Finally, as dawn began to color the eastern sky, the Ancient Ones blinked out of sight and did not reappear.
From the chronicles of Coton:
Amid a surging sea of blood, the Temple of Qotal remains a shrinking island of calm.
Around me rages war — total, uncontrolled, hateful battle that can only result in complete annihilation. The priests of Zaltec thrill, now, to their victory, little realizing the future cost of their triumph. The Ancient Ones, serving Zaltec, strive to kill the chosen daughter of Qotal, but now — and they must know this — it is too late to avert disaster.
They remain unaware of Lolth, creeping ever closer, growing ever larger. The spider goddess watches, with pleasure, the bloodshed. She bides her time, not yet ready to add to the killing, when the humans do such a splendid job on their own.
But soon it will be time for her to strike.
RISING TIDE
Cordell stood on the palace roof with Daggrande and the Bishou, watching the Kultakans fight their way to the gates of the sacred plaza. The commander's sense of discipline wanted to condemn them for their flight and abandoning their allies.
Yet his soldier's spirit admired the courage and precision of their attack. In the pale blue light of dawn, they made their escape, and Cordell couldn't find it in his heart to blame them. The battle around the palace waned as the Kultakans broke from the sacred plaza, and the Nexalans paused to rest. Cordell knew that, despite the momentary calm, the next attack must come soon.
"Captain-General! Captain-General Cordell!" The breathless cry pulled his attention away from the courtyard.
"What is it?" he demanded, seeing Kardann puffing toward him. The pudgy assessor's face was flushed, his eyes wide with fear.
"It's Captain Alvarro, sir! He's been killed — by that woman!"
"Woman?" the general snapped. "Explain yourself!" Even as he spoke, he suspected the answer.
"The wench we captured, the one who came with Halloran! She murdered him!" Kardann gasped out the news as if it was the most important development in this long night of catastrophe.
Cordell sighed, raising a booted foot to the parapet and looking over the plaza. Alvarro. Such a willing tool for Darien's betrayal. It wasn't hard to see what had happened. The fool had disobeyed his commander, for whatever incentive the wizard had offered, and gone into the cell to kill the prisoner.
Only somehow the woman had turned the tables. The general could feel no regret at this news, save for the fact that his own punishment of the impetuous captain was now thwarted. In any event, he had far greater problems confronting him.
"The woman is still here, in the palace!" cried the Bishou, enraged. "She can be caught and punished!"
Cordell looked at the cleric as if he had lost his mind. He knew that Erix, and Halloran, and those two natives — together with that bizarre and frightening snake — had fought through the palace all night, chasing the drow elves that had teleported from one place to another across the roof.
"Thank you for the information," the general said to Kardann. "Now I suggest you go down to the trove. Make a plan for moving the gold, as much as we can. We shall not remain here for long."
The assessor from Amn looked at Cordell in shock. He hadn't considered the possibility of flight, particularly if such flight took them beyond the protecting walls of the palace. Yet something in the captain-general's eyes dissuaded any attempt he might have made at argument.
"Very well, sir," he agreed, with a bow.
"But the witch!" Domincus argued, turning on Cordell. "Surely you want her dead."
"The only witch, I fear, is the one who deceived me — deceived all of us — and is now beyond our reach. As for Halloran's woman, her death would gain us nothing."
"Look, General," said Daggrande grimly. The dwarf pointed across the plaza.
They all stared as the growing light clearly revealed the file of prisoners — Payit and Kultakan — standing on the steps, extending from the lofty temple of Zaltec to the ground, and continuing to wind around the base of the Great Pyramid. As the sun crested the horizon, the line began to move.
Darien stepped forward, passing among the robed figures of the Ancient Ones until she stood at the lip of the great bowl of the Darkfyre. Here she knelt, bowing deeply to the Ancestor as that venerable master of the drow sat back in his throne.
"My Father, I have returned," she whispered.
"And you bring us nearer to success than ever, my daughter," replied the Ancestor, his voice a harsh rasp. He raised his head, his white eyes blazing from his skull-like visage at the other drow gathered around the deep caldron.
"But still that ultimate triumph eludes our grasp" he said. "You tell me that the girl still lives, that she eluded the attacks of all of you!"
"She is protected by powerful pluma," said a drow, Kizzlok. He still wore the black chain mail and dark steel sword that he had taken to the palace, one of the few survivors of those who had answered Darien's summons there.
"It is true, Father," Darien added. "My strongest spells were useless against her, as long as she wore that token."
"Then we must try again, and keep trying until she dies!" snarled the leader, his voice low but heated. "My visions stressed the importance of slaying her before the war began, though we have failed in that, she cannot be allowed to survive any longer! Perhaps there is still time. Destiny shall pivot on the events of the next days. We cannot afford to fail again, when we are so close."
"But what has that destiny unleashed, now that Naltecona has died, and the chosen daughter of Qotal still lives?" asked Kizzlok.
"I cannot say for certain, but the portents are dire. We must cope with events now, as they occur." The Ancestor snapped his commands. "You, Kizzlok, will lead a group into the city as soon as night falls again. There you must, you will, find and kill her, or you will not bother to return!"
"Wait," said Darien softly. "Perhaps there is another way."
"What is that?" asked the Ancestor testily.
"I think that the woman will come here of her own free will," she said. "They seek to disrupt our plans for war. After last night, they know where to direct their efforts — toward us, the Ancient Ones. And certainly they will know to find us here."
The Ancestor paused for a moment, deep in thought. "Do you really believe this?" he asked, and his daughter nodded firmly. "Very well. We shall gather our strength here and await her arrival.
"And just to be certain that she does not arrive unannounced, we will place guardians outside the cave — those who might even solve our problem for us!" The Ancestor laughed, a sound like the crumpling of brittle parchment.
"Summon the jaguars!" he decreed.
Another chest laid open, another heart ripped forth, tossed into the gorged maw of the god, Zaltec. "Eat well, my master!" croaked Hoxitl, teetering from weariness after the long morning of sacrifice.
More than a thousand of the captive Payit and Kultakans had already given their hearts. Above them, the volcano rumbled its hunger for more, and so the priests worked diligently, killing and feeding, as the dawn lightened into day-light and the legionnaires watched from the walls of the palace that had become their prison.
Finally Hoxitl stepped back, leaving the grisly task to other priests. He barely felt his fatigue, such a powerful stimulant was this, the work of his god. He watched the file of captives march, for the most part placidly, to the altars, and he critically studied the work of his enthusiastic apprentices in completing the rites.
Other priests tumbled the bodies down the rear of the Great Pyramid, where they collected in a huge and bloody pile. As he observed the laboring priests, Hoxitl saw the chief of the Eagle Knights, Chical, ascend the pyramid, together with several Jaguar Knights and other feathered warriors.