What Might Have Been

Author's Note: the characters of Gargoyles are the property of Disney and
are used here without their creators' knowledge or consent. Contains some
adult situations and violence (probably no more than a PG-13).

Author's Note Additional: This story had been kicking around in my head
for a long time, mostly because of Jericho and his constant bitter griping
about his father's choice. But after what Greg had to say at the Gathering
'98, it all fell into place. This is the 50th fanfic in my ongoing saga!

"To be or not to be ... that is the question." Hamlet, William Shakespeare

"For every decision that's made, the alternate decision is played out in
another reality." -- Red Dwarf Season IV, Episode 5, 'Dimension Jump'

994 A.D.

        "Och, Magus, what have ye done?" Princess Katherine touched
one of the statues unbelievingly.
        "Princess ..." the white-haired young man breathed. "I
thought ..."
        "Bring them back!" Goliath took a large threatening step toward
him, brandishing a large, threatening fist.
        "I cannot! The page with the counterspell was burnt!" He backed
up rapidly, distraught, clutching the Grimorum Arcanorum to his narrow
chest.
        Goliath turned from him to stare in agonized horror at the statues.
His mentor, three young warriors, and their watchdog, all frozen in stone
by night! And no way to undo it? He barely heard the Magus telling the
princess how the spell would last until the castle rose above the clouds -- a
fanciful way of saying never.
        The castle in question towered above him, smoke still rising from
smoldering heaps of timbers. Piles of rubble on the ramparts marked the
places where his thriving clan had once perched. Weapons littered the
courtyard and battlements. Bows with cut strings, axes with weakened
handles, swords with blunted blades. How quick, how thorough the
betraying Captain had been!
        No clan, no mate, not even his revenge. Just the hollow, empty
victory that had come when he'd snatched the princess back from the brink
of death while the Captain and Haakon plummeted past and into the rocky,
unforgiving sea.
        Humans were gathered all around him. Wounded guards,
weeping women, terrified peasants, wailing children. Of them all, only
three would meet his tortured gaze. The princess, the Magus, and the boy
who had come to warn him that his friends needed help. The boy's mother
glanced up at Goliath for one fearful moment, then tried to pull her son
behind her skirts.
        "We've done ye a great wrong, Goliath," the princess said,
putting her hand on his arm.
        Bitterness welled up in him like bile. Now she would extend a
kind hand? Only a night ago, when he and his angel love had approached
her in her throne room, having driven off the Vikings in unqualified
triumph, her tone had been haughty, her words cruel. But put him desolate
and alone in the ruins of his clan ...
        "The eggs in the rookery will soon hatch ..." Goliath said, more
thinking aloud than speaking to her.
        The princess laid a hand over her breast. "We will look after
them as if they were our own."
        He shrugged her off and went to the statues. One by one, refusing
all help, he carried them with the greatest of care up to the tower and
placed them in positions of honor.
        Most of the humans went about their own business, dousing
flames, collecting what supplies they could from the ravaged castle. But
those three, the Magus and the princess and the boy, lingered near him.
The boy's mother hovered nervously nearby.
        "I cannot undo this magic," the Magus said softly as Goliath
emerged onto the top of the tower with the final statue, that of his adored
mentor and the clan's former leader. "But I can cast my spell one last
time, and let you join them."
        He set his mentor on the highest parapet, traditionally reserved
for the leader of the clan. "Rest here, old friend. I'm not worthy of that
perch any longer." Turning to the Magus, he said, "The oblivion of stone
sleep is a luxury I cannot afford. I must think first of the eggs, the hope
and renewal of my clan. They will need me to guide them."
        "Ye canna do it alone!" Katherine protested.
        "I will stay and help you," the boy volunteered.
        "Tom!" his mother gasped. "Ye dinna know what ye're saying!"
        "I do, Mother! The gargoyles were my friends!"
        "Tom, ye're not staying here by yerself!"
        "No, he's not," Katherine said decisively. "I will stay as well."
        "Princess!" The Magus reached, drew back. "It is not safe for
you here!"
        "I have been unjust to the gargoyles, Magus. The Captain may
have betrayed us, but his heart was kinder than mine. Had I not given
them insult, perhaps I would have kept his loyalty. This is my burden to
bear. I must atone for it."
        "Then I, too, will remain," the Magus said.
        "I dinna expect ye to share my fate, Magus."
        "There is no fate I would rather share, princess." He downcast
his eyes, missing the look that came into hers. "And it seems I, too, have
much to atone for."
        "No," Goliath said. "My clan has already failed you once,
princess. I cannot protect this castle and your people on my own."
        "I've failed ye, too, Goliath. That makes us even. We've relied
on yer clan and taken ye too much for granted. Teach us. Teach my
guards, teach lads such as young Tom here. Be my new Captain of the
Guard. Together, we'll all protect this castle, humans and gargoyles
alike. And this will na happen again."
        The humans nearest enough to hear murmured in consternation.
Stay? With the scattered survivors of Haakon's army still about, the castle
in flames, the croplands torn to pieces? To help a gargoyle? Their fears
warred visibly with their deep love for the princess, for Malcolm's young
and capable daughter who had ruled his land so well since his death.
        She had the determination of her mother, the people said of
Katherine. Not that many remembered the Princess Elena, who had died
several years ago with the babe that would have been her second child.
        But Elena was a figure of legend, a fearless woman who had
survived an attack by brigands. Her escort slain, herself injured, she had
nonetheless eluded her assailants and made her way to the castle. She and
Malcolm had been married that very night.
        And they had not been the only pair to swear vows of love,
Goliath recalled. Although he and his angel had not had tokens to
exchange, they had made their pledges to each other. To be one, now and
forever.
        Now she was gone. He would never soar with her again, never
do battle with her by his side, never caress her twilight-blue skin or feel
the velvety embrace of her wings.
        Why hadn't he listened to her? If he had taken all of the gargoyles
with him in pursuit of the Vikings, instead of just his mentor ... the castle
would still have been breached, the humans slain or captured, but his clan
would be safe and alive.
        He clenched his fists and roared his rage and grief to the sky,
cursing himself for the arrogance that had made him boast of how he
could scare off those cowards all by himself.
        "Let us help ye, Goliath," Katherine implored.
        "As you will, princess," he said wearily, the last of his strength
spent in that one soul-wrenching roar. "But I cannot accept your offer to
be Captain. My first responsibility is to the children of my clan."
        He glided down to the courtyard, then descended the wide stone
steps to the subterranean chamber that housed the rookery. There, nestled
in piles of straw, were the eggs. He counted them -- thirty-six, most of
mottled pale lavender a shade lighter than his own skin. One was darker,
the mark of a watchdog. And one was small, pinkish, somehow lonely
even surrounded by its siblings.
        "You will be great warriors," he promised the eggs. "You will
grow wise and strong. In time, you will make our clan great again."
        He sat in the darkness, thinking of his rookery brothers and
sisters. In the terrible events of the past few nights, the loss only struck
him with a single great bludgeoning hand. Now, in the midst of unborn
children whose parents would never see them hatch, he thought of each
individual member of his clan, and those thoughts were like knives
piercing him.
        His brother, his favorite brother. His brother's comely golden-
skinned mate. He even found it in himself to grieve for another of their
brothers who had always been trying to drive a wedge between them. The
elders, the young warriors whose first real battle had been their last ...
        Just as he could not give in to the welcome silence of the Magus'
spell, nor could he give in to tears. He had to be strong for the sake of the
eggs, for the sake of their home.
        A commotion from above drew him from his black mood. A
youthful voice, the boy, Tom, called for him. "Goliath! Ye must come!
Quick!"
        He sprang up, dread wrapping cold tendrils around his heart.
Would this madness never end? The Vikings, it had to be the Vikings,
coming back for another assault.
        And then a wavering feline screech made the very stones shiver
in their foundations, sent Goliath's heart slamming wildly against his ribs.
He took the stairs in two large bounds, bursting into the courtyard and
scattering startled humans like hens.
        He nearly trampled Tom, who pointed to the tower. "There!"
        Against the dull russet glow of the heavens, against the clouds
tinged red by the smoke and flames ... a winged shape.
        Goliath could not breathe, hardly dared believe his eyes ...
        "My ... angel?"
        Joy flared through him. He knew that form, knew every inch,
every curve. She was whole, unharmed!
        She landed atop the tower and seize the princess by the front of
her gown.
        "All because of you!" his angel shrieked, and hurled Katherine
over the battlement.
        "Princess!" The Magus lunged, too late.
        Goliath sprang to the top of a wagon and from there into the air,
gliding desperately. For the second time that night, he caught the princess
as she fell. He spiraled up around the tower, saw his love stalking toward
the Magus, saw the Magus raise one spectrally-shimmering arm
defensively.
        "No!" Goliath shouted. "My angel, no!"
        She whirled toward the sound of his voice. "Goliath? Oh,
Goliath!"
        He thumped down, released the princess. Katherine stumbled into
the supportive circle of the Magus' embrace.
        "You're alive!" Goliath started toward her, awestruck, his hands
still remembering the coarse roughness of the crumbled stone that had
been piled upon her favorite perch, his hands longing to erase that
memory with the touch of her warm flesh.
        "No! Don't touch me!" She backed away from him, tears welling
in eyes that were no longer scarlet with fury but deep and dark with
anguish.
        "But why? My love --"
        "Why didn't you listen to me?" she wailed, echoing the question
he'd asked himself not all that long before. "Why didn't you take all the
gargoyles? It would have worked! But now look! Look what's happened!"
        "What would have worked?"
        She buried her face in her hands and sobbed. He took her by the
shoulders, held her close. She was shuddering like a leaf in a gale. He
could feel her trying to pull away, and would not allow it.
        "Don't!" she cried.
        "Tell me," he urged.
        "Why did I even come back? Why couldn't I remember our last
farewell, remember you loving me? I should have gone away and never
returned to this place! Better you think me dead than to have you hate
me!"
        "My love!" He cupped her chin, made her look at him. "I could
never hate you. Why do you say such a thing?"
        She closed her eyes, tried to turn her head away. "It's my fault,
Goliath. I destroyed our clan!"
        "You?"
        "I made a bargain with the Captain. With the gargoyles away, the
Vikings could sack the castle. Then, when all of the humans were gone,
we could come back and reclaim it as our own! But you didn't listen! You
left us here!"
        "You ... what?" he gasped strengthlessly.
        "Because of her!" Through a storm of weeping, she still
managed a hateful glare at the princess. "We defend her castle, and she
thanks us by calling us beasts?"
        "I am so verra sorry for that!" Katherine's eyes were near to
overflowing now too.
        "You will be sorry!" she swore, her body tensing as she
readied to pounce.
        Goliath nearly crushed her in his arms. "There will be no more
killing!"
        "I will have blood for blood!"
        "Was the insult she gave us worth the lives of our clan?" he
demanded. "Look where your anger has already brought us! No more!
Enough lives have been lost, human and gargoyle alike!"
        "How can you still defend them after all they've done to us?"
        "If I did not, everything I've done would be for nothing."
        "Look around you, Goliath!" She pointed. "Our clan is in pieces!
Look at them -- trapped by sorcery! You and I are the last!"
        "No. There are still our clan's children to think of. Our
children, my love."
        "Then let us secure this castle for them! Let it be their home!"
        He slowly shook his head. "We cannot do it alone. There are
three dozen eggs in the rookery. Can you and I hunt for, and protect, so
many? The humans have agreed to stay and help look after them."
        "You mean they were going to leave, and you talked them into
staying?" She stared up at him, appalled.
        "We chose to stay," Katherine said gently. "To make up for
what we've done. We did yer clan wrong, to be true. I regret my harsh
words, more than ever now that I see it caused ye to strike such a bargain.
We can bear this guilt together, all of us, and go on from here." She
moved away from the Magus. "Let her go, Goliath."
        The Magus silently begged him not to. In that moment the two of
them shared a perfect understanding, that as soon as Goliath released his
mate, Katherine's life would be forfeit.
        "Let her go," Katherine repeated.
        He loosed his grip.
        "If ye slay me," she said, standing defenseless with her arms at
her sides, "ye'll have yer revenge and yer satisfaction. My people will
leave. The Magus will lead them from here and never return. If that's yer
wish. But Goliath is right. Yer children may go hungry. Will ye soothe
their empty bellies with tales of yer vengeance? Will they starve proudly,
do ye think?"
        "Gargoyles do not need humans!"
        "But children, any children, need providers and protectors. We
can be both to each others'. Let yer anger rest. Goliath forgives me, and
ye. Let us not dishonor that by failing to forgive each other, and
ourselves."
        "I don't seek your forgiveness!"
        "Yet I seek yers. We have both been wrong."
        "I ..." she began, and stepped forward.
        Goliath tensed, meaning to intervene, and he was aware of the
Magus doing the same thing. But they froze, stunned and nonplussed, as
the two fell against each other and burst into tears.
        Man and gargoyle shared another moment of perfect
understanding -- that neither of them comprehended females at all.

                *               *

        They called her Angel.
        The castle priest wasn't overly pleased about it, and it took
Goliath a long time to get used to his pet name for his love on the lips of
others. But he came to understand, and so did she, that humans felt more
comfortable and familiar with things if they could name them.
        "And, after all," she admitted to him one starswept evening as
they stood hand-in-hand atop the tower with the winter wind rippling their
wings, "it's not as if a human named me. They're only calling me what
you always have. How can I find fault with that?"
        The castle below them was abuzz with activity. Word had come
several weeks back that the king was dead, murdered by a treacherous
knight named Constantine. The king's son was in hiding, presumably
gathering forces of his own to retake what was rightfully his.
        Wyvern, being so isolated and generally regarded as strange --
what other castles had gargoyle defenders in this day and age? -- was not
caught up in the turmoil. It was regarded as a holding of little
consequence, ruled as it was by a mere woman.
        The most recent arrivals brought news that Constantine planned
to tour his newly conquered land, expecting his lords to swear their fealty
to him. This had been the source of much debate recently between
Katherine and her advisors.
        "I will swear my loyalty to the crown," Katherine had told them.
"To the crown, but na to the man who has usurped it. And someday, God
willing, that crown will be where it belongs, on the head of my cousin
Maol Chalvim. But I will take no action against Constantine while he is
here. We have too much to lose."
        The castle had been repaired of the damages caused by the Viking
attack, and now was busy readying for Constantine's visit. His flag, the
golden gryphon claw on a field of crimson, hung above the doors.
        "My love, look," Angel said, pointing out across the fields.
        A lone rider was approaching the castle. Even from here, they
could see that he was so weary he nearly fell from the saddle.
        "A messenger," Goliath said. "And not good news, if he's ridden
so hard. His horse can barely keep its pace." They watched as the rider
came near, hailed the guards, was admitted into the castle. "Whatever this
news is, we should hear it."
        By the time they reached Katherine's audience chamber, though,
the news had already been given. The princess was pale but her eyes were
bright with anger. The Magus was the very picture of misery.
        Tom, who served as the court page, was livid. "You're not going
to marry that devil, are you?"
        "Hush, Tom," his mother Mary said.
        "Who sent ye?" Katherine demanded of the messenger.
        "The Lady Finella, once ward and bride-to-be of your uncle King
Kenneth." He glimpsed the gargoyles, jerked with alarm, then returned his
attention to the princess.
        "Is something the matter, your highness?" Goliath asked.
        She couldn't bring herself to say it, she was so infuriated.
        "Constantine means to take the princess as his wife," the Magus
said, sounding as if a blade had gone through him. "By marrying her, he
plans to legitimize his claim to the throne."
        "I've heard talk of this Lady Finella," Mary said. "She's said to
be foolish over Constantine. If he takes another wife, that leaves her out."
        "No longer," the messenger said. "My lady has come to despise
the king with all of the passion she once felt for him."
        "Must you do this?" Angel braced her fists on her hips defiantly.
"Tell him to --"
        "I have several verra good reasons to obey him," Katherine said
quietly. "We canna afford a war with the king."
        "He's not the king!" Tom stomped his foot. "He's a murderer!"
        "There's nothing I can do, Tom. I must marry him, or all of my
people will suffer his wrath." She looked over at Goliath and Angel. "And
he has no love for gargoyles. Yer eggs will na be spared this time."
        Angel's lip curled. "Let him try!"
        "There must be another way," Goliath said. "I know little of your
customs of marriage, but aren't you given a choice?"
        "Aye," she sighed. "My father should have married me off years
ago, but wanted to respect my wishes. Had I heeded him, I'd be wed now,
and Constantine would have to look elsewhere."
        "Then marry someone else!" Tom said. "Quick, before he gets
here!"
        "Tom, Tom," she laughed bitterly, shaking her head. "I've no
suitors, especially none that would risk defying the king."
        "You have one." The Magus came forth and took Katherine's
hands in his.
        "Och, Magus! I canna ask ye to do this!"
        "No, princess. I'm asking you. Will you marry me?"
        "Magus ... the king ... ye'd put yerself in too much danger ..."
        It was, Goliath thought, as if the rest of them had faded from the
room like ghosts.
        "I love you, Katherine, to the ends of the earth and beyond.
Marry me, and we'll face Constantine together."
        She looked deeply into his eyes, her own shining like jewels. "I'd
be honored to have ye for my husband."
        They leaned toward each other, meaning to kiss, but young Tom
picked a bad moment to give a loud cheer.
        Katherine blushed and smoothed her gown, then glanced at her
audience with their identical wide grins. "Just as my father did, we'll be
wed this verra night!"
        Goliath, amused, noted that the Magus wore an expression that
he'd only seen once before.
        It had been the night he, his Angel, and their mentor had returned
from the Archmage's cavern. That gruelling battle had been one of the
most challenging of his life, with their foe laughing as he blinked around
them in a ball of fire that grew from the blue-and-gold phoenix he wore on
his chest.
        Although their mentor had been left scarred, in the end, the
gargoyles had triumphed. The Archmage had plunged into a chasm, his
final words a desperate shouting:
        "Desflagrate muri tempi --"
        ... followed by a jarring thud.
        With the Grimorum in their possession, they had returned to the
castle where the prince lay poisoned and ill. When they'd delivered the
thick tome into the hands of the young Magus, his face had looked much
as it did now -- awe, wonder, delight, the realization of a long-held
yearning.
        Only now, as Katherine smiled up at him and gave the order for
the wedding preparations to be begun, that expression was multiplied a
thousandfold.

                *               *

        The to-do that followed Katherine's announcement made the
previous buzz of activity seem like a sleepy drone. One and all were
wholeheartedly enthusiastic, although surprised at the suddenness of it.
Which led, of course, to speculations for the reason for such hurry. But
even the prospect of a too-soon-after-marriage birthing, which humans
generally regarded as most delicious scandal, was greeted with delight.
There had been too much death, so new life was more cherished than
ever.
        Angel shook her head indulgently. "They make such a fuss over
the simplest things!"
        "It is their way." Goliath shrugged, although he, too, was
smiling. He knew tonight's business would mean trouble with the king, but
it was impossible not to be affected by the humans' happiness.
        Mary and some of the other women whisked Katherine away to
see if her mother's wedding gown could be made to fit her in a matter of
hours. Tom rallied the other children and took them, under the watchful
eyes of his Angel, out to gather what flowers and fragrant herbs could be
found.
        "Goliath?"
        He turned to see the Magus, and inclined his head. "Yes?"
        "It would mean much to me ... to both of us ... if you and Angel
would stand with us tonight."
        Goliath raised a brow ridge. "In the ceremony? We know little of
such things. What would we need to do?"
        "By custom, the duty of the best man is to assure that those who
oppose the wedding cannot burst in and carry off the bride. Katherine and
I are agreed that there would be none better suited to the task than you."
        "I would be pleased," Goliath said. He noticed that the Magus'
joy had given way, in a very short time, to nervousness. "Is anything the
matter? You don't think that the king --"
        "No, no." He forced a laugh. "I never thought this would come to
be. That I would take a wife, any wife, least of all the princess. It's taking
some getting used to."
        Goliath nodded sympathetically, remembering how jumpy he and
his brothers had been the night the elders had led them into the rookery
that their mates might declare a breeding season. "Yet you love her."
        "With all my heart," he said fervently.
        "That," Goliath said, putting a hand on the man's shoulder, "is all
you need."
        "There is one thing more I need, in truth, and that is ... advice."
        That brow ridge went up again, higher this time. "Advice,
Magus? About what?"
        "About ... marriage."
        Strange to see him so hesitant, when he was usually so composed
and well-spoken. "As I said, we gargoyles know little of such things.
Prince Malcolm's wedding was the only one I've personally witnessed --
most humans seem to prefer having such ceremonies by day. Perhaps the
chaplain would be better suited to giving such advice."
        "Oh, it's not about the ceremony." He looked out over the land,
took a deep breath, paused. "It's ... what comes after. The ... wedding
night."
        "I see?" Goliath said, making it a question, not seeing at all.
        "For our marriage to be binding, it must be ... consummated.
Otherwise, Constantine would have grounds to order an annulment. He
may well try anyhow, but we must not give him any weapons to use
against us."
        "Mm-hmm," Goliath prompted, still quite puzzled. "And why is
this a problem? So you shall ... consummate."
        The Magus swallowed. "Yes."
        They looked at each other. Finally, Goliath spoke. "If I am to
advise you, I should know what we're talking about."
        "I've never been with a woman before," the Magus confessed
with much difficulty.
        "Oh!" Goliath nodded. They were talking about mating!
        He should have known. Humans were fixated on it, burdening it
with stigmas and meanings instead of enjoying it as a natural outpouring of
affection and desire.
        Now that he thought of it, he could recall several instances where
he'd overheard guards talking amongst themselves, always carefully out of
earshot of the Magus, speculating as to his apparent lack of interest. They
wondered if he had lost that elemental drive, if his tastes ran to something
other than females, if he were some sort of gelding.
        Seeing how discomfited the Magus was, Goliath did his best to
keep a straight face. Then his eyes flew wide as he realized what the man
was asking.
        "And you want ... advice? On this matter? From me?"
        "I have nowhere else to turn." He glanced at the guards in a way
that told Goliath that not all of their remarks had in fact been as out of
earshot as they'd hoped.
        "Ah." He drew his talons in a thoughtful line down the side of his
face. "Well. Hmm."
        "One cannot pursue magic and chambermaids at the same time,"
the Magus said defensively.
        "I did not mean to imply ..." Goliath coughed, cleared his throat.
"Magus, I am not familiar with the ... habits of humans. Whenever we
observed such encounters, we always thought it best to give those
concerned their privacy. I know humans place importance on that. So
there are bound to be ... differences."
        "I'm aware of that. But from what I've seen --" and here it was
his turn to try and keep a straight face, though Goliath knew instantly that
he had in mind a certain clan leader's reunion flight with his beloved
Angel, a flight that had obviously not gone unnoticed, "-- the general idea
would seem to be much the same."
        Except for whatever it was that you did with your tail, his
expression added silently; the whole castle was wondering about _that_
one.
        Goliath coughed again. "Ah. Yes."
        "If, perhaps, you would tell me whatever you would tell a young
gargoyle?"
        "We have no such formal discussions ... generally, the young
ones learn by observing, and eventually imitating, their elders. But I can
tell you what my own experience has taught me about females, and you
might ... modify it to suit your purpose."
        The Magus sighed in mingled embarrassment and relief. "Thank
you, Goliath."

                *               *

        Always her friend, for as long as she could remember.
        Always her friend, and now her husband.
        Katherine had suspected the Magus had long held feelings for
her, but as he'd never spoken, never acted, she had let her girlhood
daydreams wither. But now, here they were, man and wife.
        Of course, she told herself, he did it only to save her from the
fate of Constantine. His words of love, sweet as they'd been, had been
meant to let them both believe that they were doing what their hearts
wished instead of scurrying into marriage as a cowardly escape.
        But these were hardly thoughts she should be having at her
wedding feast! And for a feast thrown together on such short notice, she
couldn't help but be proud of how her people had outdone themselves.
        Her mother's gown had fit nearly perfectly. Young Tom had led
her to the altar, where the Magus waited. Angel and Goliath stood with
them, producing the rings when called for, and for the first time, everyone
seemed to accept them as fully belonging to the castle. A new beginning,
for all of them.
        She had suffered one pang of sorrow that her father hadn't lived
to see this day, but then took comfort in the knowledge that surely he and
her mother watched over her from above.
        Now she was wed. The Magus sat beside her, and when she
touched his hand, he smiled in a way that made her doubt her earlier
thoughts. A sweet anticipation ran through her though she tried to quell it.
If this was truly a marriage for form's sake only ...
        But she didn't want it to be for form's sake only. She wanted
more. Love, children, him. To explore and enjoy all the secrets she
heard her ladies gossiping and giggling over.
        Did he want the same things? She knew there had been women
before who had taken it into their heads to try and seduce the Magus, to
wear him as a prize or trophy. But none had succeeded. None had even
come close. They cattily tore him to pieces later, telling themselves and
each other that he was a cold fish, as sexless as a stump, soothing their
wounded pride with that bitter balm.
        The feast was done, down to the last few crumbs and bones on
the platters, and the minstrels had played until their fingers grew weary.
Now a bevy of women, led by the beaming Mary, surrounded Katherine.
        "It's time to get ye abed, highness!" Lady Alys tittered madly.
        Ribald cheers from her soldiers greeted this proclamation. But
even in the midst of her blushing acquiescence, Katherine did not miss
how they looked at her new husband, how some of them leaned
conspiratorially close to each other to make scornful comments.
        Prove them wrong, Magus, she thought as they led her from the
room. Prove them all wrong!
        A warm fire blazed in the bridal chamber. The linens on the large
bed had been strewn with petals and herbs, the posts hung with charms for
fertility. Katherine was quickly helped out of her wedding dress and into a
nightgown of palest mauve with satiny ribbons at the bodice and sleeves.
        Mary brushed her hair until it shone like polished wood, and used
that moment to whisper so that the others could not hear. "Will ye be
flying the sheet tomorrow?"
        Katherine blinked at her, then remembered the custom and
grimaced. "Is that necessary?"
        "I've a bladder of chicken's blood if ye --"
        "Mary!" she gasped.
        "Nae, nae, 'tis a trick many a so-called virgin has used. Just
struggle a bit, and crush it, and he'll be none the wiser." She winked.
"Unless he's already ..."
        "Mary!" She drew herself up regally. "There has been no one! I
go to this bed a virgin!" And I pray, she added to herself, that I don't rise
from it the same way!
        Mary bowed her head, chastened, and put the brush away. "I
meant no harm, princess, nor insult to ye."
        "Here they come!" Lady Alys reported gleefully.
        "In ye go, then." Mary pulled the covers to Katherine's chin. "No
sense giving every man in the castle a peek, now, is there?"
        Usually, Katherine knew, the lords and knights would use the
time while the bride was upstairs to ply the groom with a few more mugs
of courage, then tear half his clothes from him and escort him to the bed
chamber while singing lewd songs. Not so this time! Thankfully!
        Lady Alys held the door open a crack with her eye pressed to it,
then opened it as the men approached. They all looked awkward and off-
balance, knowing what they should be doing (drinking and singing) but
also knowing how fundamentally wrong it would be to do so this time.
        The Magus came in and halted just inside the room while Mary
shooed the rest of the ladies out and followed them. Then the door was
closed, the footsteps receded (now with some muffled singing), and the
two of them were alone.
        He wore his robes, his finest ones. The ring she'd placed on his
finger glinted in the firelight. His white hair gleamed soft and silken. She
had always longed to feel its texture, and knew that this night might be her
chance. Hoped that it would be.
        He drank in the sight of her, not that there was much to see as
Mary had all but buried her in blankets.
        "Princess ..."
        "Husband." She smiled. "What is yer real name? If ever I
knew it, I've forgotten it after all these years."
        "My name? Why?"
        "Well, I canna call ye Magus in bed." She sat up, letting the
covers fall to her waist.
        "Princess ... Katherine ... I ..." he averted his gaze as if from the
Gorgon's serpentine countenance rather than his welcoming bride.
        "If ye dinna wish to come to bed, I understand," she said gently.
"But I hope ye dinna think that I've only done this to escape Constantine."
        "The thought did cross my mind," he admitted. "And thus, I'd
not want to presume ..."
        "Do ye love me, as ye said? If ye do, then come to me,
husband." She held out her arms.
        "Michael." He moved to the edge of the bed, now letting himself
look at her with such adoration and longing that she thought she might
melt from that alone. "That is my given name."
        "Michael." Somehow she'd been expecting something different,
something otherworldly and strange, but she decided that she liked it.
        Slowly, his motions still flavored with dreamlike unbelief, he
touched the chestnut fall of her hair, the smoothness of her cheek. She
closed her eyes and sighed.
        "I never dared hope ..." he said, tracing one finger lightly over
her face. "You are so fair, so lovely."
        "Why did ye not speak sooner?"
        "Your father the prince did his best to discourage me, as kindly
as possible. You were meant to marry a lord. Not a wizard. Not the pupil
of the Archmage, his enemy. Any suit of mine, I thought doomed before it
began."
        "And now I am yer wife." She turned her head slightly, leaning
into his caress.
        "But is this what you truly wish? I would not for all the world
cause you sadness."
        "Ye never shall."
        "Might I ... sit with you, Katherine?"
        "I've been hoping ye would." Twinkling eyes glanced shyly up at
him. "And more besides. 'Tis our wedding night, after all."
        "I'd not want to disappoint ..." he murmured, leaning closer.
        Their lips brushed, and for a moment she thought he would pull
away. But his hesitation passed and the next thing she knew, his arms
were around her.
        The dams and walls guarding their passion crumbled away,
loosing a wild torrent. She felt the fire within him that she'd thought
burned only for his magic, now burning for her.
        The intensity of his need would have frightened her if her own
had not matched it. They fell back across the bed, somehow divesting each
other of robes and nightgown without ceasing their frantic kisses.
        She had never expected this, imagining instead that she would
have to coax him, convince him. That they would curiously, even timidly,
find their way together. But the same storm swept them both up, dashing
apart the last of their reserve.
        His hands seemed to leave trails of white-hot flame as they
moved. He rained kisses upon her, each one like a spark that glowed
against her flesh.
        "Michael ..." Katherine moaned, sinking her fingers into the long
white hair that felt just as she had hoped it might. "Yes, husband, make
love to me!"
        
                *               *

        The stone walls were not thick enough.
        Goliath and his Angel didn't miss the startled and re-evaluating
expressions on the faces of many of the humans at the sounds of passion
that came from the bridal chamber.
        "Are we the only ones who thought those two had blood in their
veins?" Angel wondered. "As opposed to ice water?"
        "Apparently so," he rumbled, amused.
        She tipped an ear toward the stairs, grinning. "And they said our
breeding season was noisy!"
        "It was," he reminded her, extending his tail to coil around her
ankle.
        "Oh, is that your game, my love?" she purred.
        Their actions were hidden by the table, and to all appearances
they were merely sitting in the places of honor they'd enjoyed during the
feast, watching the revelry. Although the minstrel was exhausted, some of
the younger folk had collected bowls to serve as drums and made their
own tunes for dancing.
        "Game?" He inched his tail higher, tickling briefly behind her
knee.
        She raised her goblet nonchalantly, looking innocent while her
tail slid quickly up and under his loincloth. Goliath jumped, sending his
own goblet clattering to the floor. Her low, throaty laugh was at once
challenging and inviting.
        "I think we've stayed long enough," he said.
        "Not yet, we haven't."
        "What are you doing?!"
        "You started it. Now, quit squirming, you'll attract attention."
        "Angel ..." He had to grit his teeth as she started doing the most
alarming and delicious things -- how come, in all this time, he'd never
learned that the females knew a few tail maneuvers of their own?
        "Hush, Goliath. You don't want me to stop, do you?"
        He managed a strangled groan that was meant to be, "No!"
        "I didn't think so," she said smugly.
        "If you continue," he warned when he could speak again, "there
will be consequences!"
        "Hmm, what would happen if I did ... this?"
        His talons dug trenches in the tabletop.
        "Or, perhaps ... this?"
        "NNNNRRRAAARGH!"
        All eyes swung his way, but he was past caring. He nearly
overturned the table leaping to his feet. One arm caught Angel around the
waist, pulling her out of her chair. She kicked and struggled playfully as
he sprang onto the wide ledge and out the window, dragging her with him.

                *               *

995 A.D.

        "You're what?" Constantine asked, as if he was certain he'd
misheard the first time.
        "Married," Katherine said calmly.
        "To ... him?" the usurper king demanded incredulously.
        "Even so," the Magus replied, stepping forward to stand at his
wife's side.
        "I won't allow it. I'll have it annulled."
        "Ye canna do that, my lord. We're well and truly wed."
Katherine shrugged and spread her hands. "If ye'd made yerself known
sooner ... but there's nothing that can be done!"
        In the king's entourage, a blond woman in a blue gown allowed
herself a small, triumphant smile. Katherine saw it, but luckily,
Constantine did not.
        "Nothing?" He reached for the hilt of his sword. "If you were
untimely a widow ..."
        Swoop-thump!
        Constantine whirled, found himself face to face with Goliath and
Angel.
        "That would be ... unwise," Goliath said.
        "Ye canna think that I'd marry the man who killed my husband,"
Katherine chided. She and the Magus shared a warm glance, and then she
added, "What then of my babe?"
        "Your ..." He looked to her waist, noted the thickening bulge. He
slammed the half-drawn sword back into the sheath in disgust. "Fine! My
best wishes to you! But someday you'll regret this, Katherine. You could
have done much better."
        "I'll be the judge of that," she said, skirting the very edge of
contempt.
        He scowled, but Goliath glowered, and that was the end of that.
Constantine departed Wyvern with undue haste the very next day.

                *               *

998 A.D.

        "Goliath! Goliath! They're hatching!" Angel charged into the
courtyard where her mate was instructing several of the castle youths in
combat.
        He left off at once, turning eagerly toward her. One of his
students had launched a blow and was unable to check his swing in time. It
glanced off Goliath's shoulder, and the lad who had landed it went grey
with horror. But Goliath barely noticed.
        "Are you sure?"
        "Come and see for yourself!" She tugged him toward the
rookery.
        The people of Wyvern watched them pass, and news spread
eagerly from one set of ears to the next. Their castle had become a
sanctuary, a safe haven, an isle of serenity in the ongoing strife that had
characterized Constantine's short reign. Now there was a new king, a
nephew of murdered Kenneth, who permitted his cousin to rule her
isolated holding as she saw fit. Even with the eccentricity of gargoyles.
        The stone tiers above the sunken floor had never looked so
empty. Now, if ever, was a time when the entire clan should have been
gathered to witness the arrival of the next generation. The females might
lay the eggs in private, but when hatching-time came, the whole clan was
supposed to be present.
        "Our future," Angel said. "We're not the last. We're not alone."
        Goliath put an arm around her and they watched as the eggs
rocked in their nests of straw.
        "May we join ye?"
        At the doorway was Katherine, her infant daughter Dierdre held
to her breast. The Magus stood behind her holding their son Bowdyn, and
thirteen-year-old Tom crowded in trying to see what was happening.
        Goliath looked at Angel and she understood it was up to her. By
permitting the humans to stay, she was taking the final step in admitting
them into the clan. They had no right to be here ... if not for the humans,
the hatchlings would have more than two parents. But by that same token,
she and Goliath had no right to be here either. The blame was shared
among all. So, too, should the rest.
        "Come," she said. "There should be more than just Goliath and I
to welcome them to the world."
        Just then, one tiny taloned foot kicked a hole in the first egg. The
shell rolled, split apart, and dumped a wailing baby gargoyle into the
straw.
        Angel bent and gathered up the little one, wiping the fluids away.
"There, now. It's all right."
        The lavender-skinned hatchling stared up at her and gurgled
adorably.
        "Look at her," Katherine exclaimed. "A wee angel in miniature!
Ye should call her Angela!"
        Goliath reached over and touched the hatchling, who instantly
clamped onto his finger and tried to eat it. Her pointy fangs nearly drew
blood. She pulled herself up, grabbing onto a clump of Angel's hair and
earring.
        "Ow!" she said good-naturedly, disentangling it. "Angela ... I
like the sound of that!"
        "How are we to name them all?" Goliath pondered.
        "We'll help!" Tom said as the second egg burst into pieces,
spilling out a grey-green male. "He could be Gabriel, like the Archangel!"
        All that night and the next, they tended newly-hatched gargoyles.
The Magus, even with his education, was hard-pressed to come up with
names for them all. Biblical (Malachi, Jacob, Ruth), gemstones
(Tourmaline, Carnelian, Onyx), classical (Ophelia, Laertes, Thisbe), and
local (Corwin, Boudicca, Angus).
        "Look at this one, my angel," Goliath said, lifting a feisty,
wiggling male. "He has your coloring. And your temper," he added as the
hatchling let out a surprisingly loud squall of irritation.
        "Joshua," the Magus suggested.
        Angel frowned. "No ... I don't care for it."
        "Well, then ... Jericho," he threw out tiredly.
        "Magus, that's a place, not a person," Katherine teased.
        "Jericho." Goliath nodded. "Yes. That will do. Your name is
Jericho," he told the hatchling, who had by now caught hold of one of
Goliath's brow ridges and was trying to clamber up his face.
        At last, there was only one egg left.
        "D'ye think that one is all right?" Katherine asked. "It's not like
the others."
        Goliath picked it up, cradling the small pale pinkish shell in his
hands. "Sometimes, they do not hatch," he said sadly. "It is warm, but I
feel no stirring."
        "Can't ye break it open?" Tom urged.
        "It would be a shame to lose even one of our children," Angel
said from where she sat in the straw, with hatchlings tumbling and
crawling all around her legs.
        "Here," Tom said, producing a knife. "Crack it with this!"
        Goliath accepted it, carefully braced the point against the egg,
and tapped on the hilt. The shell was far thinner than the others, giving
way easily. Moments later, a small, still form came into view.
        "A girl," Katherine murmured, holding her own daughter close.
"The poor bairn!"
        "She was not developed properly," Goliath said, shaking his head
as he examined the misshapen hands, the frail wings. "Perhaps it is better
this way."
        The hatchling coughed and began to cry in a thin, reedy voice.
        "She lives!" Katherine touched the light-brown silky hair, so like
that which crowned baby Dierdre's head.
        Goliath and Angel looked heavily at each other, neither wanting
to be the first to say it. "You are the leader, my love," Angel finally said.
"Whatever you think must be done ..."
        "What are ye talking about?" Tom demanded. "Ye don't mean to
... ye can't!"
        "Even if she lived to maturity, she'd never be a proper warrior,"
Goliath said. "She would always be sickly, a burden to her clan."
        "She's just the runt of the litter!" Tom protested. "Ye can't kill
her for that!"
        "Kill her!" Katherine pressed a hand to her mouth in horror.
"Och, Goliath, ye mustn't!"
        "We already have so many healthy ones to care for ..." Angel
said.
        "Then we'll look after her!" Katherine scooped the ivory-hued
hatchling from Goliath's grasp.
        "You are only making sorrow for yourself," Goliath said, but did
not attempt to take her back.
        "She'll survive," Katherine declared. "I'll see to that. She'll grow
as a sister to my own children."
        "As you will, princess."
        "And if she lives," Tom said belligerently, "ye'll train her as
well. She's still a gargoyle, after all! She deserves the chance to be a
warrior, and a part of the clan."

                *               *
1010 A.D.

        "Well, Goliath, we've proved ye wrong," Katherine said proudly.
"Elektra lives, and is stronger than ever. She is even growing faster than
any of her siblings."
        "I admit it, princess. I misjudged her. Thank you for
intervening."
        "It astounds me how like Dierdre she is," the princess confessed.
"They're like sisters of blood as well as raising. Look at them."
        Goliath did, seeing the two females playing together in the little
garden that Tom's wife Moll had planted alongside the stable. The
hatchlings were twelve years old now, which made them equivalent in size
to Tom's six-year-old son Kieran. But Elektra towered over her siblings,
looking closer in age to eight or ten, though still frail by gargoyle
standards.
        She did resemble Dierdre, Goliath saw. And Katherine, too.
They all had the same light brown hair, the same pale blue eyes, the same
fair skin. When Elektra sat with her wings caped and her tail hidden, it
was almost as if she wasn't a gargoyle at all. If she didn't turn to stone
with the dawn like the rest of them, Goliath might have been inclined to
wonder.
        "You wanted to inspect the battlements," Goliath reminded the
princess. "I think you'll be pleased. The masons have --"
        "Rargh!" A blue bundle of energy sprang from the shadows,
landing on Goliath's back. Talons scrabbled for a hold, bracing themselves
on his wings. Claws dug into his ears. "Got you!"
        "Jericho!" Katherine scolded. "Have ye no manners?"
        Goliath's laugh rolled deep and merry. "Attacking me, are you?
We'll see about that!" He plucked the lad from his shoulders and shook
him until red hair flew and Jericho's squeal of mirth echoed from the
walls.
        "I'm going to be a great warrior!" Jericho announced. "Just like
Goliath!"
        "That you will! Now, what are you doing up here? I thought
Angel was taking all of you hunting."
        Jericho made a face. "I'm tired of chasing scared rabbits that
she's already snared and loosed in the field! I want to hunt real game,
fight real battles! Besides, they're done. Angela and the other _girls_
wanted to go collect flowers," he finished disdainfully.
        "Well, we can't have you running loose and getting into trouble!"
He ruffled the boy's hair. "Go find your brothers, and I'll start teaching
you how to use a bow as soon as the princess and I finish what we're
doing."
        "A bow? Really?" Jericho's eyes lit up. "Can I be first?"
        "Of course," Goliath chuckled indulgently.
        All but skipping in excitement, Jericho hurried off, yelling for
Gabriel.
        "He's a scamp, that he is," Katherine said.
        "Yes, but there's the making of a good leader within him."
        "How could there not, given his lineage?" She smiled. "He and
Angela do take after their parents. Ye and Angel must be proud of yer
children."
        "We are proud of all of them. Why should we make exceptions?
It is not the gargoyle way to favor one hatchling over another."
        "Even for yer own son and daughter?"
        "Daughters and sons belong to the entire clan. How would we
know whose children are whose?"
        "Ye have eyes, don't ye?" She shook her head in amazement.
"Have ye not seen that those two are yer own flesh and blood? Look at
Jericho -- why, once he grows into those wings and great oversized feet of
his, he'll be as tall as ye, but with his mother's coloring. And Angela,
with yer hair and skin ..."
        "It doesn't matter," he said. "They are all our children, and
we, my Angel and I, are their only parents."
        She nodded, and her tone said that she would let him have his
way even if she thought he was being silly. "Verra well, Goliath."
        But as she started up the stairs toward the battlements, he paused,
and let his gaze find Jericho where the lad was wrestling in mock battle
with some of his brothers.
        From there, he looked to Tom and Kieran, teaching the watchdog
Boudicca to retrieve a cloth ball. The ball had sprung several seams and
was trailing its stuffing as the green-gold puppy raced in circles with
Kieran giggling at her heels.
        And from there, to the balcony, where Bowdyn, tall for his
fifteen years and already showing the light blond fuzz of a beard on his
chin, stood in consult with his father the Magus.
        A son, Goliath mused. My son.
        But what was he thinking? He had nineteen sons, all of them fine
and strong. And many daughters as well. To show any preference was not
the gargoyle way.

                *               *

1018 A.D.

        Elektra watched alone from the window as the gargoyles, her
rookery brothers and sisters, assembled for their warrior training.
        No longer one of them. She could not deny it any further. The
differences in her were becoming too great to allow the comfort of self-
delusion.
        They had hatched twenty years ago, all of them. But here she
was, already with the outward appearances of physical maturity, with the
figure of an adult female while her sisters were only beginning to show
signs of adolescence.
        It might not have been so bad, had she not lagged so far behind
Dierdre. Her crib-sister, as Tom called them, was a woman now, with a
husband and children of her own. Inseparable friends as children, they had
grown apart.
        And so here is Elektra, she thought. Distant from her clan, now
distant from her family as well.
        Family. So she had always felt them to be. Katherine, who had
been as a mother to her. The Magus, father and teacher in much the same
way Goliath was father and teacher to the rest of the clan. Tom was like a
much-loved uncle, his children her cousins.
        Prince Bowdyn had always been aloof and somewhat resentful of
her, for he'd been forced to share his parents' affections not only with his
baby sister but with a gargoyle foundling-child. His resentment had grown
when it became clear that she alone understood the Magus' art. Bowdyn
himself knew he could not have his magic and still inherit Wyvern, but
that had not stopped him from taking a bitter view of Elektra.
        Even so, even with all of that, she had let herself be lulled. Even
fancied herself human, ridiculous notion!
        No longer. It had finally come clear to her. Dierdre's husband
was high in the favor of the current king, and while he bore no great
enmity toward gargoyles, neither held he love of them. When he had
invited the family to spend the winter holidays at his hall, it had been
made most clear that Elektra would not be warmly welcomed.
        She had pretended other reasons to stay, much to Dierdre's relief.
With her family gone, she'd tried to renew her friendships with the clan,
but found that she had grown apart from them, too. They thought she put
on airs, tried to be human, and she could not deny that charge.
        Hadn't she even been mistaken for human on occasion? Hadn't
there been that courtier, so flattering in his attention until Bowdyn pointed
out that she was a gargoyle? He'd drawn away from her at once, and ever
thereafter glowered at her, as if the deception had been her fault.
        Goliath and Angel were unfailingly kind to her, but she knew
they wondered what it was that made her so different. Wondered what
kind of future she could have.
        They weren't alone in so wondering. More and more, that
question consumed her mind. She knew of the difficulty of her hatching,
of the tenuous balance in which her life had been suspended. What had
happened to her egg to make it unlike its fellows? What had happened to
her?
        Despairing, knowing that she would never find answers, she
turned away from the window and set about tiding the princess' chamber.
They'd packed for their trip in something of a rush, and those winter
garments discovered to be in need of mending were hastily tossed aside.
        Well, she told herself, trying to brighten her mood, if there was
one thing these long-fingered hands were skilled at, it was sewing.
        She fetched needle and thread and went to work. As she was
putting everything away in the large trunk that had belonged to the
princess' father, her hand brushed something. A large squarish lump in the
lining. Tracing its shape, she decided it was some sort of book, and found
the hole where it had slipped through and become trapped.
        A book would help pass the time, she thought, and began to read.

                *               *

1030 A.D.

        "If they breach the walls, we'll all be done for! If we only
frighten them off, they'll return by day and the humans won't be able to
hold the castle." Jericho's voice dropped harshly. "You know what
happens then."
        "What would you have us do?" said quiet Thisbe breathlessly.
"Not take the battle to them?"
        "That very thing!" Jericho turned in a slow circle, catching and
holding each of his siblings' gazes. "Who's with me?"
        Some of them looked away, but none disagreed aloud when
Gabriel stepped forward with Angela by his side. "We all are, brother.
It's time we put our training to good use."
        "Good." Jericho nodded sharply. "Ophelia, Hippolyta, Corwin,
you're the best archers among us. Find the Viking commanders and shoot
them down. Jacob is the quickest and has the keenest eyes; he'll scout
them out for you."
        "That's hardly fair fighting ..." Corwin began.
        Hippolyta whirled on him. "Would you rather be fair, pretty-boy,
or alive? They showed no such courtesy to our leader!"
        "Well said." He flashed her a strained grimace that was a shadow
of his usual winning grin.
        For a moment all of them fell silent, trying not to think of the
image that would forever be imprinted in their minds -- of Goliath gliding
to catch his beloved Angel as she tumbled boneless from the catapult strike
that had rendered her unconscious. Of a Norse-accented voice bellowing
from the flame and thunder of the army, "Arrows away!" and a volley
of hissing, whistling shafts blotting out the moon. Of Goliath twisting in
flight, shielding Angel with his body so that the arrows plunged and
bristled into his back. Of his fall, only barely checked by Jericho, Gabriel,
and Angela, who had borne the two adults to earth while the rest of their
siblings looked on in horror.
        Now Goliath lay nearby, watching and listening but not speaking,
while the Magus and Ruth did their best to stanch the apparently endless
flow of blood. Angel was crumpled beside him, and even in his extremity
of pain, Goliath cradled her head gently to keep it from having to rest on
cold ground.
        Jericho went on. "Malachi, Angus, Deborah, you're the
strongest. The battering rams are yours, tear them to kindling. Speaking of
kindling, Carnelian, Laertes, get behind their lines and light fire to their
supply wagons."
        "I will stay and tend to Goliath and Angel," Ruth said as if
expecting him to argue.
        "Good. Miriam, help her." He paused, then added, "We'll need
someone to stay here and guard them, in case any Viking slip past the
defenses."
        "I will stay," Icarus replied at once, his tone thanking Jericho for
finding a way to leave him behind that didn't make him feel like a cripple,
and useless.
        "Tourmaline --" he faltered when he saw how her eyes were
alight with shining admiration, "you take Thisbe, Zachariah, and Elswyth.
Spook the horses."
        "What of the rest of us?" Ezekiel asked eagerly.
        "Arm yourselves," Jericho said. "You're with me."
        As they scattered to do just that, Jericho heard Goliath speak his
name and went to him, kneeling, on earth grown dark with blood. He tried
not to look at it, tried not to see the arrows that pierced so deep that the
fletching was only barely visible, the arrows that the Magus could only
remove by cutting away skin and flesh. To look would shatter his last
belief in Goliath's invulnerability.
        Instead he fixed his gaze on that lined, careworn face. For the
first time, he noticed the grey that was beginning to appear in Goliath's
sable mane. That, too, unnerved him. Goliath and Angel were not
supposed to grow old. They were supposed to be forever young. A love
such as theirs had to be eternal.
        He cast those thoughts away, and met Goliath's dark eyes.
        "You're a born leader," Goliath said.
        "I'm a made leader," Jericho corrected, gripping Goliath's
shoulder as if he could send his own life force into that wounded body. "I
won't disappoint you ... Father."
        Goliath began to cough, the spasms wracking his frame, causing
the barbs to shift and move in his back and inflict new injuries. He bore it
stoically, but Jericho uttered a low cry of pain as if he himself felt the hot
bite of steel. How could he leave? How could he leave, when he might
return to find Goliath gone?
        "Go," Goliath managed to say, as if reading his thoughts.
"Protect ..." more coughing, and his hand clamped down on Jericho's
with agonizing force, "protect the castle. Lead your clan."
        He understood then that Goliath was saying goodbye. But he
would not weep, would show only strength. Not trusting himself to speak,
he could only nod.
        "You'll do well," Goliath said. "Now ... go."
        Jericho resolutely turned from that scene and found Prince
Bowdyn atop the wall, attempting to rally his men. Wyvern had never
been a populous castle, and less so since the massacre thirty-six years ago,
but what soldiers they had carried the benefit of good training. Between
Goliath's skill, Angel's cunning, and the good-natured but firm guidance
of Tom, now Captain of the Guard, those few men were each worth three
Vikings.
        The Vikings still had them greatly outnumbered. They were led
by one Olgar Helgasson, son of none other than the dreaded Haakon. He
had been little more than a babe in arms when his father died, raised all
his life burning with the desire to avenge.
        "We canna hold them back!" Bowdyn pounded his fist on the
wall. Although he greatly resembled his father the Magus, he had
inherited his mother's noble bearing and, so Jericho heard, his grandsire
Malcolm's strong jaw.
        "My gargoyles are ready, highness," Jericho said.
        Bowdyn gave him a scathing once-over, and Jericho was all too
aware that while he was nearly Goliath's match in height, he had yet to fill
out. Still, that left him more than a match for a human, a fact he would be
happy to demonstrate if they had the time.
        "Yer gargoyles?" Princess Katherine cut in, before her
occasionally quick-tongued son could make a remark he might quickly
regret. The woman, her brown hair now liberally streaked with silver,
stood as tall and proud as ever, despite an uncontrollable trembling in her
aged hands. In recent years, she had yielded almost all of the duties of
rule to Bowdyn, but was still the princess, still beloved of her people.
"Goliath ... he's na ... he canna be ..."
        "The Magus and my sister Ruth are caring for him," Jericho said,
meaning it to be reassuring but hearing the thickness in his voice that told
of unshed tears, of certain fate. "Angel has also been struck down, and has
yet to regain consciousness. In the meanwhile, Goliath has entrusted me
with leadership of the clan. And we are going into battle."
        "Jericho, nae!" Katherine cried in dismay. "We canna lose ye,
too!"
        He just looked at her, not needing to say what he'd already said
to his clan. She remembered. She understood.
        At last she bowed her head. "Aye, then, ye must."
        "Are yer warriors capable?" Bowdyn asked.
        Jericho forced a smile. "You forget, highness, that we are not as
much younger than you as we appear to be. Your kind age while you
sleep; our kind does not. Our waking hours have been filled with training.
We may lack experience, but --" he broke off, looked to the courtyard,
then back to Bowdyn, "we have reason to fight."
        "So be it," Bowdyn said after a stern glower from his mother.
"Captain!"
        Tom left off advising the sentries. There was a momentary lull in
the battle, the Vikings having fallen back to regroup. Although they'd
brought down both Goliath and Angel, it hadn't been without terrible cost
to their troops.
        "The gargoyles prepare to attack," Bowdyn told him. "Instruct
our men to do what they can to aid them."
        "From within the walls, or without?" Tom asked cannily.
        Bowdyn snorted. "Have we men willing to leave the walls for
an assault?"
        "Kieran's riders are willing, highness," Tom said, with great
evident pride in his son.
        "I dinna like opening the gates, even for a moment." Bowdyn
drummed his fingers.
        "Have them ready at the gate," Jericho suggested. "Then, if our
attack disorganizes the Vikings, as we hope, send them out to strike."
        "Aye, that'll do," Tom said without waiting for Bowdyn's
approval, and went to give the orders while the prince glared.
        "He yet thinks of me as a boy," Bowdyn muttered.
        Jericho forced another smile. "He yet calls us eggs, so you're
some better off!"
        Moments later, he rejoined his clan. They were wary but excited,
most eager for their first taste of real warfare. Those that weren't masked
it well.
        "Let's show them," Jericho said, "how we protect our home."
        Thirty young warriors followed him from the battlements, full-
throated battle cries ringing.
        It wasn't clean. That was Jericho's first thought as he got a close-
up look at the carnage below. Not clean. The men didn't go easily into
death, but kicking and thrashing and fighting for life. Blood and bodies
were everywhere. Men slipped in the entrails of their comrades, their
horses, their foes. The horror of it, horror that all Goliath's teaching
couldn't properly instill, smote him like a blow.
        He heard outbursts from his siblings, but none of them wavered.
Each went as they had been assigned, to the supply wagons or the
catapults or to seek out the commanders with as deadly a hail of arrows as
had greeted Goliath.
        Later, he would remember little. Just a grim determination to
survive and to kill.
        He would later hear from captives that the Vikings had been told
by their spies that only two adult gargoyles guarded Wyvern and that the
rest were children. Thus, they had felt they could risk an attack at dusk,
when the castle's human defenders would be at their weakest. They had
not counted on the fate that now befell them.
        His clan descended on the Vikings like divine judgement. The
night became a turbulent hell.
        Spears and missiles arced up toward the gargoyles, were easily
avoided, fell back amid the churning troops. Men were plucked screaming
from their saddles, thrown onto the upraised swords and axes of their
fellows.
        Kieran's riders charged into the fray. Olgar Helgasson bellowed
orders, until Ophelia's arrow transfixed his temples.
        Jericho lost himself in the fire and fury. Lost himself, until a
banshee howl shattered the heavens and made everyone on the field, man
and gargoyle alike, stop as one.
        The banshee howl was Angel's, and Jericho knew of only one
thing that could make her voice such a cry. A terrible fist of grief crushed
his heart.
        Moments later, she appeared on the wall, one wing hanging
awkwardly and one leg bent from the catapult shot that had nearly taken
her life. Her eyes blazed with such scarlet light that they seemed to cast
their glow over the entire land, tinting all with the hue of blood.
        "No," Jericho whispered, knowing what she meant to do.
        Ruth appeared beside her, gesturing, imploring, but Angel shook
her off and leaped, gliding clumsily but purposefully into the thick of the
fight. Her claws began scything, a harvest of Vikings falling like wheat.
        "Stop her!" Corwin and Onyx were nearby; Jericho pulled them
with him as he sped in that direction. "She means to get herself killed!"
        Viking with a spear, looming unseen behind Angel as she gutted a
horseman. Jericho's warning swallowed by the din.
        But then Angela was there, her tail whipping around the spear
and yanking it from the man's grasp. And Gabriel, seizing the man's neck
in the crook of his arm and snapping it sideways with a hard jerk.
        Angel ignored all of this and went after the next human,
trampling and gouging the fallen wounded beneath her talons. Her leg
buckled, spilled her amid the dying. One of them had presence enough of
mind to grab up a knife and stab at her, grazing her chest and ripping
through the membrane of her good wing, pinning her to the ground.
        The man she'd been about to kill now came at her with a deadly
crescent-shaped hand axe.
        "Corwin!" Jericho pointed.
        Corwin hurled a spear into the man's back. But as he fell, the axe
swept forward on a course that would bury it in Angel's skull.
        Gabriel kicked the weapon, slicing his foot to the bone but
deflecting it enough so that it missed Angel and finished off a Viking who
was just beginning to rise.
        Angela reached Angel, pulled the knife loose before Angel could
shred her wing with her struggles.
        "Let go of me!" Angel snarled.
        "Don't do this!" Angela wrapped her arms around the older
female despite her struggles. "We need you! Angel, we need you!"
        Jericho landed. "Get her back to the castle!"
        "No!" Angel lashed out at him and he darted his head back just in
time to spare himself some vicious slashes. "I have to finish this!"
        "We'll finish it!" he shouted.
        "Goliath is --"
        "I know!" He bit his lip until it bled. "I know. We can't lose you,
too."
        "Don't leave us," Angela said, almost begged. "Please, Mother!"
        She fell apart in Angela's arms like a broken doll, and gave no
more resistance. Gabriel and Angela lifted her between them, carried her
toward the castle.
        Now Jericho saw others of his siblings, wounded, fleeing back to
the shelter of the stone walls. But the Vikings were retreating, panicked,
only pockets of fighting left.
        He saw Ezekiel wielding his staff, a large ring of men with
broken limbs or cracked skulls piled around him, but behind Ezekiel,
Thisbe was pale with dread as she tried to bandage Jacob's leg, the small
tan gargoyle gone faded yellow from loss of blood.
        The others, all around Jericho, had wounds ranging from
scratches to severe. He saw their faces, so scared and hurt, but they had
come too far. They had to finish it, as he had promised.
        Horses pounded up to him. He recognized Kieran and his men;
was surprised to see Hippolyta also on horseback. The surprise vanished
the moment he glimpsed her wings, peppered with holes. She must have
flown through a hailstorm of arrows.
        "Get back to the castle!"
        "This isn't done yet!" she shot back. "I cannot glide, but I can
ride! And while I can ride, I can fight!"
        Pointless to argue with her, he knew that. Glancing around, he
saw that Corwin was still nearby, and Zachariah, Laertes, and Onyx. All
appeared in fairly good health, minor injuries only, and the light of battle
still blazed in their eyes.
        "We can take them!" Kieran said. "We've got them on the run
already! Let's drive them into the sea from whence they came, what say
ye?"
        "Follow me," Jericho said, and led the way.
        It was ridiculously easy, that last effort. A few Vikings, a
handful, no more, fled into the deep woods with Kieran's riders in pursuit.
The rest died trying to defend themselves from the diminished, but even
fiercer, host of demons that dove shrieking from the sky to rend and slay.
Some reached their ships, but Laertes and Corwin hastily improvised
burning arrows to set the wooden crafts aflame.
        "Victory is ours!" Onyx cried, waving the sword she'd seized.
        "Celebrate later," Jericho told her. "Back to the castle!"
        They were greeted with cheers as they approached. The Vikings
had been thoroughly routed. Tom's soldiers moved in businesslike ranks
across the field, taking prisoners, mercifully dispatching the dying. The
battle was won, the castle safe.
        Jericho found that it meant far less to him than he'd always
thought it would. Where was the honor in this? He finally understood what
Goliath had been trying to teach them. They needed to be warriors to
survive, to protect their clan and their home. But they were not warriors
for the glory of it. Only a fool would find pride in this madness and death.
        He saw similar realizations on the faces of his siblings as they
glided over the devastated land and into the courtyard. Their first battle
had been something they'd all anticipated. Now they yearned for their
shattered innocence. This was no hatchling game.
        The other gargoyles were gathered solemnly around Angel, who
knelt in private, untouchable anguish. None of the others spoke, or moved
except Ruth, who went quietly among them and gave or coaxed or forced
healing attentions.
        Angela stood closest to Angel, but was overcome by her own
sorrow and weeping against Gabriel's chest.
        At their feet was a heap of gravel and dust that made an outline
on the crimson-stained earth.
        Jericho took a deep breath, and let it out in a quaking sigh. He
went to Angel, kneeling at her side. He took her hand in both of his. She
did not look up, but he sensed that she welcomed what scant comfort the
touch offered.
        Another figure knelt on Angel's other side, took her other hand.
Princess Katherine, with the Magus standing behind her. Others joined the
circle -- Tom, Kieran. Elektra should be with them, Jericho thought, and
it startled him into realizing how long it had been since he or any of them
had spoken of their runaway sister.
        "He was the greatest warrior I've ever known," Katherine said
softly. "And I know he'd be proud of all of ye."
        "Deborah?" Jericho asked without turning his head.
        His sister, she of the prominently unattractive nose horn and the
celestially beautiful voice, came forward. "Yes, brother?"
        "You and Laertes are the musicians, the singers. Make a song, so
that we and our descendants will never forget Goliath's bravery and
devotion to his clan. A song of how he chose to stay, and give us life and
a future, when all else seemed lost."
        "We will," she promised.
        Angela wiped her eyes. "Our children's children must learn it and
pass it down. If it takes a hundred years or a thousand until this castle
rises above the clouds, there will be gargoyles who remember Goliath,
gargoyles there to greet his friends."

                *               *

Continued in Part Two ...

Page copyright 1998 by Christine Morgan (vecna@eskimo.com)