The Disappearance of Winter's Daughter (Riyria Chronicles #4)(85)
The heavy body of the charging gargoyle shattered the rail, and over the edge it went, crashing through the suspended body of the dragon, shattering the whole exhibit and sending it all to the floor four stories below.
A bang, deep and solid, echoed off the walls, bouncing back and forth twice.
Shatter, you miserable figurine! This half thought, half wish filled Royce’s mind as he peered over the edge. He hoped to see a burst of plaster, as when Mercator had overturned the bust. Four stories down lay a mess of broken dragon parts and the torn body of Mercator, her blood draining through a large crack in the checkered marble floor that marked the impact crater of the golem.
The gargoyle hadn’t been pulverized. The creature was on its knees in the center of the cracked floor.
No, not Hadrian’s kind of luck. Royce then noticed that the golem hadn’t escaped unscathed. Part of it was missing. Its left arm lay on the floor a few feet away. The gargoyle looked at it mournfully. Then the fanged monkey-face once more fixed its stare on Royce. This time it added a hiss.
Great, I’ve made it angry. Well, angrier.
The golem ran for the stairs, and Royce raced for the window. Already knowing the route was his one comfort. The map was still engraved in his mind, which allowed Royce to move with speed and confidence. Poking his head out, he saw the street below. The avenue throbbed with a mass of people, some of whom wore uniforms and held torches. Bodies lay in a line, marking the golem’s path to the gallery.
Ducking past the remaining broken shards and out the window, Royce climbed up the wall. He wished he’d brought his hand claws, but he hadn’t had them the last time and had managed just fine.
But I was the hunter then. Being the prey is a different matter.
Royce had been chased before. He never cared for it, and usually the hunt ended when he managed to gain enough distance to turn around unseen and don the role of huntsman once more. That wasn’t going to happen this time.
How do you harm stone?
He’d broken its arm by dropping it from a height.
Perhaps taking a tumble from higher up?
Reaching the roof of the gallery, he looked back. Nothing but a single sheer curtain fluttered, blowing out through the broken window by an errant wind. Is it possible the thing lost interest?
The answer came when the window’s remnants burst outward and fell, along with portions of the frame and a few stones of the wall. More screams erupted below. Arms went up. Fingers pointed. Men shouted, “Up there! There it is!”
The gargoyle wasn’t as nimble as it had been when descending the cathedral—climbing was clearly harder to manage with only one arm. Brute force now replaced grace. It fearlessly launched itself up from the sill, one clawed hand creating its own handhold, gouging out mortar like soft dirt. Rear claws did the same, then punched up again—stone muscles propelling it amazing distances in single thrusts.
Royce didn’t like the ease with which it followed nor the power it displayed. Mercator’s death remained fresh in his mind, and he didn’t want to be anywhere near those claws. Taking a cue from the previous night, he pulled slate shingles free and threw, hoping he might make the golem fall. Royce’s aim was better than Villar’s, and he struck the beast three times: once in the head, twice in the body. The slates shattered. The gargoyle didn’t notice.
How am I going to make it fall again? The question was pushed aside as he realized it didn’t matter—not yet. He needed to get higher. Royce resumed his flight.
Running out along the gable, he jumped the gap between the gallery and Grom Galimus, landing on a stony lion’s head. Below him, he heard the crowd cheer with excitement. As he scaled the cathedral’s pier, Royce realized how futile the effort was. Even if he got away from the golem, reached the duke, somehow convinced him his wife was alive, and persuaded the man to concede to Mercator’s demands, Hadrian might still die. The issue of Nym’s death hadn’t yet been addressed. If Hadrian’s luck provided him the means to slip free of that noose, Royce just might kill him anyway.
They were up six stories now.
Is that enough? No, I need to go higher.
After Royce reached the flying buttress, obtaining additional height was no longer an issue. He ran up its angled length, and the world below dropped away as he climbed several stories as quickly as ascending stairs. Reaching the high balcony just below the cathedral’s eaves, Royce saw it as a death trap. Too narrow to pull another spear stunt, even if he had one. Up there the golem would have all the advantage. Facing the thing on the steep roof of Grom Galimus wasn’t to Royce’s liking. The peak was equally dangerous for both. The battle odds would be even: each had a good chance of falling. Royce was never pleased with a fair fight, but fair was better than certain death. They were about two hundred and fifty feet up, and he guessed his odds of surviving a fall, assuming he could hit the water, were one in a hundred.
Villar had managed it. Hadrian could probably pull it off as well, but I don’t have his kind of luck.
Royce saw it as a last resort.
Reaching up, he grabbed the eaves, scowling at the row of gargoyle faces that glared down at him. Each one, he now realized, was grinning. I really hate these things.
Royce was breathing hard, his clothes stuck to his skin, and as he pulled himself up, he realized his muscles were weakening. Stone, he guessed, doesn’t get tired. As he reached the roof, the wind greeted him with a familiar blast of cold air. He replied with a grunt and a scowl as he was forced to remember that spring, while very near, hadn’t yet arrived. The chill sent a shiver through him and whipped what was left of his cloak over his shoulder.