“Why does Cael hate you so much?” Rhianna asked.
“I denied him his birthright.”
“It wasn't your decision. Your father picked you to be king.”
“Perhaps he made a poor choice.” Artan was surprised by his own candor. He had only been able to express self-doubt to one other person in his life.
“You blame yourself for what happened,” Rhianna said.
“When I quelled Cael's uprising, I could have put an end to it all.”
A dawning realization played across Rhianna’s face as she finally understood the depth of Artan’s guilt. “You showed mercy.”
“Weakness.”
“He’s your brother. Most people would’ve done the same.”
Fury sparked into Artan’s voice. “I was not most people. I was the king of Kirkfall.”
Rhianna recoiled at the anger. Artan regretted his harsh tone – the gargoyle blood was indeed gaining a greater influence over his emotions – but there was no turning back now. “I refused to do what was needed and innocent people paid for my weakness.”
Artan was offering Rhianna a glimpse into his private little hell.
“How could you know what Cael would do?”
“How could I not? I knew him better than anyone. I hoped exile would change him. I was wrong. It merely made him more dangerous and twisted.”
“We all make mistakes. You’re only human.”
Artan’s voice grew dead and cold. “Not anymore.”
There was a somber finality to his words, and Rhianna grew silent. Artan appreciated her attempt to downplay his failure but refused to let himself off the hook. “My mistake cost the lives of hundreds of innocent souls. The lives of my wife and son.”
Artan's whole being imbued with a dark fire. “Cael will pay for what he did. I will make him pay.”
Rhianna believed him.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
IT TOOK MORE than a half-hour for the ferry to cross New York Harbor. When they reached the Staten Island port, they snagged a cab. They were now driving through an industrial section of the island. It was an endless stretch of warehouses that had been converted into lofts.
When Rhianna learned that Lord Irish lived in Staten Island, she was initially taken aback. It felt a bit off the beaten path to her, having visited the island only a few times over the years. She expected a more glamorous address, but Lord Irish appeared to be serious about securing his privacy.
The cabbie pulled up to a three-story red brick structure that vaguely recalled a fire station. She paid the driver and they faced the building Craig McConnor, aka Lord Irish, called home nowadays. Nothing about the structure hinted at the video game magic being created within its walls. To the outside world, it was just another building on a street filled with similar warehouses.
As they approached the structure, Rhianna recommended that Artan stay behind. His towering presence might freak out the game designer. Artan reluctantly obliged and fell back as Rhianna stepped up to the entrance and rang the doorbell.
A small monitor next to the door flickered to life. The digital avatar of the Lord Irish character filled the screen. The character popped up in the game’s fantasy world from time to time like a virtual Oz, offering tips and tricks. His electronically amplified voice emanated from a speaker.
“Identify yourself.”
Rhianna regarded the surveillance camera that hung above the steel entrance. “I'm Rhianna Sharpe. My father had dinner with you the other night...” She hesitated, knowing she needed to sweeten the deal if Lord Irish was to grant her access. She held up the Eye of Balor.
“He thought you might want another look at the Eye.” It had taken some convincing to let Artan entrust her with the gem but in the end, her logic had won out.
The screen went dark. Seconds ticked by and became minutes. Artan stood nearby and she could almost feel his growing impatience. If it had been up to the medieval king, he would have found a way to break down the doorway and seize the sword by force.
She glanced at him, indicating with her hands to be patient. Her self-control was rewarded a second later when she heard a bolt being unlatched and the steel door was pulled open. Craig McConnor poked his head through the door. He stole an eager glance at the gem before he flashed Rhianna a big smile.
“What a surprise. Benjamin never mentioned he had such a lovely daughter.”
Rhianna returned the smile. As the man further opened the door, Artan appeared behind her. Rhianna saw the game designer flinch and take a step back, but she grabbed his hand and flashed him a reassuring smile.
“He’s with me. This is...” She almost said Artan but decided against it. Instead, she said, “This is Arthur. He works for the security company we’re using to transport the blade to the museum.”
“According to your dad, a Brink’s truck was supposed to pick up the sword.”
Damn, she had forgotten about the truck. Thinking on her feet, she said, “We’ve parked a block away. We didn’t want to draw any attention to your home.”
Lord Irish digested her words for a moment before he responded. “That’s quite considerate of you.”
Great. He was buying the story.
He waved them in.
They followed him into his loft, the steel door clanging shut behind them. Rhianna took in her surroundings and had to suppress a whistle. For a second, it felt as though she was visiting the castle of a mad wizard. The loft made for an impressive living/work space that belied its rugged exterior. But what stood out were the exotic items that decorated this abode, a wild, varied collection of the historical, the obscure and the weird. Lord Irish’s fortune had allowed him to indulge his inner geek. Everywhere Rhianna looked there were items that belonged on a Disney ride or in a museum of science fiction and fantasy.
Lord Irish enthusiastically pointed out the various items as he led them to the living room area. They were amazed to see a Russian space suit, dinosaur fossils and an Egyptian sarcophagus. There was even a gargoyle statue, a pale imitation of the two creatures she had faced the other night.
Rhianna studied the statue and glanced at Artan, almost compelled to make a joke, but the man’s steely expression gave her pause. She wanted to say, “Hey, check it out, a relative of yours.” But she doubted the warrior would’ve been amused. He would answer in his clipped, sober voice, “How can you joke at a time like this?” And she would answer, “Let me see... My dad is not answering my calls. I'm standing next to an ancient Celtic king who turns into a gargoyle when the sun goes down. And I'm supposed to be sacrificed to a demon on Halloween. Maybe, just maybe, my sense of humor is what’s keeping me sane right now!”
Lord Irish managed to put an end to the erratic chatter of her thoughts. He had wrapped up the grand tour, offered them seats on his red leather couch, and was now grabbing them beer from his stainless steel refrigerator.
As Rhianna nursed her Stella, she noted that the living room area was as impressive as the rest of the loft. A beautiful skylight allowed sunlight to spill into the house. Everywhere she looked there was some cool piece of art or a stunning sculpture. Even the light fixtures were unique and expensive. The man must’ve hired one hell of an interior designer. Everything was cool, sleek and perfect. Suddenly her so-called “distressed” desk looked like the piece of curbside junk it was.
Her attention shifted from the decor to Artan. Once again, she could feel his eagerness, but rushing things and alienating McConnor wasn’t going to help their cause.
Rhianna turned toward Lord Irish and flashed the video game designer her most charming smile, while revealing as much cleavage as possible. Her full attention on Lord Irish, she said, “I don't think I left my room for two weeks when Elf War III came out.”
Lord Irish grinned, basking in the adulation and enjoying the view. A white terrier traipsed up to them, paws scurrying across the wood floor. She seemed happy until she picked up Artan’s scent. Her reaction was immediate and she led out a steady, rising g
rowl. Lord Irish secured the dog and tried to calm the canine down, without much success. “I’m sorry, she’s normally not like this. Cass loves people.”
What about gargoyles?
After some coaxing and dog biscuits, Cass calmed down enough for their conversation to resume. Lord Irish said, “I must say, I wish there were more female gamers as enchanting as yourself.”
“Thank you. What are you working on right now?”
Before Lord Irish could answer, Artan interjected, “The sword?”
Rhianna arched an eyebrow. Artan had said the words in English. He was a fast learner. Lord Irish’s response was to point at the second floor of his loft. “The blade's upstairs...”
Artan rose. His patience had run dry. As the Celtic warrior headed toward the steel staircase leading to the loft’s second floor, Lord Irish shot Rhianna a querying look. “Your friend isn’t a big believer in small talk.”
Tell me about it.
Rhianna flashed their host an apologetic smile and said, ”You get a few drinks in him, he becomes the life of the party.”
Lord Irish nodded but didn’t look convinced. He got up and indicated for Rhianna to follow him. She obliged.
“Let’s join your friend.”
***
Artan sprinted up the steel staircase and reached the loft’s second level a few moments later. The dwelling was impressive, but he had expected more from a man who used the title of Lord.
He took in his surroundings, admiring the collection of medieval weapons lining the walls. At the center of the collection, mounted on the far wall, was the Blade of Kings.
Artan advanced toward the rune sword. His hand closed around the smooth pommel just as Lord Irish and a slightly embarrassed Rhianna appeared behind him.
Lord Irish began, “The sword is close to eighteen-hundred years old... so please...” but Artan pulled down the blade and brought it up with lightning speed. “…don't touch it.” Artan expertly wielded the magical rune blade. Warrior and weapon reunited after being separated for an eternity. Steel whistled through the air. The weight of the weapon felt reassuring.
Lord Irish traded a nervous look with Rhianna. “Impressive. You seem quite skilled with the blade, my friend. But would you mind putting my invaluable artifact back in its rightful place...”
Artan ignored the man. Instead, he removed the Eye of Balor from his leather jacket. He placed it on a nearby table and raised the sword. Lord Irish’s bulging eyes looked ready to pop out of his head.
“Rhianna, what's going on here?”
“I’m sorry, Mr. McConnor.”
Rhianna's attention fixed on Artan. The ancient warrior stared down at the evil gem.
One stroke, and it could all end right now.
A glimpse at the skylight above gave him pause. He could make out the swaying trees, sun dappling green leaves. Beautiful. His shifted his attention toward Rhianna. A different kind of beauty. There was a moment between them. Another reminder of what Artan was about to sacrifice.
“You sure there is no other way?”
The question hung in the air. Artan wished for nothing more in the world than to be able to say there was. After fifteen centuries, he had been granted another chance to drink from the cup of life, to know what it meant to be flesh and blood, to be alive.
But he could not allow any weakness. The enemy was out there and had to be stopped. Personal needs could not factor in his decision process.
He must stay the course and complete his mission.
Rhianna's cell phone chirped. She shot a quick glance at the caller ID. It was a call from Beth Israel. Artan took note of her anxious expression. Despite the unfolding drama, deep concern for Dr. Sharpe got the best of her and she lifted the phone to her ear.
“Hello...”
Artan watched her for a long moment. Her face darkened, filling with mounting dread.
She killed her cell. Her voice quivered as she explained, “That was the hospital. My dad has disappeared...”
Artan considered this for a second. “Cael. If he has your father...”
Rhianna completed his sentence. “...He knows how to find the blade.”
Lord Irish’s confused gaze kept ticking back and forth between them, trying to make heads or tails of what they were talking about.
“Will someone tell me what the hell is going on here before I call the cops...”
Artan's withering glare seared into the game designer. Lord Irish paled.
“... or maybe we could just talk this over.”
Artan shifted his attention back to the Eye. He lowered his sword. “Fifteen centuries ago, I made a mistake. It will not err again.”
“What do you mean?”
“If I destroy the Eye now, it will not end. Two thousand years from now, someone may reunite the pieces and it will begin again.”
Understanding filled Rhianna's face. “You're going to kill him this time.”
Artan nodded with unrelenting determination. His mind was made up on the matter. As far as he could see, there was no other way. “It is what I should have done all those years ago. Once Cael is gone, I will point this blade at myself.”
The sobering words rocked Rhianna to the core. Artan continued. “It will be up to you, Rhianna, to shatter the Eye.”
Artan placed the Eye of Balor in Rhianna's hand. “The cycle must end now and for all time.”
***
Lord Irish's terrier trotted down to the loft's front lobby, where his food and water bowls sat. The area resembled a small greenhouse. The walls were lined with pots containing an assortment of exotic plants. It felt sleek and modern, yet warm and earthy. Some of the flowerpots hung upside down from the ceiling. Herbs such as parsley, mint and fennel dangled like miniature vines. Their pleasant aroma filled the air.
The dog leaned over his water bowl and lapped up a drink, little pink tongue flickering in and out between his teeth. Suddenly the canine froze, haunches alert, senses on fire, just as she had when he first picked up Artan’s scent. A low growl rose in its throat...
WHOOSH. A powerful gust of air caused the plants to shiver and ripple in midair before bursting from the planters like tentacles willed into unnatural life. The dog spun and tore down the hallway, but the plants shot after the terrified animal. Two vines wrapped around it and swooped it into the air. Cass let out a pitiful whimper that was strangled when the plant’s tendrils tightened around the hapless terrier, sprouting razor-sharp thorns.
The sound of crushing bones and a choked yelp was followed by silence. The animated plant tentacles loosened and released the dead animal. What was left of Cass thumped to the hardwood floor in a tangled mass of bloody fur.
The plants rippled down the hallway, navigating the corridor as if they were strings wielded by some invisible puppeteer, surging toward their next victim.
***
When the dog's yelps echoed through the loft, Lord Irish's face filled with concern. “Cass?”
Artan and Rhianna traded worried looks. Artan peered into the darkness beyond the doorway, then nodded at Rhianna and Lord Irish. “Stay back.”
“Will someone talk to me? What the hell's going on?”
Rhianna took a step back when she heard Cael's voice in her head.
Rhianna...
Rhianna whirled. Shock rippled across her face, her skin turning the color of chalk. Cael lurked in the middle of the room with her father slumped by his feet. A blade hovered near Dr. Sharpe’s throat. To her horror, Rhianna saw that her father’s ashen features were caked with blood. In all her life, she had never seen her father look so utterly defeated.
“You have something that I want. How about a trade? Your father's life in exchange for the Eye.”
Rhianna pivoted toward Artan and Lord Irish. They were both unaware of Cael's astral presence in the loft… another example of druid magic. Rhianna realized that this mental projection was meant only for her.
“I am waiting outside for you...”
; For a second Rhianna glanced at Artan and when her attention returned to her father, both he and the warrior-druid were gone as though they had never been there in the first place. Artan noticed her perturbed expression. “What is it?”
The former king of Kirkfall never got an answer as thorn-covered vines unfurled from the hallway. One viciously wrapped itself around Artan's legs, drawing blood, but he severed it with a flick of his sword. The animated plants ignored Rhianna, allowing her to pass by. They were solely interested in Artan.
Rhianna stared at the Eye in her outstretched hand. It had become a heavy burden. There was no choice. Her dad’s life was on the line.
There was one last moment of hesitation before she darted out of the bedroom. Artan remained oblivious to her departure, too busy hacking away at the attacking plants. Moving with lean, rippled power, he slashed away at the tentacle-vines. One ensnared Lord Irish's wrist. Artan came to his rescue, freeing the game designer with a rapid-fire diagonal cut.
The man stared up at Artan, awestruck. It was as if a hero from one of his fantasy games had taken leave of the digital battlefield and decided to visit the real world.
Artan whirled toward the hallway... but the attacks were dying down. Artan studied the severed vines.
“Why announce your presence unless...” The grim truth struck him like a thunderbolt. “… you needed to create a diversion.”
Artan searched the loft for Rhianna and found his worst fear confirmed.
She was gone, and with her, the Eye of Balor.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
THE CLOUDS HAD darkened and now scuttled over the midday sun. Even though it was only two o’clock, the light was imbued with an almost nocturnal quality. Rhianna emerged from the loft and stepped into a narrow alley that ran along the back of Lord Irish’s property. A fierce, unnatural wind had kicked up, its mournful moan promising darker things to come. Fear reached deep inside her and would not let go.
Gargoyle Knight: A Dark Urban Fantasy Page 13