Viperhand

DANCE OF THE JAGUARS

Tulom-Itzi sprawled across the jungle hills of Far Payit, a large city that looked like no city at all. Several stone pyramids jutted steeply above the treetops, and the great dome of the observatory squatted atop the highest hill. Wide grassy paths twisted among trunks and vines of forest, and several large green expanses of land had been cleared of trees altogether.

But the overwhelming presence of the forest ruled the land. The structures of men, such as they were, became a part of the jungle rather than its conqueror.

"Of course," Zochimaloc had explained to Gultec, "at one time the city housed tens of thousands of people." Now a mere fraction of that number dwelled there, the descendants of Tulom-Itzi's long-forgotten founders.

The people of Far Payit differed little from his own in appearance, Gultec realized. Short and well-muscled, deep brown of skin, they were an industrious, inventive folk. Their culture, however, seemed very foreign to the Jaguar Knight.

Never had he seen people of such gentleness. They knew nothing of war, save that it was a scourge known in their distant past. Yet their knowledge in other areas astounded him.

The surgeons of Tulom-Itzi knew cures for the poison-that-sickens-blood, for the disease of body rot, and for other horrors that would result in sure fatality for a Payit or other Maztican. Astronomers studied the skies, predicting even such things as the irregular passage of the Wandering Stars. Here musicians created lyrical ballads of legend and romance.

Gultec had come to know and love these folk, but none did he revere so much as his teacher. He thrilled to each minute with Zochimaloc, and each day seemed to open the door to new wonders of knowledge and understanding. Today, Zochimaloc walked with him to the cetay, the great well that lay to the north of the jungle city. It was, Zochi promised, to be an important lesson.

"Once the cetay was used for sacrifice," explained the wizened teacher as they reached the lip of the depression. "But now it serves best as a source of wisdom. Come, sit with me here."

The cetay was a circular hole several hundred paces across. Stone walls plummeted, with many jagged outcrops, to a clear surface of water hundreds of feet below them. Zochimaloc, who walked with a long wooden staff today, settled easily onto a benchlike boulder at the very lip of the well. Gultec sat beside him.

For a long time — more than an hour — the two sat in silence. Gultec studied the smooth, blue water so far below him. He saw slight swirls in its surface, as if a hidden current agitated its depths. Gradually, unconsciously, his mind emptied of its external concerns.

After his months of study, Gultec recognized the plants of the jungle for all their beneficent or dangerous qualities. He understood the arrangement of the stars in the heavens and their influence upon earthly concerns. He could now freeze any animal with tbe force of his gaze, and he suspected that this mastery extended to humans as well.

Zochimaloc did not allow him to test the latter ability, however, on the free peoples of Tulom-Itzi. And unlike any other land Gultec knew, these folk of Far Payit kept no slaves.

An overwhelming sense of peace flowed through Gultec. He felt a contentment he had not previously imagined, and his mind floated freely with the relaxing pace of his meditation. Slowly, then, the gentle tapping of Zochimaloc's staff penetrated his awareness, and he looked up at his teacher.

"What thoughts are in your mind, Gultec?" asked the old man in a kindly tone.

Gultec smiled softly. "I feel that this is a haven for me, a calm eye in the storms of the True World. Knowledge of Tulom-Itzi must be kept from the rest of the world, or I fear your fragile peace will vanish."

"Know this, Gultec," Zochimaloc replied with a deep sigh. "Our peace will indeed disappear. It will not be terribly long before it does, though perhaps we have a little more time than Nexal."

The Jaguar Knight looked around sadly, trying to imagine Tulom-Itzi suffering the ravages of war. It never occurred to him to question his teacher's knowledge. If Zochimaloc said this, it must be true.

"This is why you have been brought here, Gultec. Our people know nothing of war. You do."

Now he turned to the old man in shock. "What can I possibly teach you? The wisdom of your people shows me to be a mere jungle barbarian in contrast! And the only important war I ever fought, I lost!"

"Show more faith in yourself," Zochimaloc chided gently.

"But I have so much more to learn!"

Smiling, the teacher climbed to his feet, without the aid of his staff. "You know more than you think. The forms and shapes of your body, for instance. Which do you know?"

"I am a man and a jaguar" said Gultec, surprised at the readily answerable question. He rose to stand beside his teacher at the lip of the deep cetay.

"A bird?" asked Zochi ironically. "A parrot, perhaps?"

"No, of course not!"

"But think of the parrot, Gultec. Think of the bright feathers, the strong wings, the sharp, hooked beak, the powerful claws. Think of these things!"

Surprised by the sudden sharpness in his teacher's tone, the warrior's mind pictured the jungle bird. He didn't see the sudden, quick lash of Zochimaloc's staff. His teacher pushed him sharply, his frail frame striking with surprising power.

Gultec tumbled from the rock, dropping into the rocky pit of the cetay. Shocked, his arms reached out reflexively, but the attack had been too sudden, too unexpected. He grabbed nothing but air.

But he grabbed the air, and it held him. With a soaring dive, his bright green tailfeathers instinctively steering his flight, he flashed across the surface of the water. And then he spread his wings and he flew.

Erix rose and paced the garden again, confused and nervous. Where was Hal? This was his longest absence since their arrival in Nexal a week earlier. The long shadows in the courtyard told her that sunset approached, and Hal's audiences with Naltecona had never before lasted much beyond noon.

Then the shadows darkened. She turned away, suddenly frightened, until she realized that it was only a cloud passing over the sun. Still, those black images continued to dance around the corners of her vision, filling the spaces around her with shadows.

A vague shudder passed through her body. She recalled the dream that had come to her in the desert, of Naltecona slain among the men of Cordell's legion. The shadows around her darkened the palace, darkened it even more than had the moonlight in her dream.

She thought again, wistfully, of Poshtli's visit earlier in the day. He had been so noble! His proposal had fallen on her like a shock, and she knew it offered a life such as, weeks earlier, she could never have imagined. A life of luxury and comfort, with slaves for every need, among the society of the grandest folk in all Nexal.

Why then had she rebuffed him? She was still not sure. She only knew that, after moments in his arms, her lips pressed to his, she sensed that he did not love her. Erix also knew that, though she was dazzled by his prowess and presence, her affections did not extend to love.

So, gently and quietly, she had told him so. He had accepted her decision with surprise, but not anger. Poshtli had bowed formally and left. The Eagle Knight had no sooner departed than she found herself anxiously awaiting Halloran's return.

But that had been hours ago. Her eagerness had turned to anxiousness, unease, and now it threatened to become fear. Surely the Revered Counselor wouldn't harm a visitor under his own roof, would he?

She looked out in the courtyard, where the gay splashing of the fountain seemed to mock her. Storm raised his head, as if the horse sensed her eyes upon it. Then the mare ambled to the fresh pile of clover and grass that the slaves had brought that morning.

Suddenly the horse, the whole scene, fell into darkness, as if something huge blotted out the sun. Again that terrible sense of a doom-filled destiny seized her. Involuntarily she clapped her hands to her eyes and moaned, willing the shadow away.

"What is it? Erix, what's the matter?" She felt the touch of strong hands on her shoulders and spun to grasp Halloran in a fearful embrace. He held her, soothing her gently, until finally she risked another look at the courtyard. Once again the slanting rays of the low sun cast bright illumination on the dancing fountain and its framework of blossoms.

She saw Hal looking around in alarm. "It was… nothing," she explained quickly. "Just a sudden chill."

He sensed that she wasn't telling him everything, but he didn't press the issue. He had noticed her sudden, brief distractions before, on their journey to Nexal, but she had never offered him any explanation.

Let Poshtli worry about it, he thought, almost savagely. Abruptly he dropped his arms to his sides and turned away.

Erix, surprised by his sudden shift, spoke tentatively. "What happened? I–I was worried about you."

He turned to her and she drew back, frightened by the look of anger on his face. "I went for a walk. Through the market, to the floating gardens. I wanted to see the city."

"But we were going to do that together when you had time!" Erix's objection came more from surprise than annoyance.

"Together? I hardly think that would be appropriate, anymore, do you?" The picture of Poshtli wrapping this woman in his arms flashed again through Hal's mind, and he winced at the painful memory.

"But…" Erix couldn't understand his anger. "Why are you talking like this? What's the matter?"

Halloran whirled away, pacing across the garden. Words of anger and jealousy surged through him. Only with the greatest effort could he hold them back. In his heart, he knew that Poshtli had been too true a friend to deserve the vitriol that Hal wanted to spew.

Finally he turned back, speaking to her from several paces away. "Naltecona has offered me a house. I can no longer stay here, for obvious reasons. I will move there as soon as it can be arranged. Until then, I will try to leave you your privacy."

"What do you mean?" Erix felt a brief flash of panic.

But then her own anger took over. How could he treat her like this? She had been worried about him, relieved to see him. Suddenly the mere sight of him inflamed her. She had to get away from him or her anger would not be contained. In that moment, she knew that she would take the journey she had thus far delayed, to the one place in the world she could go.

"Never mind! I don't need this place either! I'm going home — home to Palul, to my father and brother! Take your house and live like a great, wise man!"

For a moment, Halloran stared at her, dumb with shock. He thought of Poshtli, wondering if the noble warrior knew his betrothed planned to suddenly depart Nexal. "Home? But what about-"

"You can stay in Nexal — see the city all you want!" she shot at him, cutting him off. Suddenly she shivered as that shadowy presence crept into the room, against the walls and floor, muffling her sight. Darkness welled around her, casting the shadows across the garden, even blocking out the sun. Only Halloran stood out before her, in the light.

But she turned her back on that light, and then she was out the door.

"The cult of the Viperhand spreads quickly," hissed the drow, his hood thrown back so that the crimson blush of the Darkfyre washed over his black face and white hair. "But we control it well, for it lies under the thumb of the priests."

The drow spoke to a circle of his equals, and to the Ancestor. The Harvesters had yet to begin their grisly night's work. For long moments, the group remained silent as the Ancient Ones meditated.

"The Viperhand does well. When our need arises, it will be ready." The words came from the Ancestor, his voice rasping through the cavern. "Let the humans spread their cult of Zaltec and let it further our own ends."

"The priests want to give the white stranger's heart to their god," said the drow, persisting.

"We require that the girl be slain. She alone, by the prophecy, carries the threat to us of ultimate failure. Yet this man helped to kill Spirali. He has protected her from Payit to Nexal, and still they remain together. Let the priests and their agents kill them both. It will serve as a useful warning to the strangers."

"We cannot expect a single death to frighten them off!" objected another of the Ancient Ones.

"Of course not. But our vengeance will be exacted for Spirali. And the only one of the invaders to see Nexal thus far will be destroyed. The others will take some time to reach here.

"During that time, the cult of the Viperhand can grow stronger still, so that when the invaders arrive, we will be able to meet them with strength." The venerable drow looked at his companions. His eyes, stark white and very wide against the midnight skin of his face, gleamed.

"Let the word be sent to Hoxitl," said the Ancestor, his voice suddenly firm. He leaned forward in his thronelike chair. The cherry glow of the caldron disappeared, lost in the greater darkness that was the Ancestor.

"The girl and the man shall die tonight!"

"These are the sons of Takamal."

Darien emotionlessly gestured at five warriors. The elven wizard had used her magic to learn the Kultakan tongue, speaking to the natives who had been summoned to their city square. Now she awaited Cordell's instructions. The once proud men now stood, almost naked, before their conquerors. The meeting took place in the center of the city of Kultaka, in the very shadow of Zaltec's pyramid.

Around the leaders stood the trim ranks of the Golden Legion and its Payit allies, surrounded by the silent masses of Kultaka.

"Why have they doffed their clothes?" asked the general. "Tell them to put them on."

"They say that their defeat has left them unworthy to wear the garb of warriors."

"Nonsense!" Cordell smiled at the Kultakans — the full, ingratiating smile that helped him command, to the death, the loyalty of his men. "Tell them that we have not conquered them, that we are in fact very sorry so many of their brave warriors have died in battle against us."

Darien turned and translated as Cordell looked around at Kultaka. The city showed far less opulence than had Ulatos. Unlike the capital of the Payit, many of the structures here had been built for defense. The flat housetops were surrounded by waist-high walls. Windows were small. The streets were still lined with flowers, but the profusion of feathermagic that was so extensive in Ulatos was completely absent here.

It had taken only hours to discover that the Kultakans were much poorer in gold than either their jungle neighbors to the east, or, reputedly, the Nexalans to the west. What few treasures they had were stacked here, willingly offered by the abject sons of the slain war chief.

"The oldest, this one catted Tokol, asks why you show such kindness. Is this how you prepare your captives for sacrifice?" Darien pulled Cordell's attention back to these men. And now his plan for them was complete.

"You are not our enemies! We did not want to attack you. We merely sought passage through your lands, and some food. We are on our way to attack the treacherous Nexalans, whose land lies beyond your own."

Cordell saw, without surprise, that the Kultakans were intrigued by his reply. Tokol spoke again. "Surely it is a great tragedy that we did not know this, for the Nexalans are our greatest enemies! It is good that you attack them."

"And truly, we shall beat them," replied the captain-general. "For we have been tested this day against the finest warriors in Maztica!"

Now he saw the heads come up, some measure of pride returning to the sharp-featured faces. Tokol spoke again. "We offer you what food you desire, and ourselves as slaves. May your march be a success." Tokol, mimicked by the others, bowed deeply.

"I could never see such men as you reduced to slaves," objected Cordell, raising his voice. "No! Indeed, I can only see you as warriors! Proud, strong men, marching against Nexal!"

He had seen the worth of the Payit in battle, and now he found a force of warriors that showed far greater skill, and larger numbers, than the legion of his Payit allies. As he continued, he saw in the faces of Takamal's sons surprise at his words. A faint look of hope in their eyes convinced him that he took the right tack, he sensed that these warriors would do anything to regain their own manliness.

"Will you not join me? Your hosts, added to my legion, will make a splendid spectacle for the march on Nexal!"

Tokol saw no need for hesitation or consultation before he replied.

"We are eternally grateful for the kindness of our conqueror. We offer you whatever captives you need to celebrate your victory. The rest of us shall be proud to march with you to Nexal!"

"Captives?" Cordell suddenly saw their meaning. "No! We do not slay our enemies to feed our god. Instead, there will be this decree, the one law I will place upon you."

Now the general's eyes flashed as Darien translated. The Kultakans stood as if spellbound, awaiting his command. "There is to be no sacrifice among you! Hold your captives as slaves or let them go as you wish. But you may not offer their hearts to your pagan gods!"

Tokol recoiled as if struck. Instinctively he looked up at the nearby temple, as if expecting a bolt to issue forth and strike Cordell dead. But nothing happened.

"Do you understand?" barked the legion's commander.

"It shall be as you command," said Tokol, with another low bow.

The four Jaguar Knights stood stiffly before Kallict as the priest performed ritual cuts, scarring their earlobes, forearms, and cheeks with short chops of his sharp obsidian dagger. None of the men cried out, of course, for to do so would have betrayed the trust of their vow.

The vow of the Viperhand.

After the ritual scarring, each of them stepped before Hoxitl and knelt. The only sound was the high priest's chant as he pressed his freshly bloodied hand to the chest of each supplicant.

Finally the four stood branded, their spotted cloaks thrown open so that the raw wounds on their chests stood proudly forth.

"You Jaguars have been selected by Kallict for your bravery and your devotion to Zaltec," said Hoxitl, fastening each in turn with the burning glare of his passionate gaze. "Your task is simple and direct, and your service will be in the name of Zaltec himself."

The Jaguar Knights bowed their heads humbly, but the high priest smiled to himself as he saw their bodies tense with excitement.

"There are two people — a woman of Maztica, and a man from the strangers — dwelling in the palace of Naltecona. Zaltec hungers for the man's heart. He wishes to taste of the stranger's blood. The woman, too, must be slain, though she can die in her chambers.

"You are to enter the palace tonight. Kill the woman and bring the man to us. And know that Zaltec shall remember and reward."

The horse whinnied nervously, and Halloran came instantly awake. Storm had grown fat and lazy on the easy life in the palace, and the horse rarely made any sound of distress or displeasure.

But again that whinny, and this time the alarm in the sound was clear. Indeed, the horse sounded close to panic. Hal felt pressure against his chest and realized he had fallen asleep with the heavy spellbook on top of him. He had been studying it, trying to master a few more of its secrets, when sleep had claimed him.

Then he remembered. Erixitl was gone! All the loneliness and despair came back to him, a wave of hopelessness that left him weak and paralyzed on his bed. Never in his life had he felt so alone, so useless. Roughly he forced the emotion aside, fixing his attention on the disturbance that had awakened him.

Sliding Helmstooth from its scabbard beside his bed, Halloran extended the longsword before him and silently stood. The dim glow of the enchanted longsword's blade barely illuminated the chamber.

A sudden stench assailed his nostrils, reminding him of an inn he had frequented back in Murann. The place had been surrounded by alleycats, and the odor reminded him of the tomcats who sometimes yowled on the fence outside.

A low growl rumbled in the darkness, confirming his suspicions.

"Kirisha!" he cried, and instantly the room was awash in cool, white light. The magic spell allowed him to see and also startled and frightened the intruders.

These, he saw, were a pair of monstrous jaguars. Halloran gaped in shock for a moment, but then his fighting instincts took over. The cats crouched in the doorway to his room, blinking at the light and uttering their deep, rumbling growls. One spread his jaws in a snarl, and Hal grimaced at the huge fangs he saw there.

Storm, in the garden, whinnied in terror, and Hal didn't stop to think. Instead, he charged into combat with an almost welcome sense of release.

Helmstooth pricked one of the jaguars in the shoulder, but then Hal grunted in pain as the other sprang at him, raking his thigh with long, curving claws. "Damn!" he hissed, limping backward. He lunged into another attack, but both the cats leaned nimbly out of the way.

He heard another sound in the large room beyond his own. More of them! For a moment, his heart filled with panic as he saw two jaguars slinking toward Erix's room. It was with a great sense of relief that he remembered she was gone, safe on the road to Palul.

But that same relief quickly turned to anger. His frustration with her departure, and now a growing sense of outrage at this invasion, galvanized him into action. He feinted at one of the cats and then, as the other lunged toward him, turned to sink the point of his blade into the second cat's well-muscled chest.

As quickly as Hal struck, the first jaguar leaped toward him, and he scrambled desperately backward, barely avoiding a potentially disemboweling slash at his gut. He felt acutely aware of his vulnerability. His steel breastplate hung beside his bed, but he had no chance to don it.

Suddenly the unwounded jaguar sprang into the air, in a powerful leap that drove toward Hal's face. The man twisted out of the way but heard the cat land behind him while the other one crouched, still menacing him from the door.

Hal's reaction was as instantaneous as it was desperate. Knowing the two-sided attack meant certain death if he let them spring, Halloran struck first, driving savagely at the wounded jaguar in the doorway. He slashed at the creature's face and then, as it twisted aside, drove his sword into the unprotected flank. Helmstooth lunged forward almost of its own will, as if the steel blade somehow sought the blood of this feline victim. The sharp tip penetrated fur, skin, and muscle, finally puncturing the savage heart.

With a yowl of pain and dying rage, the animal fell to the ground, kicking helplessly. Hal gaped, watching the fur-covered limbs slowly stretch and twitch. A paw distorted grotesquely, the claws extending and straightening. Then the claws became fingers, the fingers of a human hand that lay limp in death. The body of the beast, as it perished, returned to the form of the man that was its soul.

His fascination with the gruesome transformation almost cost Hal his life. A premonition of danger warned him to roll to the side, and he barely dodged the leaping attack of the jaguar that now sprang out of his room. This cat, and the other two that darted out of Erix's empty room, now faced Halloran. In the courtyard, the horse cried again, a whinny shrill with panic. At least Storm still lived, Hal thought.

But the three cats crept closer, jaws wide. Their yellow eyes gleamed at him, reflecting the glow of his light spell, mocking him with their advantage in numbers.

Behind him, Hal felt the corner of the room blocking him in. He knew that he was trapped.

"Can you listen to me, Grandfather?" asked Poshtli, bowing humbly outside the door to Colon's cramped quarters.

The high priest was the only person the warrior could turn to, the only one upon whom he would confer the honorary title of "Grandfather." Colon had always been his trusted adviser, and even after the cleric took his vow of silence, Poshtli had found these one-sided discussions very useful. And Colon, too, seemed to enjoy the companionship.

The cleric of Qotal smiled gently, waving a piece of copal incense around his small painting chamber, leaving a trail of sweet smoke in the air. He gestured for the Eagle Knight to enter and sit.

"I feel as if I am in the grip of a giant's hand" said Poshtli, clasping his hands together and staring into Colon's deep, unfathomable eyes. "I have answered what I thought was the will of the gods. I have brought the stranger to Nexal because that was the hope of the city. Him and the woman, Erixitl." For some reason, it was difficult to say her name. He told Coton of his proposal, her gentle rebuff. "Perhaps she doubted the depth of my devotion. Truly, I offered my hand out of fear for her, though indeed she is strong, smart, and very beautiful. She would be a fine wife.

"And her life is in danger! I have brought this trouble upon her! By marrying her, I hoped to protect her!"

Colon stood and stepped to the door of the small chamber. The sun had long since set, and he saw the dying torches on top of ihe great pyramid, left there by the priests of Zaltec hours earlier, before they had descended from their grim evening rituals. Poshtli turned to follow the cleric with his eyes.

"I have seen the destiny of Nexal, Grandfather! It is to lie in ruins — in black, smoking wreckage!" The Eagle Knight stood. "My visions have shown me that this stranger offers some hope of salvatation, but now he, too, is seized by events beyond his control!"

Poshtli abruptly reached his hand to his shoulder and plucked one black, white-tipped eagle feather from his cloak. He offered the plume to Colon, and the old cleric reached out to take it.

"If I aid Halloran, I shall break the vow to my order, for this I have been forbidden to do." Now the knight's pain was mirrored in the cleric's eyes.

"I have spent my life striving to be the finest Eagle Warrior the True World has ever known. Now the life of a man from another world can snatch that away from me. For I know this, Grandfather: I cannot let him die."

Colon nodded, his face expressionless. As always, however, the silent cleric had helped Poshtli in some mysterious way to clarify what was in his own mind. Now the warrior nodded respectfully and thanked the cleric for listening. Then he stepped quickly from Colon's temple.

Some unconscious sense of urgency propelled Poshtli's step as he slarted into the palace, toward the apartments Naltecona had provided for his friends. As he drew closer, his hurried gait broke into a trot, and then a run.

Poshtli dashed around the corner before the apartments, somehow certain that danger loomed. He saw a group of slaves huddled outside the door, listening in terror but not daring to peer inside.

"Move, damn you!" he cursed, knocking the slower ones aside.

He sprang through the door and immediately saw the dead Jaguar Knight illuminated in the strange pale glow that emerged from Halloran's room. A growl in the corner called his attention to the shadows, where he saw Halloran backed into a corner, facing three monstrous felines.

Poshtli barked a sharp sound, the shrill, keening cry of the hunting eagle. Instantly two of the jaguars spun to face this new threat, while the third crouched before Hal, its tail twitching tautly from side to side.

For a moment, the Eagle Knight froze. His maca fell light in his hand, eager for blood. But suddenly the memory of his vow, the clear orders from the leaders of his order, came back to him. He was prohibited, by the terms of that vow, from aiding Halloran against the forces of Zaltec.

The great cats crept forward, threatening growls rumbling from their deep chests.

Poshtli ignored the feline attackers for a moment. Then slowly, deliberately, he lifted his Eagle helmet off his head and tossed it aside, shrugged his cloak of feathers from his shoulders, and let it settle to the ground around his feet.

Now he crouched into a fighting stance with his maca raised toward the cats. "Tell me when," hissed Hal, lifting the silver shaft of his longsword.

Poshtli nodded. "Now!"

Slashing downward with the wooden club, Poshtli leaned forward. The blade, studded with razor-sharp bils of obsidian, chopped into the back of one of the jaguars. The creature howled in agony, trying to twist away, but Poshtli circled with the creature's turn, using it to block him from the attack of the other enraged feline.

Meanwhile, Halloran darted at the third cat. The animal reared up, slashing toward the man's face, but Hal ducked under the attack and drove his blade into the beast's heart. Before it had stopped twitching, he leaped across its fallen body and drove his blade into the last of the jaguars.

For a few moments, they stood panting among the four bleeding bodies. The last three shifted back to human form as they died, feet and arms and legs and hands growing from the spotted feline limbs.

"Erixitl?" asked Poshtli, slowly and fearfully.

"She's… safe. She's gone," Hal answered.

"Gone?" The Eagle Knight didn't hide his surprise.

"Back to Palul, to her home." Hal explained Erix's sudden decision to the knight, omitting the details of their argument. He found it hard to rekindle his jealous anger, much of which had previously focused on Poshtli. While he missed Erixitl already, he was grateful that she had been gone on this night.

To Hal's surprise, Poshtli seemed pleased to hear of her departure. Indeed, Hal couldn't figure out why the warrior wasn't more distraught at the sudden absence of his bride-to-be.

"That could be the safest thing," he replied. "Who else knows where she's gone?"

"No one, so far as I know. Just you and me." "Let's keep it that way. I think it is best for her if Erixitl of Palul disappears for a while."

From the chronicles of Colon:

Seeking the light among the deepening shadows…

The darkness haunts my dreams nightly, this same blackness of which Poshtti speaks. It is a vision of a wasteland, a place of death and decay, of monstrous deformity and perversion. It is a ruined expanse of ash and grime, and it is called Nexal.

I fear this vision more than I have feared any other thing in my life. It is a grim destiny that may be greater than any of the humans who hope to stand against it.

And if it prevails, I fear that we of Maztica — our city, our nation, our people — I fear that we will soon be but a memory, a distant vision that will vanish forever with the lives of our children.