Douglas Niles: Viperhand

Of course, there was no finer band of men than the iron-hard troops of the Golden Legion. Their accomplishments since the start of this voyage already guaranteed success. They had conquered a nation of warriors numbering more than a hundred thousand souls. They had gathered enough treasure to pay for the expedition ten times over.

Yet Cordell was prepared to risk it all for this audacious gamble. Indeed, he had made the stakes plain for all his men by sinking the fifteen ships that had carried them from the Sword Coast to this distant shore. The hulks of those vessels lay on the bottom of the shallow lagoon, beside the fortress called Helmsport just outside this city. The fleet gone, there could be no backing away from this challenge.

The captain-general rose and paced his sleeping chamber as the night hours ticked away. He thought of his captains — the steady Daggrande, the hot-tempered Alvarro, Garrant, all the others — men he could trust and rely upon, once he himself provided them with leadership.

The spiritual guidance of his men he trusted to the grim Bishou Domincus, now propelled by an implacable hatred for these savage people who had sacrificed his daughter Marline on their gruesome altar. And, too, he had the wizard Darien at his side. The albino elf was a force equal to a whole army.

Of the native warriors, he was not so certain. He would allow them to accompany him as guides, and also because their numbers would increase the impressiveness of his force. But he suspected that most of the fighting before them would be borne by his legionnaires.

"Can we do it?" he asked, half aloud, addressing the god Helm, lord protector of the legion. His mortal advisors, most of them, had counseled that his plan was madness — the legion would be cut off and surrounded halfway to their goal. Only Daggrande and Alvarro, perhaps because of the warlike challenge, had shown enthusiasm about the march. But that didn't alter the loyalty of the rest, he knew.

The Golden Legion would follow Cordell to Nexal. This he knew without a doubt. The question then became simple: Would they ever come out again?

Their view of the city grew before the trio with each step of the long descent from the garden and the spring. They passed through many villages of small straw huts, or buildings of shining whitewashed adobe, always drawing stares. Some of these villagers, intrigued by the tall stranger, or perhaps by his great black horse — a creature unique in their experience — followed the little party at a respectful distance as they drew ever closer to the shore of the gleaming blue lake.

Late afternoon brought no break to the summer's heat as they finally approached the water and the white stone causeway that led like an arrow to the colorful island city.

The Jaguar Warriors at the end of the causeway stared in astonishment as Halloran, Erix, and Poshtli approached. The guards' faces, framed by the open jaws of their jaguar-skull helmets, showed eyes widened in amazement. Spotted hides of tough Hishna-enchanted catskin cloaked their bodies, and they half-raised their obsidian-studded clubs, called macas, as the strange party approached.

They stared not so much at the humans, as at the great black beast that ambled placidly behind them.

"Greetings, Jaguar Knights!" cried Poshtli in delight. He strode proudly ahead of his companions. The rivalry between the orders of Jaguar and Eagle Warriors was well known, and now the plumed warrior, resplendent in his cape of black and white eagle feathers, took great pleasure in the astonishment of the guards. Poshtli was also the easily recognized nephew of the great Naltecona himself, and thus was not casually challenged.

The Jaguars stared, mute, as the three humans and the horse marched up to the terminus of the causeway. Behind them, many villagers followed tentatively. The latter waited in anxious curiosity to see how the guards would react to the unusual trio.

"Have you lost your manners?" Poshtli demanded in mock indignation as the Jaguar Knights stared in silent awe. "A beautiful woman arrives at the causeway to Nexal, and you give her no welcome?"

Finally one Jaguar recovered his voice. "Wha-what is that creature?" he demanded.

Poshtli threw back his head and laughed, in what Hal judged to be a command performance. The guards stared at the horse, then at Hal, who again wore his steel breastplate and shiny helm.

"Storm?" Halloran asked Erix, trying to follow the conversation. He sensed Poshtli's joking manner but did not understand the complete exchange.

"Enough!" proclaimed Poshtli, gesturing the warriors aside. "We will explain everything to my uncle! Come, my friends — the palace awaits!" He gestured to Halloran and Erix to follow him onto the long causeway. The smoothly paved roadway, a full thirty feet wide, ran perfectly straight from the shore to the city, perhaps a mile and a half away, that beckoned them on the central island.

Hal saw the Jaguar Knights falling into file behind them, and as he looked backward, he saw that they had begun to lead quite a procession. Apparently every farmer, wife, curious child, or patrolling warrior had noticed their passage. More than a hundred Mazticans followed them toward the great city.

Halloran quickly forgot the growing crowd behind them as they neared the dazzling metropolis itself. The pyramids, brightly painted, decorated with feather plumes, almost alive in their brilliance, dominated the city and the entire valley with bright hues of green, red, blue, and purple. But colors dominated every structure, not just the pyramids. Bushes of bright crimson blossoms glowed on every street corner; the canals were lined with a profusion of hanging, flowery vines; bright feathers outlined many houses, while colored tapestries decorated balconies, walls, and doorways.

The causeway itself, Halloran saw, was guarded in several places by removable wooden planks that extended across gaps in the stonework. His soldier's eye took note of that defensive capability.

The lakes on either side were blue and crystalline, deep enough that he could barely make out the bottom, even through the clear water. He saw fish probing the weedy rocks that supported the causeway. Dozens of canoes drew near, carrying curious Maztican fishermen. Ahead, the pyramids and palaces loomed higher, even more magnificent in proximity than they had been in the distance.

Surrounded by this growing retinue, they passed from the end of the causeway onto the wide avenue leading to the heart of Nexal. Here young girls greeted them, spreading flower petals on the roadway in their path and leading them toward the palace. Now the white houses of the city surrounded them, though frequent canals, passing under stone bridges, reminded them that the lake could never be far away.

Poshtli strode proudly at the head of the procession, un-noticing of Erix and Hal. The latter walked slowly behind the Eagle Knight, looking to right and left, up and down, in complete, speechless awe. The wonders of Nexal overwhelmed them both, and they could only stumble along, mutely absorbing the spectacle. Halloran couldn't begin to estimate the number of Mazticans who gathered at the roadsides as word of their arrival spread. He was sure, very early on, that the crowds numbered in the thousands.

"Look — there's one of those priests!" barked Hal, warning Erix as he spotted a scarred, emaciated cleric in the crowd. The sight of the man's black hair, bristling in the blood-caked spikes he had seen before, sent a tingle of apprehension down Hal's spine.

"A priest of Zaltec," said Erix warily. "There will be many of them here."

The black-robed cleric stared at them as they marched past, but he made no attempt to interfere with their progress. Indeed, his scarred face split into a smile as be saw them advance toward the temples that loomed at the heart of the city.