02 - Temple of the Serpent

by C. L. Werner - (ebook by Undead)

  Thanquol gnashed his teeth together. “Yes-yes,” he said. “Slave-meat wants to make whelps. I find-scent breeder-thing. Don’t worry-fear!” He gestured at the passageway again with his staff. “This way. Yes-yes.”

  Adalwolf was about to warn Thanquol about what would happen if he tried any tricks when the passage behind them was suddenly filled with hissing, charging lizardmen. Instinctively, the mercenary dropped his torch and drew one of the pistols. He’d reloaded the weapons, a tortuous process with one of his arms broken, but he’d done so for very different reasons. Now, before he could even think about it, he was sighting down the barrel and sending a bullet smashing into the foremost of the scaly blue mass of reptiles. He heard the sharp bark of a skink as one of the smaller lizardmen was thrown back by the impact of the bullet.

  Adalwolf started to draw the second pistol before he remembered that the lizardmen weren’t the only things he had to worry about. Even if he had drawn the weapon, he would not have had time to fire. Roaring like a blood-mad bull, Boneripper charged into the reptiles. The rat ogre’s huge claws ripped a gory swathe through the small skinks, tossing their mangled bodies before him like chaff before a sickle.

  The skinks retreated before Boneripper’s assault. For an instant Adalwolf thought the monster had routed them, but then he saw the real reason for their flight. The smaller lizardmen were clearing a path for two of their huge cousins. Boneripper growled a challenge to the two kroxigor and soon he was locked in mortal combat with the scaly brutes.

  Adalwolf watched the battle for only a few seconds before furry hands were turning him around. Grey Seer Thanquol pressed the fallen torch into his hand and gestured frantically at the corridor ahead.

  “Fast-quick! Run-flee!” Thanquol squeaked.

  Adalwolf squirmed free of the ratman’s filthy touch. He looked in shock at Thanquol. “You’re going to just leave him?” he asked, pointing back to where Boneripper struggled with the kroxigor.

  “Yes-yes!” Thanquol snapped. “Hurry-quick! Breeder-thing close-close!”

  Shaking his head in disbelief at the callousness of the grey seer, Adalwolf sprinted down the corridor at what he hoped was a fast enough pace to keep him ahead of the lizardmen once they got past Boneripper. He could hear Thanquol’s scurrying feet close behind him.

  He didn’t see the crafty gleam in the grey seer’s eyes, or the way he ground his fangs together as though imagining them locked about a certain slave-thing’s throat.

  The air was heavy with the hot, damp, rotten reek of the jungle as Hiltrude and Schachter were carried from the pyramid. Each of the humans was held by a hulking kroxigor, slung over the backs of the giant lizardmen like sacks of potatoes. The huge reptiles set them down roughly on a little flat ledge that circled the pyramid at its midsection. The captives blinked painfully at the blazing sun, blinding after the gloom of the tunnel-like halls within the temple.

  Their captors did not allow them time to recover their sight. Almost as soon as the kroxigor set them down, skinks were scrambling over them. The smaller lizardmen slashed their bindings with little obsidian knives while at the same time retying their arms behind their backs. As soon as they were tied, the skinks forced them to their feet, prodding and pushing them to the long flight of stone steps set into the face of the pyramid.

  Hiltrude stumbled as she tried to mount the stairway. The steps were shallow, the incline was nearly vertical and she couldn’t balance herself properly with her arms folded against the small of her back. She had taken only a few steps before she fell, smashing painfully against the jagged stairs. Her body began to slide down the stairs. She could see the cracked paving stones of the plaza far below and a thrill of horror swept through her. Frantically, she braced her legs to catch her weight and arrest her fall. It was only when she stopped sliding that the skinks moved in, pulling her back onto her feet and pushing her ahead of them.

  She could see the robed figure of Xiuhcoatl climbing the stairs, scrambling up them as effortlessly as a squirrel climbing a tree. Her blood turned cold when she saw the other skink priests waiting for him at the top of the pyramid. They were standing around the altar, the same altar they had seen the lizardmen making their gory sacrifices upon.

  Hiltrude screamed then. She twisted her body around, trying to throw herself from the side of the pyramid. Better to be smashed against the plaza below than be butchered on Xiuhcoatl’s altar. But this time the lizardmen were ready for her. Cold, scaly hands caught her before she could fall, pulling her back. Skinks surrounded her on every side, prodding and nudging her towards the waiting priests.

  “Don’t worry,” Schachter called to her from below. “The bastards can only kill us once.”

  As Hiltrude looked up and saw Xiuhcoatl gazing down at her, she wasn’t sure if the captain was right. It wasn’t anger she saw in the prophet’s eyes, it was more emotionless than that. But there was judgement there, stern and without pity. He knew they were the ones who had broken the magic that kept the underfolk from violating his temple. The Temple of Sotek had been profaned and they were responsible.

  She read that in Xiuhcoatl’s staring eyes, and more. To purify the temple would take much blood and much pain.

  Their blood.

  Their pain.

  The strange snake-glyph shattered beneath the blow of the weird golden club Adalwolf had taken from the corpse of one of the skinks. He could almost imagine little wisps of energy rising from the stone as it crumbled away. There was no mistaking, however, the eager glint that filled Thanquol’s beady eyes.

  “Quick-quick!” Thanquol urged him, pointing down the corridor where another of the serpent glyphs could be seen jutting from the wall. “Scaly-things close-close!”

  Adalwolf didn’t have to ask the ratman how he knew that. He could hear the skinks running up the hall behind them, their claws scratching against the stone floor. It could be only a matter of minutes before the reptiles caught them, and this time they didn’t have Boneripper to hold the monsters back.

  The mercenary ran past Thanquol, attacking the snake-stone with his club. The ophidian head cracked as he struck it. A second blow sent the glyphs crumbling to the floor. The hair on Adalwolf’s arms stood on end as he felt the power within the ward escaping into the darkness. Thanquol chittered excitedly, racing past the man and gesturing impatiently at still another of the snake-stones.

  Adalwolf glanced behind him. The lizardmen were much closer now. Perhaps the reptiles were using the stink of Thanquol’s fur to guide them through the dark. The idea caused a troubling thought to occur to him. How was it that Thanquol hadn’t smelled the lizardmen before? With his sharp nose he should have picked up their scent long before the skinks ambushed them? But why would Thanquol let them be ambushed? It had cost him his giant bodyguard to escape the attack.

  “Fast-hurry, quick-quick!” Thanquol squealed at him, hopping on one foot in his frantic eagerness.

  There was his answer, Adalwolf realised. The grey seer had allowed the lizardmen to find them and chase them so that he could force Adalwolf to hurry, to be driven like a hunted beast, to act without thinking about what he did.

  The mercenary smiled coldly at Thanquol, glaring at him as he slowly marched towards the ratman. “Just where is Hiltrude?”

  Thanquol lashed his tail, then lifted his head and made a great show of sniffing the air. “Breeder-thing near! Fast-quick!” He pointed a shaking claw at the snake-stone.

  “You’re lying,” Adalwolf told him. His fingers tightened about the grip of his club. He stared past Thanquol, noting the way the corridor seemed brighter ahead. Not the flicker of a torch, but something cleaner. Rage built up inside him as he realised he was looking at daylight.

  Thanquol saw his anger. The grey seer dropped into a crouch, dragging his sword from its sheath. “Fool-meat! Scaly-things catch-kill both of us!”

  “I don’t care about that,” Adalwolf snarled. “You tricked me! You let me have hope!” He took a step towards the ratman
, swinging the club before him.

  “Wait-listen! Breeder-thing near-close!” Thanquol insisted, parrying the sweep of Adalwolf’s club with his sword. Even with only one arm, the mercenary’s greater strength sent the grey seer reeling. Thanquol shrieked in abject terror as he stumbled close to the snake-stone.

  “It’s me or the magic fire, monster!” Adalwolf shouted. He swung the club at Thanquol’s head, the blow coming so close to striking home that it grated against one of his horns. “Either way will suit me fine.”

  “Listen-listen!” Thanquol pleaded, throwing himself low to avoid Adalwolf’s club. The grey seer scrambled across the floor like a giant rat, cringing against the wall. “I find-take breeder-thing! Smell-scent!” he whined, tapping his nose with the side of his sword.

  Adalwolf didn’t give any credit to the grey seer’s begging. The monster had tricked him once, he wasn’t going to let it happen again. He would not put it past Thanquol to simply be playing for time so that he could be captured by the lizardmen rather than killed by the enraged mercenary.

  The golden club came smashing down, denting itself on the hard floor as Thanquol dived away from the crushing blow. He made a desperate slash of his sword, but the strike missed Adalwolf’s leg by a good six inches. The mercenary spun on the cringing monster and brought the club swinging around in a savage arc that would spatter Thanquol’s brains on the wall.

  The grey seer threw himself flat, the club whistling over his head before smashing into the wall. Adalwolf felt the terrific impact throb through his bones, his hand going so numb that the club nearly fell from his fingers. His flesh crawled as he realised he’d not only missed his enemy but had left himself completely helpless.

  Thanquol didn’t spring at him with his rusty sword. Instead, the skaven leapt to his feet, chittering laughter rippling past his fangs. He turned tail and ran, not into the darkness where the sounds of the pursuing lizardmen were growing louder, but ahead, towards the daylight.

  Raw horror raced down Adalwolf’s spine when he understood the reason for Thanquol’s laughter. The last blow he had aimed at the grey seer had missed him, striking the wall instead. But not just any part of the wall. Unintentionally he had shattered the last of the snake-stones! Whether Thanquol had goaded him into accidentally breaking the ward or if it was just another example of the devil’s luck that seemed to surround the monster, Adalwolf did not know. All that he knew was his enemy was going to escape.

  Already resigned to a lonely death, the mercenary was determined to see Thanquol precede him on the long road to hell.

  Tossing aside the golden club in disgust, Adalwolf drew the duelling pistol from his belt and raced after the fleeing ratman. The greater speed of the skaven gave Adalwolf small hope of catching the monster, but he was determined to try. He called upon Myrmidia and Verena and all his gods and goddesses, begging them for this one small favour. Let him avenge himself on his enemy.

  Thanquol vanished through the stone archway that formed the entrance to the corridor. The daylight was almost blinding as Adalwolf hurried after him. Such was his disorientation and the urgency that sped his legs that he nearly pitched headfirst down the side of the pyramid when he left the tunnel. Only the merest chance allowed him to shift his weight back in time, to fall back against the wall of the pyramid instead of crashing down to the plaza far below.

  His vision was still mostly a stinging blur, all colours washed out into different vibrancies of white. Adalwolf cursed the biting light of the sun, cursed the valuable moments it gave Thanquol to escape him.

  In the midst of his cursing, a snarling figure pounced into the edge of his vision. Thanquol’s heavy staff cracked against his face, nearly breaking his jaw as it knocked him down. He screamed in pain as he fell, landing upon his broken arm. The pistol tumbled through his fingers, clattering along the narrow ledge.

  More from instinct than conscious thought, Adalwolf rolled his painwracked body as soon as he landed. Instantly he heard the edge of Thanquol’s sword scraping the stones he had been lying on. He kicked out with his boot towards the source of the sound and grinned savagely when he was rewarded by Thanquol’s pained squeak.

  “Dung-rutting slave-meat!” Thanquol snarled at him. “I’ll cut-gut your nethers and feed them to you!”

  Thanquol’s staff cracked against Adalwolf’s side, sending slivers of pure agony rushing through him as his broken bones scraped against each other. But the mercenary did not let the pain overcome him. He seized the head of Thanquol’s staff, using it as a lever against his enemy. However fast and sneaky the skaven was, Adalwolf was bigger and stronger. Before Thanquol was even aware of what was happening, Adalwolf swung the grey seer around, slamming him into the wall of the pyramid.

  The grey seer was more distinct now, no longer a blur of brightness in Adalwolf’s whitewashed eyes. He could see the grey fur standing up on the monster’s neck, the ugly fangs gleaming in his mouth. Thanquol’s claws tightened about his sword and he started to rush forwards to deliver a stabbing thrust to the man’s belly.

  Suddenly, Thanquol’s eyes became wide with terror, an ugly musky smell rising from his body. The sword clattered from his fingers, bouncing down the narrow stone steps set into the face of the pyramid. Quivering, the skaven gave a short sharp squeak of fear, then ripped his staff free from Adalwolf’s grasp. Frantically, Thanquol ran down the side of the pyramid, dropping to all fours as he raced for the ruins far below.

  Adalwolf turned his head, wondering if Thanquol had seen the lizardmen emerge from the corridor. Instead he found himself staring at the desolate city beyond the pyramid and the jungle that surrounded it. There were things in the jungle now, a great multitude of reptiles of all sizes and description. He saw lumbering armoured behemoths, howdahs lashed across their scaly backs as though they were Arabyan war elephants. He saw great carnivorous brutes like the one they had seen on the trail, only these were saddled after the fashion of Bretonnian destriers. He saw a horde of tall, powerful lizardmen, warrior reptiles that were neither the hulking kroxigor of the spawning pools or the wiry skinks of the temple. The soldier lizards formed ranks and columns, marching to the sound of strange pipes and ominous drums.

  There was an entire army mustering at the edge of the jungle, fanning out to form a ring around the ruined city. In the midst of the strange army, his eyes drawn to it like those of a fly to a spider, was a weird, bloated, toadlike creature hovering upon a great golden dais. Even Adalwolf could sense the power of the strange being. It was as though a piece of the sun had broken off and fallen into the jungle, such was its magnitude. The skink prophet that had so terrified Thanquol was nothing beside the aura of ancient might that emanated from the toad-creature. No wonder the ratman had turned tail and run!

  Thinking of Thanquol made Adalwolf glance back down the side of the pyramid. The fleeing skaven had covered almost half of the distance between himself and the plaza below. Adalwolf glanced about him for a loose brick, an old bone, anything he might hurl after Thanquol and perhaps make him fall. He smiled as something better rewarded his quick search. He had thought his pistol lost when Thanquol pounced on him, but the weapon had not rolled over the lip of the ledge.

  Grinning, Adalwolf stood and coldly aimed the pistol at Thanquol’s back.

  Before he could fire, a sharp scream rose from somewhere behind and above him. Adalwolf spun around, certain it was Hiltrude’s voice. He gazed up the face of the pyramid, staring at the flat summit where the altar stood. The skink priests were once more gathered there, the robes and feathers of Xiuhcoatl fluttering about him in the hot, damp wind. The skink prophet held a gleaming knife in his clawed hand as he leaned over the altar.

  Upon the altar, stretched and tied as the ratmen had been, shrieking in terror, was Hiltrude!

  Adalwolf gave no further thought to Thanquol. He sighted down the barrel of his pistol, aiming at the distant shape of Xiuhcoatl. There was little chance of the bullet striking the prophet at such a distance, but Adalwo
lf prayed that the noise of the discharge might frighten him off.

  Taking careful aim and praying once more to his gods, Adalwolf slowly pulled the trigger.

  Lord Tlaco watched the corrupted algorithm as it scurried down the face of the Temple of the Serpent. The slann shifted his attention away from the noxious disharmony and instead focused upon the low phase algorithm, the unknown quotient, standing upon the ledge above the fleeing xa’cota. He could see the warm-quick emotions as irrational sums warring for control of the unknown quotient’s mental processes. At the top of the temple, Lord Tlaco could see Xiuhcoatl, the skink’s presence as inscrutable as the other times the mage-priest had contemplated him.

  Through the confusion of irrationalities that filled the mind of the unknown quotient, Lord Tlaco could see patterns. One set of patterns would spell destruction for the xa’cota. Another set brought challenge to the Prophet of Sotek. Which pattern would the unknown quotient add into itself? Which algorithm would it seek to negate?

  The Old Ones had a purpose when they had added the low phase algorithms to the Great Math. It did not matter that none of the slann had ever truly decided upon the purpose of that addition, or even if the work the Old Ones had begun had been finished or left incomplete. Unlike the persistent fractals and the corrupted algorithms, the warm-quick had their place within the harmony. They had purpose.

  Lord Tlaco had invested much attention to bringing the unknown quotient here to serve such a purpose. Which would it choose? Xiuhcoatl or the xa’cota? Which would its irrational sums tell it was the answer to the equation?

  The slann’s eyes narrowed as he saw the unknown quotient’s thoughts become constant. It had made its choice. Lord Tlaco watched as the human pointed his weapon at Xiuhcoatl and fired.

  That is the answer to the problem, Lord Tlaco decided, shifting one of its flabby fingers, using it to manipulate the patterns of the Great Math.