On the edge of the Selecan Forest, in the rocky hills to the west of where the treeline ended, the great hollow of the lizard clan was carved into the earth. The cave mouth was immense, big enough to accommodate the trader's wagons that occasionally stopped there, and the stone around the entrance had been sculpted into an archway decorated with interlocking triangles. Lizards were expert stonesmiths, it had to be said, though not on the level of the duergar, who made stonecraft their signature art. Still, the lizardfolk of Angrael tended to prefer cool, dark caves, and the working of rocks and minerals was well known to them.
Two guards stopped Mag and Varak on their approach and demanded that they announce themselves. Both of the lizards had bright green skin, the slimmer one almost emerald and the bulkier one a more yellow-tinged shade. Their lighter colors marked them as young among the clan, and they gripped the hafts of their polearms with an almost forced rigidity, brandishing the weapons challengingly at the new arrivals. The guards knew Varak, of course, but it was tradition among the clans, so Mag and Varak formally declared their identities, first Varak in the lizard tongue, then Mag in common.
"Mag, a human traveler," he said. "I was here last night. Remember me? Varak agreed to guide me to Norn's cavern."
The guards looked at each other and hissed a few quick words, their eyes darting to Mag and Varak and back. Varak barked a few words back at them, and then gestured for Mag to open the sack he was carrying. He uncinched the cloth and pulled it down to reveal the beastly head of a Soulkin, with an ursine muzzle and brutal fangs curling from its mouth. Its mane was matted with blood from when Mag had sawed its head from its shoulders, and its eyes, still open, were glassy with death. The sight of the trophy got a hiss of surprise from the guards, and then they thumped their tails on the ground appreciatively. The slender, emerald-colored lizard said a few more words to Varak and then motioned for the two of them to follow him inside the hollow.
"What'd they say?" asked Mag as they passed the threshold.
"Varak must report to chief," said Varak, swishing his own tail idly as they walked. He pointed a claw at their guide, who hurried down the tunnel ahead of them, leaning into his run the way lizards did when they moved quickly. "Telak very impressed by head of Norn. Goes to tell chief Varak return."
Mag shrugged and finished retying the bag around the monster's head. "Bastard wasn't that tough, to be honest. He left himself, ah, dangerously exposed."
Varak blew a puff of air out of his nostrils. "What mean? Exposed?"
"Um," said Mag.
How to put this? That he had a great big hard-on when we fought and I damn near twisted it off?
He decided to be discrete. "All attack, no defend," he said eventually.
"Ah," said Varak. "Understand. Must defend. Young lizards, like Telak, also all attack. But older lizard, like Varak, know defend important also."
The clan hollow had a proper name in the lizard tongue, which Varak provided upon being asked, but it was such an extended combination of hissed and garbled syllables that Mag decided it wasn't worth trying to pronounce.
Their path, lit intermittently by sconces, debouched into a vast central chamber. In his head, Mag couldn't help comparing it to Norn's cavern. The witch's lair had been cozy and snug. The hall of the lizard clan was dizzyingly huge, like a stone cathedral. Half natural cave, half carved structure, it was the nexus of the lizardfolk's subterranean warren. A great plaza in the center was decorated with a tiled mosaic, where sheets of green and orange stone interlocked in complex geometric patterns. On one end a waterfall poured into the cavern from a source in the hills above, where it fed a wide, low pool. Stone stairs on two sides led to an upper mezzanine overlooking the tremendous space below. Myriad paths and tunnels branched off from the hall, leading to residences, storehouses, smithies, kitchens, and secret places known only to the clan.
Mag had been here once before, the night he'd met Varak, and now, as then, he was dazzled by the simplicity of lizard aesthetic married to the complexity of the architecture. It was a dim place, lit only by braziers and sconces, festooned by carpets and stone carvings done in earthy hues: forest green, fire orange, clay red, soil brown.
Activity buzzed in the hall, which served as meeting space and marketplace. Lizard clan thronged the space, hissing to one another, drawing water from the pool, trading goods, even wrestling, a favorite pastime as Mag had learned last time he was here. There were no humans save for himself. Mag knew human traders stopped at the hollow occasionally, but most men found the place unsettling. Not Mag, though. He found the blunt, taciturn reptiles refreshing, compared to humans, who seldom said what they really felt.
Lizards aren't always out to fuck you over like humans. Not the friendliest sort, of course, but who can blame them?
The lizards had lived here for centuries, but Seleca was barely fifty years old. From the lizard clan's perspective, this was their land, and the humans were guests.
Various reptiles hissed greetings to Varak, who saluted them in return. Mag waved or nodded to everyone they passed, even though most just gave him that inscrutable stare their clan was famous for.
Probably thought they'd never see me again, but here I am.
People tended to underestimate Mag, but he preferred it that way.
Easier to surprise people when they think you're a big, stupid oaf.
Which, he had to admit, wasn't an entirely unfair assessment.
"Clan chief might want to meet Mag man," said Varak, addressing Mag as they wound their way through the commons towards the stairs, following the path Telak led them along.
"No shit?" said Mag. He hadn't met the chief last time he was here, and Mag knew it was rare for a lizard elder to meet with humans.
"No shit," echoed Varak, and did that raspy thing which served as laughter for lizards. "Norn much feared by clan. Varak report, Mag man wait outside, maybe chief summon. Maybe not."
They climbed the gently curving stairs to the second level, where even more tunnels led deeper into the hollow. Varak led him to the biggest archway of all, where two honor guards stood before the entrance to the chief's room. Mag took them for older lizards, based on their ruddy coloring and stocky frames. Each held a polished halberd and wore a dyed leather breastplate in addition to the typical lizard skirt. Varak and Telak conferred with them briefly, and then one wordlessly motioned for Varak to follow him inside.
"Mag man stay here," said Varak.
"You're the boss," answered Mag.
Telak returned to his duties, nodding curtly to Mag, which left him alone with the remaining sentinel. This lizard stood stone still, not even blinking, while he waited for his fellow to return. He was bigger than Varak, with mottled orange coloring on his snout and throat, and Mag decided he must be an elder warrior of some kind to get a place of honor guarding the chief.
"You speak any common?" Mag asked.
But his companion might as well have been a statue. He seemed not even aware of Mag's existence.
But I expect he'll chop me in half quick enough if I tried to sneak past him. Best not fuck with this one.
Even standing still, Mag could tell the lizard was powerful.
Presently Varak returned. "Mag man come," he said. "Chief summon."
"Well, fuck me," said Mag. "Not every day I get to meet a clan chief."
"Not every day Mag man slay Soulkin," replied Varak, and Mag chuckled.
Not a bad sense of humor on this one.
The chamber beyond was dark and cool, with only a low light coming from a smoldering brazier in the center of the room. Some kind of incense was burning, giving off an earthy and slightly sweet aroma. Mag's eyes hadn't quite adjusted to the dimness, but he could pick out two dark shapes, one hunched near the coals, and the other standing some distance away. He blinked a few times, and gradually the shapes resolved themselves. They were lizards. One was the guard, who stood respectfully removed. The other was the clan chief, who shuffled forward into the soft light of the brazier.
"You are Mag," said the chief in a rough, raspy whisper. It wasn't a question, but a statement of fact. "I am Vusz, chief of this hollow."
Vusz was greatly stooped and leaned heavily on a silver and bronze polearm that served as both ceremonial token of office and walking cane. He wore a cotton robe dyed with orange and red interlocking triangles, and it dragged on the stone floor behind him. On his head he had a strange kind of hat, decorated with long, colorful feathers painted red at the tips. His snout was long and somewhat shriveled, and his once-tight skin hung in loose wrinkles. The fingers that grasped his weapon were thin and bony.
"Uh, hello, your... eminence," said Mag. He wasn't sure how to address a lizard chief. Mag never did well in these situations. He never had the knack for etiquette, and couldn't quite see the point of it.
Vusz turned his head and hissed a few lizard words at his guard and Varak. Varak started to say something in return, but then the old chieftan rapped his weapon on the ground with surprising force, silencing the younger lizard's words.
"Chief Vusz will meet with Mag man alone," said Varak. Then he and the guard inclined their heads and withdrew from the room, leaving Mag and Vusz by themselves.
An awkward few moments passed. Mag was surprised to be left alone with the chief. It showed an amazing amount of trust, for Mag was certain he could take the old reptile in a fight if it came to that. Either Vusz didn't believe him to be an assassin, or the chief was more spry than he appeared. In any case it was strange, and Mag shuffled his feet, unsure if he was to speak first or not.
Eventually Vusz shifted forward and sat on one of the stools before the brazier, sighing deeply as he settled into place. He indicated a stool opposite him with an outstretched claw, and Mag got the picture. He sat down and put his hands on his knees, staring across the wispy smoke rising from the coals at the ancient reptile across from him. He could see now how milky Vusz' eyes were, and how his lips sagged open a bit at one corner, revealing a few missing fangs.
He ain't well. Dying, maybe. Poor old bastard.
