Not surprising. Her gargoyle beloved always seemed to have every contingency covered.
Lillian broke away from Gregory’s warmth.
“Come, we’re not far from the saw mill where the Wild Hunt gathers. We can rest there for a short time before we make a run for home.
Gregory agreed distractedly, his faraway look saying he was already thinking up further contingency plans.
Lillian’s right hand drifted to her belly for a moment before she dropped to all fours and broke into a trot, following Gregory into the forest.
There was one event, should it come to pass, which even Gregory might not know how to handle. She hoped she never had to find out.
Chapter Ten
Commander Gryton watched the unfolding spectacle with what might have been a spark of humour, had he possessed such a weakness. His lips compressing, he unfolded his arms and pushed off from the brick wall at his back. He’d watched the Avatars, both in fully gargoyle forms, lead the soldiers of the human army on a merry chase.
Clearly, the female half of the pair was not yet familiar with her gargoyle body. He was certain what he’d just witnessed was her first attempt at flight.
The Avatars were not what he was…expecting. He knew their reputations, the past feats which would give even the most powerful of beings pause. Yet, he saw little of the awe-inspiring personality apparent.
He’d known the Sorceress when she’d been a child. She’d been a sombre little thing. Obedient to her dryad mother and the Battle Goddess’s edicts. At the time, she’d been too young to be able to tap into her powers as the Mother’s Sorceress, and the Battle Goddess had falsely assumed the demon seed sufficient to keep her docile. The obedience proved an illusion. She’d only been bidding her time until her protector matured and rescued her.
Gryton had had reason to avoid the child Sorceress as much as possible. His continued survival hinged upon the Avatars’ ignorance. Yet, many times, he’d wondered almost hopefully if the female half would recognize him for what he was.
Of course, she never did.
What the Divine Ones deemed a violation of their rules was dealt with swiftly and with no compassion. Even their Avatars were not immune to their judgment. So it wasn’t a surprise the Avatars did not know him.
The Divine Ones had stripped that knowledge—a whole lifetime—from their Avatars.
Lillian and Gregory didn’t remember one moment of their last incarnation. Certainly not the one fatal moment of weakness which nearly cost them everything. A mistake which had changed the course of all three realms.
That was the start of Gryton’s own personal misery. He didn’t serve the Battle Goddess because he wanted to. He suffered her rule to survive. Only her power protected Gryton from her Twin.
Oh yes. Never could he forget, not for one moment, that Death had been ordered to destroy him. And Death never gave up the hunt.
So Gryton served the Battle Goddess—for now, and he would remain loyal until she got from the Avatars what she needed to bring about her own Twin’s downfall. Once Death was out of the way, she planned to challenge the Divine Ones with the help of an army of creatures possessing god-like powers bred from their Avatars.
It was an ambitious plan. One he personally thought had no hope of success. Surely the Avatars wouldn’t repeat the same mistake which had earned the Divine Ones’ infinite wrath a second time?
Yet, to judge by recent events transpiring in this realm, it seemed they would. How foolish the Avatars were made by their love for each other. Now there was an emotion he vowed never to feel—and be brought low by.
Fate was drawing him forward, and he would consent to be the instrument that helped the Avatars find their doom if it would insure his own survival.
First, he had a little clean-up to do.
Gryton walked through the middle of the human’s military camp, concealed by his magic. The last thing he needed was to be discovered by any of the Avatars’ allies that might be spying on the mortal’s camp.
In truth, he merely wanted to accomplish what he’d come to this realm to do in the first place, and then leave it behind. Regrettably, something here in the human’s encampment needed his attention first, a loose end in need of tidying.
Gryton made his way deeper into the camp as it buzzed with activity.
None saw him. His power was different than a gargoyle’s shadow magic, more mind than body. As he continued to direct the mortals’ attention away from him, he felt the slight drain on his magic reserves.
He strolled into their main building, past two guards and several devices. The devices noted his passage and set up a racket, beeping and wailing loud enough to be heard even in the Spirit Realm. Without a glance behind, he hastened his step. His instincts focused solely on the bit of blighted, rotting darkness which passed for a Riven’s soul.
Mindless slaughter was always an affront. If one was going to kill, there should be some purpose behind the effort.
He would do this Realm a single service.
Following the taint to its source, he found himself in an open area. Oval in shape, a clear barrier about twice his height encircled the entire area. Situated just outside that odd barrier, rows of seats marched up the sides of the building, halfway to its ceiling.
He didn’t know what the building had been before the human military had repurposed it—an amphitheatre perhaps? Not that it mattered.
Before him, in one of the clear square cages was what he’d come for. The last Riven still in existence.
He approached the three cages in the centre of the floor and bypassed the first two with their sleeping occupants.
The Riven hissed at Gryton. He ignored the act of bravo and came closer. When he was a body length away, panic set in and the beast launched itself at the back wall of its enclosure, clawing madly at the surface. The substance was too hard and thick, and the beast merely damaged itself in its escape attempt.
Gryton tapped a finger against the clear surface, the metal talons of his gantlets sounding loud in the silence. When that failed to penetrate the Riven’s panic maddened mind, he cleared his throat.
“Turn and face judgement, unfaithful one.”
The Riven froze but didn’t turn around.
Well, at least he had its attention. Gryton’s lips pulled back in a smile, though the beast couldn’t see the expression.
“Were it not for your kind’s interference, the Battle Goddess’s plans may well have borne fruit. But your greed—the attempt to sacrifice the female half of the Avatars for your own gain—led to her being placed in her accursed hamadryad to heal.”
The Riven hissed.
Gryton narrowed his eyes. He should just kill the creature now, but the days of torture he’d endured when the Battle Goddess first learned the Avatars had escaped her clutches required payment in kind.
He drew a knife from his belt and drove it into the surface with all his strength. The blade embedded itself in the clear substance hilt deep. Small cracks and fissures spread out from the center, enlarging as he fed the smallest trickle of his magic into it.
“So I devised a new way to enslave the Avatars. Before I finished, they came under attack again. This time, her parents came to her aid, and brought with them my collars and used them in an unforeseen way. All because of a threat created by the Rivens mindless greed.” Gryton raised his gloved hand and pressed it to the cage’s surface, feeding more power into the damaged area. “And so, for a second time, the actions of the Riven allowed the Avatars to triumph over their adversaries. At least this time, I may be able to salvage this somewhat. However, you, the last of your kind, will not be around to witness it.”
He slammed his hand into the glass-like cage and worked more of his magic into the strange substance. His power ate away at the hard, crystalline surface, and when the hole was large enough for him to step through, he did and grasped the Riven in tendrils of burning light.
Flames leaped up from the Riven’s body, quickly eating
inward. Within moments, the Riven was no more.
Gryton stepped from the cage and brushed ash and energy residue from his armour. The kill held no satisfaction, but at least those unnatural monsters the Battle Goddess had created were now gone from the universe.
Why she hadn’t exterminated them herself, he never knew. Likely because she couldn’t admit to having created such a mistake in the first place.
Pride. Something he endeavoured never to allow to take hold. Pride, too, was a weakness if it blinded a being so much they could no longer see the truth before their eyes.
Pride and arrogance and love. They were all mind corrupting weaknesses.
He walked past the other two cages with barely a glance. The deaths of a sidhe lord and a little sprite were normally of no importance. He slowed and glanced at them a second time. Still, he’d also seen too many plans disintegrate recently. Perhaps these two Fae might prove useful one day. With an offhanded wave of one hand, he sent his magic to mark the two Fae with his power. Both species were long-lived, intelligent, resourceful, and would make capable servants.
It only took a moment for his power to borrow deep and vanish from his sight. The spell would remain dormant until he called it forth. That done, Gryton started back the way he’d come only to halt again before a wide gate-like door. Sending out small scouting spells, he sighed at what he learned.
Beyond the gate, three lines of humans waited, their weapons ready and aimed at him. There was no shouted orders like they’d given the Avatars. He sidestep behind the solid support wall to one side of the gate as they loosed their weapons upon him. Loud riotous noise heralded a storm of tiny projectiles. They tore through the gate and impacted the wall he was sheltering behind.
It was doubtful if such tiny weapons could penetrate his magic warded armour. Yet, a cautious nature had always served him well.
The onslaught only lasted moments and then it was over. He doubted if they had exhausted their weapons, more likely they were waiting to outflank him. Fighting his way free would draw too much attention to himself. Especially, since he wanted to maintain a low profile until he had one of the Avatars in his possession.
There were too many humans to use his mind control on effectively, so he summoned a transportation spell—one he’d already prepared earlier and stored for later use. Now seemed a good time.
He heard the soft scuff of their boots as they prepared to flank him. When the first of their number surged forward into his line of sight, he initiated a secondary spell. His fiery magic raced forward in greeting. Their screams reached out to assault his ears just as he triggered the transportation spell. It grabbed on to his essence and then with a jarring sensation and a moment of vertigo, he was once again in the forest. The echoes of dying humans faded from his hearing. The small circle of river rocks he’d attached this end of the spell to smoked slightly as they gave off their excess heat.
He would plan better in the future. Something as inconsequential as a pack of humans should not have forced him into using one of his escape spells.
Chapter Eleven
Shadowlight ran over the ground; jumping, weaving and darting through the forest with all possible speed. He followed a shallow stream for another quarter hour until he came to two familiar trees fallen crosswise against each other. The way they’d landed had created a slightly sheltered area in the ‘vee’ where the two trunks overlapped.
He’d dragged over some vines from where they’d been growing along one trunk to create a ceiling of sorts. His little shelter blended into the surrounding forest well enough. It had the added benefit of being close to a water source. The small stream held a few fish within its depths.
Secretly, he was rather proud of the shelter he’d found.
He stalked up to the shelter, ears scanning for sounds of movement within. He ducked and squeezed under the vines. Inside semidarkness ruled, but his eyes adjusted quickly and he could make out the form of the human warrior. She laid curled on her side, knees drawn up to her chest.
He couldn’t see her face, but her sides still shifted slightly with each breath. Now that he was inside the shelter, he could hear the feeble beat of her heart. She had survived the night up until this point, but she was very weak. If he didn’t do something soon, he doubted she would live to see another day. A shiver shook her frame, but she didn’t wake.
Scouring his mother’s memories, he learned cold and shock could kill as easily as the wounds themselves. He also learned multiple blood exchanges might be required some hours apart. That seemed odd to his gargoyle instincts he’d inherited from his father. However, his mother was a healer, so she might know more even though she wasn’t a gargoyle.
And his mother’s memories told him more of his gargoyle blood would help the human. He sat on his haunches and studied the human a long moment and then, decision made, he used one fang to slash open the skin on his left forearm, following the pale scar from that earlier injury. The second time hurt just as much as the first.
He rolled the human on to her back, and then used one hand to pry open her jaws while he held his wounded wrist over her mouth. The human choked and sputtered weakly on his blood. He hastily shifted her onto her side until her airway was clear again.
Frowning, he debated his options and settled for just dripping his blood over her still healing wounds. At least it would help heal those. A quick inventory showed all but the greatest wounds, three on her torso and two on her lower extremities, had already healed.
He was just finishing up with the last wound when another shiver wracked the human’s frame. She twitched and mumbled something in her sleep.
While the muttering might mean she was regaining consciousness, the shivering couldn’t be good. If she grew more chilled, it might not matter how much blood he gave her. She would still die. He needed a fire. Yes, it might draw attention, but he didn’t have a choice.
*****
Anna awoke with a groan. Moving caused every muscle in her body to twinge with remembered pain. Not good, so not good. She must have been hurt. It wasn’t the first time, but whatever happened this time must have been bad enough to require morphine. Only morphine caused the weird ass kinds of dreams she’d been having.
“You’re strong for a little human soldier. I wasn’t sure if you would survive.”
Little human soldier?
“Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
One of her morphine inspired dream denizens sat across from her, feeding a stick into a small campfire. It was the gargoyle child, complete with wings, horns, and a tail. Yep. A tail. He was using the deadly looking tip of said tail to push a large flat stone closer to the fire pit. A camp kettle of some unknown design sat on top of the stone.
It looked old and rugged, but the etched design didn’t appear to be from any culture she’d seen.
“It belongs to my father,” the gargoyle said. “I borrowed it. I think you might have greater need of it. Most of your belongings were destroyed in the battle, or too contaminated to keep.”
The battle. Right. Nasty vampire-like monsters. Members of her unit dead. It hadn’t been a morphine inspire nightmare, not unless she was hallucinating still. She pushed back the panic and grief and focused on survival. She needed to keep her shit together for the next few hours and get back to base.
The gargoyle pulled a pack from a shadowy recess she hadn’t noticed and rummaged around until he pulled out a large item that was unmistakably a canteen.
Seeing it triggered a ravenous thirst. The gargoyle held it out to her. When she didn’t immediately take it, he gave it a little wiggle. The sound of sloshing water had her fingers tightening into a fist.
“You’ve lost a lot of blood. You need the water to help recover your strength.” He held it closer to her and gave it another shake.
Suspicion stayed her hand, but he was correct. If she was going to survive to report back, she needed the water. When he held it out a third time, she took it. The weight was nearly too m
uch for her trembling arms. Damn, she was weak as a kitten.
Her second attempt to lift the canteen met with success. Cold water bathed her mouth and lips, washing away the taste of old blood.
She took three more swallows and then forced the canteen away. Thirst demanded she drain the damn thing, but she didn’t, and carefully screwed the ornate cap back on.
With mild curiosity, her fingertips ran over it, feeling the jewels embedded on the sides.
On the scale of fucking weird shit she’d seen tonight—the gargoyle across from her was way higher on the list than a strange canteen.
She started to wipe her hand across her lips and stopped. Gore from the battle still coated her skin.
“It’s alright. My blood and magic neutralized any taint upon your skin or uniform. It’s just old, dried blood now, nothing more sinister.”
Right.
A shower was a luxury she wasn’t likely to see for a while, even if she managed to escape her new friend and report back to base. Hell, did she ever want to get back to base and report to her CO. Then this whole mess could be someone else’s problem.
“You’ve lost a lot of blood. What I gave you would have gone to healing the wounds and ridding you of Riven taint, as such it didn’t actually replace what you lost. Your own body will need to do that on its own.”
Her stomach tightened into knots. Just like that he blasted her naïve thought to bits. Right. She’d gone mad and drank his blood. That was some fucked up shit. This was never going to be someone else’s problem. She had gargoyle blood and god knows what else running through her veins, soaking into her cells.
She’d seen some bad spots before, but nothing in her military career had readied her for this circus freak show.
The gargoyle’s mobile ears drooped, plastering themselves against his mane, his expression one of hurt.
“I’m not a circus freak.” His tone said he didn’t know what that was exactly.
The Avatars Series: Books 1-3 Page 60