AND SO BEGINS GLOBAL CONFLICT

Here in this place, known by the indigene as Westeros, they have something they call 'bread'. The indigene appear to eat it with every meal, so it seems to be their equivalent of maize. And this bread, along with whatever fresh fruits or vegetables can be found at the market of this small port town, is in high demand among the crew of the Sun's Sentinel. So much so that Tlatoani Yoltic orders that the remaining Needles on the ship help him figure out some kind of deal with the local merchants to avoid individual crew members trying to negotiate on their own and causing any problems.

Nochtli knows this because he is one of the four tasked to relay messages between the diplomatic party at the Castle Starfall and the Sun's Sentinel docked at the port of this small island. If he is quiet enough on his approach to the tlatoani's quarters with the new message or if the Needles happen to be there with him when he gives the news he can get a chance to overhear what's happening. On one such occasion he recalls hearing:

"We ought to wait to negotiate until the Needles return," said one of the Needles.

"Rations run out tomorrow," said Yoltic, "we begin negotiating now or I am not liable for what the crew does when they go hungry."

To which the Needles could offer no reply.

The crew, of course, has already started negotiations. From what Nochtli heard that first night the ship was docked, all the crew went out to try and see how much they could get out of the indigene. Turns out quite a lot! The natives clamor for gold - whatever small bits of jewelry any Blade or Oar has that gleams in the light causes the pale faced strangers to stare with mouths agape. Once they learned the Atlacal were willing to part with these items for food they almost fell over one another to offer more and more local delights. Nochtli remembers that first day he and the others returned with the message from the Needles at the castle some indigene merchants had tried to take advantage of them all. A couple loaves of their bread and an arm full of strange vegetables, all for just Mixkoatl's square gold earring. Mixkoatl was about to take him up on the offer when by chance a group of Blades wandering the town came upon them. This was nothing but a swindle - a gold earring like that could buy an entire coop of chickens in this place! And then some! So they all cussed the merchant out. The merchant couldn't understand their tongue of course but he gathered their intent and backed away with a nervous manner.

For the most part however the Atlacal wait for the indigene to come to them. This port's merchant quarter is right next to the water, in clear view of the docked Sun's Sentinel, and the merchants there pile their goods as high as they can and stand with their little scales at the ready to measure out any of the gold the Atlacal might have on offer. And although neither buyers nor sellers are able to speak with each other, the common language of numbers and trade is more than enough to facilitate negotiations. Pointing, waving, finger counting, crossed arms and facial expressions - all are employed. When there are fights they are between the Westerosi: on a few occasions they shove each other out of the way trying to get the attention of crew members who happened to have visible jewelry, resulting in shouting matches and even blows. The Atlacal are on much better behavior: the captains of the different branches keep their crew on tight leashes and the Needles go on patrols, noting this or that while urging others to keep their distance from the Westerosi unless it's absolutely necessary. The Atlacal are guests, and outnumbered ones at that.

In the evenings, when Nochtli and the others return to the dock with messages from Castle Starfall, they wander about the merchant's district, observing the trade between crew and indigene. Presently he, Mixkoatl, Ahanu, and Tizoc eat some bread while on a street near the water, their macuahuitl and shields all at their feet as they rest. Using just the value of Mixkoatl's one earring all four of them they've managed to find enough food to last them a few days.

"How long, do you think, will it be till the flotilla arrives?" asks Mixkoatl.

"Probably a month," says Tizoc.

"It took us two to get here," says Ahanu.

"But we were wandering," says Tizoc, "the Chinook will give them the charts, they'll know where they're going this time.

"Hrmm," says Mixkoatl, "so a month until we can start back home?"

"A storm could take them," says Nochtli, "Storms take most in the far ocean."

"Ah, but this time they know about the forktails," says Tizoc.

"How strange that that story ended up being true," says Ahanu.

"Storm could still take them," says Nochtli, "not as if you can rely on seeing forktails in time. And even if they make it, that's no guarantee we'll be relieved of duty."

"Why not?" asks Ahanu.

"Nochtli's just afraid they'll make him stay," says Mixkoatl, "for being a recusant."

"They'll say they need the manpower here," says Nochtli, "the ikualotl is near, and we just found all of this, they'll want people here in time."

"Sure," says Mixkoatl, "but that's what, two years away? Or more? That's enough time for us to go back and for someone else to deal with all of this."

"The Tlon will claim the Hummingbird's Mandate," says Nochtli.

"Oh come on," says Mixkoatl, "it's not as if things are going poorly."

"Doesn't matter," says Nochtli, "he will."

"The Mandate?," says Ahanu.

"It isn't out of the question," says Tizoc, "the Ivory Mask has been erratic. Sending a voyage this far is proof enough of that."

"So you think he would?" asks Ahanu.

"Before we set sail the Hall of Voices was run through with panic," says Tizoc, "he has to do something."

"Sure, and having found this place will count for something," says Mixkoatl.

"They'll say that good and faithful servants should be happy to serve," says Nochtli, "no more than now, when the empire needs them."

The four fall silent. It's not something they haven't already heard the tlatoani say.

In the distance Nochtli spots a detachment of mounted riders approaching from the castle. Even some of the poor indigene own those beasts - horses - but the ones of the warriors are of a different breed. They are larger, stronger, faster - as he watches them traverse the landscape in the distance Nochtli is still taken aback by the speed with which they can move. As the riders approach their purple cloaks come into view. So too does the iron armor they wear underneath. These are the marks of the local aristocracy - a family they call House Dayne. The head of that family is who the Needles were to meet with that day. From there on to this other family the indigene speak of - the Martells - who rule over the rest of the continent. Nochtli fixes his gaze out to the east, where he can spot the water of the river and then beyond it what appears to be a vast rocky desert. What is in the desert that could be worth having? Nochtli asks himself. He returns his vision to look at the riders but by now they have disappeared in the foreground of the village.

Nochtli and the others decide to head back to the ship - the sun is beginning to set and orders are that they should lodge on the ships. As they make their way through the merchant street they can hear a commotion up ahead.

A line of a dozen mounted riders wearing the Dayne's purple block off the main cobblestone street of the village. One of them dismounts and begins to address another Westerosi man, an older fellow who appears to be dressed much better than the other merchants. The older man appears confused and he turns to two Needles beside him. The Dayne guardsman speaks to them too and they flip through their books as he does so, trying to figure out his meaning. The guardsman keeps speaking, getting louder now, pointing to the Needles, to the older fellow, then to one of the mounted riders, a darker skinned man that stands out for wearing an iron helm with a sharp angular design much unlike the rounder helms of the others.

The guardsman yelling has stopped all activity on the street now. All of the Atlacal on shore - Nochtli and the others, a few scattered Needles, Blades, and Oars here and there - look around themselves at the indigene, then at each other. What is happening?

"Everyone stay calm," says one of the Needles. Nochtli recognizes her, she is a woman named Yatziri. "I need to return to the tlatoani to report something, everyone else just, um, just keep doing what you were doing."

The guardsman barks something, points now at the crowd of merchants and other indigene on the street. Then at the little groupings of Atlacal. Yaritzi hurries along to the dock and back up the gangplank to the Sun's Sentinel and the rest of the people of Ayamictlan look on, confused, nervous.

The older fellow says something now to the guardsman but he is interrupted by the dark skinned rider who says something terse and final. The Needle still up front is trying to say something in their tongue but no one seems to be paying attention to him. At the dark skinned rider's word the guardsman goes over and punches the Needle in the mouth.

All around him Nochtli watches as the other indigene murmur amongst one another and slink away from the scene. He feels at the grip of his macuahuitl at his side. What is happening?

"What are you doing?" cries one of the other Blades. Nochtli looks to him and the rest of the scattered Atlacal - they make up thirteen. If the indigene didn't have those horses with them they could take them, hold them in check at least, but those things…what can they do? They wouldn't ride them for no reason.

"Let's get up there," says Ahanu.

"And kick off another Moe'Uhane?" asks Nochtli, "we need to fall back, we're outnumbered besides."

"We can take them," says Mixkoatl.

"Them and the horses?" asks Nochtli.

"Who's going to tell him then?" asks Tizoc.

Tizoc points to the Blade going up to the Needle. The Blade is quick in his step even though his friend following alongside and even the Needle, through a bloody nose, are urging calm.

The dark skinned rider says something, then the guardsman.

"What's going on?!" cries the Blade.

"I'm not sure," says the Needle, "somethings gone wrong at the Castle I think, Yeretzi has already gone to tell the tlatoani-"

Now the guardsman draws his blade.

"If he swings at me I'm going to swing back," says the Blade.

At this all the Atlacal stop and look over. Easy to do now that the street is clear except for them and the riders.

"If he swings then you let him strike you down where you stand, Blade," says the Needle.

"Without a fight?" cries the Blade, "and go north when I die? Are you mad?"

"And what will happen to the rest of us? To the ship?!" shouts the Needle.

A few others shout in agreement. But the shouting only appears to make the Westerosi uneasy, and all the riders now look around at the scattered warriors and then at each other.

"Everybody just back away slow," says Nochtli, "dock is right over there, we get on, we get out of here."

He and the others begin to move in the direction of the ship and as they do so the mounted riders advance.

The older fellow from before tries one last time to say something but one of the riders barks something in their tongue and he falls silent. Not only this, but he moves himself out of the way of the riders.

The Blade and the Needle up front shuffle back, wary of the approaching guards. The Blade stretches his arm out and points with the end of his macuahuitl as if to ward them away, sweeping left and right as he retreats. The Dayne guardsman on his feet, jumpy now, swats at the macuahuitl with his sword and a brief exchange ensues: the Westerosi's sword is deflected by the Atlacal's shield. In return the Blade strikes the guardsman twice, both times at the head - the first strike knocks his helm off and the second lodges the obsidian blades deep into the side of his head.

At this the riders cry out and compel their beasts forward, cutting down the Blade and the Needle both. Picking up speed now they continue forward as the remaining Atlacal break into an open run. The street narrows, disabling the full line to ride forward but six riders still make it through and catch up to the last of the stragglers. A few of these last turn and face the approaching beasts who rear up on their back legs and stomp down forcing the Atlacal to keep their distance. One of these is Ahanu - once the horse beast he stands before comes back down on all fours he takes both arms and brings his macuahuitl to bear on the beast, decapitating it in one swing.

The corpse of the thing falls forward on itself and the other riders let loose a bloodcurdling yell. Nochtli and the others, now on the dock proper, look back to watch another rider sideswipe Ahanu, the force of the swing of the mounted rider is enough to send Ahanu spinning down to the ground.

By now the crew on the ships is clamoring for the remaining Atlacal to board the ship. A cacophony of screams, the waves of the bay, and the creaking of wood against the pull of ropes fills the air. From somewhere on the ship the tlatoani's voice can be heard yelling to pull up anchor and depart immediately.

And Ahanu? Asks Nochtli to himself, and the others?

He is on the gangplank now and once against the railings he looks back down to the port town. What Atlacal were on shore are either subdued with the Dayne men's boots on their backs or they are dead. Once the wind catches in the sails the Sun's Sentinel groans and moves forward out to the open water.

The commotion on the ship however doesn't stop.

"Where are we heading?" someone asks.

"Who was on shore? Who's on the ship?"

"I saw Ahanu die-"

"What happened? What happened?!"

"These indigene are crazy! We did nothing wrong! They just showed up armed with their horse beasts and started cutting us down!"

And then in whispers: Moe'Uhane, Moe'Uhane.

"We will rendezvous with the Left Eye of Tlon," cries out the tlatoani. He stands now before the helmsman, addressing the ship, "we should be able to outrun their galleys and lose them out in the deep sea. Once we've done that and make contact with the other ship, we'll find somewhere else to come ashore. Fear not, contingencies were planned."

Murmurs run through the crew. What will this mean for them? How long before they make landfall once more? Nochtli doesn't know. But he imagines that now, like Ahanu, he will not live to see Ayamictlan again either.