The structure stood near the sacred plaza, at the intersection of two streets and a canal. Adobe bricks, whitewashed to a gleaming brightness on the outside, formed the wall around the rooms and large courtyard of the dwelling. The house was two stories high, with three large rooms on the first floor surrounding the open courtyard.
Halloran hadn't yet been comfortable in the house, however. His mind whirled with anxiety for Erixitl. He hoped that she had reached Palul safely, that she would remain safe from the likes of the Jaguar Knights who had struck in the palace. He couldn't understand why Poshtli didn't show more concern, why he didn't go to her.
Yet Hal couldn't ask Poshtli such a question, with its implications of dishonor. He had thought about going to her himself, but then he remembered the eagerness with which she had left him. He felt certain he wouldn't be welcomed by her now.
At times, in the depths of his despair, he even considered returning to the legion. Perhaps he could return Darien's spellbook to the wizard, and everything… He quickly dismissed such thoughts, remembering the hatred of wizard and cleric both. No, the legion meant death for him.
So he tried to study the spellbook. He exercised Storm, polished his weapons and armor, or stalked through the rooms of his house, wasting time while he waited for Poshtli to find out what was happening.
These rooms included a small anteroom, with brilliant frescoes on the walls depicting birds, snakes, and jaguars in a tropical setting. The anteroom led into the flower — and tree — filled courtyard, where a turn to the left took one into a large chamber with a fireplace and many thick straw mats on the floor. Halloran finally found himself growing used to the Maztican custom of sitting on these mats, though he had resolved to make himself a chair sometime soon.
The other room on the first floor was a cooking room, with a firepit and several bins for storing mayz, beans, and fruit. The upstairs rooms were four sleeping chambers, a pair of small rooms for slaves, and a wide balcony overlooking the canal. The landward sides of the house and courtyard were surrounded by its outer walls. The courtyard met the canal with no barrier, however, and Hal had soon purchased a canoe that he kept tied up there.
Storm, meanwhile, lived in the courtyard. Hal rode the mare frequently, since the Mazticans thrilled to the sight of the great horse. He often rode him about the sacred plaza or the city streets.
Naltecona had assigned several slaves to Halloran, to perform his cooking and whatever other tasks he desired. His slaves included an old man, Gankak; the fellow's hardworking wife, Jaria; and a pair of young women, Horo and Chantil.
Since Hal was uncomfortable with the notion of owning another human being, he resolved to treat the slaves as servants. He tried to grant them privileges, such as a day of no work, and a few cocoa beans to spend in the market. To his surprise, he found that the slaves purchased items for him with the beans. As to the day off, they only stopped working when he ordered them to do so.
Then, after a week in the house, they had seen the massive columns of warriors filing from the sacred plaza, leaving the city by its southeast causeway.
"What's going on? It must be Cordell they're marching against! Did you learn anything?" Halloran bombarded Poshtli with questions.
"That's why I'm late. I finally had some luck," explained the Maztican. "All the captains of the Eagles were gone, and the apprentices didn't know much. They got called to arms in a hurry, by the order of Naltecona. It's very secret, and at first I thought I wouldn't learn anything."
"But?"
"One of the young fellows — he's always been a favorite of mine — talked to me after the exercise. I came here as soon as I could after he told me."
"Told you what? Tell me, man!" Halloran grew cold with apprehension, his fear centering around Erixitl. "Where are they going?"
"They go to ambush the legion," said Poshtli, taking a deep breath. "At Palul!"
The sound of his words still echoed through the house as Hal's face whitened in alarm. Erix! She was in Palul! "I'm going to get her," he blurted. In seconds, he gathered his arms, armor, and saddle. As he started toward the courtyard, he saw the warrior standing at the door, holding his own steel sword.
"I'm going with you," said Poshtli.
"Excellent!" hissed Zilti, high priest in the temple of Zaltec of Palul.
"The slaughter will be complete," agreed his first assistant, Shatil. They met with Hoxitl in the darkened temple in Palul. The evening rites were done, and the patriarch of their order had paid them the high honor of a personal visit. There he had outlined Naltecona's ambush.
"You, the priests, must be ready to move in quickly," continued Hoxitl. "As soon as we have any of the strangers in captivity, we will open their bodies and take their hearts. Zaltec will be fed immediately, that he may smile upon our endeavors. We will continue to feed him until the fight is long over and all of the strangers have given their lives to him."
"The warriors will conceal themselves in the buildings around the plaza?" asked Zilti.
"Yes. The festival will be for the people of Palul, with much food and drink. The hunters have slain many deer, for it is said that the strangers are over-fond of meat."
"How do we know they will attend the festival?" inquired Zilti, pressing for further details. "Perhaps they are not like us. They may not like celebrations."
Hoxitl shrugged. He had bigger problems to worry about than the objections of the priest of this minor town — problems such as the location of the woman, Erixitl. Inwardly he blanched as he recalled the fates of his two apprentices.
"We will do the best we can," he said. "We know little — nothing, really — about these strangers. I have had the chance to observe one of them in Nexal, and he seems human in most respects."
"I know someone who knows these strangers. She even speaks their tongue!" offered Shatil.
"Who?" demanded the two priests together.
"My sister! She met the white men when they first landed in Payit, even learning to speak their lanuage!" Shatil said eagerly.
"Splendid!" said Hoxitl. "Send her to the village before the invaders get here. She will be very useful for translating."
"I shall summon her immediately," said Shatil, flattered by Hoxitl's attention. "I know Erixitl will be proud at the honor we do her."
"What is it?" asked Zilti in alarm. He had watched, astonished, as the patriarch's face flushed. Hoxitl shook his head as if he had been struck dumb and needed to clear his mind. "It's… nothing," said Hoxitl, struggling to contain his glee. "Your plan is a splendid one," he told Shatil. "Very good indeed."
The long column snaked over the green ridgetops and back down into the lush valleys. Water and food, as Tokol had promised, were plentiful. Also, garbed in the lighter cotton armor, the legion moved at a brisk pace. A bright sun shone from a clear sky overhead, as it had throughout their march from Kultaka.
"By tomorrow we shall reach Palul," explained Tokol, standing beside Cordell atop the crest of a ridge.
"Darien is observing the village even now," said the commander, gesturing toward the ridges before them. The Kultakan had told him that Palul was still two or three valleys away. With a shudder, the young chief looked to the west, trying to understand the power of this woman who could fly, disappear from sight, or slay a great man like his father simply by raising her hand.
Behind them, the column extended to the bottom of the valley they had just passed through. The five hundred men of the Golden Legion marched in the fore, followed by twenty thousand Kultakan warriors and the five thousand warriors of the Payit. Cordell reflected, with quiet pride, that never had he had so many men under his command.
And never had such a tempting objective loomed before him. The images of gold and silver danced through his mind, enlivened by the many tales he had heard of the wealth of storied Nexal. The tales of the pyramids, of the size of the city, and the wealth that had been collected there after many years of taxing their subjects made his pulse pound.