fabric against his skin. Pools of sticky sweat formed quickly where the heavy leather padding clung tightly to his body. But the bath had been grueling enough. Helm's curses if he would allow anything else.

"Here. I have food." Erix handed him a flat object, which he recognized as a mayzcake. The islanders had introduced the legion to this nourishing staple, the mainstay of the Maztican diet.

"Thanks." Hal bit into the cake, and suddenly tears sprang from his eyes and his mouth blazed with fire. Desperately he swallowed the food and gulped many mouthfuls of water. "What's — what's in this?" he gasped.

"This? Just beans. Oh, and a little pepper. Do you like it?" She smiled curiously.

"It's… splendid," he whispered, quickly cooling his gullet with more water. Even the water only seemed to spread the fire around, like oil thrown upon a blaze.

Still, rations were rations, and these were the only rations available. He tried smaller bites and slowly came to appreciate the sharp, distinctive flavor. His eyes watered freely and sweat burst from the pores on his skin, but he noted with surprise that, in this tropical heat, the spicy food actually made his body feel cooler — on the outside, at any rate.

"Tell me about your land," he prodded as they finished eating. "That city, Ulatos… is that your home?"

"No. I come from far away, near the Heart of the True World."

"The True World?"

"Maztica. The whole known world. Maztica's greatest nation is Nexal, for the Nexalans have conquered many of the other tribes. Kultaka is another strong land, enemy of Nexal. Here we are in Payit, the land farthest removed from Nexal. Payit is the only land that is not an enemy of Nexal, but it is not a conquest either. The Payit are too far away for the Nexalans to worry much about them."

"But what of the bloody priests, such as the one that killed Martine?"

Erix sighed. "The followers of Zaltec, such as that priest, are far more numerous among the Nexala and Kultaka than among the Payit. But always we can find worshipers of Qotal, such as good Kachin. He was the patriarch, the highest of high priests, of the temple in Ulatos." She turned to him, suddenly curious. "You said that your own people attacked you. Why?"

Hal told the tale of his arrest and escape, and as he spoke, the events seemed like distant history, a story that had happened to someone else. The whole fabric of his life had been shattered, and yet he felt like the same person now as when he had served Cordell's legion.

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.

"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.

"What is that? Water?" Erix asked, seeing a large vial in Hal's hand. He held two smaller bottles in his other hand.

"No. They're magic potions of some kind. I took them when I escaped from the ship. I don't know why I did. Magic gives me the willies."

Erix's brows knitted. "What do they do?"

The howling echoed again, still distant. Corporal paced nervously while Hal thought about his answer.

"I don't know for sure. You drink them, and something magic happens. The labels explain it all, I'm sure, but I've never seen writing like this."

"Perhaps you should throw them away," urged the woman quietly. "We don't need them, and what if they're dangerous?"

"Oh, I don't know," Halloran said airily. "They might come in handy." He set the two small bottles back in the pack and unstoppered the large one. Squinting into the bottle first, he raised it and took a short sip.

"Halloran!"

When Erix screamed, Hal quickly dropped the bottle and spat. He fumbled to push the cork back in, wondering why he couldn't see the bottle. Come to think of it, he couldn't see his hands, either. He was invisible!

"Halloran? Where are you?" Erix whirled around, panicking.

"It's — it's all right. I'm right here." Already his form began to grow visible, and in moments, he looked normal again. "This is a potion of invisibility! I didn't take enough to do more than fade for a second, but if we need to, we can drink a dose and disappear!"

"Forever?" Erix was clearly dubious.

"No… for an hour or two, I suppose. I know they're only temporary, but I haven't had much experience with potions." He reached for one of the small bottles.

"Wait!" urged Erix. "It does seem that they may be useful, but let's leave the others for a later time. We should be moving on now."

The howling abruptly faded, changing in pitch and volume. They could still hear it, but it did not seem so imminent.

Corporal suddenly growled and sprang to his feet. A gust of wind swirled through the grotto, rippling the stream water and rustling the grass along the bank. Hal looked up but saw nothing, even though light still washed their camp. Once more the howling echoed in the distance. Then Corporal barked loudly.

The sound saved Halloran's life. He whirled to look behind him just in time to see a silver sword driving toward his throat. Twisting away, he leaped to his feet. A sudden wind blazed the dull coals of the fire back to light, and Hal gaped in astonishment at his attacker.

Or rather, his lack of an attacker. The silver sword danced in the air, apparently animated by itself. His astonishment grew as he saw the weapon clearly.

"That's Helmstooth — my own sword!" he cried. The blade, given to him by Cordell himself, had been taken away when he was arrested. Now, as if under its own power, it was attacking him!

As the weapon darted forward again, he saw splashes in the shallow water below it, marking the passage of invisible feet. He snatched the sword he had claimed from Alvarro from the nearby saddle and parried the attacker's next blow.

But the enchanted sword flickered back and forth too quickly for Hal's eye, and the legionnaire stumbled backward to avoid another deadly thrust. His shock turned to fear as he realized that this inanimate attacker could kill him. He tumbled backward through shallow water, and something splashed after him.

Corporal leaped at the attacker, snarling and biting at the air. The greyhound twisted in the water as a sudden gust of wind whipped up froth. A column of swirling air suddenly lifted the dog and hurled him to the shore.

Halloran darted at the invisible shape, hacking back and forth, trying to knock Helmstooth to the ground. The whirlwind turned back, and spray flew in a howling column, blinding Hal. The force of the air buffeted him backward, and he sprawled on the shore.

The once placid grotto became a cage to him now, the limestone walls barring him from maneuver… or flight. The rocky barriers formed a deadly arena, where life would be the winner's prize.

Halloran scrambled desperately to his feet as Helmstooth came at him again. Diving away, he once again tumbled headlong in his desperate attempt to evade death. The sword chopped at the ground behind him, and he rolled away, bumping his shoulder on a sharp object.

The sword lifted above him, ready for the kill, when something thumped into the invisible figure and knocked it aside. Hal saw Erix holding a sizable log, originally intended for their fire. But the whirlwind shape came swirling back, and Halloran knew they could not best it with physical attacks.

The sharp object jabbed at him again as he struggled to his feet, and he realized that he had fallen onto his backpack. The top of one of the small potion bottles was barely visible, jutting from the side pocket. It had been that bottleneck that had poked him.

Erix swung again, knocking the invisible sword-thing backward, but then the wind swirled around her, smashing her to the ground. Hal's throat tightened with a cold terror that dwarfed his earlier fear. Then the sword turned back toward him. It was not interested in killing Erixitl of Maztica.

Desperately Hal pulled the little bottle from the pack. I hope this does more than make me invisible. Popping the cork, he threw back the bottle and gulped its entire contents in one swallow. In the next instant, he raised his sword and parried another slashing blow.

Once again the swirling wind raced through the camp. Spray blinded Hal, and he braced himself for the crushing force that had twice knocked him over. Closing his eyes against the stinging needles of water and dirt, he leaned into the wind and struggled to keep his balance.

But the wind did not swirl so forcefully this time, at least, not against his whole body. He felt it pounding his belly and his legs, then just his legs. He opened his eyes as the spray fell into mist and the wind jerked, annoyingly but not dangerously, at his calves.

He looked down at the fire, down at Erix, saw the starlit horizon stretching for miles around the grotto… around the grotto! Even the twenty-foot high walls that had concealed their camp now looked like a trench around him. I'm a giant! he suddenly realized. For a moment, he reeled with vertigo, so dizzying was the sensation.

But his feet had grown proportionately, and his balance remained steady. He crouched lightly, dropping into the trenchlike grotto, every bit as nimble as he had ever been.

Halloran saw the silver sword slash in for another attack, and he kicked the irritating thing away. Slowly he grasped the significance of the potion: It had increased him to a height of perhaps thirty feet. His weapons and clothing had grown right along with him!

Erix sat, awestruck, gaping up at him. The invisible stalker whirled in again, and Hal raised one huge foot, stepping down hard on the struggling form. His massive weight pressed the thing into the water.

A froth of bubbles exploded around his giant foot, but he could feel the substance of the monster still wriggling beneath the pressing weight. For several minutes, he stood still, and slowly the struggles faded. Finally bubbles burst from the water all around his foot, as if a great air sack had burst.

Feeling nothing resisting him now, he reached down and plucked Helmstooth from the bottom of the stream. Holding the sword like a toothpick, he looked around for any sign of the attacker, but once again the night was silent.

Erix stammered something unintelligible, and once again he looked at her horrorstruck face.

"Don't worry," he soothed, his voice like the rumbling of thunder. "It won't last long."

At least, that's what he hoped.

"Up here, inside the mountain," explained Luskag, barely breaking a sweat. "That's where we'll find the Sunstone."

Poshtli gasped an inarticulate reply. The combination of the steep climb and the high altitude made it virtually impossible for him to move, much less speak. Nevertheless, he followed the desert dwarf in their slow, steady ascent.

Clad only in sandals and loincloths, they made the grueling climb under the blazing light of the morning sun. The climb was not treacherous, just a steady, long uphill grind in an atmosphere that offered precious little air to breathe.

The mountain spread across a vast area of desert, rising from a tumult of lesser peaks to dominate the skyline in all directions. Dirty white snowfields, streaked with mud from melting, adorned the heights of the cone-shaped peak, and finally the climbers neared this region.

"The mountain was born at the time of the Rockfire," explained Luskag when they both paused to catch their breath.

"You've talked about that before," noted Poshtli, between gasps. "What's the Rockfire?"

Luskag looked at him in surprise. "I thought surely the tale was known to all. The Rockfire marks the birth of the desert dwarves, but the death of all of our kindred dwarves."

Poshtli looked at him in puzzlement, and Luskag continued. "The time was many generations ago, by dwarven reckoning — that means even more, measured in human generations — though no one knows exactly. The dwarves were locked in conflict with their archenemies, the drow elves… the dark elves.

"It was a conflict that wracked the far corners of the world, for the underearth at that time was linked by tunnels and caverns, such that a dwarf could cross under the great ocean, past the vast snow realms of the north and south, anywhere he wanted, without poking his head above the earth.

"And this region was the domain of many peoples — dwarves and dark elves, of course, but also the deep gnomes, the mind flayers, and many others. But none were as evil, as calculating, as the drow.

"The drow maintained a magical focus, deep under the earth, that they called the Darkfyre. Into this, they fed the bodies of their slain enemies, and the Darkfyre grew in power. Finally it overwhelmed those who fed it and grew of its own will into a great force, of cataclysmic destruction — the Rockfire.

"It consumed the world of the underground, destroying most of it. Mountains such as this were born in the fire, while whole cities and nations of the underdark were demolished." Luskag paused, and Poshtli sensed the pain of the tale, a pain that appeared as fresh as if the disaster had occurred only yesterday.

"The dwarven race was annihilated, except for a few small tribes, such as my ancestors. And even they found that life underground was no longer possible, for the hallowed caverns of antiquity, those that survived the fire, became caldrons of poison gas or pools of hot, molten rock. So the dwarves came to the surface, and now we live our lives in shallow caves, very near the baking heat of the sun. Now we dwarves, here in the House of Tezca, are the last survivors of a proud and noble race.

"But one good thing, too, came from the Rockfire. That was the complete destruction of the drow. At least now we live in peace, unthreatened by their evil machinations."

Poshtli lowered his eyes in respect for his companion's pain. He wondered at the power that could destroy a whole people, a whole nation. The dry wind swirled around him, and he felt a sudden chill.

Luskag's pride was evident as he raised his bald head and looked across the House of Tezca. The barren, hot desert became muted with distance, when viewed from this lofty vantage. The reds and browns and yellows flowed together in soft shades. The harsh and jagged skyline became a thing of beauty — distant, aloof, and unassailable.

"And the Sunstone… that, too, was born of the Rock-fire?" asked Poshtli, with a glance toward the summit.

Luskag nodded and climbed to his feet. "And we'd best get moving if you would consult the stone today. The sun will be high in the sky shortly, and we must reach the top before then."

Poshtli grunted acquiescence and stood stiffly. They had climbed most of the way up the mountain, but the last bit was the steepest, strewn with loose rock and dirty patches of snow. His mind became a haze of fatigue. Sweat dripped into his eyes, blurring his vision. They had brought no water. Luskag had informed him that the body and soul must be bared by the climb. One who sought the insight of the Sunstone must be pure and show his devotion by such abstinence.

Finally they crested the summit, and Poshtli saw that they stood upon the rim of a vast volcanic caldera. Through his fatigue, he looked down into the yawning crater and gasped with amazement at the sight of the Sunstone. His body tingled, his mind came sharply alert. This is a place of the gods! he realized in awe.

A great disk of silver lay flat in the crater, like a lake of molten metal. The inside of the caldera was dry and lifeless, a baked surface of black rock. But the disk, nearly the size of the great plaza of Nexal, seemed to gleam with a life of its own.

Poshtli could not have torn his eyes away even if he had wanted to. He squatted on his haunches, spellbound. He sensed Luskag sitting beside him, also facing the inside of the mountain.

Slowly, majestically, the sun crested the opposite side of the crater. Higher it climbed, warming them with its heat, but never did their eyes waver from the silver disk. Poshtli saw the metal begin to move, starting to swirl slowly in a great circle.

Faster and faster the metal whirled, and more magnificent, more enthralling grew the spell. The Eagle Warrior and the desert dwarf did not move, did not twitch a muscle or blink.

Finally the sun reached high across the mountain. Its light struck the disk in a scorching reflection, pouring brilliance in its concentrated beams.

Poshtli felt the force wash over him, almost knocking him backward. Grimly he fixed his gaze against the glare, feeling his body grow warm, then hot. His vision had suddenly become a white nothingness, but then a hole opened in the vast blank. In the very center of his vision, the hole grew, until he could see through it, into a region of clear blue sky. He looked through the hole in his vision and saw buzzards circling, wheeling downward, away from him.

Poshtli forgot his pain, forgot the heat. He dove with the buzzards, which had now become eagles. Soaring, he remembered sensations of flight, but never had they created such joy.

With sudden, sickening abruptness, he flew with the eagles over a vast black wasteland. Through the ashes, he could see the outlines of canals, a tumbled mound that might have been a pyramid, the swamps that outlined what once had been lakes.

Nexal! He cried for the city, his voice a harsh wail. This was truly Nexal that stood below him, but a Nexal of death and disaster. There were no people here, but strange, frightening things wandered among the muck and ruin: creatures of grotesque appearance, malformed shapes, and bestial, hateful eyes.

Poshtli still looked through the hole in his vision, though now he tried to look away — but he could not. He thought the sight would drive him mad. Despair threatened to burst his heart.

Then he saw, before him, a woman of indescribable beauty. She stood among the blackened ruins, and the darkness fell back from her. Where it recoiled, the city did not reappear, but at least the land emerged, green and whole again.

Poshtli's avian form reeled under the brutal assault of the vision. He twisted and squirmed in the air as if he would escape the horror below it, but it seemed that everywhere he turned he faced new scenes of devastation.

Then he saw jungle below him, broken by patches of savannah. The sun appeared in his vision, rising directly above an overgrown pyramid. Poshtli's vision fell toward the pyramid, and here he saw a strange sight, a beautiful woman, fighting desperately for her life. He saw a pack of coyotes snapping at her legs.

Beside her stood one he recognized as a white man from across the sea. He, too, fought the coyotes. Poshtli saw that the attackers were small, shaggy creatures of several colors — pale yellow, brown, and black.

The next thing he knew was Luskag's hand on his shoulder, shaking him. He sat up and blinked, unable to remove the glaring yellow spot from his vision — the spot where the hole had been. Dimly he realized that it was night.

"Come," said Luskag. Poshtli saw that the dwarf, too, blinked often. "Were the gods kind to you?"

"They were," Poshtli said softly. "I know now what to do."

Kardann, the assessor, reported to Cordell at noon. The captain-general kept the bookkeeper waiting outside the grand house while he dressed. Kardann fidgeted nervously on a stone bench in the courtyard, taking little note of his surroundings in the spacious palace that had once been Caxal's.

The house was huge, with an enclosed garden and bathing pool. Beyond this open area, whitewashed walls enclosed the high, airy rooms of the huge flat-roofed building. While most of the buildings in Ulatos seemed to be of wood or thatch, this one was made of stone.

Cordell soon emerged from his apartments to meet the Council of Six's representative.

"Of course, I worked under execrable conditions," began Kardann. "It's not like weighing nice minted coins. My estimate includes an error factor of plus or minus ten percent."

His apology out of the way, Kardann beamed. "My preliminary assessment, however, yields the pleasant sum of one million, one hundred thousand pieces of gold, once forging and minting have been accomplished. The gold seems to be of genuinely high purity, though my assumptions have been cautious there as well."

Cordell whistled softly. "That is splendid news, sir. Simply splendid!"

Kardann lowered his head modestly and then cleared his throat, looking hesitantly back at the captain-general. "May I ask, Your Excellency, whether you now plan to embark for home?"

Cordell looked at the man in astonishment. "Of course not. We have barely scratched the surface of this land!"

"Begging the general's pardon," wheezed Kardann, "but some of the men have been talking about the distances, and our small numbers. Surely it would be wise to return to Amn for additional provisions and reinforcements?"

And perhaps another assessor, you filthy coward? Cordell looked at the man with barely concealed scorn. "You had best set aside any thoughts of returning to Amn, my good bookkeeper." His voice took on its customary edge of firmness, the tone of a captain's captain. "Double-check your figures. And strive for a little more accuracy this time, if you please."

With a dark look backward, Kardann slipped away, stiffening and nodding as Cordell called after him. "Send in Captain Daggrande."

The dwarf clumped in and raised his hand in salute. "Town's quiet, General."

"And that chief, Caxal?" asked the commander.

"He's waiting outside."

"Very well. When my lady Darien emerges, we shall summon him. Remain until then, Captain."

In moments, the elfmaiden came from the private apartments across the wide courtyard to join them in the large, open room that served well as a central meeting hall. As always during daylight, the albino's body was swathed completely in her robe.

Two guards ushered Caxal through the door, and Cordell immediately began to speak, with Darien translating.

"You have done well with the gathering of gold. I am sure we will now have peace between our peoples. But there is one more thing you must do."

Caxal scowled but then quickly wiped his face clear of expression. Cordell continued. "All of those warriors who are chiefs, the 'Jaguars' and the 'Eagles,' must be brought to me. We have many here, detained when they brought the gold. But you must find the rest and send them to us. When they are all safely locked up, then your city will return to life as usual."

For a moment, Caxal stood taller. "My city will never return to life as usual," he growled. But then his shoulders sagged. "I do not know why you would lock up a man, unless he fears to escape the altar. Are you making sacrifices of them?"

"Of course not, by Helm!" Cordell's face flushed. "That barbaric practice is forevermore outlawed! Here, in Ulatos, and wherever else I take my legion!

"The warriors will be placed in a room and kept there until we ascertain that Ulatos will give us no further trouble. They must report to me by sunset today."

"But they will surely die!" protested Caxal. "They are not the kind of men who can live caged in a room. You will surely kill them!"

"That's a risk I'm willing to take," barked Cordell. "This interview is concluded."

Caxal bowed, shaking with emotion. He held his eyes downcast as he backed toward the door.

"Wait!" Cordell stopped him. "There is another thing. I wish to learn more of this place you talked of, this 'Nexal.' Bring me some of your people who have visited there or lived there. I'm sure you know of such people."

"As you wish." Caxal nodded again and hurriedly slipped out the door.

"Do the men have comfortable quarters?" Cordell asked, turning to Daggrande.

"Indeed, General. Splendid. Food is plentiful. The Payit have no ales nor spirits," admitted the dwarf wistfully. "This 'octat they drink has a most pungent aroma and curious taste. But the men have made the most of it."

"We will remain here for two days. We'll let the men enjoy themselves a bit, find some women, that sort of thing. Go easy on them if they get a little out of control. One other thing, though, Captain. Any legionnaire caught hoarding gold is to be thrown in irons and displayed in the plaza as a lesson to his fellows. See that the word is passed.

"Then, Captain, I have a task that will require your special abilities." Daggrande looked at his general quizzically, and Cordell smiled slightly as he explained. "I wish to build a fort beside the anchorage where the fleet stands. You will be in charge of the construction, rotating half of the legion on work detail while the others stand to arms."

Daggrande nodded in quick comprehension. "Good choice, sir. That rocky hill just back from the shore?"

"Exactly. But we'll need a jetty, too. Later, perhaps, a breakwater, but for now, we'll start with a breastwork and a place to dock a carrack. Now, enjoy some time before I put you to work."

The dwarf nodded and clumped away. Captain Alvarro stepped in as his comrade departed.

"Ah, Captain," began the commander. "I will tell you why I have summoned you. We have been accepted rather prettily here, but I believe one more gesture is necessary to ensure the lasting obedience of the Payit."

"Yes, General? What do you suggest?"

"I want you to observe these warriors we have in captivity. Find four or five that show some spirit, that seem like leaders. Bring them to me, in the plaza before this house, this evening hence." The captain-general smiled grimly at his lieutenant, his eyes glittering like black sapphires.

"We will make sure that the warriors of Ulatos remember that they have been conquered by the Golden Legion."

From the chronicle of Coton:

As darkness gathers around the shores of Nexal.

Zaltec holds all of Maztica in thrall. Qotal tantalizes us with the promise of his return, with the sign of the couatl, with the visions to the Eagle Knight, but he gives no sign of arrival. And now an Ancient One is abroad in the land.

He follows his pack of hounds — black, fiery beasts from the netherworld, the world of Zaltec and the Darkfyre — and he seeks to kill the future before it can begin. For thus can Zaltec's triumph be assured.

But now the Ancient One moves with fear as well, for the pieces of the future are falling into place. He must slay her, and he must keep his nature a secret. Even the Ancient Ones, it seems, fear the might of the strangers.

The girl is still a child of pluma and, too, she is the beneficiary of unpredicted aid. The white man accompanies her not as conqueror but as companion. Together they challenge the darkness, but that darkness is vast, and they are very small indeed.