‎Chapter 5: A Gargoyle in the storm

In the paths of Carcerus

The vein, a glowing tube that ran right through the middle of the seemingly endless tunnel, left little room for shadows. Which was a pity, because the tall, muscular figure with the huge leather-covered wings would have cast an impressive silhouette in front of a more suitable light source. With an unmoving face, his gaze followed his kin, already only faintly visible due to the distance and now disappearing from his field of vision due to the slight curve of the path. Slowly flapping wings caught the warm rising air just above their veins as they flew along in neat rows of four. Even without knowledge of aerodynamics, even without knowing the term itself, he knew that most of the lift was generated by the innate magic of gargoyles.

He had already come a long way. By the time he had to say goodbye to his clan, they had only taken the most necessary breaks since they had set out. The anger that struck down stationary creatures outside the Nexus had not been the only reason for their escape. Some of the elders had thought that one day they would escape the reach of their oppressor in this way. But most had agreed with him that the Lord Mage would never give up. They would never be safe. As flying servants and warriors of the mage, they had somehow been endowed by him with a weakness for mastery magic. It was ironic really, an indomitable courage, yet so easily broken by the Lord Mage's spells.

He would find a way to find them and destroy them. They would never be able to rest. He was immortal and he never forgave. There was only one way to be safe. They had to kill him and steal the Seal of Creation from him so they could create a new safe haven. The seal was a relic whose original origin even the Gargylen did not know.

Even the most powerful of all known mages could not use his spells against someone he could not find. And the seal interfered with every scrying spell for miles around. His clan had had a hard time surviving in the Ways. And if it worked like they'd heard, it would also fix the biggest problem they had. Like almost all beings in the dungeon dimension, they were hunted. They had to fight for every day they wanted to live. Only to die in the end and be reborn somewhere in Carcerus. Again and again. He had heard the stories often enough of the few people who had newly arrived in the Nexus and had been allowed to settle because of their knowledge or skills.

He was just grateful that he couldn't remember his previous lives. He had never found out why this never happened to the inhabitants of the Nexus. For most of the natives from outside the Nexus, memories of snippets of their past lives had come back during the stress of puberty. Dramatic moments. First love, heroic battles, appalling defeats. Especially defeats. Repeated defeats against the powers of the dungeon dimension. Death under torture. Death under the teeth of indescribable monsters. Death by starvation when they were chased into paths that offered too little food for everyone. The memories came mostly at night, in the dreams that weren't dreams. While he waited for his wings to finally grow out and allow him the first flight that would officially carry him into manhood, he had once witnessed one of the new arrivals regain his memories and lie sobbing in the corner of his den. And the next day, he ran out of the village screaming madly and had to be laboriously caught and calmed down.

The Lord Mage had gone to great lengths to erase the memories of his people over the generations. They had no idea what their people had done before they were enslaved by the Lord Mage Bhargamon. He claimed to have created them from scratch with his magic, but the clan elders had long believed this to be a lie. They didn't even know if others of their people had ever managed to resist his domination magic and escape. Not until his clan had managed to secretly gather enough supplies, weapons and tools to set out and flee without warning. But the Lord Mage was still looking for them and one day he would find them. He would not give up and since, according to the records of his people, he had already lived many hundreds of cycles, he was not expected to die of old age any time soon. They knew his hiding place. The sanctuary that was hidden from all eyes. And with every Gargylen that died in freedom, the danger increased that someone would remember the hiding place in another life. He could not and would not allow that to happen.

After his family, friends and companions had disappeared from his sight, he took to the air and returned the same way.

When he saw the characteristic glow of the Nexus in the distance, he paused for a moment. The entrances would be guarded. So he had to fly so close above the vein that he could not be seen. The glowing ribbon, source of light, warmth and therefore life, wound its way through the endless corridor at the same distance. In the Nexus, however, the corridor ended in the inside of a huge cave. The vein crossed the empty space and joined with others to form a glaring knot in the center of the huge cavity. A roughly spherical cavity with a diameter of incomprehensibly many thousands of path widths.

The light eternal breeze whistled in and joined with that of many other paths that also ended in the nexus. The air currents joined together and intensified into gusts and strong wind currents that raged through the nexus high in the air.

The Lord Mage's guards watched every entrance to the Nexus. And since they knew his kind and their abilities, they not only kept an eye on the ground, but also on the airspace. To avoid the guards' attention, he had to fly into the Nexus close above the vein. Of course, without getting close enough to trigger the deadly lightning bolts that would destroy anyone who got too close. Not actually difficult for a skilled flyer, but on the transition into the nexus, "Below" suddenly turned sideways. And if he didn't have enough momentum to get out of the guarded area, he would certainly be seen. He didn't understand why it was like that, but the eldest of his clan had explained it to him. Far more often than he himself would have thought necessary. Down in the paths was always... Well, down. In the Nexus, on the other hand, down was... well... also down, but always towards the outside, seen from the center of the Nexus. In any case, he would suddenly be jolted during the transition and then feel like he was flying upwards. He would slow down, then turn and roll over the wing. If all went well, he would already be too high to be seen by the guards. Considering that only once every few months did anyone or anything enter the Nexus, the guards would certainly not be very observant.

After one last check along the path, he spread his mighty leathery wings and ran up the edge of the vault as far as he could. When he lost momentum because the edge became too steep, he pushed off and swung himself upwards. The first swing took him close under the vein, then in a narrow arc upwards over it. Then he put all his strength into picking up speed.

Despite all his theory, he was not prepared when his own weight suddenly pulled on him. He almost came within fatal distance of the vein, but just managed to throw himself to the side. Then he turned and flew after the new "bottom" until he had enough momentum to gain height again.

Bit by bit, it soared higher and higher, carried by a wild wind current that was blowing in the right direction. The strong wind flung him off his flight path again and again. With all his strength, he braced his wings against the unusually strong wind and finally reached the necessary height. Some of the air was not as transparent as usual. Similar to the fog at the bottom of the paths, but in the middle of the air. In places, it thickened to such an extent that dark, opaque ribbons wound their way along the currents through the empty space. Straight towards its destination. The brightly lit windows in the towers of the black fortress served as a beacon visible for miles.

The flight was long and exhausting. Again and again he had to laboriously search for updrafts and allow himself to be carried further upwards, only to be flung aside by crossing air currents. He soon lost all sense of time. Minutes turned into hours. There seemed to be no end to the distance. When his strength threatened to leave him and for a moment he no longer had the strength to brace his wings against the storm wind, he went off course for a moment, whirled uncontrollably through the air and plummeted downwards in a spiral. With the last of his strength, he brought his uncontrolled dive back under control and spiraled upwards again. There was no sign of the castle. He frantically made a wide circle, but nothing could be seen through the storm and rain. Just as he was about to give up, a fine light flashed briefly through the storm in the distance. He immediately mobilized his last reserves of strength and set course again. And sure enough, the brightly lit windows of the castle reappeared almost directly below him.

High up on the top of a rocky hill, the fortress of the black magician towered over the land like a crown. A round wall, almost ten meters high, surrounded the fortress like a ring. Towers more than thirty meters high were distributed at regular intervals directly behind it. In the center of the fortress, and thus at the highest point of the hill, stood the mighty tower of black stone that was the Gargoyl's target. The castle was one of the rare structures in the dungeon dimension. As far as the Gargoyl knew, it was the only fortified settlement in existence. But he had always doubted that there really were no other fortresses. The universe was too big to contain just one structure that could withstand the forces of the hunter beings and the wrath.

He skillfully glided between two air currents and swooped down onto the wide open platform at the top of the tower. At the last moment, he caught himself with his mighty wings. Just before he hit the ground, one of the numerous currents turned and swept through his path. He landed, driven by weight and momentum, but the powerful gust caught him and threatened to hurl him over the parapet! The wind tugged his wings back wide open and for a moment he didn't have the strength to fold them up. Desperately, he rammed his mighty claws into the stone. Dragging a long scrape behind him, he came to a halt, folded his wings with a final effort and lay panting.

As he had hoped, the platform was empty.

A heavy kick shook the heavy wooden door. With the second, the door hinges began to loosen, and with the third, the door simultaneously broke in the middle and out of its anchoring. The gargoyle let out a shrill, triumphant cry and kicked one of the still falling door halves into the face of a surprised guard who had probably just warmed up inside. With a stifled cry, the man tumbled backwards down the narrow and steep spiral staircase. The gargoyle released his buckler, a small metal shield, from the holder that had attached it to his hip and took it firmly in his left hand. With the other, he loosened the fastening strap of his shoulder scabbard and drew the broadsword that was fastened there along his spine between his wings. He reluctantly folded his wings, took another deep breath and then stormed down the spiral staircase. Confused shouts were already coming towards him from below. Given his breakneck speed, it was inevitable that he would stumble on the steps, which had been worn down over the centuries. But he didn't let that stop him either. As he continued to push himself off the steps with his legs, he spread his wings a little and braced them against the stone walls to the right and left to control his speed. The rough stone and protruding pointed chunks of mortar cracked his sensitive wings. But instead of being distracted, he let the pain flood through him, feeding his rage. Foam came out of his sharp parrot-like beak and the veins in his eyes stood out red and inflamed. His scream echoed off the walls and froze the guards who had just gathered. Nothing would stop him. Nothing! He simply ran over the fools coming towards him on the stairs. As he raced over them, he casually tore open their throats and stomachs with his foot claws. His shield was small, but thanks to years of practice, he swept aside the few untargeted blows from his opponents.

He still had the element of surprise on his side. The guards he encountered had not yet had time to prepare and when he swept around the corner, they took too long to process the sight of a Gargoyl in full berserker fury to really fight effectively. By the time they caught on, he had overrun every party so far. Buried deep beneath the blazing fire of his wrath, unease slowly stirred. The path he was running no longer quite matched the description he had received from the magus' former servant. The gargoyle clan that had decided to rebel against the magus' oppression had few financial resources. A good portion of them had been spent on this one route description. By now, he should have come across a wide corridor that would lead him to the magus' rooms. If he took too long, so many defenders would gather there that even he wouldn't be able to fight his way through. And he had to. Only if he managed to kill the Lord Mage would his people have a chance of freedom. For too long, the Gargoyles had been known as the flying iron hand of the magus. His will-less, unstoppable soldiers who destroyed his enemies regardless of their own lives under the influence of his powerful spells of domination. Now that no one had dared to oppose the Lord Mage for some time, the Gargyls had had time to reflect and take a closer look at their lives. And they did not like what they saw. The immortal Lord Mage had created his people 300 years ago and the Winged Ones had always been grateful to him for that. At least he claimed to have created them. The loyal Gargyls had invariably been sent after the false trails his clan had laid. That wouldn't work again either. Next time, despite everything, he would leave some Gargyls behind. And he wouldn't be able to simply sweep them aside.

The next door didn't even have a lock and banged loudly against the wall as he burst through it. Metal flashed around him. His first thought was of heavily armored knights. He crouched down, raised his shield and readied his sword for a devastating sweeping blow. Only then did his adrenaline-fueled mind make sense of what he was seeing. He was standing in the kitchen. All around him, dozens of small, hunchbacked, ugly figures were cooking, cleaning and working. Vigori. He spat out contemptuously. The Magus' slave race had not been a particularly successful experiment. Hunchbacked, with small, deep-set piggy eyes and just tall enough to reach his stomach. The kitchen suddenly became motionless when the Vigori noticed him. He was unmistakably an intruder and a danger to their master. The magical bonds that controlled all the gargoyles were nothing compared to what the magus had done to his little helpers. They had nothing left that could be compared to free will. Without proper orders, they would starve to death in front of a full bowl of food. The weak and crippled creatures gripped their kitchen knives and soup ladles tighter and stood resolutely against him. He was a danger to their master and they would defend him with their lives. Even without weapons, he could have slaughtered the dozen Vigori that were coming at him without even breaking a sweat. But even in his berserker rage, he could not bring himself to attack the pitiful slave creatures. He flung the nearest one aside with his shield and fled through a side door. The Vigori stopped behind him. They had been ordered to stop intruders, but their master had probably not mentioned whether they should also pursue them. They looked at each other indecisively and stood helplessly, hoping that someone would come by soon to tell them what to do. Should they carry on working or go after the intruder? Perhaps repair the doors first? The gargoyle took no notice of this and raced on.

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He now ran towards a closed door in a very narrow corridor. Instead of slowing down, he pressed his claws even harder into the parquet floor and simply ran through, shoulder first. The two guards who had been lying in wait behind it died before they could fire their short bows. When he looked around, he found himself in a wide corridor with a red carpet. This must be the passage he had been looking for. According to his information, all he had to do now was follow the corridor to the left to the end. Leaving a few deep furrows in the floor with his claws, he picked up speed. No one stopped him until he came across the large double doors with the hated symbol of the Lord Mage. He accelerated further, putting all his rage and strength into his run-up and thundered inexorably towards the door. Just before he crashed into it, it opened inwards as if by magic and he continued to tumble uncontrollably. There was no wooden floor here, the floor consisted of a single and very smooth marble surface. He slipped and slid through the huge room completely out of control. Directly opposite the entrance was the wide, massive desk made of black ironwood, behind which the magician sat on his throne-like armchair, looking calm and completely at ease.

His hands lay calmly folded on the polished tabletop in front of him. A good ten meters in front of the desk began an expensive carpet of thickly woven tunnel spider silk. The sudden change in the frictional resistance of the floor brutally slowed the Gargoyle down, causing him to stumble even more wildly. Years of combat training gained the upper hand over surprise. He shifted his weight and spread his wings. With skillful movements, he turned his uncontrolled fall, which would normally have ended right in front of the desk on the floor, into a reasonably controlled glide. Straight towards the Lord Mage, who was still sitting calmly. His shield whirled away as he released it and spread his arms wide to strike simultaneously with sword and claws. The flight, which could have lasted less than a second, seemed like an eternity. The mage grew taller and taller. He tensed his muscles to strike, but then he crashed into an obstacle. The head of a human would surely have burst like an overripe melon on impact, but the thick skull of a gargoyle could take more. And in the heat of battle, it took a lot to put it out of action. Hard on the verge of unconsciousness, he blurred as he slid down an invisible wall across the middle of the desk. A slightly less painful impact on the iron-hard tabletop finished him off. His sword fell from his powerless hand and his wings folded around the desk beside him. The Lord Mage's face twisted into an arrogant smile as he unfolded his hands and began to draw mystical symbols in the air. His lips moved to the rhythm of an incantation. Magic enveloped the mind and will of the gargoyle. Shackles, more impenetrable than steel, more impregnable than rock, cast a spell over him.

*

Two hours before that...

The hunchbacked little figure eagerly carried out his master's order and turned the crank on the stretching bench a little further. The prisoner's scream, which by now sounded very hoarse, echoed off the walls of the dark, stuffy cellar room. Flickering torches lit the room very inadequately, mercifully concealing some of the marks of abuse on the prisoner. The air was filled with the smell of urine, feces, blood and burnt flesh. The Lord Mage stood calmly and completely unimpressed in front of the rack, shaking his head disapprovingly. His voice sounded calm and teacher-like, as if he were talking to a recalcitrant child: "I don't understand why you are so stubbornly refusing to do your bit for scientific research. You are also a man of science. A researcher, an inventor. You were my mentor and teacher for years. And now, from one day to the next, you no longer want to contribute. I have to admit, I'm very disappointed in you. Didn't I take you into my home after your failed experiment brought you to Carcerus? Provided you with food and shelter and allowed you to continue applying your vast knowledge in the field of genetics? Have I not been like a father to you?"

The Lord Mage had already extended his life many years beyond his natural lifespan with his magical arts. Visually, he looked to be in his mid-forties at most and therefore about the same age as the man on the rack. In fact, he could have been his great-great-great-grandfather.

At a hint from the lord mage, the hunchback cranked back a little so that the tortured man's strained joints could relax a little. For a moment, he threatened to faint as the change in strain sent another wave of pain through his body. Then the black veils cleared and he was able to speak, albeit with difficulty: "This is madness! I will no longer take part in these inhuman, sick experiments."

"They made these experiments possible in the first place. I would never have got this far without their knowledge."

"I thought these were just mind games! Theoretical research! That they would really experiment on children, on infants..." He broke off with a dry cough as his voice failed him. At a hint from his master, the hunchback handed him a cup of water and put it to his lips until he carefully took a few sips.

"For ten years? For ten years you want to have taught me your knowledge of heredity, genetics and evolution without suspecting that I have been testing this knowledge almost from day one? Please! If you can't be honest with me, at least be honest with yourself."

"I... suspected something. At first I thought they were secretly experimenting on animals, but when I happened to walk into their horror lab last week..."

"By chance? You must have been waiting for months for an opportunity when the guards would be inattentive. Nobody gets into my breeding chambers by accident!"

"Breeding chambers? Torture chambers! You... you monsters! Isn't it enough what you've done to your... servant creatures?" He pointed accusingly at the small, hunchbacked figure, who stared at him in surprise with wide beady eyes.

"The master is good to us! Serving is good. We like to serve!" His gaze flickered frantically back and forth between the prisoner and his master. The mere suggestion that he might be dissatisfied with his lot filled him with panic. His knees trembled as he couldn't decide whether he should throw himself to the ground or remain still. What would his master want?

"Calm down. You are a good and reliable servant. I am very pleased with you. And they, they should be ashamed. To frighten poor Virel like that! And they should be happy to have helped me. Don't they understand how much death and suffering they have helped to avoid? Without their magical surgical methods, the mothers of my gargoyles would have died every time they gave birth. Being able to close the wounds after a "caesarean section" has accelerated my breeding program enormously."

When the prisoner looked at him with a look of horror, the Lord Mage turned around abruptly and left the chamber in disgust. There was simply nothing more to be done with this fool. Already standing in the doorway, he turned briefly to his servant: "Take him back to his cell and prepare him for questioning again in the morning."

"But Master, what if he tries to run away?"

"Of course, you should get a few guards to help you before you transport him. And to be on the safe side... break his legs."

Now he finally left the torture chamber, accompanied by wild cries of protest from his prisoner, which turned into inarticulate screams amid the crunching of bones.

In a bad mood, he wandered through the dungeons and to the breeding chambers. Just a few months ago, another of these troublesome nomadic clans had wandered through his territory. His soldiers had arrested them as ordered, but this clan had put up an unexpectedly strong fight. They had almost been able to fight their way out, but enraged by the constant annoying messengers from his commander with their panicked and inaccurate messages, he had intervened personally. The clan had had nothing to oppose his magical powers. In the meantime, he had turned the surviving men into undead zombie guards and stationed them at the entrances to his realm like the others. The undead simply had an enormous logistical advantage here. After all, he didn't have to worry about water and food or even shelter and even had the advantage that very few of the monsters on the loose were interested in the undead. He had used up the injured and children as sources of life energy during the transformation and had only been able to keep just under a dozen of the women for his other experiments. The strong resistance from the clan had made the whole enterprise disappointingly unproductive. But there was nothing he could do about that now. When he had finally found the renegade Gargyls' hideout and brought them back under control, he would have a force strong and fast enough to practically capture the next clan that came along.

Once in the first cell, he examined the records of his assistants and looked at the cribs with the youngest subjects. After glancing at the barred cell wing, he congratulated himself again on the good idea of taking the time to erect a permanent sound barrier. The whining and constant shouting had really disturbed his work. He lifted one of the test subjects out of its crib. The small, barely formed wings flapped weakly back and forth, the back was still bent. He shook his head in disappointment. He had hoped that the hump would grow out after a month or two. But that wasn't the case after all. Of course, he could have corrected the blemish with the spells at his disposal, but that was not the aim of the experiment. He wanted a winged servant who was as loyal as his Vigori and yet as strong in battle as the Gargylen. Without the need to constantly use mastery magic.

He toyed for a moment with the idea of destroying the test object, but it had cost too many resources for that. Perhaps it would also reveal other flaws as it grew up.

Quick footsteps trampling along the corridor towards him disturbed his thoughts.

"Lord mage! An intruder! A gargoyle has entered via the upper floors. He cannot be stopped! A wild, unconquerable beast."

The Lord Mage nodded reassuringly to the guard: "At last. I've been expecting one of them to try to get in here for a long time. I will await him in my quarters. Lock the exits and withdraw all trained guards to their quarters. Leave only the rookies on post."

"But Lord, they don't stand a chance..."

"I would order them not to harm the gargoyle if I thought there was even the slightest danger of them killing it."

"But..."

"You want to defy an explicit order?"

"No sir."

"Good." He left the breeding chambers via a spiral staircase that led directly up to his private quarters. There he activated the invisible protective field that went right through his desk and protected his half of the room from all known dangers. He didn't have to wait long, because no sooner had he sat down comfortably than shouts and loud footsteps could be heard in the corridor outside his room. The door opened at a wave from the mage. The gargoyle stormed into the room at full speed. Bhargamon had not expected to time the moment so perfectly. The Gargoyl's attempts to brake, flapping its wings wildly, left ugly scratches on his precious marble floor. As he put on a deadpan face, he seethed inwardly. Gifted earth mages were rarely born and required long and complicated training. The last group he had been able to assemble had taken over a year to conjure and shape the marble floor piece by piece. Keeping the pattern consistent had made the whole project extremely tedious.

With an unhealthy thud, the gargoyle slammed into the invisible obstacle directly in front of him. Still safely protected by the magical protective field, he cast his most powerful spell of domination before the beast could regain consciousness. He could feel the magic subduing the weak will of his target.

Then he waited. It only took seconds for the winged warrior to regain consciousness. He was impressed. The impact would have killed any human instantly. The gargoyle straightened up a little dazed and scanned the protective field, looking for a way through. The Lord Mage just smiled at him kindly and pointed to the ground: "On your knees!" The gargoyle just looked at him. For a moment he doubted whether the spell had failed after all. But then the tall, previously unconquerable warrior slowly and deliberately went to his knees without taking his eyes off the mage for even a second. The lord mage relaxed. For the next few hours, the gargoyle was a perfect slave who would carry out his every command. He beckoned him to stand up again, which he immediately understood and did. Then he gave the usual command to secure himself. After all, the spell alone did not prevent the target from attacking him. It only forced him to carry out every command to the letter: "Listen, Gargoyl: you will not attack me or harm me in any way or touch me at all. Do you understand?"

The gargoyle only looked at him with a slightly questioning expression. The Lord Mage repeated his command slowly and clearly. This Gargoyl had to be even stupider than the members of his race, who were already of lesser intelligence: "Do you understand?"

No reaction.

"Did you hear me?" The mage spoke louder and underlined his words with gestures. Just as slowly and somewhat uncertainly as he had just knelt down, his new slave finally nodded.

"You will not move now while I examine you. Do you understand?"

After a short pause, the gargoyle nodded again. The lord mage lifted the protective field and walked slowly around his new slave. Tall, muscular, many scars. No signs of malnutrition. He must belong to the leading caste of his clan. His wings were folded behind his back: "Well, big guy: I'm looking forward to you leading me and my troops to your clan's hideout. Nice of you to come by."

The gargoyle just stared in front of him. The Lord Mage was fully aware that it was a really bad habit, but he couldn't resist showing off to his defenceless opponent: "The fact that you managed to get here undetected without being spotted by my clairvoyance spells can only mean that you have the sigil with you. Give it to me!"

He stretched out his hand demandingly. This time his slave reacted as if he had been waiting for it. He reached under his shirt with his left hand and pulled out a large amulet from underneath, pulled it over his head and held it out to the mage, dangling from its chain. A black, somewhat misshapen stone was framed by a complex structure made of a red-gold material. It was difficult to make out the exact shape of the stone as it was so black that it looked more like a two-dimensional shadow. The candlelight from the candlesticks and the luminous crystals was reflected in a bright red-gold sparkle on the setting, while the stone itself absorbed any light.

The mage stepped closer and took the amulet. As his hand closed around it, he suddenly felt a hot pain in his stomach. Looking down, he saw the hilt of a dagger protruding from under his ribcage. While he had been distracted by the amulet, the gargoyle had drawn a dagger with his other hand and caught him full on. When he tried to speak a spell, blood gushed out of his mouth instead. The gargoyle grinned broadly and bared long protruding canines: "Our tribal elders found no way to protect any of us against your dark domination magic. Every one of us who falls into your hands is subject to your magic and obeys your every command."

He grabbed his left ear, rubbed it briefly with his long black claws and brought out a whitish lump, which he slowly kneaded into a ball in front of the already blurred eyes of the now gasping mage lying on the ground. "If he can hear it."

While he removed the beeswax from his ears and cleaned his dagger on the mage's robe, he watched indifferently as the mage breathed his last. Then he took the amulet back, turned around and made his way back to the top of the tower.