Page 17 of Feral Gods
"Strategic repositioning," he corrects with the faintest curl of his lip. "Gargoyles do not flee."
Of course not. His pride would never allow such an admission. I hide my smile as I turn to continue arranging my meager possessions.
"I should help Zephyr with the temple defenses," I say, feeling Ravik's intense gaze on my back. "He mentioned some mechanisms that require smaller hands than yours."
"Later," Ravik decides. "First, you will eat. You've used much energy today, and humans are fragile creatures."
The concern in his voice, however gruffly expressed, catches me off guard. "I'm not that fragile."
"Evidence suggests otherwise." He gestures toward the door. "Come. Thane returned with game from his hunt before he reported. It roasts in the main hall."
My stomach growls at the mention of food, reminding me that I haven't eaten since the small portion of preserved rations Zephyr provided this morning. I follow Ravik through the winding corridors of the temple, watching the play of muscles beneath his stone-like skin as he walks ahead of me. For a creature so massive and seemingly made of living rock, he moves with surprising grace, each step deliberate and silent.
The main hall has been transformed since I last saw it. The broken entrance has been sealed with massive stone slabs that pulse with faint blue light—neptherium wards, according to Zephyr's earlier explanation. The central hearth blazes with magical fire that requires no fuel, casting a warm glow throughout the cavernous space. Near the fire, a makeshift spit holds what appears to be a dae haunch, the rich aroma of roasting meat filling the air.
Zephyr kneels before an intricate diagram drawn on the floor in shimmering silver powder, his hands moving in complex patterns as he recites words in a language I don't recognize. Theair around him distorts slightly, like heat rising from sun-baked stone, as magic responds to his call.
"Don't interrupt him," Ravik warns quietly. "Breaking a warding ritual can have... unpleasant consequences."
I nod, keeping a respectful distance as Ravik carves thick slices of meat from the roast. He hands me a stone plate laden with more food than I would typically eat in two days as a slave.
"Eat," he commands. "All of it."
I settle on a smooth stone bench near the fire, balancing the heavy plate on my lap. The first bite of meat nearly brings tears to my eyes—rich, gamey, and perfectly cooked. After years of subsisting on kitchen scraps and stale bread, such abundance feels almost sinful.
As I eat, I observe the two gargoyles. Ravik paces the perimeter of the hall, occasionally pausing to press a clawed hand against the wall, sending pulses of amber energy into the stone that strengthen the structure. Zephyr continues his ritual, the silver diagram gradually expanding outward from his position in an intricate pattern of protective sigils.
Their complementary efforts highlight their differing natures Ravik's approach direct and physical, Zephyr's subtle and cerebral. Yet both work with singular purpose toward our defense. It's fascinating to watch beings of such power coordinating their abilities with the effortless communication of long-time comrades.
"The humans in Liiandor believe gargoyles are mindless beasts," I remark when Ravik passes near my position. "Just monsters from children's stories."
He pauses, regarding me with those burning eyes. "A convenient fiction perpetuated by those who betrayed us. Easier to justify our imprisonment if we are reduced to animals in the public consciousness."
"But you were heroes once," I say, recalling what Zephyr had told me. "Elite warriors who volunteered to be transformed to save your people."
A shadow crosses Ravik's face. "We were fools who trusted a king's promises. A mistake we will not repeat."
There's raw pain beneath his harsh words, centuries of betrayal compressed into that simple statement. I wonder what he was like before—as a dark elf commander, respected and powerful. How much of that original person remains beneath the fearsome gargoyle exterior?
Zephyr's ritual concludes with a final pulse of silver light that ripples outward through the stone floor, walls, and ceiling. He rises gracefully, looking tired but satisfied.
"The inner wards are complete," he announces, joining us by the fire. "Combined with the physical reinforcements, they should hold against conventional forces. Against purna magic..." He leaves the statement unfinished, his turquoise eyes troubled.
"Morwen is powerful," Ravik acknowledges. "But old. And her focus has always been on curse-craft and domination magic, not siege warfare."
"Unless she created new spells specifically to counter our defenses," Zephyr counters. "She had centuries to prepare, assuming she anticipated our eventual awakening."
"A cheerful thought," I murmur, earning a surprised glance from both gargoyles. "Sorry. Dark humor was a survival mechanism in Lord Vathren's household."
Zephyr's expression softens slightly. "An understandable adaptation. Humor often flourishes in environments of extreme stress."
Ravik merely grunts, turning his attention back to the sealed entrance. "The sun sets. Thane will depart soon for his raid on the dark elf position."
As if summoned by his words, Thane strides into the hall from one of the side corridors. He's replaced his blood-stained chest harness with fresh leather straps that cross his broad torso, supporting a pair of wicked-looking blades strapped to his back. His crimson eyes gleam with anticipation for the coming hunt.
"The eastern tunnel is clear," he reports. "I should reach their position an hour after full dark."
"Remember the objective," Ravik cautions. "Disrupt, delay, gather intelligence. Do not engage their full force."
