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Beaker’s keen eyesight would have picked up any movement around the structures. Aside from water drops rolling off of leaves, silence reigned in this forest. Despite the stillness, the size of the logs used for lean-tos and the surrounding bailey put me on guard. I climbed over a fence of tree trunks. The climb wasn’t tricky, and I avoided areas likely to have traps, such as the bailey’s entrance. Like the tree stumps, the timber bore no marks made with an axe. Something had sharpened its ends by gnawing.

Inside the barrier, I approached the closest structure. A great beaver skull decorated its opening. Someone strung it to the lintel with coarse twine. Below it, a mobile of bones dangled like macabre wind chimes. Though daylight filtered through the trees, I refreshed Presence before entering the dark hut. The shine brought no attacks or cries of alarm. Crude tools made of stone and bone littered the area. Baskets and skins ringed the hut’s dirt floorspace. Whoever lived here didn’t use a fire pit.

Nothing objected to my light spell or my griffon roosting nearby. Beaker watched me examine the hut’s contents. When I entered, my Familiar clucked in agitation until I told him to pipe down.

The artifacts bore little interest to me. I considered casting Mineral Communion on the stone tools. With a few stones in the area, it seemed like a sensible way to gather intel, but I wanted to save it for something more substantial, like a dungeon, temple, or altar. It would take time to check out all these huts, and I didn’t want to waste my spell. A primitive culture lived here. Whether they were giant beavers, frogs, or ogres made little difference.

I poked about the huts from hill to hill, combing the place for valuables or signs of activity. Nothing glowed from repeated casts of Detect Magic. After half a dozen huts, I found a slightly larger cabin on a hill without a palisade. Someone smeared mud on the inside walls and carved into it before it dried. The carvings formed a string of symbols.

With Gladius, I could comprehend spoken language but not unfamiliar writing. “Do you recognize these symbols?”

“A task befitting my repertoire! Why, yes, Wielder Apache, the language hails from the north shore of Miros. It is a modern dialect that southern lizardfolk use.”

“Lizardfolk?”

“Yes. Their tongue originates from Proto-Blye, a family of languages pieced together four hundred years ago by a renowned linguist named—”

“What does it say?”

“A phonetic reading of their tongue amounts to the word Gorgus. It is possibly an appellation, but no intelligent people of Miros have recorded the name Gorgus.”

When Gladius pronounced the word, his powers gave me the word’s origin. I slumped against the wall. “It’s a demon.”

“Ah! That explains my confusion. There are few words in this world’s lexicons that I do not know. Demons hail from other dimensions and fall outside my expertise.”

“It’s happening again.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

I closed my eyes and held the sides of my head. “The demon—it’s calling to people all over again. I’d hoped a relic at the bottom of the lake wouldn’t reach intelligent minds. Apparently, someone found it and wandered off, making yet another disaster to clean up. What do you know about these lizardfolk—can you give me an abbreviated version of their history? What powers do they possess?”

“The lizardfolk are the oldest people of Miros. They once covered the continent, cycling through various stages of civilization. When other cultures developed, they withdrew to the interior, for they are not a competitive species.”

I spoke to myself more than my sword. “Wonderful. So, basically, this relic destroyed a peaceful culture.”

“Perhaps not. Recorded history knows little of the lizardfolk ancestors migrating to the south. Their people spanned the vast swamps below Otter Lake. This looks to be just a small village of perhaps a hundred. It’s reasonable to assume larger settlements exist deeper in the swamp.”

Traipsing through marshes held no appeal. Whenever my robe got wet, it weighed me down and made me sluggish. More lizardfolk meant fighting a more influential relic bearer, for its telepathic reach sought the most powerful leader.

Searching the area produced no more intel. Whoever left took their valuables or possessed none. Someone had opened a few animal pens. Wood chips and fallen trees filled one enclosure, accounting for the beaver-gnawed trees used for construction. The lizardfolk abandoning this colony had done so recently, within the past year, coinciding with the timeline of awakened relics.

After a deep breath, I reminded myself that the responsibility for cleaning up this havoc fell on my shoulders. The temptation to abandon my quest and join Fabulosa in the north weighed on me, but I’d come so far south that I couldn’t give up. Pushing into deeper marshes might sway my decision, but I hadn’t reached that point.

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The lizardfolk settling so close to the shore suggested they used waterways. I might salvage a left-behind watercraft from a quick search of their village. If they used a canoe, I’d find one where Otter Lake tapered into a water channel.

Beaker and I hiked eastward through the village, following a path leading to the channel. The path wasn’t long, ending in a crude boardwalk by a riverbank. It reminded me of the lumber we placed in Hawkhurst to avoid walking through mud.

My shoulders slumped after seeing no boats in the area. Twine extended from the docks into the water, ending in floating gourds. They likely connected to fishing nets or traps. Judging by the lazy arcs made by the bobbers, the channel’s current wasn’t strong.

The docks overlooked the lake near the channel’s wide mouth. A growth of reeds obscured my northern view, but the channel’s southern extents ended in a long line of timber—a logjam.

Even though it meant a few miles’ hike, I wanted to investigate this unexpected feature. Perhaps I wouldn’t need to bundle reeds together after all. After only a two-mile walk, I could lash a few logs together and paddle to the relic in Huck Finn style.

The mile-long hike ended with Beaker exploding in a racket. I would have unsummoned him if I knew the source of his agitation.

“Danger! Danger! Snakes ahead! Big snakes!” He beat his wings from a branch several stories in the air, taking to the air and hovering over a wall of thick vegetation.

Magnetism revealed nothing, though interference from the brushes obscured any views of the ambushers inside. But short arrows from Magnetism’s interface meant an absence of metals—a telling clue I dealt with something primitive or bestial.

I heard a reedy lisp from the bushes, talking in an unfamiliar language.

I pulled Gladdy from his sheath and listened.

The next time I heard a voice, I understood it. “Don’t go! Stay here!”

The speaker wasn’t talking to me.

Keeping a safe distance from the bushes, I spoke in the same tongue—the dialect of the lizardfolk. “Come on out. I know you’re in there, and I won’t hurt you.”

Another whisper answered, but again, not to me. “What should we do?”

Realizing Gladius Cognitus appeared imposing, I backed away and held my weapon behind me. “Come on, if I wanted you dead, you’d already be dead.”

Beaker was having none of it. He telepathically screamed. “Snakes! Snakes in the bushes!”

I silently replied. “Hush it, you turkey. I appreciate the warning, but they’re not snakes—they’re lizardfolk. They’re peaceful—at least, I think they are.”

My Familiar dialed down his racket to where we could ignore him, but the humanoid reptiles agitated the griffon.

Two cougar-sized lizardfolk timidly emerged from the foliage. The level 4 pair stood smaller than I expected. Their hunched posture, balanced by tails, gave them a more animal aspect than human. Since the quickest way to someone’s heart went through their stomach, I offered them the universal sign of friendship—a hunk of the tortal decapod’s meat. Hopefully, they didn’t worship the creature.

The pair seemed afraid to reach, but judging by their expressions, they wanted the meat.

I tossed two pieces to them, but their reflexes were poor, and they fell to the ground. They snatched the pieces up and popped them into their mouths. They looked thinner than the lizardfolk I’d seen in my Mineral Communion visions. Perhaps they’d evolved into a smaller species.

“What happened here?” I gestured toward their village.

“The manitou. We came here to search for food.” The answer came slowly, and they looked at one another as if they didn’t understand the question.

“Gladdy, what is a manitou?”

Gladius Cognitus hummed. “A long time ago, witches corrupted nature spirits to perform menial tasks. A manitou is one such servant who has survived the ages.”

“They’re evil?”

“Malevolent better describes its nature. They’re not free agents and act on their creator’s behalf.”

I directed my attention to the lizardfolk. “Why are you feeding a manitou?”

Again, they hesitated, as if confused. “We’re not. We’re feeding the elders who work on the water wall.”

“Then what does the manitou have to do with it?”

“He’s mean to us. And tells the elders what to do.”

I forced a smile, trying not to spook them. “Gladdy, are you making any sense of this?”

“I believe you’ll fetch better answers from adults.”

“What? These are children?”

“I thought you knew.”

As Gladius and I conversed, the young lizards flicked their tongues and furtively checked their surroundings. I hadn’t realized how rude I’d been, for they didn’t understand Common. The glowing, vibrating sword frightened them.

I crouched to lower my height and spoke in their language. “Hey guys, can you take me to your parents? Where are your elders?”

The two scampered toward the logjam on a well-beaten trail. Their flight gave the impression they weren’t taking me to their parents but running to them, which worked for me.

I picked up my pace to keep up. My blade’s thin line of light trailed behind me. I never appreciated his intimidation factor. Having Gladius drawn might complicate diplomacy. I foresaw myself making many ingratiating gestures in the future.

As we ran, I utilized Gladdy’s knowledge base. “What is a water wall? Is that a lizardfolk thing?”

“I’m afraid there’s no particular mention of it in their lore. Perhaps it’s a children’s pidgin.”

“Pigeon?”

“No, a pidgin—an impromptu linguistic construction for someone with a limited vocabulary.”

“Never mind. I’ll ask the lizardfolk.”

After rounding a length of thick bushes, I understood what the children meant by the water wall. What appeared to be a logjam from the village stood a three-story dam spanning the channel. The dam turned what would have been a shallow runoff stream into a deep extension of the lake. Timber, wet clay, and branches packed its sides. Its breadth quadrupled its height. Lizardfolk packed clay and mud between the unhewed timber, which leaked across its breadth. Its haphazard shape looked unstable, yet the clay and mulch hadn’t washed away.

I looked around for the kids, but they already scampered down a path leading to the dam’s base. Full-grown lizardfolk pulled sleds of mud and carried logs of wood with much difficulty. Their levels ranged in the teens.

The large adult reptiles didn’t appear to be warlike. Thin limbs gave them an awkward, potbellied appearance. Instead of balancing on hind legs, they dragged heavy tails, their only muscular feature, and moved in ungainly, bent-over gaits. Long snouts and flicking forked tongues gave them a disposition more lizard than folk, but they seemed to be an agreeable species.

Beaker took off for a flyby over the dam, and I mentally warned him. “Be nice to the lizardfolk, buddy. They’re not snakes and won’t hurt you. They’re our friends.”

A wheezing voice from behind startled me as I watched my pet soar over the dam. “Who are you?”

A hunched lizardperson with skinny limbs and saggy skin dropped a large fish basket behind me. At level 21, his enormous size and posture projected no threat.

Pointing Gladius away from the old lizard, I bowed and replied in their tongue. “My name is Apache. I’m looking for the relic that’s been troubling you.”