It’s different from what I expected. I suppose that’s inevitable: I’d seen the whole area almost through Bastet’s eyes, but it’s only now that I realise how little the experience resembled watching a video taken by someone else. Due to her size, some of my estimates were right off, the huts smaller than I thought; the lizard-people themselves also generally a bit shorter, though with some glaring exceptions. Then there are the things that she hadn’t noticed. Like the fence.

For me, it sticks right out, a clear divergence from the natural growth of the forest. Bastet didn’t even see it. Or if she had seen it, she didn’t notice enough about it for it to stand out in her memory of scouting the place. There are more huts than she had seen or noticed, and I can also see some evidence of farming! Well, barely – the sort of thing I’m doing with my beans, nothing more advanced. Still, the fact that they’re doing it at all…

I return my attention to the fence, realising that it potentially presents a complication in my plan if it goes all the way around. The fence itself isn’t massive, reaching perhaps a little above my waist. Still, it’s like the big brother of the trap I created for the lizogs: sharpened stakes stuck in the ground and pointing outwards with others braced against them in X shapes to create another barrier as well as strengthen the leaning stakes against whatever dares to charge them.

There’s an entrance through the fence centred on the worn path on which we’re walking. Well, in my case, ‘shuffling’. On either side of the gate are two guards. Unlike the rest of the lizard-folk who seem to be a bit smaller than I’d estimated through Bastet’s eyes, these ones are bigger. By a fair bit. I’d estimated that the tallest lizard-kin was a bit shorter than me; these are taller – by about a head. And they’re not skinny, either. Not body-builder buff, these guys look like they could wrestle with that single-horned ceratops Bastet and I had encountered on the way down – and win. My stomach drops just a bit and I feel sweat bead on my temple. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea….

There’s no way I can vocally communicate with River right now...but maybe that’s not a problem. It’s not like we’re really communicating with sounds anyway – it’s the Bond which does all the translation for us. I’ve sent messages to Bastet without needing to speak – surely it would be even easier with someone who’s actually used to speaking with words. Or something of that sort, anyway.

It takes some concentration, but I’ve had a bit of practice at sending my thoughts to others ever since coming to this world. I’m unable to stop my nerves from making my hands shake a little. It might help if I focus on the escape plan for a bit.

River, how far does the fence extend around the village? I ask him. I tell he’s received the message both from the surprise and then acknowledgment which emanate from his side of the Bond, and also the small automatic turn of his head towards me. He disguises his movement with a rough tug on the vine to make me stumble and another growled order to move faster. At least, I hope it’s meant as a deception for the guards up ahead. Then again, it may be his revenge for how I tied him up and carried him around like a sack of potatoes. Not that he’ll know what a sack of potatoes is.

There are four exits to the fence, though this is the biggest, comes the answer a moment later. His mental ‘tone’ is a bit nervous, a bit uncertain, but with the sense of trying to stay forcibly calm. Hopefully the nerves are because he’s worried about whether our plan will work or not, rather than about how I’ll react when he betrays me…

Are there guards like this on the other exits? I check. Really, we should have worked this out before, but I hadn’t realised that there was a fence, and River didn’t mention it. I mean, OK, most of our attention was spent on working out how to get in and get Lathani free. The escape plan was pretty much just that – escape. I steel myself. We can’t back out now. The guards on the path have clearly noticed us – if River suddenly diverts with a ‘captive’ away into the forest, and then returns with no ‘captive’, there will be questions asked. No, I’ve got to own up to my lack of asking the right sorts of questions and deal with the consequences.

For a moment, I despair. How could I be the guy Nicholas was sent to recruit? Wouldn’t someone who has more fighting experience be a better choice? Like an ex-military person or Bear Grylls or anyone other than a recently-fired HR paper-pusher? Surely they would have made sure that the exit strategy was clear before committing to the plan?

A moment later, I take a deep breath and force myself away from that train of thought. What ifs and maybes never helped anyone, certainly not when done retrospectively. Lathani’s counting on me. Kalanthia is counting on me. I won’t fail them. Not again.

The two big exits are guarded, River informs me. The other two exits are small, only a single person can travel through them at a time. They are also kept barred when not in use.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

And how long does it take to unbar them? And how often are they checked? I ask, my mind racing.

It takes little time to unbar them: it is merely a small structure of wooden stakes which is moved out of the gap and then back into it. They are not checked, exactly, but anyone noticing an unbarred gate would likely re-bar it and then check with the brood-mothers as to whether any of their charges have gone missing.

So the alarm would be raised, I muse, mostly to myself, though probably projecting it to River as well. Any response he might have made is interrupted as we draw abreast of the first gate. The guards on it start talking, but immediately, I realise that I can’t understand a bit of it. It’s all just flashing colours, body language which includes their tails, and short sounds made by their mouths. Clearly, it’s only my Bond to River that allows me to understand him.

The Bond….I risk taking a moment to pay less attention to the world around me and try to focus on the connection I have with the lizard-man in front of me. I’ve used the Bond to communicate with him; I’ve used it to get a sense of his emotional state. Now, can I use it to gain his understanding of his language…?

It takes a few long moments before I get something, and what I do succeed in doing is not what I was intending. But that’s OK – what I manage to do is good enough. Hopefully. I don’t tap into River’s understanding of his own language, but I do get access to his understanding of what he’s just been hearing. Then, probably thanks to the Bond, his understanding translates into words for me. I ‘tune’ into the conversation with the guards just as it’s ending.

...take it to the Path-walkers. They’ll give you further instructions. Oh joy. More uncertainty. I’d like to dig into the rest of the conversation River had had with the guards, but I don’t know how. Or even if I should. Because that feels a bit too much like non-consensual mind-reading to me. What I’m doing right now is probably skirting the edge a bit, but I can soothe my own conscience by telling myself that it’s no worse than using a translation app. Digging into his memories without him sending them to me is a different story, even if I can. And asking him to share them or to tell me what he’d been discussing with them is pointless: if I can’t trust him to keep to his word to serve me willingly, I can’t trust him to tell me truthfully what he was discussing. Or send me accurate memories. No, I’m just going to have to trust him...much as that leaves me feeling like I’m walking to the gallows, hoping that they’re just a strangely shaped tree.

Instead, I just start shuffling forwards again as River tugs at the vine rope and we move towards the huts. I focus on my surroundings, trying to take as many of the details in as I can. It’s interesting in how much this village resembles small villages I’ve seen in images of old tribal villages. Most of the huts are round and made out of mud, thatched with leaves. They aren’t tall, but the glimpse I get through one of the open doorways hints that they are partially dug into the ground. Unlike a building back on Earth, the entrance to the huts is not right down on ground level – instead it seems like they crawl through a space at about waist height, just below the level of the leaf thatching. Floods? Or something as a result of whatever they evolved from?

The odd hut here or there is made entirely of mud, only a small entrance at its very top. I only know that there’s an entrance here because I see a lizard-kin climbing out of one. Once it is out, it moves a sort of capstone into place, the large seal almost flush with the rest of the construction. Now I know what to look for, I can see the seals on all the other buildings I’d noticed.

Although these facts are interesting to note, they do present a bit of a problem: getting in and out of a building clearly isn’t something that can be done as quickly as dashing through a doorway. If River or I get caught inside one of these, we could be trapped very easily. Then again, mud walls...Possibly we could get out by making a doorway. Better not to rely on that, though – who knows what kind of reinforcements there are present inside the walls?

I see more evidence of farming happening, most of the thatched huts having a few plants growing near them which look intentional. I even see some porcupigs in a cage near one of the huts. The sight makes a pang go through me as it reminds me inevitably of Spike. I push my regret away and continue focusing on observing everything I can.

Lizard-kin are everywhere, and there are significant differences between their sizes. There are few the same size as the ones on the gate, thankfully. Most seem to be fairly similar to River, though I can’t say I notice any clear differences which could denote male or female – none of them wear any sort of covering to hide genitals. They don’t need to because there aren’t any. Or not visible ones, anyway.

The only other clearly differentiated group are actually smaller and slimmer than River; interestingly enough, they also seem to wear the most adornments. Is that an indication that they’re female, or that they’re important?

Probably the latter, I decide as we stop in front of a group of about seven lizard-kin, all of them wearing at least five woven adornments. Three of them even sport stereotypical claw or tooth necklaces, giving them a savage air. If such an adornment was even necessary considering their sharp-toothed jaws, bronze eyes with slit pupils, and clawed paws and feet. They are crouched around a carcass, casually ripping pieces off the still-bleeding corpse. My eyes track the movement as I watch them use their claws to tear off strips of meat, toss them into their mouths and flick their jaws up to gulp the raw meat down.

I suddenly realise what I haven’t seen any evidence of: fires. There are no fire pits, fire places, campfires, bonfires, or any other sort of fire. I could argue that maybe the fires are only lit at night, but there is no sign of even the existence of a fire – no charred or blackened ground or branches. I’m becoming rather convinced that the lizard-folk haven’t yet discovered fire. Of course, there could be another explanation: maybe their heritage just means that raw meat is more nutritious than cooked, so fires are reserved for crafting or religious rites or something, and are kept out of sight.

I push the thoughts out of my head: they may be important later, but right now I’m in front of a group of carnivorous lizard-folk all staring at me and I really ought to pay attention.