Chapter 3

It was early morning when they found him. The rising sun gleamed dimly through the oppressive fog that veiled the jungle in a ghostly burial shroud. Ripples, subtle even in the still water, glided over the river, leading back to an uneven shape that bobbed just on the edge of their vision. Roland spotted him off the port-side bow, but they'd heard his frightened voice cry out with the same 'Help!' plea for hours. That was all that was heard. No birds sang, no fish leapt, no creatures scurried through the vines, even the trees seemed to silence their endless rustling for the morbid performance. Every time the mocking imitation wailed through the otherwise silent river, the more its uncanniness grew, until eventually, Roland wondered how such a grotesque sound had ever fooled anyone.

The oars stopped at a command and the boat drifted closer to the corpse. Other than the rowers, most everyone was on deck peering out from their stations to help in the search. All night the mimicking call brought them further and further upriver until finally they found what was left of Kopa.

A heavy arm, shaking with anger, pulled at the helm. Slowly the captain steered them about. His eyes, wet with tears but hard with wrath, guided them near the boy. Roland drew the hammer back on his rifle, and steadied himself. Gwyn notched an arrow in the captain's bow, searching the water around the body. Marlow's nose guided him to the corpse. A tremor ran down the wolf's body as wide yellow eyes looked on in petrified terror. Wallace stood by him, stroking the wolfs head in a calming attempt.

Two crew members readied a net and boat hooks to fish him out, but before they could cast, the corpse sputtered. Blood spat from his pulpy, toothless gums as they pushed out unintelligible words bathed in agony. Green water, darkened by blood, pooled in his empty sockets that stared up fearfully into the sky. Kopa sobbed weakly, pleading for help with a cry unable to form the word. A broken hand, with gory stumps where fingernails had been gnawed off, flailed aimlessly in their direction. Roland's stomach turned. The captain shouted to hurry and get him on board, but even as the net entangled him, a clawed hand reached up from the depths and pulled Kopa below. The captain swiped a boat hook and sprang to the side, desperately trying to catch the net before Kopa disappeared. He missed and the net vanished beneath the dark waters. Shouting curses, the captain hurled the boat hook like a javelin, his profanity echoing through the fog. He sank against the rail, muscles shaking with fury. Then, in mocking reply, came the cruel simulacrum of Kopa's voice.

"Help!"

That was the last they heard of it, and slowly, the jungle woke from its noiseless hibernation. No one spoke much after that. The captain put in near the shore and Roland found the trail not too far from the galley. When he returned, the party readied their gear below deck. Their search for Kopa led them far enough upriver to save a few hours walking, but only Gwyn and Atticus seemed anxious to leave. Roland raised an eyebrow. Gwyn, he was sure just wanted something she could stab, but Atticus? The Lord hummed softly to himself, one hand on his rapier's hilt, the other fidgeting in his pocket. To see such a man so easily change his attitude about heading back out into the unforgiving jungle planted a suspicious seed, but the time was nearing and the plan had already been decided. Roland buried his concern, there would be no room for it once the mission started. As they made ready, Wallace waited for Marlow to leave before pulling Roland aside and handing him a rolled-up piece of parchment.

"Don't let him see this on you, he'll insist you waste it. I don't suspect you'll need it, but if anything happens to me, promise you'll take good care of the boy."

"Pardon?"

"Marlow. Take care of him if anything happens to me. I've been holding onto this for a while. Speak the incantation and it'll allow you to talk with him and any animal, but only for a short time."

Roland inspected the parchment, "You would have a hunter take your wolf?"

Wallace grinned, "I know your kind well enough. Your joy is from the hunt, yes? Marlow wouldn't make for much of a prize. He's not even much of a wolf."

Roland's eyes narrowed, "No, he's not, is he?"

The halfling nodded, gesturing to the scroll, and started up the stairs, "Don't waste it."

"I never agreed to take him."

"I hope you don't have to use that, but if you do, you'll take him."

"Then let's hope I don't have to use it."

"Let's."

The captain sat at the helm, watching them leave. The deep lines of his face etched in shadow as tired eyes, dry from spent tears, cast a nodding glance towards them. Roland returned the gesture, unable to speak to the old boat hand, and once more into the dark jungle they trekked. They traveled parallel to the trail using it only when absolutely necessary, which was more often than Roland would have liked due to Gwyn's hooves being ill suited for such uneven terrain. She was an invaluable asset in a fight, but no matter how far back she hung, the clank of her armor made him wonder why they bothered trying to sneak.

They passed the shrine and continued on, reading the crude map Tabitha had drawn for them, in the cloudy noonday sun. Their progress was slow and their attempt at stealth was admirable but less than successful. A northern breeze rustled the jungle and gave a moment's respite from the swampy heat dark clouds failed to quell. The wolf scented the air. His ears sprang up and a quick whine made Wallace dismount.

"Lizardmen," The halfling whispered.

Roland gestured to the party. They halted, then did their best to hide in the foliage. He cringed. Somehow, Gwyn managing to make noise even when still. Slowly, Roland, Marlow, and Argos crept forward. Even when less than sober, Argos had always been surprisingly nimble and now was no exception. After losing his axe in the river, he'd fashioned a quarterstaff, as tall as himself, from an oar bitten asunder by the stonehead. Staff loose in hand, he nodded to Roland and the two started forward. Marlow followed Roland and Argos swung wide as they stalked up the hill, concealing themselves noiselessly within the curling stalks of ferns and wide silted monstera leaves. Roland sank to his stomach and crawled over the summit, one eye peering out from the trunk of a tall tree. A curtain of thick vines spiderwebbed over the canopy, swaying with the motion of the rainforest. But one vine swayed differently from the others, faster, harsher. One vine in the valley below had been swatted aside by a lizardman patrolling his way up the backside of the hill, towards them.

Roland's thumb reached for the rifle's hammer, but paused. If Gwyn's ruckus hadn't alerted every lizardman within a mile, his rifle would. He cast a glance to Argos, but couldn't find the dwarf in the foliage. One hand steadied his rifle to the ground while the other gripped his saber. Over his shoulder, Marlow's panting breath hushed into a predatory silence as the lizardman approached. In a few more moments their foe would summit the hill, and even if it missed them, he doubted it would miss Gwyn. His chest tightened at the sight of a curled horn dangling off its belt. This would have to be quick.

The lizardman stopped no more than ten feet away, nostrils flared with short, testing sniffs. Its yellow-red sail rose as dark, reptilian eyes glared cautiously into its surroundings. It readied its bludgeon. The weapon curved forward, boasting a heavy ball head and glossy black teeth of jagged stone along the spine. Neither the bone splintering head or the lacerating back filled Roland with confidence. He'd have to rely on surprise and trust his team if this was going to work. The lizardman as almost upon them now. A bead of sweat rolled down his face. The slightest rustle from Argos' direction pulled its attention away for an instant and Roland sprang.

He dashed at the reptile, drawing his saber and slashing in the same motion. As fast as he was, the lizardman's instincts had been honed in the savage world of the jungle, and it reacted as such. The club met his saber mid-stroke and beat the blade down, nearly knocking it from Roland's hand. He used the momentum to add speed and to his blade's response, and would have brained his opponent had it still been there. The lizardman jumped back and ran into the valley, drawing the horn from its belt. A galloping blur of gray sailed by Roland before he could give chase and the tell-tale whistle of a heavy dart eased his mind. Just as the lizardman put the horn to his snout, Argos' plumbata sank into the back of its thigh. It stumbled, and before it could recover, Marlow crashed into it. The wolf snatched the horn by the strap, dodged the retaliatory strike, winked, then sprinted back up the hill. With a hiss, it ripped the barbed dart from its leg and charged its attackers. Roland met it head on. Looking to end the fight quickly, the brute overextended with a powerful blow and tried to recover with an upward strike. Roland sidestepped and sent the club cartwheeling through the air, its severed wrist still clinging to the bludgeon. As it reeled back in pain, Roland's blade cleaved through its throat before any noise could. With a bloody gurgle, it collapsed into a writhing mess of scales before the final stillness settled upon it.

Argos brushed aside the undergrowth, picked up his dart, and gestured to Roland, "Reckon we're getting close?"

Roland peered into the jungle, expecting movement, but the birds and the trees sang and swayed indifferently to their struggle.

"That was too close. It's only going to get worse from here."

"Well," Argos laughed, "I wasn't expecting it to get any better?"

Marlow trotted out of nearby bushes and dropped the horn.

"Good work," Roland nodded, pressing the horn into the loam with his foot, "That could have been trouble-"

A horn blast echoed through the jungle, sending icy sweat down their spines. It was too far away to be for them, and the rhythmic drums that followed filled the air with a pulsing dread that told of greater things than the discovery of intruders. Roland retrieved his rifle and gathered the others.

Through the vine-laced thickets and towers of living green, they pressed on. Their pace quickened but each step grew more mindful, more stealthy. Even Gwyn managed to quiet her armor somewhat. Not enough to matter, but a noble attempt nonetheless. Like an unhealthy heart-beat, the jungle reverberated with the oppressive pounding of drums. Louder and louder it grew with every cautious step bringing them closer to their destination.

The sun sank but the trees grew too small and too few to mask its decent. Before them, the tree line ended, opening into a stretching valley butted against the river. A massive red stone step pyramid, seemingly half sunk into the river, cast the village in shadow as dark as the storm clouds sweeping in from the north. Dozens of lizardmen scurried about far below, ducking in and out of ruins crudely adapted for their residents. Hide tents and larger thatch-roofed huts mingled with red stone buildings long since fallen to time. Whatever city had once stood so proud at the foot of the pyramid was little more than collapsed roofs reclaimed by the earth, and dilapidated walls that stuck out like sun bleached ribs on a long-forgotten corpse. Some of the ancient structures still stood well enough for occupation. Even with eons of aging, the pitted stones and scarred walls bore the marks of artful masonry that echoed the grandeur of a once great people.

Without a word the party lowered themselves, either to the ground or behind the nearest tree, wide eyes studied the village and decided the validity of their plan. It was as Tabitha described, albeit larger than they'd expected, but after some deliberation, they chose to stick to their original plan as best they could. The storm clouds brought a gloomy darkness that helped conceal them as they ducked along the river, hiding in the bank's heavy foliage. While it steered them clear of much of the lizardman's village, nervous eyes scanned the dark river with suspicion. There were few patrols this close to the village and only a few barren spots in the clearing, filled with upturned canoes, that made for risky traversing. Slowly, they made their way closer to the flat top pyramid.

Atop the red stone monolith drums thundered, played in unison by four brightly dressed lizardmen and several banner holders. Halfway up the temple, fire light flickered through large windows occasionally darkened by stirring shadows within. A ceremony of sorts took place at the main entrance, the side opposite the river. Scaled dancers, dressed in capes of brilliant feathers, flailed burning branches about in a bizarre strides. Smoke serpents rolled off the twirling torches and seemed to slither in rhythm with the awful bellowing chants of the audience. From any other race, it would have looked ridiculous, but menace gleamed in every twitch and flex of the lizardmen's bestial economy.

A tall, lithe lizardman, adorned in gold and feathered headdress, stepped forward as the sun dipped and struck his staff on the stone floor. Brass rings dangling from the ritual scepter chimed, silencing the crowd. The dancers ceased, then the audience bowed before the tall one as he entered the temple. Eerie silence filled the space between heavy drumbeats as the jungle itself held its breath in reverent silence. It wasn't long before screaming erupted from within the temple, sounding a sinister chorus to the drums. Terror that frayed the hoarse shout came from no reptile, but something with the tongue common to all the party. It was time, perhaps even too late, but all understood that any more hesitation would mean another sacrifice to the drowning god.

Roland tipped his hat to Gwyn and Argos.

Gwyn pawed her hoof in salute, "If there's any trouble, don't hesitate to run."

"I never thought I'd here you advocating retreat?"

"For myself, no. I would never do something so disgraceful, but for you..." she shrugged.

"You know me too well."

The halfling whispered to his wolf, who's bestial face, conveyed an understanding that tempted Roland to use his scroll. Wallace scratched Marlow behind the ear. The wolf whined at the affection, head drooping like a child embarrassed by his parent.

Atticus checked something in his pocket, nodded to himself, and gestured to Roland.

The three took off. Hugging the tall reeds of the bank, they rushed to the pyramid, hardly bending a blade in their quiet dash. When they reached the pyramid, its size put them safely out of sight from the prostrate worshipers at the entrance but posed a different problem. Each of the ten steps that formed the temple were smooth cut walls twelve feet high. Roland and Atticus exchanged glances, then shook their heads. Atticus' grappling hook was small and the walls gave no overhanging grip to hold to. After the third attempt Roland offered to try, but Marlow snatched the rope and set his front paws on the wall, gesturing at Roland with his snout. Atticus tried to take the rope back, but Marlow's jaws didn't yield.

"Damned dog." Atticus whispered.

"Marlow, we don't have time for this."

Marlow rolled his yellow eyes and pressed his paws onto the wall again, pointing his snout to Roland then the wall.

The frustration in Atticus' whisper turned into confusion, "Is that wolf trying to tell us something?"

"Yes, but there's..." Roland sighed and pulled the scroll from his shirt.

Marlow dropped the rope, eyes widened with disbelief as the bald man recited the spell.

"Y-you had that this whole time?" Marlow stuttered, somewhere between excited and annoyed.

Roland straitened at the question, surprised the spell worked, but more so by the wolf's boyish voice. If he hadn't seen it come out of a toothy snout, he would have assumed the speaker was Kopa's age.

"Marlow..."

"First time talking with animals?"

Roland nodded.

"Yeah. Talking wolf. Very neat. Now, put your hands on the wall. I can get up there but I'm going to need a little help."

Atticus shifted, "What's going on?"

Roland ignored him and did as Marlow asked.

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"Brace yourself," warned Marlow as he took the rope in his mouth and galloped onto Roland's back. The hunter didn't have time to buckle under his weight as swift paws leapt from shoulders and up the face of the wall. Marlow looked down gesturing with the rope. Roland went first, giving a few test pulls before trusting Marlow with his weight. The wolf didn't budge and Roland made it over. With his help, Marlow had little trouble pulling Atticus up. Three more times they repeated the process until they came to the layer just beneath the windows.

The hunter braced against the wall and Marlow repeated their system. His head made it over the wall before his paws, and coming out of the windows was a taloned foot. With only a split second to react, he forwent the last push that could have gotten him over the edge, and with no hands to grab onto anything, he let himself fall, hoping he wouldn't make much noise when he landed. He didn't, but Roland did as the nearly two-hundred-pound animal fell onto his back. The hunter never shouted, but that was probably because the wind was knocked out of him.

Marlow wiggled off Roland and sprang to his feet.

"Someone is coming," he said, still clutching the rope in his jaws.

Roland warned Atticus and the trio sprinted to the back of the pyramid. The hunter clutched his back, holding in curses behind strained teeth. The backside of the temple looked out over the dark river. Marlow's ears flicked at the sound of clawed feet patrolling above.

"They're coming. I hear more of them."

The hunter nodded, red faced from strained agony, and relayed the message to Atticus.

"So, you talk to dogs now?"

"And Marlow, but yes. We need a way in-There!"

Roland pointed to the base below. Where the temple met the river, water spiraled just outside a large tunnel that feed into the pyramid.

"I'm not getting in the water with that hand-thing still out there." Marlow whimpered.

Roland started down the pyramid, "If we stay here, we're as dead as if we meet that creature in the river."

"It's not here." Answered Atticus.

"How can, you be sure?"

Atticus took his hand out of his pocket, and slid down with Roland. Marlow reluctantly followed. The two men caught the wolf at every step. And in a matter of moments, slid down the four great layers of pyramid and stood, staring into the river.

"I'm still not going in." Marlow protested with a huff.

"Roland turned to Atticus, "How sure are you that it's safe-"

Atticus dove headfirst into the river. Marlow followed Roland's gaze. Flickering orange torchlight moved towards the edge of the step. One glance down would be all the lizardmen needed to sound the alarm and seal the fates of the dwarfs and probably themselves. Roland jumped. With a whine, Marlow followed.

Darkness enveloped him and pulled him deeper below the surface. His legs, made for running, cut through the water too well and offered little resistance to the currents tugging grasps. His kicking grew frantic but some unseen force pulled him along. Then, out of the darkness, a hand clamped onto his nape. Marlow screamed as best a wolf could underwater and thrashed against his unseen foe. His head broke the surface and another hand clasped around his snout.

"Calm yourself." Roland scolded.

"Sorry, I thought you were-"

Roland shushed him and threw an arm around his neck, dragging him deeper into the channel. Crudely carved stone walls snaked beneath the pyramid. With barely enough space for their heads to stay above water, Atticus led the way, pulling himself along with handholds found in the uneven walls. The deeper they went, the weaker the current grew until Marlow could swim unassisted. The only light was a small dot behind them, where they'd swam through. He paddled alongside them but darkness quickly fell. Before them was nothing but the vague outline of a fork in the tunnel. Both paths concealed by impenetrable black.

"Which way?" Atticus asked.

"Does it matter?" Roland said, "I can't see a thing anyhow?"

Marlow scented the air. Blowing in from the left was the faint smell of reptile and burning incense, from the other, was the stench of rot and decay mixed with something Marlow felt should be familiar, but his constant struggle to keep his head above water dulled his sense.

"I smell lizardmen down the left side."

"And from the right?"

"Rotting meat, and something else. But I can't quite guess it."

"Let's avoid the lizardmen."

Atticus sighed, "What's the dog on about now?"

"Go right. He smells lizardmen to the left."

They groped along the wall for what felt like an hour, but likely was less than fifteen minutes. The anxiety of darkness adding much time in their minds. Roland and the noble followed him down the black tunnel, guided by the sound of his weak paddling and fast breaths. Marlow let his nose guide them through the chute and the scent grew to an odor then a stench so rank, even the others occasionally gagged from the fouled air. A distant white glow in the water told him of a potential end and strengthened his exhausted muscles.

Roland swam up to him, "Stay with Atticus. let me go first."

"T-tired. C-can't float."

Roland gently dragged him over and handed him to Atticus. His weight tested the nobles' handhold.

"What do you want me to do with him?"

"Just stay put and let him rest a moment. I'm going to scout it out before we emerge into an ambush."

Before Atticus could respond, Roland disappeared beneath the water, his shimmering silhouette headed towards the light.

With Atticus' arm supporting him under his chest, Marlow did breathe easier, letting his legs relax in the weightless state.

"Well," the noble whispered, "I'm glad you're comfortable..."

Marlow smiled and drug his tongue upside the nobles' scarred face. Atticus threatened to drop him and likely would have if Roland's dejected voice hadn't announced it safe a moment later. The tunnel opened into a large glittering cave. Holes and cracks in the stalactite riddled canopy cast silver-white light down on the caves' still pool which reflected back into the grotto, illuminating the shore covered in twinkling golden treasure. Marlow's stomach turned. No amount of gold or natural beauty could make the sight before him bearable. A large net stretched across two stalactites and hanging crucified in its center was the eyeless corpse of Kopa.

Marlow rushed out of the water, only to be confronted with a much older corpse of a dwarf. Pale waterlogged skin stretched with bloat as empty eye sockets and plundered gums twisted in an eternal silent scream. Scattered among the treasure were carcasses as varied in kind as they were age. Lizardmen, dwarf, and many large creatures of the jungle lay as defiled corpses among the mocking gold. Noxious as the smell of decay was, it was the familiar scent that made it unbearable. The scent he couldn't name earlier. The scent he'd smelled on the side of the ship after Kopa had been taken. The acrid smell of Ahuizotl.

A quick glance showed him carved steps on the other side of the lair. The cave walls were pitted with uneven tunnels big enough for a man and carved high off the ground, but the stairs only led to one stone archway. He trotted over the gold, shaking, trying not to look at the corpses, and headed for the exit. Roland wasn't far behind, but Atticus knelt down, inspecting the treasure. Marlow cringed at the sight, but then remembered why he'd come on this quest and turned to Roland before pawing through the gold.

"Tell him to look for a ring."

"We're not here for plunder," the hunter said, "We're here for the dwarfs."

"I know, but just a quick look."

"There's no time."

"It'll only take a-"

"There could be a thousand rings in all this treasure and the one your master is after likely doesn't exist."

"Mr. Winterwood isn't my master, he's my friend. And he's not after the ring, I am."

Roland raised an eyebrow, "Tabitha said it was just folktale-

Hackles flared as his lips curled into a snarl, "She's wrong. She has to be."

Roland took a slow step back, curiosity gleaming in his suspicious eyes, "So then, what does a wolf want with mythical jewelry? What good would a magic ring do you? So, what if you could make all the gold you wanted?"

"It's not about gold. It's about breaking this curse."

"Curse?"

His ears fell with his hackles, "I don't want to turn lead into gold... I want to turn wolf back into man."

The hunter's gaze shifted to confusion, disbelief, realization, then the one Marlow hated most, pity, all in a matter of seconds.

"Wouldn't have been my first guess, but that explains quite a bit actually." The hunter mumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose before continuing, "How old are you?"

Marlow cocked his head. He hadn't thought about that in some time, "It's been two winters since I was turned, so that makes me... sixteen? Or close to it."

The hunter sighed, "I'm sorry, Marlow, but lives are at stake and we don't have time to look for a magic ring that likely doesn't exist. Even if we did," he gestured to the horde, "the term 'needle in a haystack' comes to mind. But above that, this is a lair and you don't want to be here when Ahuizotl returns."

"I'll risk it. I'm going to stay and look. I've come all this way-"

"No. I need your nose to find the dwarfs. Now, get up those stairs and let's go."

"I-I can't leave here without trying."

"I wasn't asking, Marlow."

His ears rose and he swallowed a growl, "I've made my decision..."

The hunter undid his sword belt and swept the rifle's sling off his shoulder. The weapons fell to the golden floor with a clank. Marlow froze as the small man calmly approached and slapped him across his snout. Instinctively, he bore his fangs but his growl turned into a whimper as Roland shoved a forearm into his mouth. The hunter's free hand grabbed him by the nape and stopped him from wriggling free. Roland pressed and Marlow, dumbfounded, quickly found the back of the cave. He stood, trying to push his forepaws against the hunter's chest, but Roland shoved, pinning his back flat against the wall. Stuck on his poorly balanced hind legs, gagging on an unwanted arm in his mouth, Marlow gawked down at the man who, despite being much smaller, had him at his mercy.

The hunter's voice remained calm as he fought to keep his arm pressed between Marlow's teeth, "If you were a wolf, you would have bitten me. If you were a man, you would have fought me. But you're neither. You're just a boy... I can't break your curse, but if you want to make a wolf into a man, here's your opportunity to start. They're dwarfs who need saving, and every second we waste could very well be the difference between life and death. Sometimes you have to be willing to put aside your wants even needs for others. I can't imagine what it must be like for you, but it's not about you, or me, or anybody, it's about them. And right now, I need a nose that can guide me to them." The hunter backed away and released him.

Marlow spat the arm out, his jaws tense. The wolf shook in indignant anger, but the boy trembled at the thought of his father ever learning about his selfish decision.

"Are you with me, Marlow?"

The wolf nodded, its tail and ears pinned down as dejected yellow eyes took one last glance at the golden floor before wallowing up the stairs.

Roland sighed, unsure what to make of the bizarre new information. Behind him, Atticus wrapped several large golden relics in cloths that looked suspiciously similar to blankets from the ship.

"And you?" Roland gathered his sword and rifle, "Would you like to stay here as well?"

"If I say yes, are you going to shove your arm down my throat?" Atticus finished packing his loot and slung the pack over his shoulders, the cushioned plunder made little noise jostling behind him. "I jest. It may not be a magic ring, but I got what I came for."

"How much of that did you understand?"

Atticus shrugged, "Truthfully, I wasn't listening. Unless the he's warning us about something, I don't actually care to know what a dog has to say on the topic of... well, anything."

Roland huffed and the trio followed the stairs into the dank corridor. Along the way, chiseled stone turned to red brick as the distant reverberations of the drums and the firelight at the end of the long tunnel lead them into a large room. Crude bone talismans glowed orange in the flickering light of two iron braziers. Moss and vines covered much of the walls that hadn't been scraped clean to give room to the blocky hieroglyphs and their secrets. Strewn about a rough-hewn table lay pestle bowls, half filled with strangely colored powders, and bowls of baleful liquids filling the air with noxious odors. Herbs and peculiar animal parts dangled from hooks above the braziers, gently nudged about by the heat's updraft. Dilapidated, but still in use, Roland grimaced as they crept through the shaman's lair. A hide curtain led to stairs that reached down further into the temple. The bottom of the stairs led to a great pillared hall with a water way, four feet across, bisecting its length.

"I hear something. Sounds like a struggle and smells like..." Marlow scented the air and his ears sprang up, "This way!"

The wolf took off down the hall. Roland mumbled a curse and pursued. Atticus jogged behind, keeping a safe distance. Rounding a corner, Marlow froze, jumped back, and hugged the wall. Roland caught up and peered around. Two armed lizardmen stormed down the corridor, but away from them. The drums had stopped and the halls echoed with the sounds of battle.

"What did you smell?" asked Roland.

"Mr. Winterwood and the others."

"Dammit, Gwyn..."

They waited until the lizardmen vanished into another hallway before following. Two more turns brought them to the main entrance of the pyramid. A waterway from all three entrances joined to fill a shallow pool in the center of the atrium. The pool emptied under the doors opposite the entrance, doors encrusted with golden inlays of the blocky writings of this once great civilization. Between them and the doors were nearly a dozen howling lizardmen cornering a spear wielding mailed figure. Trading blows with her enemies had left her with four corpses at her hooves. Fear of the impervious warrior stayed their charge while the dwarf beside her vaulted off his quarterstaff and drove a sandaled foot into a lizardman's throat. It crumpled with a wheeze. The fight didn't stop, though the lizardmen's eagerness to attack did. Wooden staff and iron fists flowed from the dwarf in drunken harmony, flawlessly dominating foes through unpredictable blows and deceptive control of distance. Contrasting his elegance was the stabbing brutality of the centaur. Behind them was Wallace, casting a spell on the doors' wooden drop bar, making it sprout wrapping branches around the lock brackets. The doors strained under the thunder of untold multitudes crashing onto the unyielding timbers from outside.

From the other side of the atrium, more lizardmen flooded in to reinforce their brothers. Roland drew the hammer back, aimed, and sent a bullet between the shoulder blades of the nearest foe. The booming crack of his shot was magnified by the stone walls. Its deafening thunder caused a moment of hesitation among the reptiles. Gwyn took full advantage and hurled herself into the flinching mass of scales. Argos and Wallace followed her. They broke through the line, splitting the force in half as they pushed through to the gilded doors. Marlow saw his opportunity and dashed through the scattered force to Wallace's side. Roland sent another round into the crowd and before turning to Atticus.

"Go, I'll cover you-"

Atticus wasn't there. The corridor they'd come through was empty.

Roland ran for Gwyn, slinging his rifle over his back and drawing his sword as he leapt into the fray. Weaving through the crowd, he didn't bother to attack, instead focusing on getting to his party and letting Gwyn launch their offensive. He parried flint axes and narrowly dodged spear thrusts until he found himself shoulder to shoulder with Gwyn, Argos, and Marlow. Together, they held the line while Wallace worked to open the door behind them. Hooves, saber, fists, and fangs felled many reptiles before the doors behind them opened and they retreated further into the temple.

Atticus retraced his steps back through the shaman's laboratory and down the hall to Ahuizotl's lair. The diamond in his pocket, still cool to the touch, told him the beast was far off. He would've stayed and fought, but as if the reinforcements weren't reason enough for retreat, the deranged horse-woman lead a charge through the middle of them. If they ever stood a chance, they forfeited it getting surrounded like that. Unfortunate, but he was a realist about these kinds of situations. He saluted their bravery and hoped they held out long enough to give those fiendish reptiles a day to remember, or at least long enough for him to get to the boats before anyone noticed.

It seemed worse the second time, but he could almost taste the rotting flesh lingering in the putrid air as he exited the tunnel and trotted down the lair's stone steps. Water droplets fell sparsely from the ceiling. Their minuscule splashes echoed in the empty cave, sending weak ripples across the otherwise still pool. Treading gold underfoot made his pack feel lighter. He weighed it with his arm, considering how much he could carry and still keep his head above water. The diamond alone would be enough to buy his estate back, but he'd have to furnish it of course. He slipped a ruby pendant into the pack. Then, there were all his debts. The gold relics he'd collected before would surely be enough to cover those, but it didn't hurt to be sure. A gold chain, studded with emeralds made it into his pack along with a sapphire medallion. And with the party distracting the lizardmen, stealth wasn't something he'd have to worry about. A couple more handfuls of gemstones and gold made it into his pack for good measure, but he restrained himself. The pack was getting weighty and he didn't want to be greedy after all.

He was in the middle of closing his bag when Roland Borak called out from behind.

"You're overplaying your part."

Atticus smiled, never taking his attention away from his pack, "Did anyone else make it?"

A series of sharp hollow crunches echoed through the cave before Roland answered.

"You're overplaying your part."

Eyes widened as a chill shot down his spine. The cave filled with that awful crunching sound again. He spun. His rapier flashed in the dim light, its point searching for the source of the sound. High above, in one of the many tunnels that pitted the cave's walls, flashed the faintest glimmer of golden movement. Atticus dug in his pocket for something he already knew the answer too. His chest tightened as the diamond warmed his fingers. Concealed by the tunnels' shadow, all that was visible was a pair of sinister eyes, featureless but for the pallid moonlight burning in them.

It crept forward. Out of the shadows, the gold glimmer turned into an ornate bracer resting on a muscled arm covered in black-brown fur. Its five fingered hand, simian if not for the talons and webbing, brought a small white object to its snout, and with a snap of yellowed fangs, human teeth popped between its jaws.

Atticus ran for the stairs. Ahuizotl dove into the pool. Its spiny back sliced through the water, churning a turbulent wake as it sped after him. The beast leapt out of the water, kicking up golden debris as it landed between him and the stairs. Atticus leveled his sword at it while drawing his parring dagger. A hideous blend of canine and simian features stalked him. Wolf-like in silhouette, but moving with the size and grace of a tiger, its features carried the mocking over expressive qualities of the baboon. Stripped quills rattled as its back arched with a snarling hiss. Its tail, twice as long as its body, thrashed about like a dying serpent.

Its tail lashed out. The hand on its end, clawing and grasping in hungry anticipation as it crashed into his guard. He parried, but barely. The stout blow knocked him off balance, but he managed a slash with his dagger. Dense fur protected it from the blade. Ahuizotl spun, and before Atticus could steady himself, its tail swept his legs out from under him. Pain shot through his shoulder as he landed on a chest and rolled onto his stomach. The creature pounced, but the tip of his rapier kept its teeth at bay. It backed away, letting him get to his feet. The tail-hand groomed its back, clawed fingers settled on a quill and pulled it out with a twitch. Atticus raised an eyebrow, but in the time it took to do so, Ahuizotl cracked its tail like a whip. Atticus leapt back, knowing he was well out of range, but confused by the sharp pain in his bicep. A stripped quill stuck out from his arm. He ripped it free with a grimace and once again readied his sword.

Ahuizotl sat back on its haunches, smiling with horrible simian fangs. Atticus lowered his sword ever so slightly. His eyes scanned for ways around the monster when the sound of metal clanging at his feet pulled his attention down. His sword lay by his boots, still wobbling from the fall. Instinctively he reached for it, but his arm didn't respond. As the realization struck him, so did another quill. This time, in his leg. He pulled it out and grabbed his sword in his left hand. In a desperate bid to end the fight before the venom took hold, he rushed the beast. He made it four steps before his leg buckled. That's when Ahuizotl pounced.

A webbed hand grabbed his wrist and slammed it against the ground until the sword fell away. Another grabbed his face and pinned him under its weight. He struggled, but two of his limbs couldn't move on their own and the other two were caught under claws. Ahuizotl locked eyes with him as its tail-hand slowly descended towards his face. The muscles he could still feel tore under his straining as his struggle grew more desperate the closer the tail-hand descended. With an agonized scream he watched the left side of his vision turn black as talons pressed into his skull and claimed their soft treat.