Viperhand

PROLOGUE

The gods grew complacent in the sameness of their immortal lives, content to accept the worship of mortals and to rule their lordly domains. Eternal imperturbable, they passed the centuries in sublime disregard of the flesh-bound world below.

But occasionally the actions of a god's worshipers brought that deity into conflict with his fellows. Such a collision of godhood inevitably spelled chaos, even complete doom, for the peoples in the divine one's fold.

So it was with Helm the Vigilant, patron god of the Golden Legion. His faithful, the crusading soldiery of that legion, carried his banner forward into new lands — lands of great riches and beauty, but of dark savagery as well. Willingly, eagerly, Helm followed. Now he faced gods from beyond his ken — gods with an apparently unquenchable thirst for human hearts, human blood.

So, too, with Zaltec the Terrible, one of those thirsty lords. The ravenous god of war consumed the hearts offered by his priests with relish. Lordly master of Maztica, he faced the invading forces of Helm with a burning increase in his own hunger. Zaltec needed more hearts, more blood.

And with Qotal, once hailed as preeminent among the gods of Maztica. The Plumed One, however, had long since been banished from the True World by those who thought gods could only be worshiped with the shedding of blood and the taking of lives. Qotal sought to smooth the confluence of peoples and gods, but his power was weak, his presence all but unknown.

And also, below them all, seething with the darkness of her hatred and evil, so it was with another god — a god whose presence and interest the deities of Maztica did not even suspect. Lolth, the spidery essence of darkness and evil, dwelled far from the others, in the infernal reaches themselves. QuEen of the dark elves — the drow — Lolth's hatred now focused against those of her children who no longer held her name in awe.

To Lolth, to them all, the Sand called Maztica was a gaming board, a table upon which lay the pieces of their immortal contest. It required but a thoughtless breath, or the casual flick of a limb, to sweep the board clean.