Page 83 of Red Dragon
He held his mace but managed to one-handedly fire his crossbow. A quarrel clinked off the stone-like chest of one enemy and ricocheted into a tree.
Not wounded even slightly, the gargoyles continued toward them. Their wings flapped, and they bounded, half-flying through the undergrowth toward the group.
Ignoring Fel’s command, Teyla tried to come up to his side and join him.
“Get back!” he snarled at her, then swung as the first gargoyle reached them.
As tall as he was, it was taller, looming eight or nine feet, and it swung human-like arms with long claws on its fingers. Using his mace, Fel blocked a blow, but it staggered him, and he barely kept his feet.
Syla shook her head, agreeing with Fel’s sentiment that Teyla wouldn’t be a match for one. She was brave for fighting, but Syla rushed forward, hoping to grab her and pull her out of the way. The second gargoyle, however, targeted Teyla, swiping toward her head.
She ducked and swung her sword at the same time. Her blade clanged off, as useless against the gargoyle’s armored skin as the quarrel, and the arm clipped her, knocking her back into Syla.
Syla stumbled, trying to keep her spectacles from falling down her nose while maintaining her balance and catching her cousin. Though she managed to stay on her feet, the gargoyle opened a mouth twice the size of a man’s, and magical purple vapor wafted out.
“They spit acid!” Syla warned and tried to jumped to the side while pulling Teyla with her.
“The ruins,” Fel yelled again, glancing at them, though he shouldn’t have risked splitting his attention.
Clinks, clangs, and thuds rang out from his battle as he struck a gargoyle while parrying its powerful blows. Its arm slipped past his defenses, bashing him in the shoulder and knocking him several feet. He grunted as he crashed into a tree.
“Or run!” Fel added, voice pained as he fought to keep his balance. “Get away from here.”
By the silver light of her moon-mark, Syla witnessed a wad of spittle—acid-filled spittle—from their gargoyle shoot past, missing her head by scant inches. Not pausing, the yellow-eyed creation stomped toward her. Syla tried to angle around the gargoyle so she could run into the ruins—better that than fleeing blindly into the rainforest and getting lost and eaten.
Teyla must have accepted that she couldn’t hurt the beasts because she tried to follow Syla, but their stone-skinned foe wouldn’t let them escape. The gargoyle charged after them and blocked the doorway leading into the ruins.
Syla stepped forward and reached for it with her hand. Though her magic wouldn’t likely affect the storm god’s creations, she had to try.
The gargoyle lifted both arms and leaped toward her, wings flapping to carry it farther.
“Don’t get close,” Teyla warned and stepped past Syla, swinging her sword at its swinging arms, trying to knock them away.
Again, her blade did nothing but clang off. Syla ducked under one of the muscled limbs sweeping toward Teyla, then lunged in close. Though the maneuver felt suicidal, she planted her hand on the side of the gargoyle’s cold stone torso, vainly hoping to sense how its innards worked and find a way to attack before it swung back at her again.
All she sensed was a wall of magic. Though she tried to send tendrils of power into it, the armored skin blocked her as surely as it blocked blades. There was no way for her power to enter the gargoyle, a creature not only imbued with magic but madefromit.
It threw an elbow back into her. She tried to dodge, but it was too fast, and the blow thudded into her chest like a solid-stone battering ram. Only the padding of her breasts kept her ribs from crunching, but the attack hurt and sent her flying. She almost smashed into the wall of the ruins but clipped the edge of the doorway instead and tumbled through it.
Inside, she landed hard, dirt and decaying leaves that coated the ground doing nothing to soften her fall. Her momentum carried her into the dark interior, the sounds of battle following her.
Though her chest hurt so much she couldn’t draw a breath, she forced herself to her knees. Determined to figure out a way to help her comrades, she crawled back toward the doorway.
Syla patted her pocket, assuring herself that she hadn’t lost the dragon figurine, but could Wreylith reach them through the dense canopy? She would have to light the forest on fire around the ruins to clear the way.
Syla was about to grip the figurine and call out, hoping the dragon would do exactly that, but something dark dropped down in front of the doorway. It spun, yellow eyes peering in at her. Another gargoyle. She cursed and scrambled to her feet.
Ducking to fit through the doorway, the new foe lunged for her, keeping her from delving into her pocket. She backpedaled and almost tripped over a rock but managed to make it to another doorway in the back of the room. The gargoyle stomped after her, forcing her deeper into the ruins.
More rubble on the floor nearly tripped her, and Syla turned to check her route. Her moon-mark continued to glow, the only brightness in the area, the only thing allowing her to see. She entered a room without a ceiling, the roof having collapsed long ago, and a hiss came from a pile of leaves. A snake reared up, and she sprinted around it and deeper into the room.
Behind her, the gargoyle stomped through the doorway, knocking a chunk of the stone frame free. The snake hissed again, its attention drawn from Syla, and attempted to bite it instead of her.
Thanking the gods, she made it through another doorway, but then the way was blocked. The back half of the next room had been buried by a rockfall, what had once been the ceiling and a level above crumbled. The front half of the room lay open to the elements, but, unless she could climb the moss-slick rubble, she was trapped.
Unbothered by the snake, the gargoyle strode after her.
“Fel!” Syla called, though she knew he couldn’t help.
