Page 8 of The Gargoyle and the Maiden (Nightfall Guardians #1)

Brandt

G hantal was still resting as he buckled on bracers and spaulders, suddenly looking forward to his imminent deployment. Time away would be a relief. Away from that pesky human who kept buzzing in his thoughts. Away from the hierarchy of the Tower.

Though he’d command and be commanded in the Sixth Watch, everyone was equal in a fight. When it was tooth-to-tooth and claw-to-claw, towerborn fell as easily as cliffborn, and no humans would be there to mop up the mess.

He’d hoped to leave before his mother woke, but Ghantal intercepted him at the door. “Why not the engraved steel ones?” she fussed, tapping his spaulders with one claw. It made a dull sound against the beat-up leather.

He shrugged her off. The leather was lighter and more comfortable, molded perfectly to his muscles after years of wear. “Today is a training day.”

“Wear them anyway. You need to command respect.” She turned to find them in the armory chest.

“From whom?” He scoffed at her back. “You think engraving is what impresses the watch? It might impress the highborns at a skyball, but that’s not who I’m training. These are mostly rookery rabble and cliffborn trash. They’re impressed when I knock them out of the air.”

She ignored his biting tone, returning with the pieces she’d gifted him for his last hatch day.

They were skillfully forged with a tasteful inlay of gold along the edge of each plate.

She passed them to him to hold while she unbuckled his old leather ones.

He let her, his impatience to train outstripping his objections.

She gave a satisfied nod once she’d switched them out. “Better. My moths said the Zenith will observe today, and they’re always right about these things.”

He snorted. So that was why she wanted him in his best, to impress the high-tiers. “Don’t blame me if these come back with scratches.”

“I’ll polish them out,” she promised, and pushed him out the door.

The open-air corridor ringed the hollow center of the Tower, so he was able to step off the ledge and dive down to the crossbeam below where most of his watch were lined up, waiting for him. Pride swelled in him, seeing their dutiful postures and eager expressions.

He’d been harsh in his description of his wing. There might not be many highborn among them, but they were all capable fighters with guardian hearts. They’d defend the southern settlements well. He was fortunate to be their commander.

That didn’t mean they didn’t have much to learn.

He directed them to pair up to spar, taking the odd one out as his own partner.

He was a younger gargoyle, newer to the watch, in similar armor to Brandt.

The gold wire wrapping his horns marked him as towerborn, which was probably why he hadn’t found a ready sparring partner among his watchmates.

The rookery dwellers tended to be clannish, and the cliffborn were too humble to ask.

“Rikard,” he introduced himself, putting a fist to his horns in gesture of respect that Brandt returned. He didn’t give his tier, which only made Brandt like him better.

Conscious of Rikard’s soft upbringing, Brandt went easy on him to start, feeling out his skills without embarrassing him in front of the others.

But he needn’t have been so accommodating.

Despite his lack of scars, Rikard proved a ruthless fighter and excellent training partner, pushing Brandt to show his best, as well.

He might have been stronger and more experienced, but Rikard had talent and tenacity, matching him blow for blow.

“Good,” Brandt would grunt every time he landed one in a soft spot.

“You won’t be saying that soon enough,” Rikard taunted, arrogantly whipping his tail until Brandt landed a few of his own and put him in his place again.

It was a good-natured fight. They drew the attention of the others, who paused their own sparring to perch on the crossbeams nearby and watch. In his peripheral vision, he caught a glimpse of a party flying down from the higher tier, the Zenith among them.

Rikard noticed, too, his turns growing reckless and attacks more pointed. Brandt held him off without inflicting any damage in return, but he wasn’t sure they were sparring anymore.

“Enough,” he barked when Rikard’s claw caught him in the corner of an eye. The blood smeared across his vision, blinding that eye until he wiped it away.

“Another round,” Rikard insisted, diving toward Brandt before he agreed.

Brandt kicked out in desperation, fending him off but sending the young towerborn careening toward the floor three tiers below. Thankfully, Rikard recovered before he hit the stones, flying back up to face him again. He bared his teeth, shoulders bunching to prepare for another attack.

“Desist,” Brandt commanded, his chest heaving as they circled each other. A wary eye trained on Rikard in case the wild-eyed male decided to disobey, he settled onto a crossbeam.

To his relief, the group of high-tiers dropped down to join him, including the Zenith himself. He recognized a few of the others, mostly well-connected towerborn and commanders who ranked above him, along with the elderly Nadir, Bardoux, whom Brandt knew well from his time in the guard.

Brandt put a fist to his horns as a show of respect, glad Ghantal had goaded him into wearing his good armor. She would be pleased that her prediction had come true, as much as it chafed him to admit that she’d been right.

“Commander Brandt.” The Zenith took a roost near him, close enough that Brandt could see the faint scars that crisscrossed his forearms. They’d been mended well by the masons, but he’d clearly seen battle. “Impressive display.”

The comment rankled him. It was not meant as a show. In fact, their sparring had been dangerous, something he wouldn’t usually allow. It was only the watchful eyes of the Zenith and the higher status of his opponent that had made him hesitate to put Rikard in his place.

He knew it, and judging by their dour expressions, the other commanders knew it, too. “Routine training,” he grunted, hoping to move past the topic.

He had only been this close to the Zenith a few times in his career, and he preferred it that way.

Unlike his mother, he didn’t have a head for politics, and he wasn’t interested in losing in a few words what status he’d gained through years of hard work and keeping his head down.

He had time to teach Rikard more discipline later.

The younger gargoyle settled sulkily next to the Nadir, claws scraping the stone.

To Brandt’s surprise, Bardoux stretched a wing over Rikard’s back in a fond, fatherly gesture.

“You will look out for my nephew?” he asked, addressing Brandt.

“He is my only heir, and I need you to return him in one piece.”

Rikard shifted uncomfortably, and pity surged in Brandt’s chest. So this was the reason for the high-tier visit.

Bardoux was tending to his bloodline, and Rikard was the unfortunate gargoyle who’d be Nadir someday.

Brandt would rather live in the cliffs than tend to human problems every waking hour.

Improbably, the face of the little human thief from Maiden Hall flashed through his mind.

Idabel. The way her lip quivered when he destroyed her garden had pierced him.

He knew in that instant that he’d delivered a worse blow than any he’d ever struck on the battlefield.

And when she’d appeared like magic in his eyrie with a sad story to tug on his conscience…

there was some soft, silly part of his guardian heart that wanted to solve her problems, whatever they were.

He walled off the intrusive thought. He defended the human settlements to the south where she was from with his life, and that was more than enough service to her and her kind.

If he drove the goblins back to their mountains, she could return to her home and grow all the gardens she pleased.

“As you saw, he can keep his own hide intact. He earned his place in the watch, and he will serve wing-to-wing with them. He has no need of special treatment.”

The Zenith clapped him on the shoulder, nearly jarring him from the perch with his unexpected friendliness. “That’s what I told him, but Bardoux worries, as we all do, about who will occupy his roost when he is gone.”

“I understand,” Brandt said carefully, because he didn’t.

He cared very little about who’d live in his eyrie or roost on his perch once he turned to stone for the last time.

And the Zenith himself was notoriously mateless even though he was twice Brandt’s age.

If he was so concerned about his roost, he’d could take any one of dozen high-tier females as his mate.

According to Ghantal, who spoke with something close to jealousy on the topic, they were constantly clamoring around him.

To his relief, the Zenith and his party left soon after. Making good on his word, Brandt ignored Rikard in favor of giving equal time to the other watchmates, drilling them each until their turns were sharp and attacks efficient. Not perfect, but better.

When he finally dismissed them for feasting hours, Rikard stayed behind. Brandt braced himself for the confrontation that had been brewing since their match.

“Too highborn to feast in the third-tier hall?” he joked, though it was a sour one. He was tired of watching his words.

Rikard jerked his head dismissively. “I have no interest in gorging myself to sleep. Show me that defensive kick. It knocked the wind out of me.”

Oddly flattered, Brandt nodded, demonstrating the swift twist and angle required. Rikard mastered it in only a few tries.

“Good,” Brandt grunted, motioning for him to take up a sparring position.

Their wings churned the empty air in the Tower’s core as they circled each other, and Brandt’s called instructions rang off the stones.

“Fighting a mounted goblin is different than this. They have no tails to watch out for, but their war bats have larger wingspans, and their weapons are tael-forged. Their blades can bite through steel armor like it’s made of tallow candles and never lose their edge.

And their throwing knives fly true every time.

You will have one chance to strike. Perhaps one to dodge or defend. That’s all.”

“I understand,” Rikard said, face grim. But he couldn’t understand any more than Brandt could understand the Nadir’s concern for who would succeed him. No one could understand a goblin until they stared one in the face.

Rikard dove for him. It was skillful and sudden and utterly expected. Brandt tucked a wing at the last second, and Rikard tumbled past him, grunting as he thudded into a crossbeam. He perched there momentarily, massaging his shoulder and glaring at Brandt, who had to laugh.

“You must defend yourself even when you attack. It accomplishes nothing to take down a war bat if you break your wing.”

In answer, Rikard launched up at him with the full force of his powerful haunches, teeth bared and claws out. Brandt tipped backward, aiming a kick at him, but Rikard anticipated the defensive move, raking his claws down Brandt’s calf.

His hide tore to a searing depth. He had to slam up a mind wall against the pain to stay in the air. Once the pain was partitioned, the blood still dripped down his foot and pat-pat-patted onto the floor far below, but the hurt was gone, and his thoughts were clear.

Some called it battle bliss, the gargoyle ability to lock up pain inside the mind. Some sought it out. But Brandt knew better than anyone that the feeling was only temporary. There was payment due on the other side.

“You have nothing to prove,” he snapped at Rikard, who just snarled at him and attacked his left side, drawing blood again. What was he doing ? Brandt flew up a few tiers, out of reach, to perch and catch his breath.

“Coward.”

He scoffed. “Say that to me again when you’ve faced down the goblin hordes a few dozen times.”

“If you’re such a hero, then face me ,” Rikard taunted from below, voice reedy with anger.

Fine. The idiot was asking for it. Brandt dove straight down with full velocity. Rikard tried to dodge his attack but was too slow. They both hit a crossbeam before tumbling into the observation gallery that ringed the third tier.

He pinned one of Rikard’s wings to the floor with his foot until the arrogant towerborn stopped struggling.

“If you want to fight under my command, you’ll value every member of your watch like a brother, including your commander.

We spar to help each other learn and grow, not to cause pain and damage.

I am not your enemy. We share an enemy, and you’ll do good to remember it. ”

“Understood. Now let me up,” came Rikard’s muffled snarl.

Brandt stepped back, leaving his footprint in blood, and extended a hand to help Rikard to his feet.

That’s when the scent of war bat hit his nostrils. He stiffened, taking another breath to be sure.

“ They’re here ,” he hissed disbelievingly.

There were goblins in Solvantis.