The Golden Eagle

Faithful children of the god, go!

Leave this place in the halls of your past,

For a future ordained by Zaltec awaits.

Take your children by the hand, priest!

Lead them south to the valley of your future,

Where mighty destiny calls.

Now my children claim the world, all!

From their island in the sun they send their armies,

To gain the final glory for their god.

~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~

The couatl will come to let them know the way,

My feathered snake of wisdom and might;

My chosen daughter shall greet me on the shore,

Know her; she wears the Cloak of One Plume;

And the Ice of Summer, frozen under heat and fire,

Will prepare the path to my door.

She sat on the white sandy beach as she always had, arms wrapped casually about her bare knees with her fingers linked together. The gentle morning breeze played with strands of her slightly wavy black hair as the sun slowly rose before her, seemingly coming out of the vast ocean like a brilliant red flame. The sky went from a dusky blue to a golden yellow before much time had passed, and as it brightened, so did her smile, her full, mocha lips curling with pleasure.

Each morning was a treasure to her, more than the gold and cowry shell belt about her slim waist, more than the fine, white linens she wore, more than the rich coffee she knew would await her once she returned home for the first meal of the day, more still than the feathered cloak she proudly bore upon her shoulders. Every sunrise was unique and beautiful in its own right, and she never took a single one for granted.

Least of all this one.

Even as the sun was pulling free from its watery bed, another shape took form on the distant horizon. It was a tiny speck to her intelligent brown eyes, to be sure, but she knew almost immediately what it was. It was more of them. Since she was a small child, they had been coming, taking their produce and the works of their labour--and sometimes even a few or more of them, her own people--to wherever it was they came from. Some of them had metal bodies that shone brighter than the day. They would mention such names of gods that had never before been heard of. Helm was a particularly prominent one. She had always wondered who this 'Helm' was…and never could quite grasp at it.

The strangers claimed to come from a place called Faerûn, then mentioning more names of which Amn was the most popular. They offered gold and gems and other goods for whatever the people could provide them…even when the people, themselves, were what was being purchased.

Exehuatl had been too young to understand, then, but she was a woman, now, and knew better. These strangers thought themselves greater in some way, but they still obviously respected her people tremendously and even seemed to learn a thing or two after they'd decided to, as they put it, 'colonise'. She'd become fond of a good number of them over the years, realising that so many of the things they did they did because they'd made their lives in this Faerûn of theirs so horribly complex. They made it their business to claim all they could as their own, seeing that as the only way to gain proper prestige with themselves and their gods. They were just like the Nexala.

That group, who dwelled far to the south now, was warlike and fierce, feeling the only way to please their own pantheon was through blood sacrifice. The newcomers from Faerûn, of course, thought this barbaric and proceeded with conquest soon after their first arrival at no real choice of their own. The Nexala armies had given them no option but to fight.

Exehuatl remembered those days…the days of the Golden Legion when a warrior by the name of Cordell landed on their shores where she now sat with five hundred men and beasts they called horses. That was all it took to crush a mighty empire. That and the aid of a Nexalan priestess who, when seeing that the strangers had landed at the cliff of Two Visages--hewn faces of a man and woman staring into the east--felt that this was the prime sign of the god Qotal's long-awaited return.

Exehuatl's nation of Payit had been the first to react to the new presence…and the first to, likewise, fall after a battle that merely lasted a single day. Not long after, a capital was made at the lagoon where Ulatos had once been proud. Helmsport, they called it, naming it after the patron god of those in the expedition. That was the first time the woman, who had then been a child, heard of that particular god, and it would not be the last.

Exehuatl's land was Maztica.

To her, it was just home.

Despite their obvious faults, though, she enjoyed talking to the strangers, learning all she could about other lands she could never hope to see. All the buying and selling matters aside, she loved it when new ships would arrive.

This ship was different, though.

Recently, unrest had been simmering further inland. Some of her people didn't like the Faerûnians at all and wanted them gone from their shores. More than some these days. The people who left in their strange ships never returned, no doubt sold as slaves on more than one black market. As Exehuatl saw it, those of her people that left chose to do so of their own free will, knowing that their absence was properly compensated for through the presence of the colonists and the extra gold and goods. She knew of others, though, that were not so well convinced.

Rumours were growing out of Nexal in the west that the ruined city still housed many horrors. Out of that demonic horde, a name had become known. Yamash, the people called him, a remnant of that foul cult called the Viperhand. He was half human and half orc, it was said, and now and again, he would leave the once-grand city and spread feelings of unrest through lies and deceit. The feudal system laid down by the people of Faerûn was crumbling faster than it could be fixed.

A revolt had begun in Maztica.

And the ship that was fast approaching, now, Exehuatl knew carried warriors of Faerûn intent on regaining the peace they'd worked hard at maintaining.

~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~

Anomen Delryn stood at the stern of the ship, leaning on the railing as he watched where they had been vanish into the distance. He didn't care to see where they were headed. He'd become quite the wanderer in the past few months, beginning at the ultimate downfall of the one known as Jon Irenicus and his dark kin, Bodhi, and later the dark priestess of Bhaal, Amelyssan. Anomen had discovered shadows within him, then. Shadows and far worse…worse things that had him drawn intuitively and relentlessly like a moth to a flame, and, for better or worse, he felt that his heart would never forgive him for it.

She was Bhaalspawn, he scolded himself again for the he-lost-track-of-what-it-was time. She's destined to become one of the most vile deities out there…or servant of one, at least…and there's nothing you can do about it. She'd only manage to make your soul blacker than what it has become.

Deep down, he knew that wasn't entirely true, but he chose to ignore that bit of his conscience. Helm still greatly favoured him, as did Torm and Tyr, and that was the most important matter of them all. On a personal scale, at least. Even as he watched the waves roll out from beneath the ship, small walls of water crashing together beyond the V-shaped pattern the ship left in its wake, he knew where it was his destiny was taking him this time. He was headed directly for Maztica, and the troubles brewing there, along with a handful of others, some paladins, most not. To them, it was a great adventure and duty to their homeland to restore the peace within the important trading location. To him, it was just another thing to do to keep his mind from dwelling too much upon the past.

As he continued to stare, the wind doing its best to tug free his shoulder-length honey brown hair from where it was bound behind his head, he absently fingered something hung from a length of cord about his neck. It wasn't the Ever-Watchful Eye of Helm that also hung at his throat. This was a simple ring made of gold and silver workings. It had once belonged to his sister, Moira, who had been cruelly murdered by a rival of the Delryn family. It had also belonged to someone else, someone just as dear to the knight, in the more recent past.

Bhaalspawn, his mind churned, his blue eyes narrowing almost bitterly at the retreating waves as if they were afraid of whatever wrath simmered in his heart. And she's been taken from you…taken by the very gods themselves. You'll not be seeing her again, pompous fool. It was all a dream. Just a dream, a happy memory, and nothing more….

Though, by Lathander's grace and Helm's will, I wish I had her back.

He shoved himself away from the railing in disgust, turning on his heel and clomping off along the deck to the bow where some of his fellow companions stood, watching the approaching shore. They were huddled in small groups, the more common folk watching and pointing and crying out with awe at so many things: a bird of such brilliant colours they had never seen, a bit of jungle here, a pod of dolphins there. The paladins and knights took note of seemingly more important things. The Two Visages kept the majority of the attention, the great faces, weathered yet imposing, staring out at them from a high cliff-face just beyond the white sand of the beach. There was more than just that, though.

"Look, Sir Anomen!" one of the younger fellows called out, tapping on the knight's armoured shoulder as he pointed excitedly to the shore. "They've even sent someone to greet us!"

Anomen peered out before them, shielding his eyes from the bright morning sunlight as he followed the lad's finger. A woman stood there, slender and dark and dressed in a shift of pure white with a magnificent cloak of feathers billowing from her squared shoulders. Even from this distance, he could tell that her dark eyes were focused directly upon them, but he felt no fear. This woman was not of the enemy.

She stood there, unmoving, as the ship neared the shoreline. Anomen couldn't think of why they weren't docking in Helmsport, but it was almost as if the crew was transfixed, the man at the helm making course directly for this strange, lone figure that seemed to await their arrival.

They beached the relatively small vessel and dropped anchor, making the rest of the way to shore in the longboat. No eyes were looking anywhere but at the woman, especially now that her features were so much clearer. She looked proud, not of personal merit, but just naturally as if she came from a people that had endured long and hard times and come out the better for it. Her slender hands were clasped loosely before a belt of round gold plates hung with cowry shells, and her wrists were cuffed in gold as well. From her neck hung a simple strand of tiny shells, and her black hair blew freely behind her straight back. Even as the longboat drew up upon the white sand, no one could move for what seemed like several minutes.

As if curious, the woman cocked her head to the side.

"More from beyond the Trackless Sea?" she said, her voice full but innocent-sounding. It was just as hypnotic as the rest of her and rang out clearly like it was the very voice of a god. "Have you come to aid your 'colony'?"

Anomen was the first to regain his senses, standing and stepping from the boat in as dignified a manner as he could, he approached her, going no nearer than within five paces. After that, the others soon followed suit, the crew seeing to it that the boat was safely out of the pull of the relentless waves.

"We have indeed come to restore the peace, good woman," Anomen said sincerely, bowing slightly as he felt this woman to be of some importance within the native population. "Amongst our numbers are Paladins and Knights of the Order of the Most Radiant Heart, loyal servants of Helm, Torm and Tyr. I am Lord Anomen Delryn of Athkatla in Amn, the leader of this small expedition."

The woman nodded a single time with apparent approval, though her facial expression never changed from a sort of blank look. Anomen couldn't help but shift uncomfortably under that intense stare.

"I am Exehuatl, Mistress of the Archives in Helmsport. Welcome, Lord Anomen and company, to Payit, ancient home of my people and friend to Faerûn. You've been expected."

With that, she turned her back to them and began to walk off southward to where bits of the city could be seen around a bend in the cliff. Slightly awe-stricken, the others began to follow with Anomen taking up the rear, his thoughts once more leaving the task at hand and drifting back miles and months to places he was trying to forget.