Bizarrely, he couldn't stop himself from smiling. "Don't you ever show fear, woman?"
"I'm not very fond of small spaces, remember?"
Yes, but far from running from such things, she was the type of woman who braced herself, stiffened her upper lip, and then waded into battle. A warmth spread through him: admiration.
"Constructs," Ianthe muttered, turning to face the doorway with her hands flexed at her sides. "It had to be constructs."
"At least they're only stone."
"Not bodies?" She gave him a tight, thin-lipped smile. "Small mercies, my lord."
Lucien looked for a weapon. Something. Anything. Nothing on hand, except for the fire poker. Good lord, he was reduced to this. He did, however, snatch it up.
Ianthe shot the poker a look, then turned that look upon him. It spoke volumes.
"Later," he said.
"Would you like me to take point?"
He gave a gruff nod. "If you would."
"Can you keep them off my back?" Ianthe's fingers flexed, a pair of mage globes forming an inch from her palms and flickering with blue lightning.
"I'm not entirely certain. I'll try."
"We need to discuss this at some point," she murmured. "You cannot continue like this, Rathbourne."
"Later."
Saved by the gargoyle. It skittered toward them, its stone claws clicking on the cobbled floors, and its eyes gleaming with a vacant, demonic light. Buoyed by latent magic, color flooded its body until its hide was no longer stone but an iridescent ripple of oil on water. A slick pink tongue darted out, tasting the air, and then it danced back into the shadows behind a column.
"It's quicker than I imagined." Ianthe raised her hands.
Her mage globes rose into the air, throwing back the shadows. They hummed neutrally, pale globes of light with the odd static crackle of lightning dancing over their surfaces.
Quick as a hunting cat, one of the gargoyles darted forward. Lightning lashed out, but it dodged away, leaving a smoking pit in the floor where it had been. Burnt stone flavored the air. The second gargoyle feinted, and Ianthe flicked her fingers, casting lightning toward it. It too, twisted in midair, muscle rippling down its flank.
The pair of them took turns, as though testing her weaknesses. Ianthe took a step back, toward him.
"Without Lord Rathbourne, they have no wits," he said, "though they seem to act with animal intelligence."
No, they were just stone. Keyed to attack anything within their perimeter, until either they or the intruders were down. Anything short of complete annihilation wouldn't stop them.
Bully for us.
His gaze darted to the doorway. "If we escaped this room, they might not follow."
Both of them looked at the pair of gargoyles prowling the floor between them and the door.
"Any more brilliant ideas?" Ianthe asked.
"Run? One of us has to be faster than the other."
"Very amusing. How do you know it's not me?"
The first gargoyle launched itself on top of one of the bookshelves, running along it as nimble as a cat, its demonic tail lashing random books of the shelves.
"Watch out!" Lucien yelled, brandishing the poker. He spun to face it, but the gargoyle suddenly curled its back claws around the shelf, and then shoved itself away from the wall with one arm.
