The rider's eyes met Erix's once, and she quickly looked down. She felt his gaze linger on her a moment longer, but then the red-bearded captain moved away. More and more legionnaires marched into the plaza behind him.
Soon came the imposing presence of Cordell himself. They had no difficulty identifying the man atop his prancing black charger. He held his piercing black eyes high, looking over the heads of the crowd. His steel breastplate gleamed, but it was his supremely confident, even arrogant posture that clearly marked him as the commander.
Behind Cordell came two more of whom Erixitl had heard much: the elven mage Darien, completely masked by her dark robe, and the tall, scowling Bishou Domincus.
Then row upon row of footmen marched forward, until nearly all of the strangers had entered the square. The file of their Kultakan and Payit allies approached the outskirts of the town.
Kalnak and Chical advanced and stood nearby, bowing deeply, as Cordell dismounted. They clapped their hands, and slaves hurried forward, placing bundles of presents on the ground and unwrapping them before the delighted captain-general.
They unwrapped large packages of brilliant feathers, capes of pluma, beautiful shells, and tokens of jade and coral. All was greeted with polite interest. Then finally a cloak was removed from atop a pair of large circular bowls, revealing in one a pile of fine gold dust. The other contained an equal pile of silver.
These, Erixitl saw without surprise, caused Cordell's eyes to flash. The captain-general involuntarily licked his lips, looking back and forth from the gold to the silver.
"These gifts are a token of love and friendship from Naltecona, Revered Counselor of Nexal," said Erix, in the common tongue of the strangers.
Instantly the legionnaires within earshot fell silent. She saw Cordell staring at her, his piercing black eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Where did you learn our speech?" he asked.
"It — it was a gift, bestowed upon me by Chitikas Couatl," she explained. "You would call it magic."
Cordell looked to Darien, invisible within her deeply cowled hood. The hood nodded, barely perceptibly. "Splendid!" boomed Cordell. "Please continue!"
"We are preparing a feast in your honor. We would be joyful if you would join our celebration."
"Of course we will!" Cordell threw back his head and laughed, in fine spirits. Erix wished she could stop there, but her instructions from Kalnak had been clear.
"We must please ask that your allies from Kultaka camp outside of the village. You see, they are the hereditary enemies of our people. There would certainly be trouble if they were allowed into the town."
Once again Cordell's eyes narrowed suspiciously, and he looked at the warriors arrayed behind Erix. Nearly a thousand men were visible around the village, but they were not carrying weapons, nor did they seem to be deployed for an attack. Neither he, nor Erix, knew of the thousands more concealed inside the houses or behind garden walls. Also unsuspected, another ten thousandmen lurked in the brushy cover around the village.
Apparently the captain-general's suspicions remained slumbering, for after a moment's thought, he nodded. "That seems to make sense. All right, consider it ordered! Bishou Domincus, tell Tokol he'll have to keep his men outside — on my orders."
"Yes, General," said the dour cleric, bowing and departing with a distasteful look at Erixitl and the warriors. As he left, Erix saw Cordell lean toward Darien and whisper something. The elven wizard nodded and turned away. She melted into the crowd of legionnaires and Mazticans as Cordell turned back to Erix.
The red-bearded captain, now on foot, clumped up to Cordell, his heavy horseman's boots scuffing across the pavement. Erixitl remembered that Halloran had told her his name was Alvarro. He stared at Erix again, and she squirmed under the pressure of his gaze. Surely he couldn't remember her. His mouth opened in a wide grin as he turned away, but she saw no sign in his eyes that he recognized her from the Payit battlefield.
"Now, what's this about a feast?" he asked.
Darien stepped carefully among the throng that had gathered in the plaza. The legionnaires, from long experience, moved quickly out of her path. Perhaps because of the troops' example, or else because her slight, muffled figure seemed mysterious and thus frightening, the villagers also moved aside to give her a wide berth.
Soon she found the type of place she sought — a shady path between two buildings, where several towering trees served to block out the sun. Also important, seven warriors relaxed here, enjoying the respite from the hot sun in the plaza. With relief, she threw back her hood. Even in the shade, the brightness was uncomfortable, but at last she could bare her head. And she must be unmasked in order to perform her assigned task.
Several Maztican warriors stood back as the elf walked among them. She smiled, passing her milky eyes over the men. When Darien smiled, she was a very beautiful woman indeed, and her beauty was not lost on these warriors.
"Come," she said to one, speaking the language of Nexal, which she had learned earlier through the casting of a simple spell.
The fellow, a tall, lanky spearman with a shirt of padded cotton and a headdress of green feathers, stepped quickly forward.
Darien led him down the pathway until they were out of earshot of his companions. Though these had started to follow Darien and the spearmen, another look from the mage — this one was not a smile — had quickly backed them off.
Darien reached her long white fingers to her ear and started playing with a strand of white hair. Her eyes stared into the warrior's, and then she passed a hand before her face.
"Ghirrina" she said, whispering the charm spell softly. Instantly the warrior's face relaxed into an expression of complete trust, and Darien knew the spell had been successful. The warrior now regarded her as a faithful friend and confidant.
She began to ask him questions, and he began to answer.
From the chronicles of Colon:
Seeking a worthy lord among a seething nest of godhood.
Zaltec's presence, always here, always hungry, is growing into a force to wrack the True World. The cult of the Viperhand, whereby young warriors — even some women and untrained youths — vow their hearts and souls and bodies to the god of war, has grown like a tumor in Nexal.
The god of the strangers, Helm, is also a presence I can feel. Eternally vigilant and watchful, he stakes his claim to Maztica boldly, a clear challenge to Zaltec.
Now, too, I have sensed a new and spidery essence, a goddess of darkness and evil such to make even Zaltec appear playful and benign. Her name is Lolth. This being is tied to the Ancient Ones, I know. She watches from a great distance, but her interest grows intense.
But she is also tied somehow to the strangers. This is a connection I cannot identify, but I sense that it is very real. And this frightens me deeply.
A connection between the True World and the land of these strangers that goes beyond the bounds of the human cultures is dangerous enough. A connection that is personified in the blackness of this spider queen has the potential for menace and disaster beyond belief.
A FEAST FOR VULTURES
Halloran and Poshtli clung to the horse and gave the powerful mare her head. Rejoicing in the countryside after weeks in the city, Storm galloped with the exaltation of a wild beast escaping to freedom from a cage.
The two men bore their steel swords. Halloran wore his breastplate, Poshtli the padded cotton armor of the Maztican warrior. Hal's other possessions — the potions, the spellbook, the leather snakeskin bond — these he had buried in the garden of his house back in Nexal.