Page 6 of Feral Gods
I lie on a stone slab that might once have been an altar, judging by the weathered carvings along its edges. A fire burns in a massive hearth nearby, casting dancing shadows across walls adorned with faded murals depicting the Thirteen. The chamber is vast, with a high ceiling lost to darkness above, supported by pillars carved to resemble twisted forms locked in eternal suffering.
But it's not the temple's ominous architecture that sends a chill down my spine despite the warmth. It's the three massive figures conversing in low, rumbling voices at the far end of the chamber.
Gargoyles. Not legends after all, but flesh and blood—or stone and magic.
The largest stands with his back to me, obsidian skin gleaming in the firelight, massive bat-like wings folded against his broad back. Ravik, he called himself. His voice had been like gravel grinding beneath a heavy wheel, deep and threatening.
Facing him are the other two—one with silver-gray skin and thoughtful turquoise eyes that had regarded me with scholarly interest, the other with midnight-black skin and crimson eyes that had glowed with undisguised hostility. Each stands at least seven feet tall, their bodies powerfully built and adorned with strange, glowing runes etched directly into their stone-like flesh.
I shift slightly, testing my returning strength, and wince as the stone beneath me scrapes against my back. The movement, small as it is, immediately draws the attention of all three gargoyles. Three pairs of inhuman eyes lock onto me with predatory focus.
"She's awake," announces the silver one, his voice surprisingly melodic despite its depth. "The color has returned to her skin."
Ravik turns fully toward me, and I struggle not to shrink back. In the better light, I can see him clearly now—towering and imposing with amber eyes that seem to burn from within, his face a harsh sculpture of angles and planes, crowned with spiraling horns, one of which bears a jagged crack near its tip. A battle wound, perhaps, from whatever ancient conflict led to their imprisonment.
"Can you stand?" he demands, the question sounding more like a command.
I push myself upright, determined not to show weakness despite the way the room spins around me. "Yes," I manage, though my voice emerges as little more than a whisper.
"Good." He strides toward me, each step resonating against the stone floor. "The dark elves have found the temple entrance. Six of them, with batlaz. Thane has dealt with two, but the others are more cautious now."
Fear constricts my throat. "They'll call for reinforcements."
"Indeed they will," says the silver gargoyle, approaching with more measured steps. "I am Zephyr. And while I would prefer to continue awakening the temple's defenses at a methodical pace, it seems we must accelerate our preparations."
The black gargoyle Thane, I presume—snorts derisively from where he stands by the chamber entrance. Fresh, dark stains mar his clawed hands, and I realize with a shock that it must be dark elf blood. "Let them come. I've been asleep too long. My body craves the exercise."
Ravik ignores him, his intense gaze never leaving my face. "You said your name is Kaia. Tell me, Kaia, how many will come for you? Is this a simple slave hunt, or something more?"
I force myself to meet his gaze, refusing to cower despite every instinct screaming at me to avert my eyes from this predator. "I belonged to Lord Vathren's household. I... I was personal servant to his daughter. They won't give up easily."
"Vathren," Zephyr repeats, his expression shifting subtly. "That name still exists? The houses have remained stable, then."
"You knew them?" I ask, momentarily forgetting my fear in surprise.
Thane laughs, the sound like stones grinding together. "Knew them? We served alongside them, fought their wars, protected their precious king. Before they betrayed us."
My confusion must show on my face, because Zephyr sighs, a remarkably human gesture from such an inhuman form.
"We were not always as you see us now," he explains, gesturing to his stone-like body. "Once, we were dark elves, like your pursuers. Elite warriors in the king's guard, transformed by purna magic during the Great War. When the war ended, our... differences made us inconvenient. Dangerous. The purna were commanded to bind us in eternal stone sleep. There are others as well, not only us. From what I gathered during my stone sleep, some purna have escaped the dark elves slavery and used their powers to fight them."
The revelation stuns me into silence. Not monsters after all, but victims of the same cruelty that has defined my own existence in Liiandor. The irony is not lost on me—I've fled one form of imprisonment only to encounter beings who understand captivity all too well.
A howl from outside interrupts my thoughts—the hunting cry of a batlaz that has caught a scent. My scent.
"They're coming," I whisper, instinctively drawing back against the altar.
Ravik's expression hardens. "Then we will give them a proper welcome." He turns to Zephyr. "Are the perimeter defenses active?"
"Partially," Zephyr replies. "The main ward-lines are functioning, but the neptherium nodes require more time to fully awaken. They've been dormant for centuries."
"Time we don't have," Ravik growls, then fixes his burning gaze on me once more. "Stay here. Do not leave this chamber."
Before I can respond, he strides toward the entrance, unfurling his massive wings as he moves. The sight is terrifying and magnificent—the wingspan must stretch fifteen feet from tip to tip, the membrane between the bony supports seeming to absorb the very light around it.
Thane follows, a savage grin splitting his face to reveal rows of razor-sharp teeth. "Finally, some proper entertainment."
Zephyr hesitates, glancing back at me. "The inner sanctum is warded. You should be safe here, but if we fall..." He doesn't finish the sentence, merely gestures toward a small doorway partially hidden behind the altar. "That passage leads deeper into the mountain. A last resort."
