"To attempt to cheat in commerce is a grave sin in this city. To inflict harm upon an honest trader, that is worse still."

Ronegin and Silver Elde stood in a building that resembled a vast, multilayered cathedral of stone, with sneering demon faces and tapestries of drakes, nomads, vast deserts and the sun and moon adorning the walls.

Boldly-painted pots and amphorae and grim-faced rat guards with mail, nasal helms and glaives stood in every corner, and incense burned from cages. The whole place was cool and dimly-lit but for golden shafts of sunlight and a grand array of lanterns surrounding the platform at the forefront of it all, facing the chained accused.

At the platform's top, a klegir, a small desert fox with big, batlike ears, sat ominously above them in a stone chair with a sun engraved above her head. She was wreathed in silks and plated in gold, silver, and precious gems, including a large gold nose-ring.

Silver Elde wished the situation in the sprawling market had not gotten so out of control, but she also couldn't blame her easily-provoked mink companion either.

The trader'd insulted their rubies and had insulted them, very much using all the Commonish he knew to paint a colorful picture of just what he thought of rubbish-peddling transients, until Ronegin had had enough and began answering with fists and fury, and finished his response by destroying the cart with the trader's head as a battering ram.

The slender silver ferret sighed, tugged at the cuffs and chains about her and her companion's wrists, and said "Look, princess, we really did think those red stones were rubies. Ye can't fault us fer that, we was cheated ourselves. An' as fer that tail-lickin' pawnbroker, Ron only roughed him up 'cuz he was insultin' us, draggin' our good names an' what not. We're brave adventurers, see, fellows o' fortune. We got rights to our pride an' dignity." She straightened up, lifted her snout a bit. "Ye can't fault us fer defendin' our honor, can ye, milady, in any civilized society? So why not we spit 'n' shake paws 'n' just forget th' 'ole bloomin' thing?"

The little vixen slowly blinked her blind, half-lidded eyes, as if bored as her chin rested upon her paw. She replied in richly-accented Commonish. "Well, as good a defense as that was, that is not how we do things here in Handizakilus, Jewel of the South and Bastion of Civilization. We have laws here, ancient traditions that have kept our city standing for millennia untold. You and yours have done harm to one of our citizens, stranger, and for that, you will pay the price. Zeshnabi."

The fox gestured with a ringed paw, and a tightly-muscled rat stepped forward, wearing an executioner's hood that left only his eyes and muzzle visible. He bore a large curved sword that rested against his shoulder.

"For your... what is your kind called, silent one?" the klegir asked suddenly.

The mink shifted uncomfortably. "Me? I'm a mink."

"Thank you." said the vixen. "For your mink friend, I could have Urga, our High Executioner, chop off the paw that struck the first blow. For you, ferret, I could have him hack off a finger on your left paw for each hundred silver you wanted for your... painted rocks. I believe you wanted three hundred, yes?"

Silver Elde gulped.

Ronegin looked even less enthused. The mink coughed. "Is... is there, hrm, an alternative?"

The klegir tipped her head curiously. "Well, the alternative is the both of you are tied to crosses overlooking the road into the city. And there you will remain, given insects and water, until Delo the Pawnbroker is fully healed. If he succumbs to his wounds, you will cease to be fed, and once you die, your corpses will remain crucified until you fall broken from your bonds. Then, you will join the bone garden."

"O-oh my... G.." Elde stuttered, eyes bugging as she attempted desperately to remember the condition of the pawnbroker and decide whether she really did need those three fingers. She was about to say she wanted the chopping when Ronegin decided for the both of them.

"Crucifixion." said the mink, no doubt thinking of his right paw. He looked to Elde, then back to the fox. "We'll take th' crucifixion."

"I- I mean, I- w-well-" The ferret sputtered helplessly. "I, er- I actually think-"

The desert fox stood, the sleeves of her purple robes sliding down as she held up her paws.

"By the will of I, Iune, and all the Serkanotaxos, it has been decided. Crucifixion!"

She clapped her paws once, the sound echoing throughout the keep's shadowy halls. She crooked her head in the direction of the guards. "Lizerun vrishnaluza. Gresinabi aziss!" she said, and guards seized the two martels, or mustelids, and dragged them back out into the sunlight.

~*~*~*~*~

Mink and ferret were hauled all the way down the main thoroughfare, avoiding saddlehogs, carts, screeching kits, citizens robed in a dusty rainbow of colors, and road-weary travelers from all the Continent.

Seeing the two hapless criminals, beasts spat and threw food and stones, busting Ronegin's brow and Elde's cheek. They grasped each other's paws, cursing their rotten luck and praying that rotten trader would know a miraculous cure.

They were brought to the Great Gates opened wide to the masses of the world, flanked by hulking, snarling manticore statues, the Gates they had not one day ago first passed with wide eyes as they took in the sights around them, and the pair were dragged back through them and out into the vast desert steppes beyond.

A host of desert shrews tied Ronegin and Silver Elde to crosses. Ronegin looked to Elde.

"Sorry, El."

"We'll- we'll survive this, Ron." The ferret sniffled. "We've fought worse. Love ye, Ron. Oh, cora cailie!"

They suddenly had the sense of being made airborne, as the crosses were hauled upright, facing west. The sun blazed in their eyes and their bodies slipped, only for the ropes that bound them to bite into their wrists, middles and ankles as it caught them, and held them there, suspended for all the world to see.

Blood from her wounded cheek mixed with sweat as it dripped down Elde's fur. She struggled to breathe, struggled to see, struggled to feel anything but the terrible numbing pain from the bindings.

"Riath above..." the silver ferret whimpered. "Ohh, my Lord. Preserve us." They lay there awhile, held up like offerings to the carrion, who had begun to circle curiously above them.

If they craned their necks, they could see the caravans and people coming in and out of Handizakilus, kicking up dust and shaking their staffs and their heads at the sorry spectacle before them.

At dusk, as the sun began to sink into the sky in a burst of dark purple, brilliant yellow and deep crimson, Elde began to feel very much like Father Sun slowly dying in the west as she hung there draped on limbs she could no longer feel.

A long stick wrapped in spidersilk tapped her muzzle, interrupting her gloomy thoughts. Little yellow mealworms wriggled there, and she made a face but ate them anyway, the silk sticking to her whiskers as she munched.

A stick wrapped in wetcloth came next, and Elde desperately sucked the damp from it, draining every last drop she could find. The stick's wielder said something in the Roddish tongue, chuckled as they got an answer from somebeast else. Then they were gone, and there was only the night sounds of the steppes now.

"Hells..." rasped Ronegin to her right. Elde craned to see the mink, but couldn't. "I think I'd've rather gotten slayed by th' serpent. Would've been a damn sight faster."

"Aye..." the ferret sighed, coughed. Her throat felt so dry. "Or kilt by those... outlaws out in th' Dwenfold."

"Or got by that... eagle owl." Ronegin coughed too, a sad, ugly noise.

They fell into silence. Elde had many thoughts, many feelings, and very much missed her homeland.

Sweet Rivelin, land of rivers and forest and warm, smoky taverns by the heath, where tying beasts to crosses was reserved for wartime and feeding travelers to serpents didn't happen at all.

No, if they were caught beating a trader in Rivelin it'd be a visit to a dungeon or some time spent standing up to their necks in a river, chained and washing their sins away in the cold current.

In short, miserable and sometimes fatal, but not anything like this. Sweet Fates, nothing like this.

~*~*~*~*~

"Izs! Vszetith?"

Elde came awake and her arms burned as she attempted to pry herself away, and she cried out in pain and alarm, forgetting momentarily where she was. It was dark outside, only the pale moon and some torches at the Gates to provide any sort of illumination.

Somebeast rapped at the foot of the cross.

"Evshen muwsar?"

"What- what-" She coughed wretchedly. "What do ye want? Who are ye?"

"Ahh, Common beast! Should have known. Still alive?"

"Got a few more days in me." Elde croaked. Her throat felt like a crypt. "What do ye want?"

"Looking for help." The cross creaked as the speaker leaned against it. "Need a job?"

"If ye free us 'n' 'ave water." the ferret rasped. "We'll do jest about anythin'. Ain't- ain't that right, Ron?"

The mink took a moment to reply, but managed to. "Aye... that's right."

"Grand." said another, deeper voice. "Brace."

There was a sound of sawing, and then suddenly the cross began groaning and fell backwards, and slammed into the ground in a cloud of dust, knocking the breath from the silver ferret's lungs and sending pain exploding in her skull and limbs.

"Aagh!" she cried, unable to bite it back. "Oh sweet Gates! Ooh-" A scaly hand clapped over her mouth, and a scar-faced green lizard leered rows of teeth down at her.

"Shhhut up." they hissed, and cut the ropes binding her wrists, her middle, and finally her ankles, before wrapping arms about her and yanking her up into a seated position against the fallen cross.

Behind them, there was another crash as the mink's cross fell in turn.

"Ow-ow-owww!" Elde whined, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Oh shitfire, I'm s-sorry, I.... it just... agh..."

"Silence." said the lizard, rubbing life slowly and painfully back into the ferret's limbs. "Silence. Accept your pain, warmblood. Bask in it. In time, return it. You'll live."

Once the two Martels could move again, they walked into the steppes leaning on their rescuers, the green lizard who had helped Elde and the salamander who'd given Ronegin aid.

Eventually, they came to a camp at the foot of a hill, where they sat and ate sandgrouse and guzzled water.

"Name is Notleharc." said the salamander as they sat about the dead firepit, which was now full of gnawed bones.

He was small and stout with black and yellow stripes and big, wet black eyes in a broad head. He wore a long black tunic and a thick, hooded brown cloak, and a curved dagger sat on his hip, hanging from a chain belt. The dagger's sheath was bone, and depicted a lizard on all fours crawling across the desert beneath a flaming sun.

Notleharc produced a clay jug and some small cups, and poured a white liquid into each. The salamander dispersed the cups, and then lifted his. "Owe us your lives, vejzith. Will have your names."

Ronegin and Silver Elde eyed each other, before the very weary she-ferret shrugged and said. "They call me Silver Elde, mates, on account o' me fur. I used t' say say 'twas on account I've a silver tongue, but given my luck convincin' lately I'm no longer sure that's true."

The big mink took another draught of water, and studied the two greenkin with the beady eyes that shimmered like little pools in his dark, scarred face. Water dripped from his toothy mouth and slid down his white-tufted chin. "I'm Ronegin." he said. "Ye mentioned a job, didn't ye? Th' reason ye cut us down. What do ye want?"

"My name is Pelakh." said the green lizard patiently. She was big and strong, with black eyes, a pointed green and white muzzle, and  scales a radiant green that glistened like armor in the moonlight. She wore a broad straw hat, a crimson tunic and a white sash that bore a long-handled ivory club and a dagger.

Pelakh gestured to Notleharc, who nodded to her. The black and yellow amphibian grew more and more animated the longer he spoke as he addressed the two strangers.

"Silver Elde, Ronegin. You join on a quest, one of great import for our lives and purses. We seek the Gilded Horn, and other treasures lying therein the treasure vaults of Handizakilus, wealth of worlds.

Together, will punish the Serkanotaxos, who spit on us and put you on crosses. Together, will be richer than Hector, richer than Irri Yegin. Together, will change our lives and our hatchlings' lives! Betray us, Xen, Shuulul and all the other Gods take you!"

He thrust his cup in the air. "Xuch! Drink!"

As one, the four outlaws gulped down the strong white liquor.

"Now!" said Notleharc, leaping to his feet and taking two daggers from a traveling pack, which he gave to the two martels. "You take these, and we draw ours, and clack! We hit together! And they will be yours, and our comrades you will be."

Ronegin unsheathed the blade and tested its edge. "Huh." the mink said, as a droplet of blood beaded easily from a touch to his forearm.

He looked the masterwork of the weapon over, admired its deadly point, its studded handle and its pommel, which was shaped to look like a half moon, the other half of Elde's pommel. "Pretty work."

"They're beautiful." said Elde. "We could definitely put pay to a few Serkanowotsits wid these."

The greenkin drew their daggers, and together the four clashed their blades in union over the firepit.

"Eheheh!" giggled Notleharc. "Jeczet! To triumph!"

~*~*~*~*~

They rested that night and the following day, the martels recovering whilst their new comrades hunted birds and insects and played a board game called Obur.

By dusk, the four departed and traveled west, where they came to a series of mound in the foothills, where small  obelisks and statues of spottedcattes, klegirs, rocs, firemants and desert drakes stood amongst them, half-submerged in the sand and shining strangely in the orange glow of the adventurers' torches.

While Notleharc provided light, Pelakh, Ronegin and Silver Elde dug and chipped away at one of the mounds with picks and shovels, flanked by two fearsome leering manticores standing with their forepaws gripping sundiscs.

After some hours work, in which the mink and ferret were left gasping for breath, their limbs burning in protest, a great oval door was revealed. It was in the shape of a manticore's snarling face, its eyes narrowed and jaws parted. Within its mouth sat an obsidian bowl.

A barely-legible script in the jagged, demanding letters of Handizakilus hung over the door, and Notleharc knelt and passed the torch over it.

"As expected." the salamander made a wet chuckling sound. "'Pass beyond, walkers who crawl, and be devoured.' Only the warmth of a furred one's blood may unlock the crypt of Akzand."

He turned his big, strange eyes to Ronegin. "Do not mind a little blood, hm? Cut yourself again and drip into its mouth four droplets, so that we may pass freely."

The mink stepped forward, and pressed the dagger blade gently to his middle finger. He let four droplets of blood splatter into the manticore's mouth.

The eyes of the manticore closed, unseen bolts drew back, and the door swung open to reveal a dark passage beyond that stank of death.

"Good work." said the green lizard Pelakh as she pushed past them, and her torch showed paintings on the walls of a great fleet of ships and many, many traveling beasts, all their flat miniature faces turned toward the tomb as they delved deeper in, carrying packs and baskets and kits.

Pelakh took their advice and followed, going down the winding passage with Notleharc not far behind her.

The two martels paused at the door and looked at each other.

"We could just leave now." said Elde. "Zabelspat Port ain't far."

"An' miss out on th' treasure?" Ronegin's eyes shined.

"Oh, Ron," The silver ferret giggled and pushed him. "Ye big lug, always after trouble. Alright, but at th' first sign o' snakes, curses or big orful bugs, we're off."

They stepped inside, leaving a half moon bound in starcloth and a vast, open sagebrush desert behind them.

The deeper the four of them went, the staler the air became. They tied cloth over their muzzles to combat the coughing.

The tunnel eventually opened up into a great, cold room, and the images on the walls became great desert in which mammals battled with lizards, serpents, fearsome hawks and hulking insects.

At the centermost wall, a detailed fresco of Handizakilus lay, rows of white and gold towers and houses with the Great Gates open wide, and above it, an Easterren warrior queen with a sundisc crown stood tall and beautiful, shining eyes, an underbelly yellow like sunlight wrapped in silks and mail, long limbs grasping a curved sword and a shining shield shaped like the manticore face adorning the door of her tomb.

Akzand, founder and first queen of Handizakilus, before councils ruled the city-state.

Beneath the fresco, a great shadowy stone coffin sat.

Pelakh lit some torches sitting on wall sconces, and the stuffy chamber lit up bright as sunfire, throwing flickering shadows across the gold-painted walls and gold-plated coffin.

The coffin was surrounded by amphorae depicting scenes from the myths of Hector the Hunter, and many baskets, some full of mummified eggs, meat and fruit, others pearls, silk and ancient coins. A green and black Obur game board not unlike the one played earlier by Pelakh and Notleharc also lay amongst the offerings, and Elde made to pick it up, until Pelakh seized her paw.

"No!" she hissed. "Do not touch the offerings."

The coffin was carved into the shape of the Easterren marten it held, her features cartoonish and strange, staring lifelessly as she gripped her scimitar and shield,  which were the old, well-preserved originals she held in life.

Notleharc approached the fresco of the miniature Handizakilus, where more script was found written beneath the Gates. "'Enter the Jewel of the South and be welcome.'" the salamander murmured.

"Th' Jewel of th' South." Silver Elde repeated, looking over the overflowing contents of the many baskets.

"There are many jewels here, though ye've forbade me touch 'em."

"There are curses in these tombs." said Pelakh. The green lizard looked over the gruesome battle scenes with displeasure. "Bad ones. Curses for looters."

"An' do treasure vaults not 'ave any?" Ronegin snorted.

"They do." said Pelakh seriously. "Same as these. Do not touch what must not be touched."

"Th' Jewel of th' South." Elde said again. The silver ferret looked thoughtful, until her eyes drifted to a particular smooth, bloodred stone sitting atop a basket of salt. She snapped her fingers. "Well, there we have it. Red coral. That's s'posed t' represent south, ain't it?"

Notleharc joined her, looking down with narrowed eyes at the round bit of coral. "Hm. Suppose it is. The jewel of the south. Pick it up, press it between the Gates."

"Me?" Elde said. "Why do I have to? Didn't ye say 'twas cursed?"

"Salt protects. Do as I say."

"Or what?" The ferret touched the new dagger hanging from her belt. "Me 'n' Ron don't like bein' bossed, pal. Ye do it."

The salamander sighed and plucked up the coral. He strode up to the fresco, and pressed the red stone between the Great Gates of the city.

There was a click as the stone stuck into the wall, and another sound of bolts being drawn.

A rumbling sounded as a section of the eastmost wall slid down, revealing another passage.

"My, my." Silver Elde chuckled. The lean martel glanced to Ronegin, who looked equally pleased.

"Well, me new mates," she grinned. "lead th' way."

The green lizard shoved her bulk past her, growling as she did. "Tread cautiously."

~*~*~*~*~

The band entered the second tunnel, where painted ranks of balefully-watching  manticores, serpent-drakes, antyrants, firemants, and grim-faced little soldiers wound down the walls alongside them, the troops bearing bows, swords, and spears.

The adventurers walked and walked for hours down winding passageways, some damp and moldy and swarming with insects, others dry and dusty, all of them old, all of them rarely used. There were often multiple tunnels, and Notleharc made very careful choices.

Footprints on the floors, disturbed mud and dust, and graffiti scrawl suggested some use, and occasionally, light filtered through the ceiling or voices could be heard above.

At one point, the whole tunnel rumbled with footsteps, and Elde realized they were passing below the city streets, which were tirelessly busy even at night.

In time, the tunnel opened to a chamber with three doors, each depicting the head of a different beast- one, a roc, its beak open wide; the second, a serpent-drake with jaws agape: the third, the hideous head of an antyrant, a giant ant of the wilds, its mandibles spread and huge eyes staring.

"Well, here we are." said Notleharc quietly. "The Doors of Risk and Reward."

He took a small scroll from his pack and read it aloud. "So says the Abbe Thrathra- 'there exist three doors in the depths of the mortal mind. One to death, one to danger, one to divinity. It is difficult to determine one from the other on the path of life, but to choose well means just reward. An animal guards each door. Note well their symbols.

The antyrant guards death, for nobeast else is more laborious and impartial, or more familiar with what life leaves behind. The serpent guards danger, for nobeast else so well knows the taste of the brave, the innocent and the foolish, or dances so keenly with the skillful and fortunate. The roc guards divinity, that which we all long to access but that only those like the roc, the master of endings and beginnings, he who is born from the ashes of his own destruction, can ever hope to truly know. Mind your doors, and choose well, for there is only one portal that is a direct link to the true divinity of the soul.'"

Notleharc lowered the scroll, looked up at each of the fearsome-looking doors. "To choose poorly, death or danger. To choose right, the treasure vaults."

"Why not roc?" Pelakh swished her thick tail. "It is divinity, no?"

"Well I doubt 'tis that simple." said Silver Elde. "But if ye wish t' use it, be my guest. It specificies destruction bein' a requirement, which can't be all that pleasant."

She touched the carved head of the serpent, ran a paw down its fangs. "'Tis called th' Doors o' Risk an' Reward, aye? By that name, takin' a risk seems t' be how ye earn reward. That passage ye read mentionin' danger seems most attractive too. Not cold like th' antyrant or mad like th' roc, but..." the ferret chuckled. "Welcomin', even a wee bit flirty. An' who says divinity is even a good thing, eh? Risks are for the livin', 'tis what life's all about. Leave divinity t' gods an' madbeasts."

With confidence that surprised her and everybeast else, Elde pushed on the snake head. The head clicked, bolts were drawn, and the door opened.

"Heh." she said, lingering at the threshold. "Well... Riath protect me." The silver ferret entered, grasping the dagger at her belt.

Ronegin followed her without hesitation, and the two Martels stepped inside a place like none they'd ever seen or would ever see again, as torch sconces were lit and blankets of gold and silver shone, stretching on and on down the huge and ancient chamber, where murals of soldiers watched with judgement and drakes guarded their hoards, tongues lashing and narrow faces twisted with delight and greed.

Along the walls, masterfully-painted amphorae stood in ranks, and baskets were scattered about the coin-littered floor, overflowing with jewelry and precious gemstones, beautiful armor, soft silks and rich-smelling spices.

Propped along the walls were skeletons, too, picked clean of flesh and leering eerily at the intruders. Some sat, some stood, rods affixed to the floor keeping their heads and spines up, their weapons and shields ready. Some wore the nasal helms and mail of Handizakilus, and bore snarling manticores and hideous antyrants on their shields; some wore pointed metal hats and bronze helms with cheek guards, and on their breastplates and shields wore emblems of firemant beetles and that which meant Manticene, the roc rising from flame.

Some wore only red and orange robes, and clasped bone wands and wizened staffs in their paws.

Some were martels, many were rats. A few of the robed ones were mice or shrews. They all seemed to watch the looters with a certain malice held in their corpses, particularly in their sockets, which all contained golden eyes with painted pupils.

"Do not look them in the eyes, vejzith." murmured Pelakh. "Or take from their bodies."

The green lizard uttered a prayer, and then knelt to examine a basket of beads of emerald and coral at the foot of a Manticene warrior. She doffed her pack, and began shoving the beads into it.

"Cora cailie, Ron." Elde said, shaking her head at the vast hoard before them. Ronegin took one of the baskets of silks, and began piling gold coins into it.

"About time our luck turned." the mink said, pleased.

"Aye indeed." The ferret laughed giddily. She took a silk bag from atop a pile of shimmering opals and ivory shards, and took a pawful from the pile and shoved them in before ambling on to a rack of swords and axes, picking up a circlet covered in rubies and sapphires along the way.

Farther along down the chamber, Notleharc made a cry of delight and slid down a mountain of wealth, coins clattering to the stone floor as the salamander dropped to his feet and hefted a drinking horn of gilded ivory, carved with images of walruses and selks. "Eczessj! The Horn! The Horn!"

Behind Elde, Ronegin had stopped taking, instead only able to stare absently at the hideous and twisted mace he grasped, covered in teeth and skin and oozing with fresh, crimson blood that smeared all over his paws. The mink was shaking, saliva dripping down his chin.

Nearest to the open door, a terrible sound issued, a keening, rattling screech akin to a hunting owl or steam escaping a kettle, and a great terrible Something skittered from behind a pile of bones and bronze coins and leaped upon Pelakh, black wings fluttering. The green lizard screamed and thrashed, knocking a skeleton over as she fell against the wall. A jagged mandible pierced her green and white face, and blood sprayed across the grinning skull of a rat skeleton wearing an executioner's hood.

"Oh Hellfire!" Silver Elde cried, seizing a spear from the wall and throwing it at the huge insect. The spear bounced harmlessly against its carapace and knocked over an amphorae. Rubies spilled out across the ground.

"Pissin' polecattes!" The ferret hissed.

She drew a cutlass and went to Ronegin, who was still staring transfixed upon the mace. Elde seized it and tore it from his grasp. Something burst in her mind's eye, blood and gore and screams and the agonizing loneliness of a stoatess, and then the ferret threw the weapon back into the hoard and pulled the mink to his feet.

"Get up!" she snapped. "Get what ye can, draw a weapon, an' let's go!"

Notleharc scrambled to them, only to slip on the gold pieces underfoot and crash into one of the skeletons. The Gilded Horn slipped from the salamander's grasp, and Elde caught it.

Immediately, the skeleton horde came to life. Their gold eyes became flesh and blood, and they stood from the rods that held them for centuries and pounded their shields with their weapons, war cries in distant voices rattling from lungless chests and bursting from between their jaws. "RUCZTHUZITT! RAKTHURRRR! RUCZTHUZITT! RAKTHURRRR!"

Notleharc wailed and scurried for an ivory greatclub propped against a gold pile, and a Manticene warrior drove a spear through the amphibian's chest and out his back. The salamander flopped like a skewered fish, his mouth gaping in silent horror and his black eyes catching first sight of oblivion.

Ronegin and Silver Elde screamed until they were hoarse, their minds blank. They scrambled back, their footpaws slipping over coins and gemstones, and made their way back through the door.

They attempted madly to reseal the passage, paws slipping across the stone snake head as the shambling bone warriors slowly pursued them.

As the door finally began to close, Pelakh caught it between her broad green shoulders and crawled through.

She slammed the door shut, and fell against it, sliding wordlessly to the floor.

The three sat there awhile in the dim and silent chamber, breathing raggedly, stinking of fear and death.

The green lizard was smeared with blood. It caked her face and chest, her tunic reduced to rags about her torso.

In the light of the sole active torch sconce, it was obvious- she'd lost her left eye, and a chunk of her face. Bare gums leered from her ravaged cheek.

Her head remaining propped against the door, Pelakh took her pack from her shoulder and dropped it next to her. Loot shimmered from within it, and the lizard coughed and pushed it toward the two martels, who were shuddering and holding one another.

"Have... some." Pelakh rasped. "Before we part ways."

Slowly, Ronegin and Elde extracted themselves from each other and crawled forward. Elde flipped open the top, and they drew pawfuls of coinage and gemstones from the lizard's pack.

"Thankee." Elde murmured softly.

The green lizard blinked her one eye slowly in answer. "Guards will... be here soon, vejzith." she rumbled. "Go."

~*~*~*~*~

It was noontide by the time they exited Akzand's tomb. The sun shone high above them, and a wind blew gently across the desert, rustling the sagebrush. The free air of the open world had never tasted so delicious.

They walked for a while, exhausted and giddy to be alive, until they found a lone joshua tree with deep shade.

The pair slumped against the tree, breathing greedily with newly-heavy purses and a waterskin to share between them.

They had the Gilded Horn, too, its shapely carved ivory clasped in Silver Elde's paw.

Beside her, Ronegin lay wearily against the tree's rough bark, grasping her free paw in his big calloused one and muttering prayers of thanks to Riath for seeing them through.

"What a good day t' be alive." Elde decided, looking out across the huge open desert before them. They could go anywhere, free as the desert breeze. She squeezed the mink's paw.

"Aye." Ronegin heaved a sigh of agreement. "What a good day t' be alive."