Gargoyle Quest (5 page)

The horse was smarter than its rider, sensing approaching death. Jerking its head, it attempted to flee the clearing. Static crackled over the police officer’s radio. The cop palmed his walkie-talkie but never got a chance to respond. A winged shadow peeled away from the trees and descended, the world reduced to a tornado of fluttering wings, sharp talons and splashes of gore. As the gargoyle lifted the police officer into the air, his horse exploded into panicked motion.
 

The cop’s scream rang out as he disappeared among the swaying trees and rustling leaves. Artan stood, body coiled and adrenaline pumping, braced for another attack…
 

The mangled officer came crashing from the thick canopy and slammed into the grassy slope below. Lifeless eyes stared back at Artan. A helpless rage made him forget his fear. Too many people had fallen prey to these monsters. He had thought the nightmare was over.
 

Artan looked up, expecting to feel sharp teeth digging into his flesh, but the gargoyle was still hesitating. Why hadn’t it struck him down in the same fashion as the officer? Was his past connection to the ancient evil of Ireland making the beast hold back? Either way, Artan doubted that the monster would wait much longer to launch its next attack. He was sure whatever vestiges of Fomor blood might still course through his veins wouldn’t be enough to spare him.
 

Without a weapon, retreat was Artan’s sole recourse. And he already had an idea how he might put some distance between himself and the deadly monster. Without hesitation, his battle-honed instincts guiding him, Artan hurled himself toward the terrified horse as it pounded past him. His bones jolted and teeth chattered as both his hands snapped around the saddle horn.
 

The animal tried to shake him, but Artan refused to let go as he pulled himself fully astride. Jaw clenched with effort, one hand clung to the pommel, while the other closed around the reins in an attempt to gain control of his new steed. Above, the trees shook as the gargoyle relentlessly pursued them, the winged demon invisible in the dense canopy.
 

Artan decided a change in scenery was in order. As long as he stayed in the park, he remained exposed and vulnerable. The gargoyle could swoop down on him and attack before he could fight back.
 

The ground suddenly rumbled as a subway train passed near the wall enclosing the park, and his eyes lit up with an idea. Out here, he made for an easy target—but what if he could disappear underground? The dark network of subway tunnels offered an advantage in a confrontation with an aerial attacker. The creature wouldn’t be able to surprise him from above, and the close confines would prevent the beast from flanking him. If he could somehow make it across the street to the 86
th
station….
 

Almost as if the gargoyle sensed Artan’s plan, it at last came in for the kill. He felt the creature’s approach more than saw it. There was a rush of air, and then a heavy mass slammed into him. All hopes of riding to safety were crushed as the impact catapulted him out of the saddle. For a split second, he stayed airborne before the ground came rushing up to greet him. He landed with a loud
whoomp
, the fall knocking the wind from his lungs, jarring his teeth, and jostling his bones.
 

Groggy, he lay splayed on the grass, the nearby sounds of traffic distant yet close. There was something almost soothing about the steady pulse of the city whispering at the edge of his awareness as his consciousness slipped away.

Get up and run
, he ordered himself, his mental voice bristling with the authority of the King of Kirkfall. Before he could move, an enormous shadow fell across him as the gargoyle descended. The sight of it, membranous wings spread wide and claws ready to kill, filled him with rage. Creatures like this one had taken everything from him, his family, his world, his humanity.
 

He surged to his feet. Every muscle in his body screamed out in agony, sore from the fall. The beast’s claws tore into the ground where his head had been seconds earlier, tearing away a huge swath of earth.
 

Artan backed away, awareness trained on the creature while trying to locate anything he could use as a weapon. It felt like he was moving in slow motion, reflexes dulled. An hour of sparring with Rhianna wasn’t the same as facing men and monsters on the battlefield while decked out in full armor. He’d traded in a life of war for one of peace, and it showed. A fully trained knight, armored and armed, stood a slim chance at besting a gargoyle; a weak, soft citizen of this century was just easy prey for the demon.

With a ferocious roar, the gargoyle approached.
 

Artan noticed something glinting nearby. The dead police officer’s pistol. He must’ve dropped the gun during the attack.
 

Lightning fast, Artan grabbed it.
 

Rhianna had shown him how to use a firearm at a shooting range a few months earlier. Even though she had insisted he was a natural, Artan wasn’t enamored with the modern-day weapon. To his mind, it made killing too easy. Nevertheless, he was grateful for the gun as his finger closed around the trigger and squeezed.
 

Gunfire rang out through the park as he unloaded the entire magazine into the creature. Bloody holes erupted along the gargoyle’s muscled torso, but the bullets barely slowed it down. They did manage to buy him a few precious seconds, however, which allowed him to back up toward the park’s wall. The beast, more angry than hurt, resumed its inexorable approach. He tossed the now useless firearm aside and jumped over the wall. A car honked and swerved as he stormed across the street, avoiding a collision by a hair’s breath.
 

Artan never stopped, never looked back.
 

Every fiber of his being was focused on the immediate task of surviving. The subway station jumped into view. He almost expected the gargoyle to land in front of the station’s staircase and bar his retreat, but the monster never materialized. The hail of lead must’ve slowed it down for the time being. Unwilling to pause to catch his breath, he ran down the filthy stairs. The earth swallowed him as he shot into the nearly abandoned station. Only a few late-night commuters listlessly waited for the next train, most of them focused on the glowing screens of their phones.

Artan didn’t slow down as he launched himself over the turnstile. He’d made it underground, but this didn’t mean he was safe, not by a long shot.

He advanced toward the edge of the platform. The tunnel stretched before him into darkness. The station’s silence was shredded by the ear-pulverizing sound of an incoming train. Headlights raked the tunnel’s tiled walls and a blast of air buffeted Artan's face as the steel behemoth tore through the station. The express train never slowed as it headed toward its unknown destination. Seconds later, the station was once again enveloped by a preternatural silence.
 

The quiet didn’t last long.
 

With a keening shriek, the gargoyle dove toward Artan—not from the stairs, as he’d predicted, but from the shadows of the tunnel. Too late, he realized that it must have torn open a grate and entered the subway system farther down the line so that it could meet him head on.
 

All these thoughts slashed through his mind in the split second before the creature’s claws tore him off the platform. Airborne once again, man and beast hurtled through the tunnel. The station’s lights receded, and soon the only illumination came from the series of grates above. Shooting down the tunnels, the gargoyles’ talons ripped flesh and drew blood. Then the gargoyle let go of him, and he landed hard on the tracks. It was a miracle that he didn’t black out on impact or hit the electrified third rail.
 

Hot blood pulsed from his arm where the creature had snatched him, but he was otherwise unharmed. Stunned, and barely clinging to awareness, he weakly tilted his head up at the beast as it loomed over him. A single, dust-covered light bulb cast grotesque shadows in the claustrophobic space. A heartbeat later, the gargoyle’s jaws snapped out at him. This time the maw of jagged teeth closed around his arm, fangs sinking deep into his shoulder.

Artan cried out, knowing the moment of his death was upon him at last. The gargoyle reared back for the killing strike, mouth painted crimson, wings unfurling in triumph.
 

After fifteen centuries of battling the Fomor, a single gargoyle would succeed where Cael and his winged horde had failed. As the blood gushed from his shoulder, a part of Artan was ready to accept his fate. Soon he would be reunited with his wife and son, lost to him all these long centuries. He would finally take his rightful place among his people in the next world.
 

But something stopped him from letting go and giving in to the waves of darkness threatening to sweep him away.
 

Rhianna.

She would be worried sick. Who knew how long it would take for them to find his body. He couldn’t let it end this way. He had to live on.
 

He had to fight back.

The gargoyle let out a bone-chilling roar as it readied itself to pounce again, its hypnotic glare locking on him. Artan prepared to strike back, coiling his muscles.

And that’s when something whistled through the air and tore into one of the creature’s wings in a spray of dark gore. The gargoyle roared again, this time in pain and shock.

Artan whirled and caught a glimpse of his savior. A woman cut a shadowy silhouette on the tracks behind him. Her features remained hidden in the dark tunnel, but Artan recognized the weapon in her outstretched hand. She was wielding not a gun but a crossbow.
 

The woman and the winged beast regarded each other across the subway tracks. Artan, now reduced to a helpless bystander who’d stumbled into a war zone, watched them.
 

With one mighty beat of its wings, the gargoyle launched over Artan’s head toward the new arrival.
 

The woman held her ground.
 

Almost lazily, she aimed and fired.
A second stainless-steel bolt punctured the creature's shoulder, triggering a savage wail as one massive wing crumpled, useless. The beast crashed to the ground but kept charging.
 

The woman dropped her crossbow and reached into her trench coat for a pair of ornate battleaxes. The woman advanced, and Artan caught his first clear glimpse of her as she stepped into a shaft of moonlight. The pale light gleamed on raven-black hair that framed high, sharp cheekbones and a full mouth. A pair of fearless green eyes fixed on the fast-approaching nightmare. She spun the twin weapons deftly in her hands, and then the beast was upon her.

Steel hacked into the creature's tough hide with a sickening sound and thick black blood splashed the tracks. The gargoyle stumbled, its shrieks growing weaker.
 

In one smooth motion, the female warrior slid one axe handle over the other. With a metallic snap, the twin weapons joined together to form one massive blade head.

Despite its growing number of wounds, the gargoyle launched itself at the woman and caught her unbalanced. She was hurtled off her feet, and the axe sailed through the air. Artan heard it clang against the rail as the creature tackled the Amazonian warrior, pressing its advantage.

It was up to Artan to make his move. He jumped to his feet and lurched toward the spot where the axe had fallen. Adrenaline surged as his fingers closed around the handle. The battleaxe wasn’t the
Blade of Kings
, but the archaic weapon felt good in his hand. He’d take an axe over a pistol any day of the week.
 

The gargoyle seemed to sense Artan’s approach. It spun away from the woman an instant too late. Artan whirled toward the beast, lips twisted with murderous fury. The axe sliced the air in a wide arc and then bit through the monster’s neck. The creature shuddered and then crumpled on the subway tracks.
 

As Artan loomed over the slain beast, battleaxe dripping black blood, the creature began to change before his eyes. The wings folded back into the shoulder blades. The dark reptilian features shrunk and gave way to pink skin. A heartbeat later, Artan was staring down at the nude form of a dead man.
 

This gargoyle wasn’t a Fomor but a transformed human. What the hell was going on?
 

Stooping to inspect the dead man more closely made Artan all too aware of the sharp pain radiating from the gargoyle bite on his shoulder. He could already sense the beast’s dark infection spreading through his body. He’d survived the battle with the gargoyle, but at what price?
 

Soon Balor’s curse would claim him once again.
 

As the horror sunk in, another realization hit him.
 

He knew
the
dead man slumped before his feet. It was Maxwell, the jerk from Rhianna’s party. While still trying to make sense of this fact, rapidly approaching footsteps behind him caught his attention. He spun around, eyes landing on three new arrivals. The biggest of them, a blonde-haired mountain of a man who looked like a Viking, leaned down to offer a hand to the female warrior and pull her back to her feet. Like the woman who’d come to his rescue, they all wore leather trench coats that disguised the body armor and weaponry they were sporting.
 

A quartet of serious faces regarded him grimly. The newcomers reached for their weapons.

“Who are you?” Artan asked. “What’s happening here?”

It was the woman who spoke, but her reply only confused him more. “Hello, King Artan of Kirkfall.” The enigmatic female picked up the axe Artan had dropped during the confrontation and wiped off the black blood with a gloved hand. “We’re the people who will hunt you down once the curse of the gargoyle claims your humanity again.”
 

Artan tried to wrap his brain around the woman’s words. The painful throbbing in his arm was growing more intense with each passing second. The world spun, the blood loss and dark magic finally taking their toll, as Artan’s legs gave way.