“It’s a bit of a walk. We’ll be going to the City Guard’s headquarters. The army’s secured it for the time being.”
Tyros steeled himself, suspecting that whatever Bakal wanted to show him would be unsettling. If it was Leot’s body, Tyros would see that the White Robe received proper burial rites. Tyros owed his friend that much.
As they stepped out, Tyros marveled at the bright sunlight. After the fierce storm and the invasion, the day felt tranquil, almost surreal.
Then he saw the damage.
Gwynned had repelled the invaders, but not without cost. The mage could see most of the government quarter, and what he saw shook him. Several of the larger buildings had suffered greatly. In many cases, entire roofs had either caved in or been set ablaze by the draconians. Two structures had been completely gutted, likely with loss of life.
“It appears worse than it is,” Bakal remarked, although his tone contradicted his words.
“How many died, Captain?”
“Far fewer than might have.”
An unsatisfactory answer, but the only one Tyros would evidently receive. He clutched the staff tightly and concentrated on the path ahead. Captain Bakal marched along as if on parade. Tyros noted the muscles in the veteran’s face twitch now and then as they journeyed through the damaged city.
The two paused at last beside a tall domed building surrounded by a high stone gate. Four sentries, wearing the sea-green breastplates of the City Guard, stood at attention, watching the pair with practiced suspicion. The fact that Bakal wore the armor and cape of an officer of the army in no way assuaged them.
“State your business,” the nearest guard bellowed.
“You know me, Kelner. Captain Bakal of the First Legion. This is Tyros, the Red Robe.”
“Orders are orders, Captain.” But the guard signaled entry.
As they entered, Tyros whispered, “I thought the army had commandeered this place, Bakal.”
“Yes, but unless we want a civil war with the City Guard, we had to let them retain control of the perimeter.” He snorted. “Would-be soldiers, but they think they’re our equals.”
Tyros had long noted the division between the army and the City Guard, so he knew not to comment. Instead he asked, “Now will you tell me what it is we’re here to see?”
“No. I want you to see it with a completely open mind.”
Partway down the corridor, they stopped before a huge door. Two helmeted sentries of the army saluted Captain Bakal. The sentries said nothing as they immediately opened the door.
“Any problems tonight?” the captain asked.
“Nothing even the City Guard couldn’t handle, sir,” one answered with a slight smirk.
“Slow as all that, eh?”
The soldiers shared a chuckle as Bakal and Tyros entered, then closed the door behind them, leaving the captain and wizard alone in near darkness. The windows of the chamber had been covered, leaving only a few oil lamps to light the place.
“Is this all necessary, Bakal?”
“You’ve fought this war how long, boy?”
Tyros frowned. “The war is over, Captain.”
“Not for some. The Dark Queen may be gone, but very few of her puppets have cut their strings. They still dance to her tune, even if they think they’re writing their own music now.”
“You are somewhat of a poet, Bakal,” Tyros said wryly. He looked around and saw table after table piled with objects covered by sheets. Some of the shrouded objects looked uncomfortably like bodies. Tyros thought of Leot and grew unsteady.
“Easy, boy. Didn’t think you’d be so touched by this.”
“Where-where is he?” Tyros breathed.
“The White Robe’s not here, Tyros. Come on.”
“Wait a moment!” Tyros called, reaching out for the officer. “You mean Leot isn’t dead?”
Bakal replied simply, “I never said that.”
Frustrated, Tyros hurried to catch up, only to have the scarred veteran suddenly pause at one of the nearby tables. The mage looked past him, noting with unease the vague shape beneath and torn and stained officer’s cloak.
Bakal eyed the shape. “This is what I wanted you to see.”
Tyros lifted a corner of the cloak from the corpse, pulled it aside, and gaped. “What in the-”
“Do you know what you’ve looking at, boy?”
He did, yet he did not. A face from his nightmares confronted Tyros: the long, sharp horns; the hard, leathery beak; the jagged, flesh-tearing teeth. Only the burning, pupilless eyes remained hidden, the monster’s lids closed in death.
“You’ve seen it before, haven’t you, mage?”
“The tower … I saw it there.”
“And we found it near there … near where you lay, in fact. Do you know what it is, Tyros?” Bakal watched him closely.
“It reminds me of something from my schooling, but it’s not quite as I recall it.”
“In Gwynned, we’d call it a gargoyle. ’Course, in Gwynned, we’d only see them in drawings and statues. There shouldn’t be any gargoyles in Northern Ergoth, boy.”
“A gargoyle …” Tyros stared at the taloned monstrosity, shivering at the memory of his encounter.
“I’ve seen them, Tyros, and they’re a savage lot, but this one’s not quite the same as those I’ve seen. Stronger and somehow smarter-looking. I could name a dozen more differences, but the question is why it’s here at all. Do you know, perhaps?”
“Why would I know? The first time I ever saw one of these creatures was when it tried to attack me in the tower.”
“Attack you … or take you prisoner?”
Tyros recalled how the gargoyle could have simply torn out the back of his neck, but had seized him instead. “But why would it want to do that?”
“Why would they take two other wizards?”
“Two other-” The weary mage’s mouth grew slack. He stared at the captain, shock turning to anger. “You damned bastard! What do you know? Tyros used his free hand to seize the soldier by the cord of his cape. Bakal stared back. All arrogance had drained from Tyros. “What do you mean by that? You are not certain what’s happened to Leot, are you? You think one of these horrors took him, don’t you?”
Bakal removed the wizard’s hand. “Two of your kind are missing. Leot and Kendilious, of your own order. We don’t know what’s happened to Leot, but old Kendilious … you remember him?”
Kendilious. Tyros remembered a crotchety old mage past his prime who lived to preach to the younger mages that they knew nothing of the sacrifices a true wizard needed to make. In fact, Tyros couldn’t recall the man ever talking about anything else. And since they had both followed Lunitari, Kendilious had taken special relish in admonishing his youthful counterpart, who, according to the elder, had more ambition than caution.
“We had us a witness, boy. A member of the guard. Questioned him thoroughly. He and another man were heading for the ruins of your tower, and as they neared, one looked up. Claims he heard fluttering and thought a draconian might be gliding down on them. What he saw instead was a winged form going up, bearing with it a bald figure in red robes. From his description and the fact that there’s only a handful of your kind here, we pieced together that it had to be Kendilious.”
“And what about Leot? He saw nothing of Leot?”
Bakal shook his head. “Nothing, but a gargoyle like this took the old wizard … and since we can’t find the body of your friend anywhere, not even in the rubble, I’d venture to say that he’s also been captured.”
Tyros envisioned Leot being dragged off by such a creature. His friend might still be alive, but headed for what fate? “Why would they want us? Why would gargoyles risk death in the midst of a battle to capture wizards?”
“The command’s still debating that one, and so are your superiors, too, boy.”
“They know already?”
“Aye, and they’re a mite too curious. We finally gleaned from them that some others have gone missing in recent times, the latest being a pair of your crimson lads.”
“Two more?”
The captain nodded gravely. “Of course, there’s still one more question, one that I was hoping you might answer for me. I’m assuming you didn’t kill this beast.”