The pyramid was at least ten stories tall. Its peak was a sharp point, sloping down to the next terrace, which stretched, then sloped down to the terrace below it. At its apex, an archway opened into the interior, and a long, wide stair was carved up the side of the structure to meet it. Strange, crude statues carved by the Draykin dotted each terrace, and were spaced through most of the plaza below.
Fengel eyed a few of these as they moved past. Larger and heavier than a man, they depicted humanoid figures, different from the Draykin. Their clothing and dress was certainly odd. But they almost appeared human, otherwise.
Their captors brought the pirates to the temple. Fengel watched as the Draykin hauled them up the stair, climbing up above the city to the entrance of the massive pyramid. Trepidation filled him, paired with the cold uncertainty about his crew, and what had happened with the Copper Queen. The Draykin had wanted them alive, and he was about to find out why.
The stair ended at a wide landing. Behind it the archway entrance to the temple yawned, a gaping mouth of stone. To either side stood a pair of metal braziers, burning brightly even at noonday.
A single Draykin stood in the middle of the landing. It was older, its scales dulled, its posture stooped. It wore a headdress of gold and precious gemstones that Fengel recognized from the statues below. The creature leaned on a staff of pale wood topped in wrought gold.
The Draykin procession came to a halt before the older figure. They knelt before it, lowering Fengel and his crew to the ground. It was obviously a chieftain or priest, a figure of importance. Fengel assumed the former.
The old creature hissed something and two of Fengel's bearers stood. They cut him free of his bonds and stood him up roughly. Fengel resisted the urge to curse; blood pumped painfully back into his numbed fingers. His bearers each reached out to grab him. Fengel shook their grip away violently. They jumped back, immediately wary and on edge, moments away from grappling him.
Fengel forced himself to calm. Never let them see you stumble. He glanced back at the procession. All eyes were on him, though most still knelt. He and his crew were easily outnumbered fifty to one at this point, and he had no clue where their weapons were.
Still.
His crew watched in concern, still tied like hogs bound for the spit. Fengel winked at Henry Smalls and then slowly, carefully, reach up to replace his monocle. Before the guards could grab him again he moved forward to the chieftain, slowly and without threat.
The Dawnhawk came into view just above the temple. Its shadow cast the landing into darkness. The assembled Draykin gasped and muttered to themselves, pointing up at the sky-vessel. Fengel didn't know who was on board or in control, but they couldn't have appeared at a better time. Perfect.
He raised his most imperious eyebrow at the Draykin chieftain. Up close, he was easily two feet taller than the thing. "What," he demanded, "is the meaning of this?"
Gasps echoed from the landing behind him, the indrawn breath of his crew, and the startled hissing of the lizard-men.
"Sir," stage-whispered Smalls. "What are you doing?"
"Mind your tongue, Henry Smalls," he replied without glancing back. Fengel glowered at the chieftain. "Now. I believe I asked you a question."
The old Draykin stared back at him, eyes wide in surprise. Perfect, thought Fengel. He had the old lizard on the defensive.
"Ra," it said. "Stalki-haio."
"I," said Fengel, "do not care."
It seemed Rastalak, friend or foe, was unique. The chieftain didn't speak civilized Perinese, and from what he'd heard while moving through the city, neither did any of the other Draykin. Still, some things were universal. The body language of the lizard-men was easy enough to read. Fengel bulled onward.
"We have been rather rudely assailed," he said, slashing at the air. "Then captured, and paraded through the streets of your stinking city like hogs meant for a feast-day! I demand you answer me. What is your purpose? How dare you treat a noble group of civilized adventurers so?" He gestured up at the Dawnhawk above them. "My ship floats above, ready to deliver retribution upon your primitive heads at any moment. Now, I demand you answer for these...these insults!"
Fengel had let himself grow more incensed. He put years of authority and every pound of overwrought pomposity he could into each word, until the guards were standing back, and the chieftain stared wide-eyed and uncertain.
He pushed the advantage. "How dare you," Fengel hissed.
Smartly, Fengel stepped forward, lashing out. The chieftain's headdress went flying through the air. It landed with a clang, then skidded off the side of the pyramid. All assembled listened to it clatter down the side of the building.