by Colin Taber
Anton gave a light chuckle. “At least you won’t get seasick.”
-
They moved on and into the first of the foothills, following old animal trails through the barren waste. Matraia still lagged, but did her best not to slow them down. Around them, while surrounded by rising hills covered in charred clay, stumps and blackened stones and gravel, they now had plenty of cover due to the increasing undulation of the landscape.
They weren’t far from Fletland, so rain often fell. When it did, they at first sought shelter, concerned that the overcast skies and dim light might entice gargoyles to chance the day, but after spending the better part of a morning in hiding with no sign of anything in the air, they decided to, with great care, recommence their journey.
The fallen rain quickly gathered in any dips and depressions before overflowing to drain through streams that grew in size. Some courses of turbulent water stood less than a pace across and barely ankle deep, others spread a dozen times wider, their surging depths hidden. Wherever the water moved, heavy with silt and ash, the grey and brown foam crested flow cut at the land, digging deeper.
The barren foothills lay as a place of gentle hills with valleys in between. At first glance, the terrain didn’t look to be too trying. Yet as the rain continued to fall, the streams and rivers grew in their anger only to make the land more treacherous. Sometimes this narrowed their options on which directions to take, but at the same time, such a landscape increased the number of places for them to hide despite the lack of tree cover, as all around them water dug channels through the dead soil, carving gorges and gullies.
As they drew nearer to the Varm Carga and the Pandike, refuge became a necessity.
During the day, as they trekked on, they kept clear of hilltops and tried to remain hidden in the rocky and ash filled vales. All the while they continued north but also watched for obvious trails that might lead to the ancient tunnels. At night they camped by eroded stream banks, using the overhangs and small gorges as places to sleep and watch from despite the growing wet, discomfort and mud. The closer they neared to the mountains, the more strictly they limited their movement to daylight.
On their first night in the foothills, the flap of large wings could be heard in the sky, as unseen creatures passed overhead. The first such overflight passed by, but worryingly the second seemed to circle and linger before finally moving on before day break.
On their second night in the foothills, one in which they knew they were only another day or so away from the mountains proper, they sat under an overhang of a gorge by the side of the outer bend of a small stream. The bend was tight, meaning the water only blocked them briefly on one side. Sef had approved of this location, as he’d been careful to select a camp that didn’t limit their movement any more than it had to, as those who might be hunting them, coming from the air, already had more choices than those locked to the ground.
They talked as they ate, now in a fresh set of clothes, their others washed by hand to try and remove the worst of their own scent. Matraia had raised the issue during the last of the afternoon’s trek: The gargoyles didn’t rely so much on sight, but more on their other senses, meaning at night the travellers would have to keep quiet and do what they could to reduce their very distinctive smell out in the middle of such a blasted wilderness.
Once they settled down, again tucked into the side of a gorge cut into the soil by a stream mostly quiet after a rainless day. Matraia took first watch. Before Sef and Anton turned in, she dressed them both with a dusting of ash and dirt, a covering to help mask their scent. Likewise, she then treated herself, especially her wings.
Sef watched her as she readied herself. All three of them were out of sight, sitting near each other, but with their backs leaning into spaces in the gorge wall. Matraia sat back, pulled a blanket around her and folded her wings in. They, the great feathered appendages, would help keep her warmer than the blanket, but if she was to keep her eyes trained on the sky and ears to the night, they couldn’t cover all of her. Finally, she sprinkled ash and dirt over herself and blanket. All the while, quiet as she was, she looked up and around the lip of the canyon, her eyes jerking from one place to the other, matching the movement of her head.
Sef grew anxious as she reacted to a disturbance he couldn’t hear or see. Finally, he whispered, “What is it?”
She started and turned to him, a movement that sent a trickle of dirt dropping off her blanket at her shoulder. “Nothing, I think.”
“What do you mean... you seem to have heard or seen something.”
“I haven’t seen anything yet, but I’ve heard the odd distant sound. They’re out there, patrolling, and sooner or later they’re again going to pass overhead. I just hope we’ve done enough to hide our scent.”
“Will we be alright? I can join the watch if necessary.”
“For now we’ll be alright. Get what sleep you can. I’ll wake you if I hear them getting close.”
Sef gave a nod, checked his sword lay close to hand where he’d left it unsheathed under a dusting of dirt to hide it, and then he tried to get some sleep. Rest didn’t come easy.
-
Sef woke abruptly when a finger pressed lightly over his lips.
“Shhh, they’re here.” It was Anton.
Sef could hear wings flapping, the leathered skin snapping, as muscles flexed to draw the great things down to catch the air before lifting them back to quickly repeat the motion. The crack of it, of gargoyle flight, sounded out again and again.
He counted the distinctive beat of wings five times before he was certain the sound was fading away, if ever so gradually. Around him the night was dark, with clouds stretched across the sky. In places the stars showed, but so far, for now, thankfully the moon was hidden – and it’s revealing light.
Anton spoke, but again in a whisper, “They passed over and circled twice, leaving Matraia and I frozen in place, worried any movement might give us away.”
“You should have woken me.”
“I wasn’t game to move.”
“And then they left?”
“Yes, and just as I came across to wake you, they returned. I stayed still for a moment, hoping you’d not rouse and give us away.”
“But they left?”
“Yes, after circling once again.”
The crack of wings sounded, now growing louder as they turned and began to near.
Sef hissed, “They’re coming!”
Anton nodded.
“How many are there?”
“More than two. I think three, but I can’t be sure.”
The light began to brighten around them, not by much, but enough to suggest that the moon, despite being hidden by the lip of the gorge, had found a gap in the clouds.
“Three.” Matraia whispered from behind Anton, “What are we going to do?”
Sef caught the glint of metal.
She looked tense, gripping knives in both hands that were bunched into fists.
“They have our scent?”
“I think so. They must have noticed some irregularity.”
Sef got up, dirt falling from his blanket. He reached down beside him and grabbed at his sword, lifting it free from the barren soil. He pushed past Anton and Matraia, surely making more noise than was wise.
The sound didn’t matter, right now time was of the essence. Their chance to avoid discovery had passed.
The gorge stood only four paces wide, yet all along it the water, creasing the walls, had cut rugged hiding places.
Behind where Anton had earlier been sleeping spread the deepest crevice. That went back into the soil a full pace and a half under an overhang of charred soil that held together as a crust.
Sef grabbed Matraia and moved her towards it, hissing, “Keep your knives at hand. I want you to get back in there as deep as you can. Mind your wings. Wait for them to land then make a noise or flutter your wings... do anything that will tell them you’re here. Do it before they have a chance to look ar
ound because Anton and I aren’t going to be as well hidden. Other than that, focus on keeping them in front of you. If you can distract them, we’ll take them from the rear.”
Her jaw set as she gave a quick nod and then she stepped back, folding her wings in behind her. Slowly she edged as far back as she could, all the while gripping her knives tight.
Sef had already turned from her to check over the eroded sides of the gorge. To Anton he whispered, “Follow, quickly.”
From the night, the rhythmic drum of wings grew louder.
Anton followed; this was the world of Sef, and he would be the one to call how they would defend and perhaps even attack.
Sef reached out for Anton and grabbed him, pulling him forward and steering him into a crease of the craggy gorge wall. It wasn’t a wide gap, instead deeper, with a bit of a burnt clay overhang. Anton got the idea, all but disappearing. Sef dropped his sword and grabbed at the mud by the edge of the stream. Quickly and without too much care, he smeared it over Anton’s side, using it to coat not just the man visually, but also to help mask his stink. “Keep your knife handy, but hidden and out of what light there is. When they land and go for Matraia, that’s when we need to get them, quietly and quickly. We need to use surprise, understand?”
Anton gave a nod.
Sef grabbed his sword and also reached across for one of their packs that lay hidden in a dip. He rummaged in and pulled an object out. It was a small round of cheese; a gift from the Debast. He put it down in the gravel about a pace out from Matraia’s hiding space. That left a pace of space before the stream, and just a step or two over it to Anton.
The flapping wings came louder, sounding in a set of three.
Sef hurried.
He skipped with his sword towards the beginning of the gorge, from where the water came running down a set of stepped falls. Just before he got to them and about six paces from the cheese, just upslope, he found a hole in the wall, dug by the stream when it had been full and raging. He lay his sword down and quickly covered it in dirt then he reached into the neighbouring stream, pulling out chilled mud, gravel and dirt and wiped it all over himself as he crouched down into the gap. Soon only his head and shoulder were visible in the night with any kind of clarity, but a half dozen handfuls of mud changed that to have him better blend into his surroundings. Lastly, he positioned himself so he had a hand on his hidden sword.
Now, if only their vision was as poor as word had it.
Sef tried to hold still and calm his breathing, but adrenalin was rising to surge through his veins. With every flap of wings he knew their fate drew closer.
He didn’t want a fight, yet there could be no escape. They needed to use surprise and be ruthless.
Sef knew Anton could be if such a thing was needed, but Matraia?
The wings were now over them, the sound suddenly clear with a full timbre as it came from directly above.
Sef, in silence, mouthed a prayer, “Juvela, today we risk all and we do it for you. Help us fulfil our hopes.”
The words just came to him, flowing through his mind like the babbling waters of the stream. With them came a sense of warmth that grew in his heart. He could feel power gather there. That same feeling, he guessed, was also growing in Anton. For both of them, their prayers were being answered.
This wouldn’t be easy, and there was a good chance one of them might be injured or even killed, but they might also make this work.
The flapping of wings got louder as the gargoyles descended, slowly circling before finally settling into the middle of the gorge by the stream. There were three of them, all spindly, and despite the confines of the space and their large wings, they seemed to manage the space and land side by side, one at time, without tripping on each other.
Sef couldn’t help but stare.
Here were the monsters of his childhood!
They stood tall, like Matraia or a Lae Velsanan, with thin legs, but barrel chests. They wore no clothes, but all three had bows slung over their shoulders, along with a strangely tied quiver, which looked to hold about a dozen arrows each.
As soon as they settled on the ground, they hunched over a little but spread their arms. After a quick glance about to check their surroundings, they homed in on the cheese. They uncovered it from where it was nestled in the dirt, and then one of them grabbed at it and lifted it up. They all took a turn studying it, leaning in for a stronger smell, but quickly they refocussed their attention on their surroundings.
Sef could smell the cheese from where he squatted. To put it out like that had been a good idea – the aroma of it was distinctive and strong enough to help confuse the smells of him and his companions – at least temporarily.
Yet, that was not the only pungent scent to fill the gorge; he could also smell a strange musk, an odor stale but also sulphurous.
The gargoyles stood in a triangle, but not oblivious to what surrounded them. Two of them were sniffing the air, having moved past the stench of the cheese. One began turning in Anton’s direction, the other to the series of overhangs that held their bags and blankets, where they’d been sleeping – and also the deeper crevice that housed Matraia.
Sef tensed, readying himself to pounce, tightening his fingers around his sword.
And then one of the gargoyles, gaining the attention of the other two, hissed. The creature flung its wings wide, stooped a little, and stepped forward towards the overhangs and Matraia. All of them focussed on her hiding spot, and one of them made a deep mumbling sound as it said something to the others.
They’d found her scent.
Sef knew it was now or never!
The gargoyles were only a few paces from the gorge wall. The one with a back to Anton stood within reach of the Outleaguer, another with a back to Sef, only three paces distant.
Sef offered another silent prayer to Juvela.
Please, watch over us!
But now was not a time for wishful thinking or placing hope in another; now was a time for self-belief and action.
His heart burned with gifted energy.
Sef launched himself from where he hid, springing for the closest gargoyle’s back in a shower of mud and dirt.
He was airborne and halfway to his target with his blade out swinging before the beasts even reacted.
But they moved quickly.
The one closest to undiscovered Matraia stepped back from Sef and turned to face him as it hunched down, getting ready to attack.
The beast near Anton stepped back towards the hidden Outleaguer just as the former inquisitor emerged from his hiding place, a knife thrust out in front. He led with the blade, following through with his body’s momentum.
By the time the pain of the blade entering its back between the ribs registered, it was too late. Anton had skewered the beast fatally. With a fading struggle, and amidst a gush of dark blood, the beast collapsed into the chilled stream waters.
At that same moment, Sef swung his sword around from the side as he flew towards the nearest gargoyle.
The creature was still reacting to the sound of his charge, but also distracted as its fellow to the side hissed and started, slumping dead into the stream.
That extra heartbeat was all the big Flet needed.
Sef’s blade struck home before his boots found the gravel, cutting into the gargoyle’s leathered side, parting the tough skin just below the ribs. The strength of the swing and weight of the blade carried it on, all but cutting the gargoyle down as it fell amidst a spray of blood and ropes of gut.
The momentum of Sef’s flying attack carried him into the body, but the beast could only scratch at him weakly as it fell away. After a moment, as Sef’s heart thumped in his chest and adrenalin surged through him, matched by the lingering glow of Juvela’s blessing, all that remained of his foe was a crumpled form sprawled along the gorge-side.
Sef pulled his bloody sword back, then lifted it and brought it down on the twitching creature’s neck.
Anton and Sef both turne
d to look at the remaining gargoyle.
The beast raised its wings, spreading them wide from where it squatted, ready to launch itself into the air.
Anton hissed, “Stop it, before it gets away!”
They both began to move forward, just as it flexed its wings and leapt, yet it cried out. The creature spun around, lashing out wildly behind it as it dropped to the ground.
Matraia stood there, her arms raised and her own lame wings spread. Her hands were spattered with blood, as was the front of her clothes, but her hands were empty.
Sef and Anton both looked again at the quivering beast in front of them as it trembled and wrapped its wings protectively around itself. The handles of two knives stuck out of its back, both just below the shoulders. After a low-pitched whine, one that quickly faded, the beast grew still.
Sef and Anton stepped back from the body, both of them looking to again check that the others were still and that the skies were clear.
Anton spoke coldly into the shocked silence, “Three of us and three gargoyle foes, them now dead. I can’t believe we did that. It all seemed so easy.”
Sef looked to Matraia. She was trembling with fright as her mind processed what she’d done. He went to her, putting a reassuring hand around each of her wrists in an effort to calm her. “Well done, that was a brave thing.”
She looked to him with wide eyes, and then to her bloody hands.
“Anton, help me get her to the stream.”
In a moment he was there. They led her to the water and coaxed her to squat down and wash away the gargoyle blood.
Anton caught Sef’s eye as he did and gestured to her shoulder. A gash was there, not so long, but deep.
In the gargoyle’s dying, as it had spun around and lashed out, the beast had found some kind of vengeance.
Blood ran from the wound, a steady trickle, but not a flood. They’d have to stitch it.
Anton asked, “Do you hurt, Matraia?”
She just stared at her bloody hands, oblivious, her lips trembling.
Sef spoke as they helped her. “We need to bury them, but must first set a watch.”