Page 21 of Feral Gods
The map reveals an extensive network indeed—passages radiating outward from the temple like the strands of a spider's web, connecting to larger caverns and eventually to the vast underground labyrinth that spans much of Causadurn Ridge. Some of the notations are in an ancient script I recognize from before our transformation, marking defensive positions and emergency caches.
"Many of these routes may have collapsed over the centuries," I note, tracing a talon along one particularly promising escape path. "We should verify their viability before relying on them."
"My thoughts exactly," Zephyr agrees. "I've been teaching Kaia to recognize the mapping symbols so she can assist in the exploration. Her size would be advantageous in navigating the narrower passages."
The suggestion of sending her into the tunnels alone, even for reconnaissance, ignites immediate opposition within me. "Too dangerous. The temple's lower levels have been abandoned for centuries. There's no telling what might have taken residence in the darkness."
"I'm not afraid of the dark," Kaia interjects, a hint of defiance in her tone. "And I'm smaller and quieter than any of you. It makes tactical sense."
"It makes tactical sense to keep our most vulnerable member protected," I counter, harsher than intended. "Not to send her undefended into unknown territory."
Her chin lifts slightly. "I survived six years in Lord Vathren's household and escaped through a blizzard that would have killed most humans. I'm not as fragile as you seem to think."
A tension-laden silence follows her declaration. I'm caught between admiration for her spirit and frustration at her willingness to risk herself. Before I can formulate a response that doesn't reveal too much of either emotion, a distant sound reaches my acute hearing—the soft scrape of stone against stone from the temple's western approach.
I straighten immediately, wings flaring in instinctive readiness. "Someone approaches. From the west."
Zephyr rises in one fluid motion, all scholarly contemplation replaced by the alertness of a warrior. "Thane would return from the east. Dark elves?"
"Single footsteps. Light. Trying to move silently." I focus on the faint sounds, filtering them through centuries of battlefield experience. "A scout, most likely. Alone."
"I'll check the western wards," Zephyr says, already moving toward the door. "If they've been breached?—"
"No." I cut him off with a raised hand. "Maintain position here with Kaia. I'll intercept the intruder before they reach the temple proper."
Kaia stands, concern evident in her expression. "Shouldn't you wait for Thane? If it's a trap?—"
"Thane follows his own path, as always." I move toward the exit, pausing only briefly to add: "Stay with Zephyr. Do not leave this chamber until I return."
I don't wait for her acknowledgment, striding purposefully through the temple corridors toward the western facade. The approaching footsteps grow more distinct to my enhancedhearing—careful, measured, professional. Not a common soldier, then. Someone trained in stealth operations. An elite scout, perhaps, or an assassin.
Either way, they will not reach Kaia.
I select a position among the tumbled ruins of what was once an outer courtyard, now half-buried in snow and overgrown with hardy mountain vegetation. The natural camouflage conceals my massive form as I settle into perfect stillness, a skill honed through centuries of combat even before my transformation into a creature of living stone.
Minutes pass in silent vigilance. Then, movement—a flash of dark against the pristine snow as a figure darts between cover points with practiced efficiency. A dark elf, clad in the distinctive armor of Liiandor's elite scouts, face obscured by a hood and mask that leaves only violet eyes visible.
The scout pauses at the edge of the courtyard, scanning the ruins with the cautious thoroughness of a predator entering unknown territory. I remain motionless, allowing him to advance further into my chosen killing ground. His confidence grows with each step, his guard lowering incrementally as he detects no immediate threat.
When he passes beneath my position, I strike.
I drop from above, wings snapping open at the last moment to control my descent. The scout's reflexes are impressive—he's already rolling away as my claws rake the space he occupied a heartbeat earlier. A dagger flashes in his hand, its blade gleaming with the telltale blue sheen of enchanted steel.
"Gargoyle," he hisses, the word part curse, part wonder. "The rumors are true."
I advance slowly, wings mantled to block his escape routes. "Your comrades failed to return with their report. Did you expect a different welcome?"
The scout shifts into a defensive stance, clearly trained for encounters with larger opponents. "I come alone. Under banner of parley."
A lie, almost certainly, but an intriguing one. I cock my head, studying him more carefully. "Parley requires good faith. Your king imprisoned us in stone for centuries. What faith should I place in his messenger?"
"Not the king's messenger," the scout replies, his violet eyes darting between my face and the claws flexing at my sides. "Lord Vathren's. He seeks information regarding his escaped property."
Rage floods my veins at the casual reference to Kaia as property. With speed that belies my size, I close the distance between us, seizing the scout by his throat and lifting him from the ground. The enchanted dagger clatters uselessly against my stone-like skin before falling to the snow.
"The human is not property," I growl, tightening my grip just enough to restrict breathing without crushing his windpipe. "She is under my protection. Remember that, if you live to report back to your master."
The scout claws ineffectually at my hand, his feet dangling above the ground. "The king... wants her," he gasps. "More than... the escaped slave. She heard... things."
