Ironhelm

MEETING AND DEPARTURE

Gultec finally gave up trying to leap over the high walls of the pit. After some hours, he heard men approaching. Several minutes later, they reached the mouth of the pit. Soon he glared upward, growling, into the faces of perhaps two dozen brown-skinned, loinclothed tribesmen. Before he could move, a tangle of heavy nets fell into the pit, blanketing him.

He snarled and slashed and bit as several men dropped into the pit to complete the binding. The nets wrapped him tightly, and he was quickly hauled to the surface. He had the minor satisfaction of drawing blood from several of his captors, but now they dragged him unceremoniously along the ground, out of reach of any more victims.

For perhaps an hour, he slid across the ground, bruised and battered from the rough surface. He couldn't see much through the many layers of net, but suddenly he realized that he was no longer surrounded by looming jungle.

He growled and stumbled to his feet as several layers of nets were torn away. Blinking his yellow eyes, he looked at the most massive pyramid he had ever seen. Deep in the jungle, here in the heart of Far Payit, where only crude savages were supposed to live, someone had built this huge edifice!

All around the great pyramid spread flat green fields of grass or clear blue ponds. He saw other buildings, also great, though not as huge as the pyramid, spread among patches of thick jungle growth. A wide field, surrounded by three high walls, lay next to the structure. In the field, Gultec saw several men dashing back and forth in pursuit of a round ball.

His captors dragged the jaguar toward the pyramid. Instead of ascending it, as Gultec had expected, they threw the net into a black opening set into the base of the structure like an open doorway. Instantly Gultec twisted and thrashed, but it took him several minutes to tear free from the nets. By that time, a door had been closed behind him.

Deep, rumbling growls reverberated through the jaguar's heavy chest. Gultec saw a passage leading toward the center of the pyramid, and he began to slink along this black corridor. He silenced his growls and crept forward noiselessly.

The corridor continued ahead for some distance, though not to the center of the pyramid, Gultec guessed. Then it opened into a large room. He smelied jaguar spoor, and the fur on his back bristled.

A second later, he saw the great cats sprawled about the room, some grooming themselves, some sleeping, some watching him with interest.

And then he noticed the other inhabitant of the room. An old man sat on a stone step directly across the chamber from him. He wore only a loincloth, and his hair was long and white. Lines creased his face, making it look like the wrinkled map of some mountainous land. The fellow stared at Gultec, ignoring the other jaguars. Those felines apparently were equally indifferent to his presence.

Gultec tensed. He crouched lower, his belly touching the floor. Slowly he began to slink forward.

The old man raised his hand and passed it once before his face. At that instant, Gultec's body contorted. He pitched onto the floor, in seconds changing violently from feline to human form. Stunned, he lay on the floor, slowly realizing that this man had affected the change. Shocked and awed, Gultec sat up and regarded the man, who rose and slowly moved toward him.

"Come, Gultec," he said softly. "You have so very much to learn."

Poshtli tucked his wings and dove toward the pyramid, certain at once that this was the place shown to him by the vision. The sun disappeared behind the tree-lined horizon as he landed upon the summit of the brush-covered structure. Soon it would be time.

For the first time in days, the Eagle Warrior stretched into his human body, reclining atop the mossy shell of the pyramid while he carefully massaged his muscles back to flexibility. He enjoyed the sight of a round moon, nearly full, climbing into the sky.

When he felt more comfortable, he arose and looked at the pyramid, going to the east side of the platform at the summit. The sides were steep and fully overgrown with brush and mosses, so that a human could scramble his way up or down, but with some difficulty.

The Eagle Knight cleared a small shelf just below the top, on the east face of the pyramid. There he carefully laid out the six arrows given to him by Luskag. The crude materials gleamed silvery bright in the moonlight. Then he laid his own quiver, with its two dozen arrows, beside the others.

He found a comfortable sitting position and waited. His maca rested across his lap, and his bow was in his hands.

A huge, rust-red hell hound — the coior of dried blood, thought Halloran — lunged past the charred body of the greyhound, Corporal. The monster's jaws opened wide as the legionnaire dove to the side, and he barely avoided the gout of flame that singed the brush behind him.

He sprang to his feet and drove the hell hound back with a stab to its chest, his blow more painful than injurious to the beast.

A horrifying sense of impotent rage possessed him as he saw three of the creatures charge toward Erix. The woman stood with her back to a tree, a stout stick in her hands. But the crude weapon could not even reach the hounds as they crouched before her, jaws gaping for their deadly blast.

"No!" cried Hal, savagely chopping into another hound and springing over the dying beast in an effort to reach Erixitl. He knew he would never get there in time.

The trio of hell hounds spat their scorching breath directly into the young woman's face. Hal screamed as he saw the yellow flames blossom, surrounding her with an incinerating wave of evil magic.

The flames faded away, and he saw Erix again, standing in shock. The jade and feather token she wore at her neck now glowed and sparkled with a magical force of its own.

Then Halloran reached the fray, dropping one hound with a stab to its heart. The other two turned on him, but Erix clubbed one with her stick, knocking it to the side. The other blasted Hal with a gout of flame just as his sword pierced the creature's chest and heart.

Gasping, Halloran fell backward, his left arm blistered and charred. The hell hound fell dead, but more appeared from the darkness. He heard a panicked cry from Storm, and then the mare pulled free of her stake and galloped off into the night.

"This way!" he panted, pulling Erixitl away from the tree. Another hell hound, and another, charged in close. This is the end, Hal thought grimly.

Erix put her hand on his arm as the hell hounds breathed, and the fire crackled around them like a living thing, seeking their skins and their lives. But the power of pluma protected them, the aura of Erixitl's feathermagic token cloaking them like a soft shield.

The dead branches of a fallen forest giant crackled into flame behind them, and Hal counted close to a dozen hell hounds closing in around them. The flames leaped higher, and Halloran saw a black figure behind the pack, a hooded but lightly dressed form with a bow and a longsword.

"The Ancient One!" gasped Erix, as Halloran drove back the nearest hounds with a barrage of thrusts and slashes.

"Come on!" he gasped, leading her away from the pack of dogs. One of the creatures, already wounded in the leg, sprang directly into his path. The hound tumbled to the ground as it landed, and Hal killed it with a straight thrust to the heart.

Erix jumped after him, and they sprinted through a narrow belt of forest, dense brush and trees that separated the large clearings that dotted the area. The dogs crashed behind them through the jungle as they both fought for breath. Hal's arm burned, sending great sheets of pain shooting through his body, especially as the thorns and bark of the forest tore at him.

In the moonlight, Halloran saw Storm across the next clearing. The horse galloped along the perimeter of jungle, seeking a path of flight. He also saw a small cone-shaped hill in the center of the open area.

A hell hound burst from the edge of the jungle behind him, and Halloran split its skull open, even as Erix's hand on his shoulder protected them both from the monster's flaming breath.

Get the high ground, hold the high ground! The basic maxim of legion tactics came back to Halloran as hopelessness threatened to drag him down. Already he and Erix stumbled toward the center of the clearing, toward the low hill that loomed higher and higher as they ran. The nearly full moon, still low in the eastern sky, shed its impartial light across the scene.

More dogs broke from the forest, streaking across the open ground toward the humans.

Get the high ground!

Halloran recognized the hill as an overgrown pyramid, like other ruins they had seen on their flight. At the same time, he realized they would never reach the structure before the hell hounds dragged them down.

He turned to face the dogs, Erixitl beside him. The first of the slavering beasts leaped toward them, then suddenly crashed to the ground with a yelp of pain. It kicked once and lay still.

Something flashed past them, a blur in the moonlight, and then another hell hound collapsed. This time, Halloran saw the arrow, sparkling like a crystal shaft, protruding from the beast's neck. Still a third dog dropped, and renewed hope arose in Hal's heart. He wasted no time wondering about the nature of their miraculous deliverance.

"Run!" he shouted, propelling Erix toward the pyramid and stumbling after her. They threw themselves against the first tier of the structure and clawed madly upward through the brush. Ignoring the pain in his blistered arm, Halloran pulled himself upward by his feet and his right hand.

Finally they stopped, grasping the undergrowth to keep from slipping down the steep side. Halloran looked over his shoulder and counted six hell hounds dead in the clearing. A few more probed tentatively around the base of the pyramid, but he doubted whether the creatures could reach them now.

"Come on," urged Halloran. "Let's get up to the top."

"Look!" whispered Erix in horror. He turned and followed her gaze, instantly spotting the black-clothed figure stepping into the moonlit area of the clearing below. The figure crossed toward the pyramid below. As it did, they saw several arrows dart from above them toward the advancing form, but each sizzled to ashes before it could strike the Ancient One.

Here, finally, they sensed the ultimate challenge of their flight. This dark figure had tried to kill Erix before, with implacable drive and consummate skill. Only the timely arrival of sunrise had driven it away. Now it came on again, employing the aid of this hideous pack. And this time the night was young.

The masked face looked upward, and Halloran imagined triumph and mockery on the unseen expression. Yet that sense of mockery only increased Hal's own determination.

"I'd rather face him than the dogs," he grunted, leading Erix steadily upward.

Cordell set Daggrande to his task immediately. The plan to counteract Kardann's treason would be swift and irrevocable. The dwarf took a picked unit of fifty loyal men, embarking in the longboats to the fifteen vessels bobbing in the deep natural harbor. They labored for some time, making many trips back and forth from shore.

Finally the captain-general sent for the assessor, asking Kardann to meet him in the nearly completed redoubt. Just past sunset, the moon rose in the east, shedding its bright, full light across the lagoon and the legion's camp, all visible from the mouth of the fort.

The commander waited, alone, as Kardann struggled up the steep hill. Work progressed on the other side of the compound, now nearing completion of the fourth and final wall. When the assessor reached him, Cordell politely waited for the man to catch his breath.

"A grand spectacle, is it not?" he asked rhetorically while Kardann panted and gasped. The carracks and caravels swung placidly in the moonlit lagoon. Campfires speckled the shore, and torches lined the jetty. Kardann did not notice the extra activity along the waterfront. Cordell would have been surprised if he had.

"Come, my friend, we must talk," he urged when Kardann was more comfortable. He led the assessor into the redoubt, where now they were surrounded by high earthen walls.

"There are some," Cordell began gently, "who would have me believe that you seek to turn my men against me. They claim you wish to mount an expedition homeward while our work here is still far from finished."

"My feelings are well known to the captain-general," replied Kardann stiffly.

"Surely as you witness the treasures brought from Ulatos, as you see how easily that city falls under our sway, you have reconsidered?"

The assessor's jaw trembled as he struggled to keep his voice under control. "I tell you, it's madness to think you can survive here! With your small group, brave and skilled as they are, you can only meet with disaster! Let me take word to Amn of the riches here. I can return with five, ten times this number! Then we can proceed safely about our business!"

Cordell sighed in apparently genuine sadness. "Haven't you seen that a few can do much when they work together?" I wonder how Daggrande fares? Idly he noted that the moon had climbed higher, exceptionally bright. The clear skies promised perfect illumination for the night's activity.

"My dear captain-general," Kardann wheezed, struggling to appear reasonable and firm at the same time, "I have been entrusted with safeguarding the interests of the good Council of Amn. It is my responsibility to see that the profits are handled in a reasonable fashion. Sir, I must demand that you provide me with ships, and the bulk of the treasure, for return to the coffers of its rightful owners!"

"You demand?" Cordell seemed depressed. "Dare I resist such a pronouncement of authority?"

"You mustn't lose heart," soothed Kardann, elated by Cordell's attitude. "You and some of your men can stay if you wish. Indeed, you can stay and garrison this fort!" Kardann was delighted. He had just had a tactical idea.

Daggrande should be done by now, Cordell decided.

"Your ships, then," Cordell said, beckoning Kardann out of the enclosing walls of the fort and back to the mouth of the redoubt, with its view over the placid lagoon.

"Choose your ships, Kardann," announced the general as they again came into view. "Choose the vessels to take you back to Amn!"

His voice was as hard as ice.

Kardann stared at the lagoon, gasping again. He struggled to speak, tried to force words from his throat. But an overwhelming sense of panic, of utter helplessness, threatened to break him entirely.

The ships still floated in the lagoon, easier to spot than ever, for each was marked by a crackling orange blaze. The moonlight illuminated a climbing plume of black smoke over each vessel. Daggrande had done his work weil. Decks, masts, hulls, cabins, everything combustible caught fire and burned. The carracks and caravels swiftly gave way to the oil-spread conflagration that ravaged each one of the vessels. The flames spread quickly to every timber of seasoned wood, burning each until the hulls fractured and water sizzled over the flames, extinguishing them as the ships slipped, one by one, to the bottom of the lagoon.

"Come, Kardann," urged Cordell as the assessor turned to regard him with horror-filled eyes. "Choose your ships."

Halloran saw the proud warrior as soon as he crested the top of the pyramid. The man regarded him curiously for several moments, Halloran returned his attention, looking at the broad cape of eagle feathers, the high, beaked helmet — and the long wooden bow that had saved their lives.

He helped Erix onto the summit, then pointed at the figure of the Ancient One that had started to climb below them. The man nodded and spoke.

Erix replied, then turned to Halloran. "He says he is Poshtli, an Eagle Knight from Nexal. He is here because of a vision, and we are part of his vision!"

Halloran looked again at the warrior, his curiosity turning to amazement. "Let's thank him after the fight's over," he said curtly, still watching the climbing figure.

"The strangers can be very rude," apologized Erix, speaking to Poshtli. "But he is a great warrior. We thank you for saving us, but do you know whom we fight against?"

The Eagle Warrior shrugged. "I know that I fight for the preservation of Nexal, and that is all I need to know. Still, those beasts are horrible, like monstrous coyotes with the power of Tezca in their bellies."

"They serve Zaltec," corrected Erix. "This black thing, below us here, this is an Ancient One walking the True World."

"Soon he will walk the world of death," grunted Poshtli. Impassive, he raised his maca and went to stand beside Halloran. The two awaited the Ancient One at the very edge of the top, not wanting to grant him any advantage.

The masked figure paused below them, well out of sword range. They heard a sound, a muffled word, and suddenly the Ancient One floated straight up into the air! Poshtli growled something and Halloran suppressed a shudder.

The figure floated free of the pyramid, slowly drifting upward. When it reached a height equal to Hal's, it stopped and hung motionless in the air. The body looked human, though it was wrapped in black silken garments and leather boots. The moonlight reflected brightly, but this shape before them seemed a void of darkness in the night.

Suddenly they heard another command, a soft magical word, and then they were shrouded in complete darkness. "Helm's curses!" Hal stumbled backward, away from the edge of the pyramid, knowing that the Ancient One had cast a spell.

He heard Poshtli shout a challenge, followed by a splintering crack. Halloran imagined the wooden maca meeting that black steel longsword, with only one possible result. He heard a thud and a grunt. The legionnaire finally broke from the area of darkness, a bloblike bubble of magical fog that prevented all light from entering or leaving.

A dark form exploded from the darkness, and Halloran barely had time to raise Helmstooth. The deflection saved his life as the black steel of the Ancient One's sword slashed through the sleeve of his shirt but missed his skin by a hairbreadth.

Hal backed away, keeping himself between the attacker and Erix. The bubble of darkness slowly dissipated, but he still could not see Poshtli. The warrior had been swept off the pyramid by the Ancient One's attack.

They clanged blades several times, and the dark figure moved with shocking quickness. Again Hal was forced to retreat just to maintain his guard, Erix moving nimbly ahead of him, making sure they didn't get cornered.

Hal's blistered arm stung with each abrupt move that he made. Sweat ran into his eyes, and he frantically blinked it away, cursing the momentary blur in his vision. Still his foe assaulted him with that blinding, whirlwind speed.

Lunging desperately, Halloran began an attack that slowed the dark-swathed swordsman, even forced him to stumble back for several steps. But instantly the black figure recovered, and again Hal struggled to protect himself against a series of lightning blows.

The Ancient One made a dart to Hal's left, and the legionnaire lunged to block, cursing as his foot caught among the tangled brush on the pyramid.

Instantly as Hal fell, the attacker cut back to the right. The black steel did not come seeking the man, but instead darted after Erix. Hal twisted to his feet, fear energizing his reactions as the murderous figure closed in on the woman.

Once again his mind groped for a spell, any magic he could use to prevent disaster from striking Erixitl. He tried to think of the magic missile again, but the words would not come. Instead, he remembered the dream, falling asleep and then waking up to light. The command words to the light spell drifted through his mind impudently, useless and mocking. But it was all he had.

In desperation, he shouted the spell, not certain if his pronunciation was proper or if his hands were correctly positioned for the casting to work. If only he could delay the dark one for two seconds…

The cool wash of light surprised all of them. It emanated from Erixitl's feathertoken, a medium glow that clearly illuminated the top of the pyramid. Hal again leaped forward, but started in surprise as the Ancient One reeled away, clutching his hands to his mask and screaming an inhuman, high-pitched shriek as the light seemed to sear his eyes with pain.

The figure turned away from Erix, hissing its rage, just as Helmstooth darted toward its chest. The blow was strong and true, but Hal's blade jarred against a shirt of black chain mail, almost unnoticeable under the black silk shirt.

The Ancient One quickly recovered his balance and forced Hal backward again with savage, lightning strokes. The figure held its arm raised, blocking the bright light. He felt himself approaching the edge of the pyramid, struggling to turn away, but now the masked attacker sensed cold, cruel victory, and the attacks came with unrelenting force.

Halloran parried to the left and took a gash in his right arm. He slashed back to the right and cried out as the black steel bit into his blistered left flank. Then his foot felt only air behind him, and he knew he could retreat no farther.

Helmstooth wavered before him as he maintained a careful guard, but the Ancient One took his time about this attack. He raised his sword arm high, its tip pointed low, toward Halloran, as Hal desperately struggled for room to maneuver. The attacker's black-gauntleted hand moved slowly back and forth.

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.

"I'm going with you," she said. "Wherever you decide to go. But I've always wanted to see Nexal."

Halloran's mind was already made up, but her confirmation made the decision complete. He felt proud and invincible, flushed with their victory and escape. He had a good sword, a steady horse, and a spellbook. He had two bottles of magic potions. And he also had two loyal companions, a woman who had proven herself a true friend — or more — and a man of courage and skill who had risked and almost lost his life to help them.

Together they would go to the city of gold.

From the chronicle of Coton:

Alone in Nexal, I await the coming of the fates.

The gods arise in Maztica, taking note of the change that begins to wrack the land. Zaltec seethes, while young Tezca and Azul observe and tremble.

The god of the strangers, called Helm the Vigilant, is a new force in the True World, a powerful and forbidding presence that intimidates the younger gods and threatens the very foundations of life.

Zaltec does not fear Helm, but his anger grows at the impudence of Helm's followers. They seek to ban the offering of hearts to the god of war, and this he cannot allow. So the Ancient Ones gather in their Highcave, and the high priests of Zaltec work their magics. The power of the Viperhand, borne by Hoxitl, will be called upon to unite the cities and nations of Maztica to war against the strangers.

The return of the couatl causes hope to fire in my breast, for always the feathered snake has been the harbinger of the Plumed One. But the temples of Qotal remain empty, and his silent priests consult auguries and visions, with no promise of imminent hope or toy. Still the true god does not return.