Previously on Dark Ages:
"Please, your Highness," he said, "we've tried everything in our power to apprehend these bandits, but nothing has worked. Please, sir, you're our last hope against these ruffians." -A vassal of Prince Malcolm speaking to the Prince -
~ Prince of Thieves - Part 1 ~
The masked figure watched her for a few moments more before shaking his head. "No, not yet," he said to himself. And with that, he turned around and headed deeper into the forest.
~ Prince of Thieves - Part 1 ~
"No Human did this."
~ Prince of Thieves - Part 1 ~
*****
*****
Castle Wyvern
The Captain of the Guard was nervous as he walked down the hallway toward Prince Malcolm's room. His men were still cleaning up the mess in the treasury room, and he'd posted extra guards and sent out a search party just minutes before. But he still felt violated and embarrassed at anybody having penetrated the castle's defenses like that.
Soon the Captain arrived at his destination, the wooden door leading into Prince Malcolm's chamber. He hesitated for a moment, then knocked on the door firmly.
"Come in," he heard from the other side. Quickly, the Captain entered the room, shutting the door behind him. Inside, the Prince was giving orders to one of the other soldiers, who was nodding as the Captain entered, and then left a moment later.
The Prince paused for a moment before speaking. "Your report, Captain," Malcolm ordered.
"Your Highness," the Captain began, "the thieves seemed to have entered the castle by scaling one of the walls. They knocked out any guards they ran into, and were in the process of looting the treasury when one of the gargoyles locked them in. When she returned with help, however, the thieves had wrenched the door free and made their escape. Or so they say."
The Prince looked at the man strangely, but before he could say anything he was interrupted by a pounding the chamber door. After being bidden to enter, the castle's treasurer stepped through the door. He bowed, and said, "I have the report on our funds, my Prince."
"How much did those bandits take?" the Prince asked.
The treasurer examined a scrap of parchment in his hands. "Surprisingly little, your Highness," he reported, "considering the amount of time those ruffians were in the vault. I'm still checking, but I think they only made off with two dozen pennies or so." The Captain's face showed his relief, a look that was not lost on the Prince.
"Something troubling you?" he asked.
"Oh, nothing, your Highness," the Captain answered. "It's just that I'd hate to think that a bunch of unwashed highwaymen, led by one of those beasts of all things, could get into the castle that easily."
"'Those beasts', Captain," the Prince asked, arching his eyebrows. "Exactly what problem do you have with the gargoyles here, anyway?"
"I just don't like them, your Highness," the Captain said. "They're unnatural creatures."
"Well," the Prince said, a touch of irritation in his voice, "I owe two of those 'creatures' my life. I feel that that's proof positive that they can be trusted."
"But those two saved you against a band of brigands led by one of their own," the Captain pointed out. "And it was a gargoyle who 'managed' to lock the same bandits inside the vault earlier tonight. How do we know that this clan and their 'brother' out there aren't conspiring against us? They claim this land as their own, too, you know."
"They've been with us for too many years for that to happen," the Prince said firmly. "And we protect them during the day. They have to know they'd lose that if they ever got rid of us."
"For all I know," the Captain insisted, "they might have the bandits replace us or something. I'm not saying we do away with them, only that we need to watch them."
The Prince sighed. "We don't have time for this kind of argument," he interrupted. "Right now, what I suggest you do is adjust your plans in light of this rogue's unique abilities and his possible knowledge of the castle."
The Captain bowed. "I'll see to it personally your highness," he said.
"And talk to the gargoyle leader as soon as he awakens," the Prince continued. "See if he or any of his clan knows of anything that may be of use in catching this fiend."
The Captain hesitated for a moment, then nodded and bowed once more, though more stiffly this time. "As you wish your highness," he said, a trace of an edge in his voice. Then he turned and left, shutting the door behind him. He grumbled as he walked away, muttering about 'those blasted beast' and 'why do we need them anyway?', as he went to fulfill Prince Malcolm's orders.
*****
Roland's Camp
"How much time have we left?" asked one bandit, who was trying to keep his impatient mind occupied by whittling away at a stick.
"A few more hours at least," another bandit replied, before taking a gulp from a large jug of ale in his hand.
"I still can't believe how we could have fumbled up that job," a third, black eyed bandit moaned. "We hardly got anything from that raid!"
"What?" the second bandit quipped. "That black eye not good enough for ye?" The other bandits in the camp roared with laughter at the remark, while the black-eyed bandit merely mumbled angrily under his breath.
"It was dumb luck," he said.
"Aye," the second bandit agreed. "The captain wouldn't have never figured it out himself."
The first bandit stopped his whittling for a moment and laughed. "That be sure," he said. "It was one of those gargoyles that caught us! Looks like those monsters are of some use after all!"
The second in command, upon hearing that part of the conversation, immediately walked over to where the three men sat. Reaching over, he picked the impatient bandit up by the scruff of his collar and glared at him angrily. "I think it would be best, man," the Second said in a low voice, "if you would hold your loose tongue. Or must you be reminded of our leader? The one who's been keeping money in your pockets and food and ale in that forsaken belly of yours!"
The man looked as though he would offer resistance, but then yielded as he saw the look in the Second's eyes. The bandit wriggled free of the Second's grip and then scrambled behind some of his comrades. The Second continued to eye the man for a moment, then turned and walked off.
When the Second was out of earshot, the black-eyed bandit turned to his comrades. "Why does he fawn over that oversized decoration, anyway?" he grumbled. "It's not like we can't smash Roland here and now and be done with it."
"I know you have your doubts," the bandit with the ale jug said. "We all have. That leader of ours has been one furious fighter even as a mere boy. We all know of his temper quite well. But he's also good 'social graces'. I remember when the little squirt first found us..."
The bandits edged in closer the man remembered how Roland had come into their group.
*****
958 A.D
Clouds covered the sky, blocking the moon's light and making the night blacker than normal. The only light illuminating the blackness of the forest night was a small crackling campfire, forked flames reaching up into the starless sky. A ragged band of rough-looking men were huddled close, trying to warm themselves while they ate their supper.
"Bah!" a large, mountain of a man suddenly yelled disgustedly, and then threw his bowl of half-eaten porridge to the ground. He turned towards the man who'd been chosen to cook that night. "Ye have burnt this porridge for the last time!" the large man said. He pointed towards the bowl lying on the ground. "No beast in this wood would so much as take a whiff of that stuff, much less eat it!" Several others nodded and murmured in agreement.
The cook sneered back at the insult. "It's not my fault you blokes can't hunt if yer lives depended on it!" he said indignantly. "I myself would much prefer a fine wood cock in comparison to cooking this slop you lads call porridge!"
The large man shook his head. "The hunting's been poorer in these woods than usual and ye yourself know that," he said glumly. Then a smirk spread across his face. "Besides, if your wood cock is as good as yer porridge, I think I'd rather eat it raw!" Soft laughter spread among the group. All in all," the large man continued, "we aren't as bad off as that. We have food, fire, and company to fight with. That's enough for me right now." Several murmurs of assent came from the gathered group, and then they went back to eating.
Under the cover of the nearby trees, two softly glowing eyes watched over the bandits, hungrily eyeing the food they were eating. Their owner looked at them for a moment longer, then slowly made his way down from his roost in one of the trees.
As he slid down the trunk, he accidentally brushed a taloned foot against a branch, causing it to shake slightly. The form quickly stopped as he saw the sound grab the attention of one of the thugs. "Huh," he asked. "Did you lads here something?" His nervous eyes darted all around, straining to discover the cause of the disturbance.
"It's just the wind," one of the others said. "I think this porridge has made you lose yer sense, as well as yer stomach!" Another soft roar of laughter spread through the group, and they began to relax once more. The shadowy figure sighed and relaxed as well, before continuing on to the ground.
Behind the trunk of the old tree, the shadows stopped and then began to dance for a moment, before slowly taking on the form of a small gargoyle hatchling. As the firelight danced on his homely features, the gargoyle boy looked hungrily on at his target: the bowl of porridge the large man had thrown to the ground. He looked back at the humans, and saw that they were still busy complaining about their supper and talking about other things.
"Now's my chance," the boy softly murmured to himself, and he stealthily snuck towards the fire and group of drunken thugs. Ignoring the bandits' occasional outbursts of laughter, the gargoyle kept his eyes fixed upon their goal. He edged closer to the rock where the wooden bowl lay, gazing at the spilled contents as though it was ambrosia.
Carefully, he stretched out his hand, his small claws reached out struggling to reach the prize. But, right as his claws begin to close around the bowl, a large hairy hand appeared and grabbed him by his tiny wrist. He struggled to get free, but the hand's grip was too strong, and a moment later it was holding him high in the air. The hatchling admitted a high-pitched roar and waving his hands and toe talons in all directions in an attempt to look fierce, but he only succeeded in causing the bandits to laugh.
The gargoyle slashed at the large man, the one who held him, but though he left several scratches and bruises on the bandit, the human left a few marks of his own on the hatchling before finally getting a firm grip on his scrawny neck. While the boy struggled in vain, the large bandit brought him to the fire to get a closer look. The hatchling's hands clasped tightly onto the large, hairy hand of the human as it was raised high into the air and shown off like some prize catch to the other bandits in the camp.
"Look what we have here lads," the large man said smugly, showing off the little gargoyle boy. "A thieving little gargoyle, out to steal our dinner!" One of the men, a skinny, unshaven thief with one eye, stepped away from the others and went towards the large man. Edging close to the gargoyle, he looked at the boy and then held a dagger to his chest.
"How long have ye been watching us, boy?" he snarled at the gargoyle, showing his yellow teeth as he did so.
The gargoyle boy hesitated for a moment. The he swallowed his fear and snarled right back at the thief. "Long enough to know the cook shouldn't drink while he's making supper!" he said.
Roars of laughter spread throughout the band at the joke; the leader pushed the one-eyed thief aside so as to get closer to their visitor. The cook, however, clenched his teeth and stepped forward.
"Bah!" he said scornfully. "What does a gargoyle know about cooking anyway?!"
The leader looked at the hatchling for a moment, then faced the cook with a wide grin on his face. "A lot more than you that's for certain!" he said, causing the other men to start laughing again. For a moment, the cook looked ready to kill the gargoyle, but then he looked at the glare the leader gave him. He hesitated for a moment, then backed away in shame.
The large man turned his attention towards the young gargoyle, examining him for a moment. "Ye've got spunk, lad," he noted. His captive relaxed slightly, but still kept up his guard.
"I hate spunk," the large bandit continued, rubbing his chin with his free hand. "Still, with looks like yours, I guess you'd have to have developed yer social graces." He turned toward the rest of the assembled bandits. "Don't ya all think so, lads?"
He let loose of his grip on the homely gargoyle, who then proceeded to tumble to the ground. Yet another round of laughter went through the assembled thugs. The boy quickly scrambled to his feet, glancing over his shoulder in search of a likely escape route. Unfortunately, there were bandits on all sides of him now; he was trapped, and he started to tense, ready for a fight if it came to that.
But as the laughter among the bandits began to die down once more, the mountain man motioned to one of the them. "Give him a bowl!" he ordered, pointing at the gargoyle.
The hatchling's eyes grew wide as one of the thieves shoved a bowl of the burnt porridge into his claws. The large man grinned at young gargoyle as he patted the hatchling on his spiky shoulder.
"Anybody brave enough to steal from us is worthy company!" he announced, causing the boy to flash a grin back at the large bandit as he began to devour the bowl of porridge.
As the young gargoyle boy ate, one of the other bandits looked at him closely. "We need ta find a name for him," he said.
"What about, 'Hey, you!'," one of the others joked, causing a ripple of laughter in the camp.
But the large man shook his head. "No," he said. "He needs a real name." He thought for a moment, then said, "Hmmm... I think I'll call you 'Roland', after my brother. He was about as homely as you are, and he had the same 'wit'."
He turned towards the gargoyle boy. "So what say you?" he asked. "Do ye like the name?" The hatchling thought about it for a moment, then nodded his head before going back to eating.
"'Roland' it is, then!" the large man yelled, and soon the other chimed in their acceptance of the new member.
*****
Some months later...
The bandit gang had moved on, with new addition of the homely little gargoyle boy to their band of rogues. One night, as he was unloading the supply cart, Roland smiled as he scanned the camp. It wasn't much: some tents, a few carts, and a motley collection of odds and ends that they'd either scavenged or stolen. Certainly not anything as grand as the humans' castle.
And the people here were merely common bandits, rough in manner and dress. Not 'fine, upstanding citizens' like the humans at the castle, or vindictive gargoyles like his kin and the Elders. But they accepted him, regardless of his appearance or manner. They had taken him into their family.
'Family'; the word echoed through Roland's mind, mocking him with images of his old family. He saw his rookery brothers and sisters in his mind, his entire clan, and for an instant sorrow filled his heart. Then, the images turned into those of ridicule and teasing from his siblings, of never-ending scolding of remanding from the Elders. He growled softly and clenched his fists as the memories flooded into him mind.
"They don't care!" he said to himself. "They never did!"
"Who doesn't care lad?" he heard from behind, causing him to turn around. Roland saw the huge man who had first taken him into the bandit group placing his huge hand on the hatchling's shoulder. Just after his first encounter with the thieves, Roland had discovered that this man was the de facto leader of the group.
Roland looked up at his new leader, and grimaced. "My old family," he said sourly. The leader nodded his head in understanding and patted Roland lightly on the shoulder.
"Well donna mind them no more lad," the large man said. Come on, let's go see if the cook has actually prepared a decent meal for us tonight!" The pair laughed as they walked off and joined the other bandits by the campfire.
As they ate supper, Roland would occasionally look back at the bandit leader, a man who'd become something of a mentor to him. When he'd joined the bandits, Roland had been taken under the leader's 'wing', and thus was taught the ways of the highwayman. Roland learned all the tricks he could from every bandit in the band, and in exchange he showed them a few tricks of his own. The arrangement had worked out quite well, and by now, he was almost to the point of being 'just another one of the men' in their eyes. The feeling gave him great satisfaction.
After supper, Roland was told to go get more firewood from the forest; the bandits would be moving out of it soon, and their supply of wood for campfires was running low. Roland was eager to help, and quickly went to do his job, stopping along the way to get a few wild apples that had been 'acquired' by the bandits from a village they'd raided earlier that night.
A few hours later, Roland headed back to the camp, several pieces of wood under one arm. When he arrived, he set the wood down in one of the carts, and went off in search of the his mentor, hoping to learn a new trick of the trade the bandit leader had promised to show him. As Roland approached the leader's tent, his ears perked up at the sounds of two men arguing. Quietly, he snuck up to the tent door and peeked in. Inside, he saw the familiar faces of his mentor and the one eyed thief who'd talked to him roughly the first night he'd arrived in camp.
"I want my fair share!" the one-eyed bandit snarled angrily at the leader, throwing a small bag of coins to the ground. "I deserve more than this!"
"You've gotten more than your fair share already," the leader spoke in a calm but serious tone. "Take it, and be happy that you got anything at all."
"Either give me my due," the one-eyed bandit said menacingly, "or I'll give you yours!" And with that he took a knife from his belt.
The leader's eyes narrowed as he saw the blade. "Don't try to threaten me," he said calmly. "Now, take your share and be gone with ye, before I have ye thrown out!"
The one-eyed thief looked down on the ground, and then picked up a small pouch filled with coins that was laying there. He paused, then turned his back to the leader and started to walk away. For a moment, the leader watched him, then turned to go about his other business.
As he did so the one-eyed bandit stopped in his tracks. "I'll take my share all right..." he said, then quickly spun around and threw his knife at the leader. It whistled through the air towards the leader, but fortunately only grazed the large man's cheek. The leader turned and, seeing who his assailant was, leaped at the smaller man. The leader tackled the one-eyed bandit, sending both men tumbling outside, locked in a deadly embrace. The leader threw punches left and right, but the one eyed bandit was small and quick. Scrambling to his feet he ran to where his knife lay and retrieved it. As the leader charged towards him, he turned around and then plunged the blade deep into the leader's side. The large man clutched at his side in pain, and then took a few steps back before stumbling and falling onto the ground.
As Roland saw this, his eyes burned white-hot, and he was suddenly filled with a raging fury. "NO!!!!!!!" he roared, and then charged the one-eyed thief. The human bandit had only a split-second to see the approaching gargoyle before Roland smashed into him, and they both tumbled into a dense thicket nearby.
By this time, having heard the commotion, the other thieves had arrived at the scene. As they saw what was happening, a few rushed to their leader's aid, while others spread out, trying to find the combatants and try to figure out what occurred.
Suddenly, a slightly bruised and cut Roland emerged from one of the thickets. Breathing heavily, his eyes glowed brightly, and he stared angrily at those gathered. After a moment, he wiped the blood away from his lip and uttered, in low harsh growl, "Who's next?!"
A low groan from behind a group of fear filled bandits snapped Roland back to his senses. He quickly ran to his mentor's side, concern for his leader replacing his anger. As he did so, two other thieves, seeing their chance, hurried into the thicket to check on their fallen comrade.
Roland held his mentor's hand as he looked down on the wounded human. "You aren't gonna die are ye?" he asked, concern in his voice.
The giant man chuckled slightly at the remark, then winced in pain. "I'm okay lad," he said. "It takes more than some common penny-pincher to get the best of me." He gave Roland a weak smile.
Then Roland turned his attention towards the others who had gathered. Rising to his feet, Roland faced the entire camp, his narrowed eyes barely glowing.
"Any one that challenges the boss," he said menacingly, "will have to take it up with me first!" As Roland growled out his challenge the two thieves who had gone to look for their comrade reappeared, their faces deathly pale. Roland and the others turned their attention towards the two men.
"Donna you worry, lad," one of them said grimly. "We won't challenge ye."
Roland looked back at the others, and they mumbled assent. The gargoyle nodded, and then went back to looking over his mentor, while some of the other bandits went to help bandage him.
Over the next few weeks, Roland helped run the camp. He stood beside the leader, guarding him during the night, and helped in making sure that the leaders orders were carried out. Eventually, the bandit leader was once again back on his feet, and that night he gathered all the members of the band around the campfire. When everyone was present and accounted for, the leader motioned for Roland to step forward.
"Ye've done me a great service lad," he said. "One I won't be too soon in forgetting. So it is with pleasure that I assign you as my personal bodyguard and our second in command....in training of course." As the bandits laughed at the remark the bandit leader flashed a proud toothy grin at the suddenly wide-eyed Roland.
*****
971 A.D.
"I wonder if we shouldn't have smashed him back then when we had the chance," the black-eyed bandit thought out loud, rubbing his chin as he looked at the stone form of their leader. The older bandit started and then quickly walked up and stared the black-eyed bandit in the face.
"If we'd done that, our lives wouldn't have even been worth a copper penny!" he snarled, narrowing his eyes. For a moment, things were tense, until the Second separated the two of them.
"Enough of this fighting," he said, "all of ye!" He stared back and forth at the bandits. "Whatever viewpoint you may have we must all agree on this: that 'little squirt' has done us right over the years, and has rightfully earned his spot as our leader. If any of you have a problem with that, you're free to leave. Or you can challenge Roland when he's awake, if you like..." The Second turned towards the stone form of the bandits' leader. "Though not many have seen fit to try." The remaining bandits all nodded and murmured in agreement as they turned their gaze towards Roland as well.
The black-eyed bandit looked for a moment as if he were seriously thinking about it, then he relented. "You're right," he said. "For now..."
It was good enough for the Second, who let go of the man and turned to go do something more useful than break up fights among his men. Suddenly, the camp's attention was drawn towards the woods nearby. Two ragged men, scouts sent into the woods by the Second, came scurrying in from the woods, their faces showing expressions of fear and worry. Almost like a plague, fear swept through the camp, causing the bandits to start talking amongst themselves again.
"What's going on?" one man asked.
"Are the soldiers coming?" asked another, causing several other bandits to nod nervously.
The Second raised his hand for them to be silent and glared sternly at those who didn't heed him. Soon, the band had hushed itself, and waited anxiously as the scouts caught their breath and took in a few gulps of ale from a jug lying nearby.
Finally, the scouts managed to quench their thirsts and catch their breaths enough to speak. "The castle soldiers are searching throughout the woods," one of the scouts said, through deep, heavy breaths. "They're asking everyone they see about us, and their getting dangerously close. We nearly got caught by them ourselves!"
The second in command glanced over at other scout, who nodded in silent agreement. The Second quietly cursed, then turned towards the rest of the band. "Come along then!" he ordered. "Let's pack up and move out before those blokes now that we're here!"
The rest of the bandits quickly obeyed, and within an hour the band was traveling again, their possessions packed away and tied down in carts. Roland, bound in cloth and leather so as not to break during the trip, had himself been placed on a specially designed cart which two horses were now moving slowly. By the time they had traveled several miles, the sun slowly began to sink beneath the horizon.
As night's shadow fell upon the bandits, a shrill scream pierced through the air, and a muffled explosion could be heard within the cocooned form on Roland's cart. A moment later, the bandit leader ripped free of the protective bindings, struggling until he'd gotten the last of them off of his person. He took a moment to assess the situation, and then noted that they had changed position. He looked over the men, who had now stopped in order to see what their leader might want.
"Who ordered we move out?" he asked, his voice deadly calm as his eyes scanned the band.
The second in command and some of the other men stepped forward, causing Roland to shift his gaze onto them.
"I did, sir," the Second said.
Roland nodded, taking this into consideration. "Why, may I ask?"
"The scouts reported that there were soldiers from the castle searching the woods, sir," the Second. "I had thought it best that we get out of here before they found us."
Roland stood silent for several moments, thinking his Second's words over. "I appreciate your initiative, lad," he said, "but if you, or anyone else in this band ever do anything like this again, moving camp without my permission, he won't have enough windpipe left to issue a command. Is that understood?!"
The bandits quickly nodded in agreement.
"Good," Roland said nonchalantly as he jumped down from his cart. "Now turn us around, we're heading back." Several of the bandits' eyes widen slightly in shock as they heard his words, and then they started to whisper among themselves.
"What?!" one of the bandits quietly exclaimed.
"Is he mad?!" another one said to the bandit standing next to him.
Then the black-eyed bandit stepped forward, causing the Second to almost visibly groan. "What is there to possibly risk our necks to go back for?" the bandit said. "And why should we listen to that kind of a daft order anyway?"
Roland raised an eyeridge and was about to reply to the accusation when he could see several of the other bandits nodded in agreement to the man's opinion. He would have discounted them, but they were his older, more loyal followers. For a moment, he thought, thinking about what he was going to say and do.
Then he said calmly, "We go back anyway. It won't be for long, and I assure you that afterwards we will be leaving for safer territory." This seemed to satisfy the bandits, who quited down a bit. Then Roland headed off towards the horses, his Second quickly walking after him while the bandits made to turn around and head back towards the castle.
As they hurried towards the riding horses, the Second asked Roland, "Can I ask why you really want to go back to the castle, sir?"
Roland ignored the human for a moment as mounted a nearby horse. As he prepared to ride off, he turned towards the other bandits.
"I have unfinished business to attend to," he said in an icy tone. "And you and they," he motioned his claw towards the entire band, "are going to help me."
*****
Courtyard of Castle Wyvern
"Then what did you do, elder sister?" one of Asrial's audience asked eagerly. One of the hatchlings had asked her to tell them about 'all the fun' of the night before, and she had agreed to do so. The group around the shy female had grown quickly, and as she continued on with her story, Asrial had to admit to herself that she did enjoy the attention. It was so much better than the scorn she usually received from others.
"Well, go on!" one of the hatchlings said. "Yes, please, go on!", another asked, wanting her to continue the story.
"Well," Asrial bit at her lip for a moment, trying to find the right words. By now she'd gotten to the part where she'd seen the bandits in the vault. "Well," she continued, "then I...I...collected my courage and slammed the door shut right in their faces."
Several of the assembled crowd, smiled and one even laughed.
"They never had a chance," a small, red hatchling said. "Didja lock them in?"
Asrial nodded. "Yes, I did," she continued. "And then I ran to get the Leader and Brother Edmund...but," her voice sort of trailed off, and she got an embarrassed expression on her face.
"But what?!" one of the hatchlings pressed, edging closer. Asrial looked at the closing crowd and began to feel packed in.
Asrial paused a moment, then continued. "But...by the time we returned, the door had been ripped off its hinges and the bandits were gone." She hung her head slightly in shame.
Everyone fell silent for a moment, disappointment showing on their face, along with a few looks of pity.
"And that," Asrial heard Thersites say sourly behind her, "is that we have to continue on with these dreadful patrols!" Asrial quickly turned to see Thersites and several of her other rookery siblings approaching. "I mean, she just let them get away like that, and..." he began, but quieted down as he saw the stern glares his rookery siblings were giving him. "Well I...I mean...at least you tried, sister," he said quickly.
"It doesn't matter, anyway," Goliath said, coming up to the front of Asrial's siblings. " At the least, you managed to prevent them from getting away with much.
Diomedes nodded in agreement. "I've been talking with the Leader, too," he said, "and it seems as though our sister has also discovered our long-thought-dead brother." Several of the others became wide-eyed.
"You mean...the one who was always misbehaving," Desdemona asked, "the one who we thought to be eaten by wolves all those years ago?" Several of the assembled gargoyles looked expectantly at Asrial.
Asrial nodded, but frowned at the way her rookery sister had described their brother. "He wasn't always misbehaving," Asrial quietly tried to point out.
"As I recall sister," Demona said, "that brother of ours was in trouble more times than our brother over here has skipped training." She pointed towards Thersites as she spoke, causing everyone except Thersites himself to start laughing. The beaked gargoyle merely grumbled disgustedly.
"I remember how he used to constantly tell on me for skipping training," he said glumly.
Diomedes grinned. "Well then," he said, "maybe our sister here is right about our misfit brother not being all bad?" Thersites rolled his eyes at his rookery brother, as the group began laughing again.
As soon as everyone had calmed down, though, they began berating their brother again. "He would always pull my hair and call me names," Desdemona complained. "I don't think he had any friends."
"Well..." Asrial began again.
"'Well what', sister?" Goliath asked
"What about that human, Oliver?" she pointed out. "You know, the one who left those months ago with those visiting human nobles. I remember he and our brother were always close."
Diomedes nodded. "True," he agreed. "When our brother got himself into mischief, that human boy was not always far behind."
"But that's not what I..." Asrial started to say.
But Diomedes, not hearing her, continued growling slightly. "I, too, seem to remember our brother as always trying to start fights and pick on those weaker than himself, and for no good reason, either," he said sourly.
Asrial frowned at her brother's words. She tried to scan her memories for any positive notes on the long lost rookery brother.
"But he wasn't all bad," she tried yet again. "Remember that time when he helped keep that wild boar from killing me?" Sadly once again, her siblings found dark motives to what she tried to present as Roland's good side.
"And as I remember," Iago said, "he was the one who got it enraged in the first place."
"He really didn't mean it..." Asrial said softly, trying to fight back. "He said it was an accident that he got the boar mad like that..."
"How can you be so sure?" Thersites pressed.
Asrial opened her mouth, struggling to say something in Roland's defense. But she fell silent, her face filled with sorrow as she found nothing. She stood there for a moment, then turned around and started walking away towards the castle walls, her head bowed low and her pace quickening as she gained distance from them. Her rookery siblings looked at each other, then back at Asrial's retreating form, puzzled by her actions.
"What's wrong with her?" Othello asked.
"Was it something we said?" Thersites said.
"Yes, I think it was," Goliath answered quickly before going after Asrial, leaving a speechless Thersites behind.
Asrial kept walking, not really caring about where she was going. All she knew was that she wanted to get away from her callous brothers and sisters. She shook her head sadly; why couldn't they at least try to see some good in their lost rookery brother? Granted, he'd been insufferable at times, but she couldn't help feeling guilty about what had happened to him. It was incessant scorn like she'd just heard that had driven him to run away from his clan; and now he was running around with a band of lawless humans, most likely with no regard for the Gargoyle Way in his heart.
She shuddered inwardly; she received the same kind of scorn from her siblings as her brother had. Granted, it wasn't as strong, and she didn't take the jeers as personally, but they still stung. Was she going to run away one of these days, too? Asrial pictured herself stuck in some cave, away from friends and family, with only her inventions to keep her company, and felt cold...
Before she knew it, Asrial found herself standing on the battlements, the ocean spreading out before her. She smiled as she realized that she must have automatically headed towards a place where she could calm down: her cave. The one with the new inventions she was making. It had been the place where she'd first made her inventions, before she became confident enough to show her 'hobby' to the rest of the clan. Now the cave was a place she sometimes went to when she was creating something dangerous, or when she simply wanted to be alone from the others for the night.
She leapt onto the battlement, and was just about to glide off towards the cave when she felt a familiar reassuring claw on her shoulder.
"Is something wrong, rookery sister?" she heard a deep, male voice intone behind her, and Asrial turned around to see Goliath, his face filled with concern.
"I...I...just...have some projects that I have been meaning to work on," she said hesitantly. "I've been meaning to get this latest one done, but I haven't had the time." She bit her lip hoping that her response was enough to satisfy her brother.
Goliath was not convinced, however; he could see the look in her eyes, a look of...pain, he thought. "What's wrong?" he asked again. "You seemed...upset back there when we were discussing our brother."
"More like persecuting him," Asrial said under her breath.
Goliath raised a questioning eyebrow.
Asrial sighed as she realized what she'd let slip. Then she looked Goliath in the eye. "Why did you have nothing good to say about our brother?" she asked pointedly.
"There wasn't anything good to say, sister," he said, puzzled. "Why does that matter?"
For a moment, Asrial looked as though she were going to say something, then she shook her head and turned away from her rookery brother. "I'm sorry," she said. "I just...don't want to talk about it anymore." And with that, she leapt off the castle wall, spreading her wings as she fell.
"But-" Goliath said, but there was nothing he could do. He could only watch Asrial glide silently off towards her cave in the cliffs and worry about his rookery sister.
*****
The next night...
Asrial sighed as she glided back to the castle with her rookery siblings. Below, she could see the Prince's soldiers riding in through the front gate, weary after the night's fruitless search for the bandits. They were getting warmer on the bandits' trail, though; they'd managed to find the remains of a campsite the bandits had used the two days before, and as the gargoyle patrol landed everyone felt confident that they'd catch the bandits within the next few days.
After the patrol landed, the flight leader dismissed them, and Asrial and her rookery siblings dispersed. Most of them, tired and hungry after the night's futile search, headed for the kitchens for a quick meal. Her tall lavender brother smiled at her.
"Come, sister," he said, holding out his hand. "I smell fresh bread, hot out of the oven - your favorite. Leave your creations for a while and join me for a meal."
Asrial lowered her eyes and smiled shyly. "It's tempting, brother," she said courteously, "and I thank you for asking, but I left things half-done last night and you know how I am."
He laughed, a deep rumble in his chest. "Very well, sister," he said, "but do not be surprised if there is nothing but crumbs when you return!"
Looking back, Asrial could see her lavender sibling watching as she sailed away from the castle. His concern for her was touching, she admitted, and just a bit flattering to such a plain female as herself. She smiled as she glided down the cliff face to her special cave.
As she glided in for a landing, she caught scent of something that caused her nose to wrinkle. There was a strong odor of brimstone and she frowned, knowing full well that her small supply of sulfur had been securely put away. It had been quite some time since she'd done any alchemy experiments in any case, at least since the time she nearly blown herself up when those two strange human nobles had visited.
Asrial landed at the mouth of her cave, and took a few steps in when her mouth dropped open in shock. Her cave had been thoroughly ransacked: baskets and bins were upturned; tools were scattered across the floor. The sulfur she had earlier smelled was strewn across the floor, along with other alchemical materials, their bags torn to shreds.
Then she noticed a broken mechanical form in the back of the room. "Oh, no!" she cried, forgetting everything else as she rushed to her latest project. The wooden frame had been ripped apart and the leather was torn to pieces.
"It'll take me weeks to fix this!" Asrial exclaimed, as she examined what was left of the device.
"It'll take even longer than that, I can assure you," came a voice from behind her. Before Asrial could react to the unknown stranger behind her, a bag was thrown over her head and something heavy smacked her behind the ear. She sank to the floor, unconscious.
*****
The first thing to fill Asrial's nostrils as she regained consciousness was the dusty smell of old grain. The coarsely woven fabric of the bag over her head pressed painfully into her cheek. As her head slowly cleared, she became aware of tightened leather bonds on her hands, feet, even her taloned wingtips and tail. When she tested them, Asrial became aware that whoever had captured her knew of a gargoyle's great natural strength, and had taken account of that. As a result, her bonds were secure enough that she could barely move.
Taking a deep breath, Asrial concentrated on trying to free herself. The tight leather abraded her wrists as she struggled and the air inside the bag became warm and stale as her breathing came quicker with exertion. After a little while, she began to gasp from the stale air in the bag, and feeling light-headed she stopped. Asrial cried out in frustration, "Who did this to me?"
"Why... I did, sister dear," a smooth, masculine voice reverberated in chilling echoes in her ears. She could then hear the sound of rasping footsteps, talons against stone, come closer. "I've been watching you for quite some time, you know," the voice said calmly.
Asrial could feel the fear rising within her, but she quickly quelled it as best she could. The words of the leader's mate came back to her, a scrap of memory from her rookery's earliest training sessions: "If you don't have a weapon at hand, then use what you have -- fang and talon and wit." The first two, she couldn't do anything about, but Asrial told herself firmly that there was no situation she couldn't think herself out of.
She took a deep breath of the stale air in the bag, swallowed, and then calmly answered, "No, I'm sorry. I didn't know."
The light tapping sound combined with a barely audible swoosh became louder. Asrial's captor spoke again, as if he hadn't heard her. "I decided it was time for us to get re-acquainted, my dear, sweet, sister," he said. His words dripped with venom, even though his voice remained pleasant and conversational. "I find you of...considerable interest." Again, Asrial could hear the tapping against the stone floor, this time louder still.
"Brother?" Asrial asked, her heart pounding in her ears. "Are you the lost one? We thought you were dead." She tried to appeal to him. "We looked as hard as we could after you went missing, but we couldn't find you."
"'Couldn't,'" the voice inquired contemptuously, "Or wouldn't?"
"We tried," Asrial explained, "truly. I remember the search, even though I was very young. We searched all over the forest for you for days. But all we could find was a scrap of cloth from your loincloth. We thought you were..."
"Dead?" the voice asked. Asrial could hear him clearly; he was very close to her now. She could see the dim outline of a three-toed foot as it set down inches from her head, stirring up the dust and sending her into choked coughing. "Please," she managed to rasp out, "please, I can't breathe!"
Suddenly, a sharp pain burned across Asrial's cheek as the coarse grain sack was quickly torn from her head. She gasped sharply, from both the choking dust and then from horror, as she looked into the pale, cadaverous face of her lost rookery brother.
The years had not been kind to him, not that he'd ever been pleasant to look at, even as a hatchling. He was a sickly yellow color, the same as the flickering light of a single torch, and lean to the point of emaciation, the bony edges of his brow ridges, cheekbones and ribcage showing in gaunt prominence through his translucent skin. Dozens of short brittle spikes covered his skeletal head, one large spike curving up from his forehead like a horn. His wings were lined with spikes as well, and the tapping sound she had heard earlier had come from the mace-like knob on the end of his tail as it twitched back and forth irritably.
"Not quite so pretty any more, are you?" he asked mildly, licking a smear of blood from one of his talons.
Her blood, Asrial realized belatedly, as her initial shock gave way and she felt the warm trickle from a thin cut on her cheek. "B-but," she stuttered in protest, "I'm not pretty. I've never been pretty. I'm the odd female, the others tease me too." Unbidden, tears began to fill her eyes. "Why are you doing this? What did I ever do to you?"
Asrial's captor dropped down to all fours, wings and cape forming a dark puddle on the cave floor. "Nothing," he ground out between lips pulled back from his teeth like a corpse. "You did NOTHING!" His dark, glittering eyes bore into hers from hollowed sockets.
"I don't understand-" Asrial began.
"I've been watching you," he interrupted, "or did you forget what I just now said? I've seen everything you've done, and you should have been an outcast like me! Always daydreaming, wasting your time making things when you should have been training. But did the elders ever punish you? NO!" His eyes burned white-hot, the only outward sign of his emotions. "Pretty sister was tolerated and cosseted and allowed all kinds of second chances."
Asrial's lip trembled as she opened her mouth to speak. "I--" she began.
He slapped a hand over her mouth, cutting off her words, and leaned closer, his hot breath on her skin. "No one ever gave me a second chance to try again! No one ever liked me! No one loved the ugly gargoyle, not even you!" He shoved her down hard to the ground and stalked away, pacing in the darkness.
"I left for a few days because everyone was punishing me for a minor offense, one that wasn't even my fault. When I came back, I found that everyone thought I was dead. I saw my own remembrance, and not one of my brothers and sisters had a kind word for me. NOT...EVEN...YOU." He swirled and pointed at Asrial. "Nothing. You said NOTHING!!!" The hard knob of his tail swung around and caught her in the stomach.
Asrial gasped for air and managed to find her voice. "What are you going to do to me?" she said, her voice tiny with fear.
A pair of eyes lit up in the darkness, two beacons of cold fire. "I'm going to make you pay." His skull face seem to float in the shadows, his pallid body cloaked in darkness by wings and cape. "For every blessing you received, for all that I was denied,... I ... Will ... Make ... You ... PAY!!" Then he swept down on her like a vengeful raven, talons and fangs bared.
Her screams echoed in the cave for hours.
To Be Concluded...