The gargoyle stepped back once and balanced on its back foot, each wing low and folded like a scared dog’s ears. Lorin faked a step, and the beast flinched. Lorin smirked.
Three steps closed the distance, though, each shuffle made his leg, shoulder, and most of that side of his body protest. Pain meant he was alive and moving, so he relegated it to a corner of his mind. For now, he could only focus. Being on the offensive against a bigger, slower target meant it was hard to miss.
The gargoyle used its wings as shields. Blades, arrows, or hammers might’ve scratched the wall of stone its wings made, but nothing more. After the first flurry, Lorin's stone daggers cut through its defense, carving the stone away with ease. The beast reared and tried to defend again and again with its wings, only for them to be cut up and tattered. The cloud of dust he made blinded him, but it didn't stop his stone claws from whirling in a frenzy. He lost himself in his movements once his eyes were shut and tearing from the dust, so he slowed to shuffle clear of the cloud. Wiping his eyes on his sleeve, he could then see the gargoyle pushing itself along the ground and away from him. Its wings were tattered, and one leg was missing a portion of thigh.
Lorin sauntered up to it with a slight limp. The pile of rocks was much less intimidating now that it was crawling in fear. Lorin took a long look at the old blade cuts, chipped stone, and discoloration aged over its body. This old monster had fought many, many times, and each nick and cut was painted across it. But only the newest ones posed a threat.
The gargoyle stopped its feeble escape when Lorin stood over it. It held one hand out and shielded its face with the other.
Lorin realized his hand was poised to strike, so he lowered his stance to look less threatening, but remained ready. The beast looked human, trembling, hiding its eyes, and flinching at every sound.
"Yield?" Lorin put his foot on one of its legs as he spoke.
It nodded and spoke in rubbed rocks and sifted sand.
"Scared of these?" Lorin displayed one dagger and sheathed the other.
A nod, a very fervent nod.
"This as well?" Lorin took an arrow from his quiver, suddenly thankful that one hadn't impaled him during the fight.
It shook its head and made a sound like silt scoffing.
Lorin shrugged and drove the arrow tip down on the stone leg he stood on. The shaft snapped with the impact. The gargoyle flinched and curled back in confusion, but the arrow head hadn't even left a mark.
Through clenched teeth Lorin spoke. "Alright, listen. I won't make you chalk dust with these if you help me. See that door?" Lorin asked as he motioned to the entryway. "I'm going through that door. I want you to stop anyone from following behind me."
Its eyes followed Lorin as he spoke, but Lorin could see a decision being made behind the crystal orbs. There was a conflict between its fear of death and its duty, and whatever obligated it to stand guard had an immense hold over it. There wasn't time to understand who or what, however, as Lorin could hear footsteps moving closer.
"You'll be dead, right now."
It fixed its gaze on Lorin.
"Guard the door." He enunciated each word, and despite the anxiety building within, he spoke like a man possessed.
The gargoyle nodded. Its face remained stone, but it picked itself up to limp toward the door.
Lorin was outpacing the gargoyle with his own limp as two guards emerged from the house's door. He was a few paces away when the guards said something that Lorin didn't hear and rushed him. Lorin parried one guard’s feeble strike and shoved past, but his ankle wound was enough for him to misstep in his pirouette and, instead of the graceful maneuver carrying him beyond the second guard, he slammed his shoulder into her instead. She grappled him, then slammed a gauntleted fist against his temple, and the world sparkled as she reared for a second hit. The hit didn't come, and instead a muffled scream was cut short when a massive stone hand closed effortlessly over her head. Lorin was a little off balance from the punch, and he tripped and landed with the now-limp guard atop him. Brave as the other guard had been, the gargoyle’s speared wings proved how effective they were against plate armor, and Lorin was once again alone with the beast.
More guards yelled from the courtyard, and a bell sounded a rapid alarm. Lorin forced himself to stand and scrambled into the open door. He shut the door behind him, but it bounced against the gargoyle’s back now filling the doorway.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
He let his eyes adjust just inside the hall while he caught his breath and listened for anything around him. Noise started from outside and spoke of a scuffle, but for now the early-morning servants’ hallway was empty and familiar. The alarm waking the estate, however, was beginning to dissolve Lorin's plan into improvisation.
Like a hound, Lorin scuttled through the plain halls and upstairs until a barricade, speckled with warning signs, halted his progress. The barricade itself was easily passed, but the fire damage behind it was the real obstacle. His previous escape had left a mark not yet repaired, and the fire, contained somewhat by the stone walls, had eaten through most of the floor. His still-bleeding ankle and battered body wanted to stop, sit, and wait. Lorin had to focus himself. He was here, prepared and close to Varron—now was not the time to give in. Jumping across the charred floor beams slowed his pace, but in time he reached the large door that had blocked off him and Ashmere from the estate. A pang of memories clouded his focus, and he tripped into a skid on the charred floor. Head low, he growled out in frustration and picked himself up, tense and angry.
The fire damage was the worst where the cellar had been, but the stone cells next to it and the heavy joists above it allowed Lorin to pass without a close call. After that, the hallway quickly returned to undamaged, and eventually it became a long stretch that extended the width of the mansion's rear. Lorin could feel his heartbeat pulse in his bruises and the familiar tingle of anticipation twitched his fingertips.
He drew one dagger and approached the first door in the hallway. It wasn't locked, and he opened it only enough for him to spot a lush bedspread of soft yellows and blues. He nudged the door open a little farther and saw a golden-haired beauty among the fort of pillows. A loud sound nearly pulled the skin from his bones as, above him, the door announced its opening with a bell. Lorin flinched to see what had made the noise and when he looked back at the bed, Varron's betrothed was sitting up with her one eye glaring at him. He couldn't help but stare at her uncovered scar before he surveyed the room and saw she was alone.
He slammed the door, raced to the next one, and flung it open. Another bell rang to his entry, but the second room was empty. Fear of Varron not being in one of the rooms poked at Lorin's concentration.
He left that door open and got to the next one—again it opened to him with the sound of a bell. This time, there sitting on the bed pulling a silk shirt over his head was Varron. The room suddenly tinted red and Lorin rushed the man. Varron had obviously heard the bell, but was too slow uncovering his face, and before he turned, Lorin tackled him. The two wrestled on the floor, until Lorin had locked Varron's head in the crook of his arm. Lorin positioned his blade, and Varron relaxed his struggle.
"Please, what do you—"
"Shut it," Lorin said and crushed off Varron's ability to speak.
Lorin was elated, and any pain he’d had seemed to vanish. All his work, everything with Arthur and Ashmere, his planning up to this morning, it had all worked. The inadequate father Lorin had been, who wished
for death—and failed to find it—had just succeeded. "You deserve this because you took away everything good they had ahead of them."
Spittle came from Varron.
"You robbed me of watching my children grow. For what? Because I wouldn't be a sacrifice? Because I defied you? Because you got cut up?" Lorin was speaking through clenched teeth. When Varron tried to shift for breath, Lorin eased enough to let air rasp through.
"Well you fixed yourself up nicely," Lorin said as he tensed his grip, and could feel his emotions take over. "But my family is rotting away, all cut up to match what I did to you. Is that fair, that they should suffer for my mistakes?" Lorin edged his knife to Varron's throat. "It's not fair, and it's not fair you should go unpunished." Lorin lowered himself so he could speak right in Varron's ear. "I am not like you—you won't suffer near enough."
Lorin lifted Varron to stand, letting his choke-hold go, but he kept the knife in place.
"Lorin, right? I—" Varron said before Lorin stopped him.
"Your last words. Say them."
Varron didn't shake, his voice stayed strong, and he stood bravely. "Don't let Sofia find me first… if you have any honor."
Lorin nodded, then realized Varron couldn't see the nod and said, "She doesn't deserve to hurt because of you. I will—"
As Lorin was speaking, the servant's door opened slightly, and Lorin's attention snapped to it.
"No," Varron called. "Stay calm."
Lorin almost spoke and sawed Varron's neck to bone, but his arm had no force behind it, and Lorin's first word sharpened into a gasp. It wasn't Varron's bride in the door, or a guard, or a servant.
Lorin's dead wife walked into the room.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
She was dressed in well-traveled clothes, her red hair seemed to brighten the room, and she had concern etched across her soft features. Lorin held Varron tight, silencing his next words, but there, standing in the door, was his wife. Not the vision he would see in pangs of grief, but how she had looked when he’d buried her. Expect now her missing eye was scarred over, her severed fingers were skin-covered stubs, and all the tiny cuts were healed.
"Lorin," Jessica said. "Don't do this."
It was her voice, a hint of life's gruff added, but it was her voice. "He killed you," Lorin said.
"No, it was the Queen, remember? She attacked when you went to talk with Sarah." As Jessica spoke, she walked slowly toward the men.
"I killed the Queen—some little ones attacked, but he and his group—"
"Saved my life," Jessica interrupted sweetly.
"How… what about our kids?"
Jessica stopped, her face grew dark, and she said, "They didn't… couldn't be helped after. I thought I had lost you too but…" She smiled with wet eyes.
Lorin felt faint. His heart was beating fast and nothing made sense. But it didn't have to. Jessica was alive in front of him. "Jess, I… he… I buried you."
She began to walk closer again. "My sweet, that creature poisoned you. You ran off screaming and Varron searched for you, but you were gone. There was so much blood, how could you have survived?"
"Stop," Lorin said, shaking his head. "Don't take another step." Behind his eyes something was pulsing—faint, but it was there. Everything in the room felt off, and he worked to cover up his excitement, to hone his focus. The woman he loved was alive, but how? He’d watched her die, buried her, grieved for her. Was he really just confused and had hallucinated the whole attack? Varron, what about him? If Varron had tried to look for Lorin, why would he lie about it, or imprison him? Jessica was three paces from him now, and he refocused to look her over. Everything he loved, forgotten, and missed was standing, breathing, and talking right there. But that feeling of unease didn't go away. "How are you here? How?"
"Varron invited me." She smiled and tilted her head. "I thought he would've told you I was staying in the room beside this one."
Lorin's eyes widened. He tightened his grip on Varron and pressed the blade back to the thin red line across his neck. Anger flared, and his heart felt like it had backflipped to land face-down on stone.
When she smiled, her nose didn't dance. He loved that little dance so much.
"Who are you? Tell me."
Her mouth gaped before she said, "I am your wife, Jessica—"
"No, you aren't." Lorin kicked out Varron's knees, forcing him to kneel. "Last chance."
"No!" she screamed in a voice different than any other Lorin had heard, like two or three voices all fought against each other within the one syllable. Lorin watched, intrigued and horrified as his wife's face splashed like a puddle and shifted. Once the ripples all settled, Varron's beautiful bride to be stood in front of them. She had shifted completely expect for her missing eye, which remained missing.
"Sofia," Varron said as he recoiled. "You? This?"
"Varron, please," she said. "No one knows about me this time. We can be together again. This isn't how I wanted to tell you, but I can't let him hurt you."
"You know what this thing is?" Lorin demanded, letting his grip slacken, but not taking his eyes off the woman.
Varron nodded. "I think she… it, is very dangerous."
"I know you love me," she said. "It wasn't the right time then, but now we can be happy together."
"You're a dopple?" Lorin said, his mind still swimming.
Sofia's imploring look burned away as her eye shifted to Lorin.
"It is not to be trusted," Varron said, trying to look up.
Sofia looked like a scared young girl watching sand slip through her fingers. "No, please trust me. I love you. I have done so much for us. Don't let him destroy what we have."
Lorin could see her shake as tears begin to well up with her words, but the vision of his wife was very fresh, and he felt himself tense.
"I loved Sofia," Varron said with disgust in his voice. "But if I knew she was just one of your faces, I would've left her where I found her." He spit in her direction. "Kill me, Lorin, I have failed myself."
Lorin, still awestruck, was trying to absorb the words he’d just heard, but Sofia was already acting. Her face contorted into an elongated snarl, and one of her thin hands stretched into a spike. She yelled as she lunged at Lorin, "You did this!"
Instinct managed to deflect the spear-hand from impaling his throat, but Lorin was still forced on the bed with the dopple scrambling for another attack.
"Guards! Here!" Varron called as he dashed off to the main door. He opened it, but didn't run. Instead he pulled a sword from its display on the wall.
Lorin parried as best he could while the dopple shifted into different shapes—its body seemed to be somewhere between liquid and solid—and assaulted him. It attacked with hammer-like fists, bladed legs, and it even merged its arms together to form a massive axe. Lorin was working himself into position to kick away and sprint to the door when Varron slashed the dopple's back. It turned to attack, but stopped mid swing and shifted instantly to the small woman again. Her whole body shrank, like a scolded child, and she tried to reach out with shaking, petite hands. Varron jumped back, leveled the sword to her chest, and worked on catching his breath.
Lorin used the pause in the dopple’s attack to untangle himself and sheathe his dagger. He rolled out on the opposite side of the bed from the pair. During his tumble the bedding had captured a few arrows, so he grabbed three, two to return in the quiver and one to draw. He pressed the button of his bauble and the spring-loaded bow snapped into shape.
Varron eyed Lorin. "Do it—before she changes."
Lorin smiled with a corner of his mouth and nodded before he let loose the arrow pointed at Varron's chest. Varron still needed to die.
The arrow didn't meet it mark, however. Instead, it punctured the gray flesh of the dopple's shifted arm. The dopple had lengthened and widened its forearm like a strapped shield to block Varron. The flesh molded again to let the arrow fall through, and the dopple's pretty face looked over Varron in a panic. Varron's sa
fety assured, it turned to snarl at the sound of a bell.
Lorin had started out of the room the instant his arrow flew. He slammed the door behind him, but stopped when a squad of guards yelled at him to halt. The four Thornguard were rushing to him from the right side, where he’d snuck in from, so Lorin turned left to continue following the hallway. His run hadn't reached half-speed when the door he’d slammed shut erupted into splinters and gray flesh. The guards yelled another authoritative order, but that was cut short into guttural and agonized wails. Lorin didn't look—he ignored his injuries and kept moving as fast as he could.
At the end of the hall it split left to a landing with stairs down on one side and a path to a ladder and hatch on the other. Lorin grabbed the railing to start down the stairs just in time to see another squad start their ascent toward him. He stopped, hopped over the railing, and sprinted to the ladder. A chorus of battle started and crescendoed into screams before Lorin opened the hatch. From the corner of his eye he saw the walls brighten red before he climbed up and onto the roof.
The rising sun greeted him as it crested over the roof’s ridge, and he had to cover his eyes while they adjusted. Half-blinded, Lorin shut the hatch below him and stood on it while looking for something to wedge it closed. Unease came again and Lorin looked down at his arm where a splinter of wood rested in a crease of leather. The door that splinter had come from had hardly slowed the dopple, and Lorin realised that the hatch beneath him wouldn’t either. However, that thought came to him too slowly, and as he jumped away the hatch exploded beneath him, catching his foot and throwing him up the slanted roof.
He got to his feet and fought for breath as his chest spasmed in pain. He and the dopple were alone on the mansion’s slanted roof. With the sun behind him, Lorin could see the creature trying to adjust its own eye against the morning light. Lorin snapped his bow open and took aim. His breath wasn't relaxed yet, and his shoulder cramped as he drew the bow. A second, maybe two, passed, and the dopple's red eye was fixed on Lorin.