Nothing. Apparently, magic on the run wasn’t a thing.
A uniformed man stood in their path. Damn, he resembled a statue. The man froze, the blue of his clothes turning stone gray. “Whaaaah?” Piers turned the guy into a statue? He winced, patting the statue’s arm in passing. “Sorry, bud. I’ll fix it whenever I figure out how.”
“Piers! Come on!” Jess darted after Saris.
“There they are!” someone shouted from behind. Piers ran. And ran. And ran.
Saris shouted, “This way!” swerving down a side path.
“Do you know where we’re going?” Jess asked. Good, because Piers couldn’t spare enough breath to ask questions now.
“Yes!” Saris ruined her decisive tone with, “Well, maybe.”
Baying sounded somewhere in the gardens. Oh shit! Dogs! Piers put on a burst of speed, catching Jess and Saris. They stumbled to a stop.
The gardens ran out abruptly by a tall stone wall. Too tall to climb quickly.
A hooded figure carrying a rake opened what appeared to be an eight-foot-tall wrought iron gate, standing aside for them to run through. Even in her drab clothing, the people recognized their queen, apparently.
“Run! Don’t stop,” a man’s voice said. “We’ll help you all we can.” He pushed them behind a clump of trees and darted back into the garden, closing the gate.
The gates rattled. Angry voices shouted. Piers owed the gardener a drink. Or something.
Outside the gates of the well-tended gardens, vegetation ran amok. Piers did his best to wish a path into existence, but Saris stopped him with a hand to his arm. “Look.” She pointed behind them.
They turned, gazes drawn upward. Wycke ran out onto the balcony, holding the door like someone unseen followed him. With guards in the garden, how the hell could Wycke escape?
Two shadows crossed over the ground, coming in low from the sea, too big to be birds. Or rather, if those were birds, send Piers back home. Now. He held his breath. Two winged creatures dropped down in front of Wycke. What the fucking hell? “Are those… gargoyles?”
“Yes.” Saris picked plant debris from her braid. “They guarded the castle in the mountains where Wycke and I were born, but they tend to make their homes in high places. We don’t often see them here.”
“Will they hurt him?” Piers stared, heart hammering, as the larger of the two monstrous beings waddled toward Wycke.
“I don’t know. They’re peculiar creatures, with their own code of honor.” Saris took Piers’ bicep in a death grip, pressing her other hand to her mouth. “Please, please, please. Don’t hurt him,” she chanted.
The shorter creature must’ve been at least twelve feet, the taller fourteen, with skin the color of gray stone, bulging muscles, and wings resembling large bats’, tipped on the ends with claws. The stuff of nightmares.
Wycke stood unmoving. Why didn’t he run? Piers’ heart pounded in his throat. No. They couldn’t have escaped a battle involving a killer pig and sword-wielding guards to lose Wycke now.
The taller gargoyle wrapped Wycke in a hug. Piers winced. The thing could probably crush a human with little effort. Wings flapping, the creature took to the sky, Wycke secured tightly in arms of stone.
The smaller gargoyle followed after, clutching something. Chynne? Had Chynne transformed himself into the giant, tusked pig creature, or did Saris keep exotic pets?
Or were pet pigs with knives for teeth a regular thing here?
They stepped farther back into the underbrush, watching the gargoyles fly. Saris let out a sigh of relief. “I think they’re helping him.”
Shouting came from the courtyard, men reeling some kind of device into place. What the hell?
Oh, fuck.
Piers screamed, “Wycke!” at the exact moment, a guard yelled, “Fire!” Horror rooted Piers to the spot. A telephone-pole-sized arrow climbed up, up, up.
Straight into the chest of the larger gargoyle. Weren’t they supposed to be made of rock? Its wings faltered, beating erratically. The creature lost altitude. The other gargoyle didn’t stop to help, gliding out over the waves.
Its companion crashed to the ground.
Clutching Wycke.
