Ironhelm

ACROSS THE TRACKLESS SEA

First day, aboard the Falcon.

I shall keep a journal of my legion's progress as we explore to the westward. Preparations have gone smoothly, and we are well provisioned. Darien and I purchased many potions yesterday, the last additions to our stores. The rest is in the hands of Helm, aided by the sturdy backs of the legionnaires.

Predawn tide carries us smoothly from the harbor. Freshening wind off the starboard quarter speeds our departure. Land is gone by midday.

Nightfall. Headlands of Tethyr appear before us at sunset. Anticipate turn toward Asavir's Channel by dawn.

For ten years, I have gathered warriors to my banner. I believe they are the finest soldiers in the Realms. The captains are, to a man, staunch and brave. Daggrande and Garrant — my staunch veterans. Hot-blooded riders like Halloran and Alvarro. All the rest!

My heart bursts with pride for these splendid men, embarking on a mission to the unknown out of loyalty and courage. Seeing the array of our sails around me, I feel certain that we will, we must, triumph!

"What are you thinking, Father?" Martine joined the Bishou in the bow of the Falcon. "Of the many glories of Helm," replied Domincus reverently. "Think of it, my dear! Great masses of pagans who have yet to hear of our almighty avenger! You and I shall have the glory of carrying Helm's word to them!"

"Must you be so serious, Papa?" she teased. "Think of the adventure, the sights and smells and sounds of it all! Whatever it is that we find, I'm already fascinated!"

"Do not make light." The Bishou frowned, stern creases marking his high forehead. "I fear already it was unwise to bring you on such a voyage!"

"Don't be ridiculous. You couldn't have kept me at home!"

"I know you're right," sighed the cleric. "But just the same, be careful."

Sixth day, aboard the Falcon.

Mild headwinds caused us to take two days to pass Asavir's Channel, but all has been smooth since. Taken on water and food at Lantan Island; will be last known landfall. All provisions at maximum levels.

Crews relieved to embark again. The Lantans, worshipers of Gond the Wondermaker, are a disquieting sort, very bizarre and secretive.

Departing at dusk on course 15 degrees south of west for waters unknown.

The steadiness of the men awes me. Our journey will be long and arduous. No troops but the Golden Legion would dare even to embark!

My captains, spread among the vessels as they are, serve to embolden the men still further. I have some concerns about Alvarro and Halloran; the former still holds tbe latter's advancement against him. Perhaps I should have left Alvarro behind, but he is too great a fighter for such an ignoble fate. Why can he not see that his value lies in his sword, not his brain?

I will need to maintain a careful observation here.

"When will you finally get that axe sharpened?"

Daggrande snorted. "When this boat lands on the sandy beaches of Shou Lung, and not a moment before!" The dwarf continued with his whetstone, honing the fine steel to a hairsplitting edge.

"I thought you didn't believe we'd land in Kara-Tur!" Hal countered. He knew that Shou Lung was the greatest empire upon that distant continent.

"I don't, we won't, and I meant what I said!"

"If it's not your axe, then you're tightening the spring on your crossbow or polishing your helm!" Halloran wouldn't let up.

"What else is there to do on this blasted barge?" demanded the dwarf, huffing impatiently and turning back to his work. In truth, the sea made him edgy, and his companion knew it.

A huge, lanky dog sauntered over to Halloran and leaned against him. The creature was one of the greyhounds that accompanied the legion. This one, called 'Corporal' by Hal, had taken a liking to the young lancer and pestered him more or less constantly for food.

Amidships, Storm and two other chargers stood impatiently in the makeshift shelter the crew had rigged. A long voyage, Hal suspected, would be harder on the horses than on the men.

But suddenly Halloran paid the animals no attention, for their own Osprey had veered to within a hundred paces of Falcon, and the young horseman had eyes only for the flagship.

Or rather, for one of the passengers on that vessel. The Bishou's daughter, Martine, had just stepped from the cabin, her red hair catching the sunlight and bursting with its own fire. She walked slowly about the deck of the other ship as she did several times a day, chatting with the sailors and occasionally relaxing against the rail.

Once she had noticed Halloran watching her and had given him a friendly wave. He had shyly returned the gesture, but now he took pains to be discreet in his observations, pretending to busy himself with his horse or equipment.

Still, whenever the two ships sailed near each other, he made it a point to watch the Falcon, hoping for a glimpse of of Martine. When he saw her, the memory put a rosy glow over the rest of the day.

Meanwhile, Daggrande started to sharpen his dagger, keeping his own eyes anxiously over the bow.

Twenty-sendond day, aboard the Falcon

Last night was the heaviest weather of the voyage; with relief, we counted fifteen vessels in the dawn. Swanmay lost a mast; morning spent in repairing damage. By noon, we're at speed again, backed by a good wind from the northeast.

The uncertainty begins to weigh upon us all. Never have men sailed so far to the west. Around us is naught but the rolling swell of the deep sea.

When will we make landfall? Some grumbling comes from the men, but it is to be expected. Strong, healthy troops are bound to grow restless over the course of a long voyage.

I grow displeased with the assessor, Kardann. The Council of Six has chosen unwisely, I fear. The man is no adventurer. He has been sick the entire voyage and already speaks of his return homeward. I fear he will undermine my ambitions unless I can keep him on a very short tether.

Unfortunately, the terms of my agreement with Amn have conferred all the power of the council into this weasel of a man, including control of the finances backing the expedition. I will have to ensure his understanding of one fact: The legion answers to me and me alone!

Darien moved quietly in the shuttered privacy of her small cabin. A candle flickered with the swaying of the Falcon, but its light was sufficient for her purposes. Indeed, she preferred its soft illumination to the harsh glare of the sun, so painful for her sensitive eyes.

Lifting a sturdy rucksack from her bench, she sought a hidden flap. Her white, dextrous fingers flipped a simple catch, and she pulled a soft volume out of its secret compartment. The leather-covered book contained dozens of sheets of fine vellum, and on each was inscribed one or more of her powerful incantations.

She took her spellbook to the small desk in the cabin, in the shadow, away from the flickering candle. The darkness caused her no difficulty, however, as she gently lifted the leather binding and began to read.

She turned the parchment pages carefully, silently mouthing the words as she read. Her full concentration focused on the tome before her as she studied and learned. Underlying her concentration was a powerful challenge burning at the core of her being.

She would be ready.

Thirty-second day, aboard the Falcon

Complaints and cowardice grow more apparent. This morning a near mutiny on Swallow. I sentenced two men to hang, commuted one, and watched the other swing.

Still nothing but the sea — not a bird nor a floating log to give us hint of land. The tumor of faithlessness must be controlled.

Evening. Now we've had wind drop away to nothing. The fleet sits with limp canvas, becalmed in the tropics. We must take action; we must do something!

"What are they doing?" Halloran asked, squinting into the setting sun. Falcon stood still in the water a few hundred yards away, her flaccid sails hanging in pathetic emphasis of their situation. The pennant of the Golden Legion hung straight down from the mainmast, its golden eagle concealed by listless contours of fabric.

The hour was late, but still the sun burned with a penetrating fire, casting nearly horizontal rays as it sank toward the western sea. No ripple disturbed the flat, lifeless surface of endless water.

"Eh? Who's doing what?" Daggrande put down his freshly oiled crossbow and joined Halloran.

"Look for yourself."

They saw the crew of the Falcon gathering amidships, leaving the raised afterdeck clear.

"That's the elf," spat Daggrande as a hooded figure emerged onto the Falcon's deck and climbed the steps to the rear. She stood alone there, turned away from the sun, away from the facing of the little fleet.

The sound of her voice carried across the water as she raised her hands and barked harsh syllables.

"Black magic, by Helm!" chuckled the dwarf. "That pointy — eared faerie might come in handy after all!"

"What magic?" Halloran felt a chill and was unable to shake off the feeling of eeriness. He remembered the magic of a decade before, the apparition that had claimed his tutor and sent Hal himself fleeing panic-stricken into the desert. He had used none of the few spells he knew since that fearful day. The feeling of his sword beneath his hand now gave him some comfort, but he could not shake his apprehension as he watched Darien finish her casting.

Abruptly the elven mage dropped her arms and ceased speaking. Halloran jumped, as startled by the sudden halt as he had been nervous during the casting.

For a moment, the supernatural stillness closed in again, no breath of wind stirring the water or the fleet. The sun seemed to touch the water as it set, and Halloran half — expected to hear the hissing of steam from the scalding contact that looked so near.

He felt it first as a cooling touch against his right cheek. He heard a sailor shout on one of the other ships, then saw a smattering of ripples spread in patches across the sea. The pennant of the Golden Legion suddenly stirred, offering a tantalizing glimpse of its proud eagle emblem.

Then the sail of the Falcon billowed outward, and Halloran felt the Osprey lurch beneath his feet. Their own sail came taut with a snap, and the caravel's timbers creaked and groaned under the increasing strain.

Soon a pleasant breeze pushed them briskly along. Fresh from the northeast, it filled the sails with its reassuring power.

Once again the Golden Legion sailed to the west.

The stream twisted through dense jungle, verdant foliage more entwined, more overpowering than Erix could have imagined. She rode with Kachin in a slender canoe. The cleric deftly handled a great fan of pluma, and the slow whirling of the feathermagic propelled the boat with a gentle grace among the vines and fronds and water lilies. The guards and slaves followed in two more canoes, larger craft propelled by the paddles of the passengers.

Kachin had earlier explained the nature of feathermagic, and its opposite power, talonmagic.

"The power of pluma is the magic of feathers. It flows from the Plumed God, Qotal, and is the stuff of beauty and air and flight." The cleric had wagged a pudgy finger at Erix, assuring that her attention remained fixed upon him. "It can armor the breast of an Eagle Knight or carry a litter along the ground — even propel a canoe through the water with its gentle force.

"The darker force of hishna is the magic of the jaguar's claw and the snake's fang. It, too, is magic of power, flowing from Zaltec instead of Qotal. It can armor the skin of a Jaguar Knight or render him invisible in a jungle thicket. It can send a message of doom or death great distances, from a wielder of hishna to another. It can be used to capture and hold or to kill."

"Which is mightier?" Erix had wanted to know.

"Both… and neither," came the cleric's cryptic reply. "The might of the magic depends more upon the skill of the user than the type of his power."

Thoughts of menacing talonmagic were difficult, in fact, impossible, to maintain here in the forest. Blossoms of tropical brilliance exploded from every bush, while birds cackled and cawed and screeched, their feathers shimmering with a thousand colors brighter than any she had ever seen. The green water slipped easily under the hull, and Erix remained awestruck at their verdant surroundings.

A week earlier, they had passed from the palm-covered savannah of Pezelac into the Payit jungles. In the ensuing time, they had stayed nightly in small huts within the confines of crude villages, after traveling long, hot miles through the encroaching flora. Sometimes they walked along narrow trails, where Erix still rode luxuriously in the pluma litter. At other times, they purchased canoes and followed the winding streams through the jungle, or occasionally used the craft to cross broad, shallow lakes. Always they were surrounded by verdant foliage.

Kachin delighted in showing her the medicinal herbs that the Payit used to defend against sickness, the sweet, nectar-laden flowers given to old men who sought godly visions, and the sumptuous leaves that could be cut to produce fresh, cool water.

Together with the beauties of plants and animals, she learned of the jungle's other side, a side of discomfort and darkness, of danger, poison, and death. She had cowered from a cloud of mosquitoes thick enough to obscure vision, she had seen spiders as big as her hand, and she had even heard the forlorn howl of the jaguar as the great cat went about its nocturnal hunt.

Kachin had shown her venomous serpents, blending invisibly into the dense growth. And one night, as the members of the party shared a hot, muddy hut, her spine had chilled to a bloodcurdling scream of impossible grief.

"Hakuna" grunted Kachin, refusing to explain.

Even so, the three warriors nervously fingered their spears and cast nervous glances out the door of the hut.

Then one day, after a week in the jungle, the cleric turned in the canoe and spoke with animation to Erix.

"Soon Ulatos!" he said, beaming, his wrinkled face growing even more creased from the strength of his smite. "You will like our city very much, I am sure!" He spoke in his own tongue, but Erix had little difficulty following him now.

"My temple is grand, you will see! And you will have quarters there fitting a princess of the Payit!"

She wanted to ask him about that temple, about his god. She wanted to know why she had been purchased so far away and brought here. But, as always before, she could not force the questions from her lips. Instead, she looked forward in skeptical curiosity as the city came into view. She wondered what it was that caused Ulatos to rate the title of city — perhaps a small stone building among the typical cluster of thatch huts?

The stream emerged from the winding jungle, entering a broad savannah of short grass and fields of tall mayz and lush cocoa. The forest pressed in from all sides, creating a tense balance between field and wood.

But her gaze passed quickly over all this, drawn hypnotically to the structures rising above the far side of the savannah — none of her speculation had prepared her for the sight of the Payit city — and it was indeed a city.

Ulatos! Grand city of the Payit! Never had she seen temples and pyramids of such grandeur! Long, flat-roofed buildings with walls of solid stone marked the periphery of the city. Beyond these, she could see the higher walls of great houses, and then the staggered steps of several grand pyramids. One building, in the center of the city and located on a slight rise in the ground, had a dome-shaped roof.

The entire city was dominated by a pyramid that towered over all the other buildings, far above the highest trees. Perhaps it was not as grand as the great pyramid in Nexal, but Erix did not care. The pyramid's stepped sides were covered with lush gardens. A profusion of brilliant blossoms dangled from each terrace, and somehow a fountain of clear water kept a steady spray emerging from the platform at the top. There, where usually would stand the blood — caked temples used for daily sacrifice, this temple had a lush garden.

Erix stood and looked and wondered. Truly the beauties of Ulatos surprised and overwhelmed her. The Payit were obviously a people of culture and substance, far greater than most Kultakans or Nexalans would have believed.

For the moment, she even forgot that she was not free.

The talonmagic casting again took form, the creature of hishna emerging from the circled figures of Hoxitl and the Ancient Ones. Generated from the magical caldron of the Ancient Ones, powered by the cleric's symbol, the Viperhand, the form gained substance. A black shape, catlike but with a smoky indistinctness, grew in the air before them, twisting to regard each with a snarling visage.

At an unspoken command, the sleek feline form sprang from the midst of the circled figures. It flew through the great cavern, emerging from the cave and startling Hoxitl's dozing apprentices. Before they could open their eyes, the smoky shape was racing down the slopes of Mount Zatal. It circled around the city below and then shot like an arrow across the desert toward the savannah, and ultimately the jungle.

The hishna messenger raced faster than any living creature, faster than the fastest wind, in its nightlong flight. It left the land of Nexal, circled around Kultaka, and skirted Pezelac, finally plunging through the midnight jungle of Payit. As dawn colored the eastern horizon, the shape entered the Payit city of Ulatos, finally settling to earth. It assumed an almost substantial form, like that of a great black jaguar, and crept inside a low building. The leering skull face of Zaltec, carved in relief around the building's walls, snarled a warning at any who would follow.

The talonmagic apparition awakened the cleric of Zaltec who dwelled here, for this was indeed a temple devoted to the god of night and war. Within a minute, the cleric had dressed.

Within five minutes, he had sent messengers to the corners of the city of Ulatos, carrying urgent summons. Within a few hours, he knew, the faithful Jaguar Knights would be assembled before him.

And the will of Zaltec and the Ancient Ones would be obeyed.

The wonders of Ulatos seemed to grow as the canoe passed from the stream into a narrow canal. Here Kachin guided them with his paddle, for the pluma fan could not maneuver the craft nimbly enough to negotiate the tight confines.

No wall divided the city from its fields, but several well-defined avenues and waterways carried traffic into and out of the place. The procession finally docked beside a broad plaza, where several traders immediately approached and began bartering with Kachin. Erix understood that they wished to purchase the canoes, and soon the cleric collected a cotton mantle, a bale of feathers, and two small sacks of cocoa beans.

The young woman, meanwhile, observed that Ulatos bustled with people — bronze-skinned, black-haired people like herself. The Payit women wore plain, sacklike dresses, and the men were garbed often in mere breechciouts. Even the few richly dressed folk she saw, with feather headdresses and dyed mantles across their shoulders, wore less ornamentation in the way of feathers and gold than she was accustomed to seeing among the peoples of Kultaka and Nexal.

Kachin lifted the litter for her again, and she settled onto the soft surface, riding slowly through the city. The men she passed stared curiously, while the women all lowered their eyes. Erix looked back at the men, enjoying the unsettling effect of her frank gaze.

They passed houses of fine stone, with walls washed white with lime so that they glowed in the sunlight. Each house, it seemed, had a wide garden before it. Fountains were common, and she saw many shallow pools. In some, Erix saw brilliantly colored fish swimming lazily, while other pools held boisterous, splashing children. Lush palm trees lined the streets, swaying easily in the tropical breeze.

"My temple — the Pyramid of Qotal!" Kachin pointed proudly to the grand edifice she had seen from the city's outskirts, the garden pyramid with its spuming fountain.

"This temple is the true seat of power in Ulatos," proclaimed the cleric proudly. "The city's Revered Counselor, Caxal, fears his warriors. Too, he fears the Temple of Zaltec. So he favors the temple of Qotal, as do most people of Payit.

"Oh, Zaltec has his presence here, his temple and even a sacrifice now and then, usually some captive gained by the Jaguar Knights on their excursions. But the Payit are a peaceful people, and they do not make a great call for the god of war. Thus they do not need to pay him with hearts, as do the Nexala and Kultakans."

"The water… how does it rise to the top?" Erixitl asked, looking at the fountain in amazement.

Kachin chuckled. "Pluma. We use it to move not only air, but also water."

Erix stared in awe at the splashing streams spilling lightly down the sides of the pyramid. She could see the foliage at the top and hear the dissonant calls of many hundreds of birds. Not only was the temple a garden, but also an aviary as well!

"The birds need no cages," said the cleric, anticipating her question. "They stay out of love for Qotal. It is said that the Silent One's favorite creatures are his birds of brilliant plumage."

Next the cleric pointed to a whitewashed building with several arched doorways in its high stone wall. "Our apartments," he explained, leading her through an arch into a wide, shaded garden. Here, stone benches, surrounded by the display of blossoms Erix still found dazzling, offered many places for rest and meditation. A flowery aroma filled the air, heavy with sweet pollen.

The house itself was a low building with many spacious apartments. Reed mats lined the floors, and feather tapestries, together with gleaming disks, statues, and platters of gold and silver, brightened the walls. Servants and attendants quickly gathered in a large central hallway, all of them inspecting her curiously.

"This is Erixitl," began Kachin as the others fell instantly silent and attentive. He spoke at length, but Erix made little attempt to follow the still somewhat strange Payit tongue.

"Chicha, take the priestess to her apartments and prepare her bath." Kachin spoke to a tall young girl, a lass just approaching womanhood, who nodded excitedly and kissed the floor before an embarrassed Erix.

"Chicha is your slave, my priestess," the cleric explained. "She will see to your needs until we sup."

"I don't need a slave!" she protested, but Kachin simply smiled in his grandfatherly manner and walked away.

"Oh, I will be good!" declared Chicha, and Erix saw that the girl was on the point of tears.

"I'm certain you will, Chicha. I didn't mean…" She paused, wondering if one apologized to a slave. Certainly no one had ever done so to her! "Show me my apartments, please."

The girl excitedly led her through a reed curtain into a room with its own small veranda. A clean straw pallet lay on the floor, and a massive golden sun disk rested in a niche in the wall.

The bath proved even more spectacular, as Chicha merely pulled a plug from a hollow log in the wall to allow cool, clean water to fill the large basin. The princess stripped her travel-worn cloak and mantle away, though she kept her golden token around her neck. She felt almost giddy with excitement. A real bath again!

Erix settled easily into the water, feeling the dust and grime float away from her skin. She leaned back and closed her eyes, the bath as always giving her a feeling of exhilarating freshness and vitality.

A harsh crash made her open her eyes. She saw a male slave fall into the bathing room, his face a gory mask of jagged claw marks. Chicha screamed, and four spotted figures stalked into the room, each brandishing an obsidian-tipped club.

"Who are you?" demanded Erix, feeling more anger than fear.

Her only answer was the sharp blow of a club against her scalp. She slumped senseless into the bathwater that slowly turned pink, then red.

Thirty-ninth day, aboard the Falcon

Darien and Bishou Domincus have sustained us, each calling upon the deepest strains of power, bending the wind to their commands. When one collapses from exhaustion, the other takes over, carrying us steadily westward. Now, finally, a natural breeze arises, true from the east, and we sail rapidly again.

And now we have hope! Flocks of birds sighted each of last three days. Crews work with vigor, all eyes…

I must go, hearing a disturbance on deck.

"Land!"

"Land!" Halloran heard the cry and passed it along, racing to the bow of the Osprey. He could see the lookout atop the mast of one of the carracks, perhaps Dragonfly, gesturing frantically.

"What's this? Probably another cloud bank, if you ask me!" Daggrande clumped up to Hal's side, squinting forward in annoyance.

For several minutes, they could see nothing. Other men of the legion gathered around them, as all unoccupied hands stared intently to the westward.

One by one the mast-top lookouts called down their confirmations, and the breeze seemed to freshen with the expedition's aroused hopes.

Gradually Hailoran saw it. Mutters of speculation, quickly growing to a rumble, spread among the men as the image before them slowly took on color, shape, substance. Finally it became a line of green, close to the horizon but extending for many miles from west to east.

Almost imperceptibly, more details became apparent: white-crested breakers upon a wide reef, a smooth shore of tight sand, palm trees and other vegetation growing back from the beach. The lookouts even saw a bright stream flowing into the sea, offering the promise of fresh water.

From the chronicle of Colon:

May the wisdom of the Silent Counselor guide my brushes and my hand.

In the age when the gods and man were young, there came the time of the Great Dust. The rains failed ten years in a row, and heat blistered the land. This was the time of the Ancient Ones, when the cult of Zaltec began to nourish. His priests adorned themselves with blood and cried out that only through sacrifice could the favor of the gods be restored. Deep in their caves, the black-shrouded Ancient Ones watched and smiled.

Finally, in the tenth year of the drought, the speakers of the tribes heeded the call of Zaltec and the Ancient Ones. Great ceremonial battles occurred, and thousands of captives gave their hearts to fresh altars, newly consecrated to Zaltec. Gone were the flowers and butterflies and feathers offered to Qotal; instead, warm, pulsing hearts were given to the glory of Zaltec.

The rains returned to Maztica, and once again mayz ripened in vast, green fields. But the people had sworn fealty to Zaltec now, and always his hunger must be sated with blood.

Qotal, in his anger and shame, left the land of Maztica, spurning the True World. Turning to the east in his great canoe, bedecked with the golden plumes that were his symbol and his image, he rode the friendly wind beyond the ken of man. A few of his faithful priests stood at the shore, beseeching him to return.

To these few, Qotal promised to one day come again as the King of the True World. His canoe will lower like a mountain in the sea, and his footsteps will shatter the land. The peoples of Maztica will rise up in freedom and joy, when they have proven themselves worthy of his presence.

But until that time, he made these, the highest of his priests, vow their silence. Observing and watching the True World, we cannot advise nor command its inhabitants. And so we remain the Silent Patriarchs until our Immortal Master again returns.

Twin Visages