They made much better time to the beach than they had to the mountain, their pace enlivened by haste and familiarity with the way. Jess cursed all landsmen as she half ran half slid down rocky escarpments and clambered through the thick lantana to reach the strand. Hope was quickly dashed as they arrived. The boat still swung from its bowline in the gentle surf, but of the crew there was no sign save for dropped weapons.

"Look," Galt called pointing the the strange mix of tracks which intermingled human footprints with oddly reptilian ones, separated by the unmistakable unbroken lines of dragging tails. 

"Yande's bleeding tits," Jess muttered, looking out to sea where the Weather Witch still hung at placid anchor. Had the crew aboard not seen what had happened to their comrades? Had they simply not the stomach to come to their aid? Jess had a bad feeling that Branch, that idiot quatermaster was responsible for that, Krycek would have intervened, but the old dwarf had been outvoted. For a moment she considered rowing out to the Witch, but it would be backbreaking and time consuming with just Galt and herself, the former of which, it could be depended on, couldn't hold a stroke to save both their lives.

"No shots were fired," Galt pointed out, "wed have heard, plus their would be musket wadding on the beach." Jess considered it, feeling a chill run up her spine. How in the name of all the gods had her whole crew been taken without firing a shot. Now that he mentioned it, there were no enemy dead at all? Even with cutlass and hand spike her crew should have accounted for at least a few of their attackers. Some kind of magic? The thought made her stomach tighten. If the landing party could be so overcome, then so could the rest of her crew, the only hope now was stealth and surprise.

"Come on," she instructed, leading the way up the beach in the direction of the tracks, moving back towards the ziggurat.