As the light pulsed, Halloran stared at Darien, watching her in stunned, disbelieving shock. In the brightness, her skin gleamed with the alabaster whiteness caused by her albinism.
Yet in the shadows, it seemed to be dark, as black as any drow's.
From the chronicles of Colon:
Now the True Wbrld stands poised at the brink of chaos. My fingers tremble, and my brushes move unsteadily across the page. I must put them down, and I hold my breath as the fate of the land takes shape.
BLACK AND WHITE
Erixitl suddenly broke her feet free, and she instantly ran from the shadows into the bright moonlight, toward those clustered at the edge of the roof. Around her, the city seemed frozen, strangely paralyzed. "Hal!" she cried.
Whirling, his face split into a look of disbelief, then disbelieving happiness. He shouted, "Erix! You're alive!" then swept her into his arms. His relief turned to fury, and again he turned to Darien.
He saw the wizard's face then, twisted into a look of shock, dismay… and fear.
"No!" Darien gasped, her voice a strangled choke.
"You treasonous witch!" Daggrande howled, looking at the place where Naltecona had stood. "You've killed us all!" From below, howls of outrage erupted from the Nexalan masses. They surged toward the palace, blind rage growing quickly into battle frenzy.
"What — what have you done?" Cordell gaped at her.
"What are you?" asked Bishou Domincus, softly, fearfully.
Holding Erixitl at his side, Halloran studied the albino elf. He saw the other legionnaires, with their expressions of shock and anger and disbelief — and, slowly, growing fear as the rage of the Nexalans swelled from the plaza around them.
He alone understood.
"You're one of them, aren't you?" he stated quietly. "An Ancient One. A dark elf. That's why you avoid the sun, not because of your delicate skin. You've planned this for a long time."
The wizard, still gaping at Erixitl, didn't reply. Cordell, however, regarded Hal with confusion that the man found almost pathetic. "What do you mean? What are you saying?"
"I'm saying that you have been manipulated — used by the drow who seek to gain control of Maztica. Those who sought to start the war that would tear this land apart and give them ultimate mastery."
The sounds from the plaza below, where Naltecona's death and fall had been plainly visible, indicated that the war had indeed begun.
The sign! Hoxitl, watching from his lofty vantage on the Great Pyramid, saw Naltecona outlined in deadly magic, witnessed the grotesque dance of his assassination, and then observed the limp corpse tumble to the plaza below.
So did thousands of Nexalan warriors. For a prolonged moment, the square fell still from the shock. Then a rumble shook the ground as a burst of smoke billowed upward from Zatal's summit, and finally the high priest lifted his voice in a long, ululating call. Instantly the members of his cult — perhaps one in every five of the assembled warriorhood — understood the order.
The branded ones echoed the call and raised their weapons. Their fury and battle lust spread contagiously, and in another moment, the cult surged forward to attack. As Hoxitl had known they would, the other warriors of Nexal immediately followed.
A great wave of humantide swept across the sacred plaza, converging on the Palace of Axalt. A din of stomping feet, screaming voices, whistles, and wooden-hafted weapons clashing in rhythmic cadence rocked the center of the city. The volume of sound could surely, the priest thought, be heard by the gods themselves.
The Kultakan and Payit warriors allied with the legion suffered the first onslaught of Nexal, quartered as they were outside the palace. The Kultakans guarded the north and east sides of the structure, while the Payit were encamped to the west. This pleased Hoxitl, let the foreigners see the fate of their allies and know what was in store for themselves.
The Kultakans, braced for war, launched volleys of stone-tipped arrows into the approaching mass. Many Nelalan warriors fell, but in seconds, the two forces clashed in melee. Feathered headdresses waved above the fight, marking the line between the two nations, but soon the colors mingled in confused slaughter.
Hoxitl watched the battle, his features flushed with transcendent ecstasy. Zaltec would be well pleased.
Thousands of men whirled through a dance of death, macas chopping, stone daggers thrusting, all illuminated by the bright, eerie moonlight. Spears, arrows, and stones flew above the tide of warriors, landing indiscriminately among the packed ranks. Cries of the wounded, shrill howls of triumph, and hoarse shouts of warning all blended into a battlefield cacaphony.
Blood spread slick on the paving stones, glistening like black oil. The bright moon rose higher into the sky, covering the whole gory scene with its mockingly pristine glow.
The five thousand warriors of the Payit, on the west side of the palace, couldn't stand long against the rush. Fragmented by the shock of the attack, these spearmen tried to hold a line but soon found themselves fighting in small islands, surrounded by the hordes of Nexalans.
Desperately the Payit tried to fight their way free of the plaza. Some of them made it and some of them died. Most fell into the hands of their attackers. The Nexalans quickly marched the prisoners toward the Great Pyramid. Even as the battle against the Kultakans raged with increased savagery, the first of the Payit prisoners started the long, one way climb up to the altar of Zaltec.
Shatil stared, awestruck. Erixitl! His sister still lived! He didn't understand the speech of the foreigners around him, but he sensed their shock, and their anger, directed at the pale woman who had slain Naltecona. Too, he saw the sorcerer's fear when Erixitl arrived.
The young priest looked at his sister with a sense of overwhelming confusion. He couldn't deny the joy he felt at seeing her alive. Yet his mission had been to slay her, so that Naltecona's death could signal the uprising of the cult.
But now the Revered Counselor was dead, and the uprising already raged throughout the plaza below. He could no longer perform his task — it seemed that it was too late. But should he still slay her? What was the will of Zaltec now?
Surely if her death would signal the murder of Naltecona, killing her was no longer necessary. He wished Hoxitl stood beside him to give him advice. In the absence of such instruction, he must decide for himself.
Shatil convinced himself that the use of his venomous talon now did not meet the commands of his god. And so Erix would live.
At least until her brother received another command.
"No!" Cordell barked, suddenly regaining his senses and turning savagely toward Halloran. The attackers surging below seemed to bring him back to some semblance of his former generalship. "You're wrong!"
"He's right," said Darien, finally regaining her own calm demeanor. Suddenly she threw back her head, her white face turned toward the moon. She uttered a strange cry, something like the cry of a hawk, only deeper, more forceful.
Erix clenched Hal's arm, staring at the albino wizard. She sensed Chitikas floating up behind her and derived a vague comfort from the serpent's presence at her other side. Yet she didn't forget that the snake had brought her here, and then held her spellbound while she watched the nightmare begin.
In the next instant, a dozen black-robed figures popped into sight beside Darien, teleporting from some location where she had summoned them.
"The Ancient Ones," Halloran said, pointing. "Do you need more proof?"
"Greetings, sister," said one. He threw back his hood to reveal a tall shock of snow-white hair above a face of deepest midnight black.
"By Helm, it's true!" growled Daggrande. He raised his axe and took a step toward the dark elves.
"There stands the woman. You can see that she still lives!" Darien pointed to Erixitl, and they saw the drow eyes widen in shock, perhaps fear. "Kill her!" barked the mage.