"Our battle proceeds splendidly!" exclaimed the patriarch, beaming, as the men reached the upper platform. From the slow, deliberate trudge of their steps up the steep climb, he could see that they were as exhausted as he. "Now you must begin the attack against the foreigners."
Chical looked at him in surprise. "The warriors have fought a battle throughout the night. We have taken many prisoners already — more than in any battle during my lifetime. Now the men must rest. There will be time to attack the foreigners tomorrow."
Hoxitl's eyes flashed. "No! Zaltec craves their hearts! These of the Payit and Kultakans only whet his appetite! We must attack now!"
"Where is Lord Poshtli?" asked Chical, diverting the high priest. "He gives the orders we will obey."
The high priest scowled. He recalled his attempt to find Poshtli, when it seemed that the lord had entered the secret passage below his palace. "I do not know," he replied carefully. "He is nowhere to be found. I suspect that he died among the foreigners, even before his uncle."
Chical's shoulders sagged, but he didn't question Hoxitl's report. "Still, we must rest."
"The foreigners require rest, too!" the patriarch cried, his voice growing shrill. "Now is the time to attack, when they are too weary to defend themselves! We must strike them this morning, make them fight through the long day!"
Several of the Jaguar Knights grunted their agreement with Hoxitl's plea. Chical, looking more like a commander who had lost a war than one who had just won a great battle, sighed.
"Zaltec requires their hearts!" raged the priest. "Now! Now!"
"Very well," said the master of Eagles. "Let the banners be raised. The attack will commence at once."
"Halloran? Captain Halloran?" The legionnaire, one of Daggrande's crossbowmen, called to Hal where he sat with his companions, beside one of the great thatched peaks of the roof.
Looking at his companions in puzzlement, Hal rose. "What do you want?"
"The general would like to talk to you, sir. Could you come to see him?"
Halloran shrugged noncommitally. The sun rose into a misty sky, and exhaustion threatened to overwhelm him. Furthering his discouragement, Darien had escaped.
"Come along with me?" he asked the others. Erixitl had arisen, too, but now Poshtli and Shatil climbed wearily to their feet. The feathered serpent Chitikas, apparently tire-less, started to float across the rooftop toward Cordell's command post, and the four humans followed.
The general stood with Daggrande and the Bishou, overlooking the sacred plaza — quiet now, though littered with the blood and debris of battle — and the tall pyramid where the legion's allies met their deaths on the altar of Zaltec.
"Welcome, Captain," Cordell said wearily. "How fared your fight?"
Halloran remembered the thrill of that rank, when Cordell had first bestowed it upon him. That had been on a different continent, facing a different enemy. It might as well have been a different life.
"Just Halloran," he replied coldly. "I'm not a legionnaire now — perhaps you'll remember. And as to the fight, the wizard escaped."
Cordell sighed as Erixitl translated the exchange for Poshtli and Shatil's benefit. The general gestured to the plaza, where thousands of Nexalans rested, out of crossbow range but completely surrounding the palace. "It looks bad, doesn't it?"
"Very bad," Hal agreed. "Why did you want to speak to me?"
Studying Erix, wrapped in her bright cloak, and steely-eyed Poshtli, then scrutinizing the coiled form of the feathered snake, Cordell seemed to hesitate. Finally he spoke. "Will you join us in this fight?" he inquired. "Of course, you're pardoned of all charges that might have been brought against you, and I can offer you captainship of the lancers."
Halloran didn't even laugh, so surprised was he by the offer. But his response was quick and vehement. "I have done nothing that requires a pardon. But I want no part of your 'grand mission' — and I regret the small part I once played. You have come here for nothing more than a massive theft!"
Bishou Domincus had been glowering darkly during the exchange, but now he snorted. "Theft! To steal from barbarous savages who kill each other to feed their gods? Why, they don't even know the value of their gold!"
Hal turned to the cleric, with a meaningful gesture to the warriors in the plaza. "It seems that you are the ones who have placed a mistaken value upon gold. Now you see what it has bought for you.
"And as for savagery, there are good people here as well as bad. When we arrived with the likes of Alvarro and Darien, I wonder who are the savages?"
"You are a traitor!" Domincus raged. He stepped closer to Hal and then suddenly recoiled as the sinuous form of Chitikas interposed himself between them. The snake's eyes never wavered from the cleric's, and the Bishou took several steps backward, frightened.
"Darien," said Cordell quietly. "Where do you think she has gone?"
"I don't know" Halloran admitted. "This worries me. She is a great threat to Erixitl."
Suddenly Shatil, who had been following Erix's translation, spoke. "The Highcave," Erix interpreted for the others. "That is the lair of the Ancient Ones."
"Where is that?" Cordell inquired.
"Up there, somewhere near the summit." He pointed to the peak of Zatal, below its rising column of steam. The mountain belched and rumbled, looking every bit the suitable dwelling for a band of drow. "I — we don't know where, exactly, but it is very high on the mountain."
"She is the enemy of all of us now," said the general.
Halloran thought for a moment. He understood the truth of Cordell's words, and he was surprised to learn that Shatil knew where Darien had gone — or at least, had strong suspicions. In another moment, he made his decision.
"I'll go after her, if my companions are willing." Erix took his arm and Poshtli nodded. Hal may have imagined it, but Chitikas seemed to smile. Shatil stood back, looking at them in confusion, but then he, too, stepped forward.
"I wish you good luck," offered Cordell. "I suspect you'll need it."
Halloran thought for a moment, casting another look around the war-scarred plaza. "Good luck to you, as well," he said.
Then Chitikas surrounded the four humans. Whirling colors formed a bright ring, and they were gone.
The attack began at midmorning, with no warning. Warriors bearing the brand of the Viperhand surged toward the stone-walled palace from all sides, in an explosion of whistling, howling spearmen, archers, slingers, and maca-wielding swordsmen.
The stones from the slingers and arrows from the archers drummed onto the palace roof, each volley pounding like a sudden downpour among the ranks of Daggrande's cross-bowmen gathered there. The dwarf's doughty company fired back, volley after volley. The steel darts were perhaps a hundred times more lethal than the stone-tipped arrows of the Nexalans, yet the Maztican archers were a thousand times more numerous.
The warriors hacked and bashed the gates of the palace to pieces, then threw themselves into hand-to-hand combat with the legionnaires. Cordell's men fought desperately in the constricted conditions, their discipline and courage enabling them to — just barely — hold each breach.
When the assault began, the legionnaires stood firm at the several wide doorways to the palace. They lined the rooftops, defending against the hordes of attackers who tried to scale the walls and attack from above.
Led by the cult, warriors hurled themselves at the structure throughout the day, their attacks growing in ferocity with each passing hour. Thousands of warriors surged at the ramparts. Crossbows, swords, and spears tore into them, but for each native that fell, two, four — a dozen more advanced to take his place. Urged on by Hoxitl and his fellow priests, the Mazticans attacked with brutal savagery, each man ignoring his own personal safety in the quest to destroy the hated foe.