On Winter's Wind
by Constance Cochran
eilonwy@earthlink.net

(LENGTHY) DISCLAIMER AND SUNDRY NOTES:

Disclaimer: Gargoyles and its characters is the property of
Buena Vista/Disney.  All other characters are the property of
the author.  Said author is flattering herself to think
anyone might want to borrow them, but is sorry to report that
said author has much planned for them and they probably won't
be making any guest appearances just yet.

This story does not ignore the events of The Goliath
Chronicles.  This is also my alternate version "Runaways," except
the time-frame is different.  (Tip of the wing to the members of the
gargoyles inlink  mailing list, who are re-writing season 3).  I hope
those disappointed with that ep may find On Winter's Wind a better
answer to Brooklyn's character development.

It fits with the other stories in my own fan fic universe,
but it's not necessary to have read them first.  (Lexington's
psychology major friend -- a human -- is from the stories of
Kellie Fay, coming soon.  Used with permission.  This
has been another Blatant Plug.)

Lots and lots of pez and thanks to lot of people: to Merlin
Missy, who kindly proofed this for me;  to Batya "The Toon"
Levin for coming fearlessly to my aid in battle with the Creativity
Demons (and for being such a great editor and friend); to Kellie
Fay, for the title,  her input, and the arrow; to the members of
The (Committed) Dreamer Clan, whether or not that be our true
name, you guys are the best; to Tim "Gabriel" Reynard who innocently
asked  about my next story and got this dropped in his in-box, and liked
it; and to Mary "Stormy" Pletsch, glider, pilot, and technical
advisor extraordinaire, who helped me try and figure out how
a gargoyle could glide from New York to Pennsylvania.
Aerodynamic implausibilities are my fault, not hers.  And for Liz,
making great discoveries in the biosphere (look, got the name right,
Liz!) and awaiting The Gathering.

This story is dedicated to the original writing team of "Gargoyles,"
and to the animators who brought their vision to life.  For legal reasons,
 they will probably never see this, but I hope they know  how much the
show has stirred our imaginations, and that getting it made in the first
place was indeed a triumph.  Also a tip of the wing for Carl Johnson,
whose wonderful score has done for Gargoyles what John Williams' did
for Star Wars, and whose notes haunt me.

With that bit of sentiment out of the way, it's time for my
pez.  (This is taking more time than the Star Wars opening
scroll .)

*****

Chronology: This story takes place in the first week of
February of 1997, the week before the Chinese New Year and
"Angels In The Night."

Additional Note (oh, will this disclaimer ever END?): For those who
read this in rough-draft form, "Hopper" was once "Whistler," but I
changed his name after reading Dylan P. Blacquiere's Shadowplay saga.
It was the GaFCU (Gargoyles Fan Collective Unconscious) at work again --
I had named Whistler before I read Dylan's excellent fan fic series, but
wished to avoid confusion.

On with the show!

******

"...certain events need not always be accepted with
passivity...courageous action can bring about
change..."
                       --Elfquest, Book One

*******

February, 1997
Manhattan

The strings of lights on the bridges linking island to island
reflected off the waterways of the city. Steam curled up from
the roof of a tower and turned to an odd hue in the colors of
a neon sign.

Seven winged shapes, shadowy and almost indistinguishable
against the darkness of the sky, rushed across the light that
streamed dramatically upwards from a white skyscraper with a
slanted, wedge-shaped roof.  The rest of the building was
dark.

The shapes sprang into sharp, black, outline for a moment.
Then they continued, winging their way towards their
destination with the determination of a flock of migrating
birds.  Except these were not formed like birds.  And they
were not migrating, but searching.

******
Castle Wyvern

It had been a quiet night.

In the courtyard of Castle Wyvern, Brooklyn, second in
command of the Wyvern clan, crouched on his haunches and
tugged at the ball enclosed in Bronx's jaws.

"Bronx," Brooklyn protested, as the gargoyle-dog growled in
play.  "C'mon, that's Alex's.  Fox won't be happy with
us...."

Seated with one leg bent, foot on the lattice-work chair, the
other leg dangling down, Lexington looked up from his Game
Boy.

"It's your own fault," he said.  "You shouldn't have started
using it to play with Bronx in the first place."  The small,
hairless gargoyle flicked his attention sharply back to the
screen of the electronic game, and his forehead creased.
"Rats!"  He exclaimed, as the low-pitched tones of an
annihilated player came from the speaker.

Bronx whuffed, and leapt away from Brooklyn, who overbalanced
and fell forward.  "Arrgggh, Bronx!"  The beak-faced,
burgundy gargoyle pushed himself to his feet.

Snow lay in a thin crust over the battlements of the castle
and the grassy patches of the courtyard, giving it a
magical-looking glow. "So, what did Hudson say he and
Goliath were doing?"  Brooklyn asked Lexington.

"There's an outdoor art exhibit in the north end of the
park."  Lex, deep into another game, didn't even look up.
"Stone gargoyles from all over the world, England,
France....even some from Manhattan.  Goliath thought if he
and Hudson looked at them, and read what the humans said
about them, it might help us understand things better."

Brooklyn gave up chasing Bronx and cloaked his black wings
over his shoulders.  "It's a waste of time if you ask me."
Turning his head, he scanned the top of the battlements
surrounding the courtyard.  All was still.  Satisfied, the
young gargoyle turned to glance up at the west tower.

His wings unfurled, snapping open to their full span in
alarm.  "Lex!"  He barked the alarm, his gaze fixed on the
sky.

The small brownish-green gargoyle looked up sharply -- then
leapt to his feet, dropping the Game Boy from his limp
talons.  The game fell to the stones with a clatter.

Bronx dropped the ball and lowered his head, shoulders
stiffening like a mastiff's as he growled low in his throat.

Brooklyn had thought, for a heartbeat, that he was seeing
things.  Then he decided it was Goliath, Hudson, Angela, and
Broadway coming back early.  But there were too many.  The
word "clones" came to mind --

And left as fleetingly as it had come as the shadowy forms of
what looked like seven "true" gargoyles descended into the
glow of the exterior castle floodlights and alighted on the
stones of the courtyard.  Astonished, Brooklyn could only
gape as a young female with tawny, yellow-brown skin and a
surprising mane of dark brown curls between her horns landed
right in front of him.

The seven didn't speak for a moment.  Several cloaked their
wings while a few rubbed their shoulders, a gesture Brooklyn
recognized as a sign of wing strain.  Brooklyn sensed
Lexington and Bronx coming to stand at his side in a united
front.

The curly-haired female looked at him with a curious, steady
gaze, her arms folded.  Her wings, unfurled, were lined with
a dark, rich brown, with three wing-digits the same
yellow/brown as her skin.

Her companions also silently looked at back at Brooklyn,
Lexington, and Bronx.  Their expressions were unexpected --
eyes wide, fanged mouths slightly open, almost as if they
were....awed.

Despite his wariness, Brooklyn took a few seconds for a
cursory look over the group.

There were two females besides the first.  One was small,
delicately formed, with three digits rising from the point of
her deep purple wings.  Her skin was a pale lavender, redder
than Angela's.  She had fine white hair, tied back with a
black band.  Another female, taller than the other two,
watched him levelly, almost challengingly.  She was
powerfully built, of a deep reddish brown with black hair.
Two tiny, delicate horns peeked out from her hair, above a
square-jawed, unusually beautiful face.

Next to her was a small male, a light blue, hairless gargoyle
with the same type of wings as Lex's, but this gargoyle was
bigger, more broad shouldered than Lexington.  Next to him
was a  young male of about Brooklyn's height with dark, royal
blue skin and black hair and wings.

Brooklyn blinked.  For a moment, he thought the light blue
one had moved position -- then he realized there were two of
them.

The last gargoyle stood a bit behind his companions.  He was
smaller than the royal blue one, and had a thoughtful
expression on his shallowly beaked face.  His skin was a
light coffee, brown, his hair the color of wheat.

The silence dragged out, while Lexington and Brooklyn stared,
hard and wary, and the seven looked uncomfortable.

At last the yellow-brown female folded her wings over her
shoulders, knelt, and held out her talons to Bronx.

"Hey, boy," she said softly.  "Here, it's okay, we're
friends."

Bronx took one step forward, sniffed at her hand, and whined
once.  Then he licked the new gargoyle's talons and his
stumpy tail began to wag vigorously.

The young female laughed, a rich sound, and scratched Bronx
behind his fanned ears.

"Well," Brooklyn said slowly, cautiously, "Looks like you
passed the test.  Now," he added, more forcefully, "Tell us
who you are, and what you're doing here?  We thought there
weren't any other gargoyles in New York."

"We're not from New York," the royal blue male said, coming
forward.  "We've traveled a long way, and we've come to ask
for your help."

Brooklyn's eyes passed over the group again.  "Are you
from....Aval --" he broke off.  The yellow-brown one was
wearing a Greenpeace t-shirt and cut-off jeans.  The other
females wore leggings or jeans and cropped sweaters that
exposed their midriffs, and the males had somehow procured
blue jeans and t-shirts that would fit gargoyles.

"I think you'd better explain," he said, eyes narrowing.

"I'm Jaewing," the royal blue male said, grinning.  "This is
Karian," he pointed to the dark lavender female, who abruptly
smiled, revealing a concealed dimple in her left cheek. "And
Tala --"  the reddish brown female nodded seriously.  "The
two who look alike are Rowland and Hunter, don't bother
trying to tell them apart -- this is Guen...."  the
curly-haired one in the Greenpeace t-shirt nodded in a more
friendly fashion..."And this is Birch," he finished, reaching
back and pulling the golden-brown, smaller male forward.

"Uh....hi," said Birch, raising a hand briefly.  His
expression was friendly, his shallow-beaked face revealing
intelligence and courage and....something....else.  Something
haunted, a look the others didn't have.

"I'm Brooklyn, this is Lexington, and Bronx."

Guen came forward, ahead of the others.  "Brooklyn?"  She
said, trying out the name.  "Lexington?  Bronx?"  She cocked
her head to one side.  "You're named after parts of New York
City?"

"Something wrong with that?"  Lex said defensively.

"No...no," she said, half-laughing.  "I was just
wondering...."  Brooklyn heard her draw in a sharp breath,
and her hand came up to her mouth.  "Then it's true?"  Her
face lit up with the excitement of discovery.  "You really
_did_ survive the massacre at Castle Wyvern, and the Magus
really did....wait.  Aren't there more of you?"  She added,
sounding concerned.

"How do you know about the massacre?  And the Magus?"
Brooklyn stepped away from her and stiffened his shoulders in
preparation for attack.  Something was not right here.

"I read," Guen said shortly.  "You guys are legends, don't
you know that?  The professor has this collection of old
manuscripts, one of them tells all about the Grimorum
Arcanorum, and Castle Wyvern....but I never thought the
gargoyle we've been hearing about on the news were
_those_ gargoyles...."

The heat that had begun to grown behind Brooklyn's eyes died
away.

"By the way," Guen added, looking Brooklyn up and down with a
slight grin.  "Nice kilt."

Brooklyn felt the blood rush to his face.  He coughed,
shifted on his big feet uneasily, then turned to Lexington.
"Why didn't they set off the alarms?"

Lex nodded in the direction of the group. "They're gargoyles.
The scans probably thought they were us."

"Ooookkkkaayyyy," Brooklyn folded his arms. "So you're _real_
gargoyles and not some genetic trick sent here to make our
lives a living hell.  But if you don't start explaining
things fast...."

"Hey, hey, take it easy, friend," said Jaewing.  "It's a long
story, you'd better get comfortable."

The two New York gargoyles remained where they were, muscles
stiff.

"Right," said Jaewing.  "Well, where to begin...."

"Where _are_ you from?" Lexington asked.

"Pennsylvania," said Jaewing.

Lexington's eyes widened as he put his hand on Bronx's neck.
"But I thought there weren't any gargoyles in...."

"Oh, there are," said one of the twins.  "There most
_definitely_ are."

"We'll all tell it," said Karian.  "So we don't leave
anything out.  Birch, you go first."

The golden brown gargoyle sighed as if they had been through
this many times before. "Karian!"  He protested.

"Come on, Birch, you remember, it started that night Jaewing
and I tried to get you to glide...."

 ******
ONE WEEK EARLIER
Southeastern Pennsylvania


He crouched on the crenellations, feeling the old, rough
stone beneath his talons and his feet.  It was a cold, crisp
winter night. Below him the hard-packed snow glistened in the
light of a luminous half moon, touched by the up-reaching
bare branches of the woods.  Because of the moon, the stars
were dimmed, but he could make out a few, shining in a muted
way in the dome of darkness arching above.

This was his world, the night.  It was all he knew.  It was
home.  So why the terrible pounding of his heart in his
chest?  Why did the talons gripping the stone tremble ever so
slightly?  It was not the cold, his kind rarely felt the
cold.

He swallowed. ~Come on,~ he told himself. ~You can do it.
Just spread your wings, and jump.  It's not like you haven't
done this a hundred times before.~

But never deliberately.  Always to simply get from point A to
point B as fast as possible.  Never just for the heck of it.

His glance slid down from the trees, where a shadowy figure
waited up on one of the branches, down to the ground one
hundred feet below.  Patches of flagstone showed through the
drifted snow close to the manor house.  The world tilted
alarmingly, and he shut his eyes.

There wasn't much he remembered of details.  It was more just
sensations.  He had been very small.  A cool wind rushed
under his wings, tickling him, keeping him aloft.  He'd
laughed, with a strange, aching exhilaration.  There were
others ahead of him, he was following them.  Then the roar of
a vehicle beneath him, someone shouting.  A loud bang,
fire-like pain through his wing.  A sickening sensation of
falling, so fast, unable to stop himself.  Something tickled
his sides, grass.  Human legs covered in denim or dark cloth
standing around him, blurred faces looking down, pointing,
voices raised malevolently.  One of them had raised some
dark, heavy object in his hand.

That was all he really remembered, except for even more
fragmented images, like a broken video tape.  The sound of a
battle-scream, blazing eyes, cries and thuds...arms, gargoyle
arms, carrying him with the rush of wind in his ears.  Of
course, they had all told him what had happened, when he was
older.  It had been Hotspur who'd carried him home.  It had
taken only a day's sleep to heal the gunshot wound, once Anna
had removed the pellets.

"Birch...Birch!"

He opened his eyes.

Karian had her lavender wings folded over her shoulders like
a cloak, partially covering the long, off-white, knit tunic
she wore.  It had been especially cut to allow for her wings,
and left her arms bare.  Under the tunic she wore loose,
black leggings, and no shoes.  Her long white hair, hanging
loose over her shoulders, tugged in the winter wind.

"Come on, Birch, just get it over with."  Karian moved closer
to the edge of the tower, tilting her head to one side as she
looked at him.  The dimple made its appearance in her small,
delicately-formed lavender face.  "You promised me you would
at least try."

Birch sighed.  It was difficult to say no to Karian.  He
glanced across the grounds again, and saw Jaewing raise an
arm to wave at him cheerfully from where he crouched on the
tree branch.

Flexing his wings, Birch inhaled deeply, and felt the cold
night air rush into his lungs.  It steadied the dizziness.
He tugged at his shirt, tucking it into his jeans, stalling.

Behind him, he heard Karian let out a long, resigned sigh.
"Ah, Birch," she said softly.

Relaxing his wing muscles, Birch lowered his head.  So he had
failed them -- again.  Maybe they would give up, just leave
him alone.  Besides, he could glide -- when he really had to.

"Birch, I'm really, really sorry," Karian said, more loudly.

"Huh?  For what?"  He raised his head.

"For this."

He felt her small hands -- deceptively small, with terrifying
strength behind them -- on his back, against his wings.
Before he could leap away, she shoved.

Birch lost his footing on the stone.  Scrabbling to grab hold
with his talons, he failed, and fell.  Tumbling over and
over, he desperately tried to unfurl his wings and catch a
wind current.  The stones of the castle fell past him in a
blur.  He heard the beating of another set of wings, just
as he opened his own, and caught the wind.

Karian glided along side him as he headed for the branch
where Jaewing waited.  She'd gone down after him, he
realized, just in case.  That didn't make things better.

He landed lightly on the thick branch of the oak at the edge
of the woods.

"That was _great_!"  Jaewing clapped him on the shoulder.  "I
knew you had it in you."  Jaewing grinned, the corners of his
beaked face turning up rakishly.

Karian landed on another branch, breathing hard with delight
and excitement.  She slapped the palm of her hand against the
tree trunk in triumph.  "That was a whole fifty yards!  A
hundred feet up!  For no particular reason.  See, all you had
to do was..." she caught Birch's expression and her rich,
jubilant voice trailed off.

"Just -- leave -- me -- alone," he told both of them through
clenched teeth.  Birch registered the way the happiness
drained out of their faces, replaced by hurt and regret.  It
tore at him, but he was too angry to take it back.

Without another word, Birch linked his wing digits and tucked
his wings over his shoulders.  Then slowly, with
deliberation, he began to climb down out of the tree like a
human child, resting his big feet on the branches below while
his talons clutched the branches above.  He dropped heavily
to the snow-covered earth.  With his back stiff, he marched
towards the manor house, a brown-gold figure against the
gleaming whiteness.

*****

Cadwyn Castle looked like a Gothic novelist's dream come
true.  Its central part was four-towered, of pale brown
stone, a late 17th century replica of its prototype, an
ancient castle on the cliffs of Southern Cornwall.  The
original was now owned by the town of Traminswick,
and kept as a historical landmark and a tourist attraction.
A favorite story of the tour guides involved rumors about
stone statues of gargoyles that came to life.

Around the central core, generations of humans had added new
wings, each according to the taste and preferences of the
age, from  Colonial stone to Victorian brick.  The
gingerbread latticework and fussy cupolas of that wing
clashed with the earlier sections, but other than that the
manor house somehow managed to appear as a unified whole.  It
seemed to belong in its hollow at the edge of a wood,
surrounded by a vast, rolling lawn that boasted, among other
things, a stone bridge over a stream, plenty of flower beds,
and an ancient stone out building now used as a gardening
shed.

At the moment, the glory of the flower beds was covered with
snow.  As Birch reached the massive main door of the house,
he paused on the stone steps, looking behind him.

Across the shining, pristine carpet of snow ran a trail of
footprints, four-digited, rounded at the heel, and quite
large.  Their weight had left deep indentations in the
hard-packed snow.

"Oops," Birch sighed.  Cal and Phyla had warned them again
and again about snow, and mud, and other things that left
unwanted, telltale marks.  He would catch it for that lonely
line of footprints, shining coldly under the moonlight.

He opened the door, and entered the Great Hall.

It really was a Great Hall, part of the central castle
replica.  Almost as broad as a football field, the walls
soared up to a gallery running around near the ceiling.  The
floor was paved with flagstone.  The Brodwins had installed
spotlights along the walls  just beneath the level of the
gallery.  They cast a soft glow across the dark gray slate
color of the floor.  Birch's footsteps tapped loudly in the
quiet, and the door banged shut behind with a resounding
echo.

He would just go upstairs, check his e-mail, look in on his
latest experiment, and forget tonight had never happened.
Birch wasn't angry anymore, just deflated, with a vague, sad,
worn feeling.

"Hey, stop that!  Wizard, watch out for  --"

As Birch approached the study, where one of the family
computers was located, he heard a crash from inside the room.
Birch ran to the door and looked in.

Next to a mahogany pedestal white shards lay in a pathetic
array, the remains of a  vase.  A small gargoyle hatchling of
about twelve stood frozen a few feet away, her wings flared,
her hands clamped over her mouth.  She wore a black mask,
with slits cut for eyes.

Cal bent to pick up the shards, muttering.  "Fifteenth
Century if it was a day...how do I explain _this_ one to the
insurance company?"  He ran his fingers through his dark,
thick, slightly graying hair.  "Aw, Wiz, don't look at me
like that.  It's my own fault for having stuff like this in a
house with hatchlings.  Oh, hi Birch."

"Hey, professor."

Another small female hatchling, Levis, stood crouched on the
rug, holding a large rubber ball.  She also wore a mask, a
green Halloween mask that had belonged to Ivy Brodwin.  "Is
it my turn, Cal?"  She asked.

Professor Brodwin smoothly got to his feet.  "Uh...I think
we've played enough Calvinball for one night."  He glanced at
Birch uneasily, as if embarrassed to be caught playing with
hatchlings.

Birch went over to the desk and sat down in front of the
computer monitor.  The computer was already on, with a
marquee screen saver running.  "I want to believe," it read,
Hunter's work, no doubt.

"Birch, play Calvinball with us!"  Wizard tugged at his wing.
Her eyes widened in a cute way, but he wasn't fooled; Wizard
did that on purpose.

"Maybe later," Birch said distractedly as he logged on to his
server.

Disappointed, Levis and Wizard left the study, looking for
excitement elsewhere.

Cal swept up the broken shards and dumped them into a trash
can.  Then he settled into an arm chair, picked up some
papers for grading, and put on his glasses.

A smile twitched at Birch's slightly beaked face as he found
an e-mail message from Braveheart in his in-box.

"Yo, Pendragon!  Wow, so you're afraid of heights?  Well, a
lot of people are, I guess.  Thanks for confiding in me.
Maybe I can help -- heights are not a problem.  Where'd it
come from?  I've got a friend who's a psychology major -- she
says phobias like that usually come from something specific,
but sometimes people don't even remember. Anyway, enough with
the depressing stuff.  Did you get Rebel Assault II yet?
It's just so cool, you've got to try it..."

The message continued for about a page or two.  Birch
finished reading it, then wrote a reply:

"Yo yourself, Braveheart!  No, I don't have Rebel Assault II
yet, but the folks keep promising..."

Birch stopped typing and glanced over at Cal, who seemed
engrossed in his paperwork.

"As for 'the phobia,' I suppose it did come from one
particular incident, when I was a hatch --"

Birch caught himself, deleted the last word, and typed
"child" instead.

"I don't really like talking about it."

He finished the letter and sent it off, then went off towards
the unused room in the Victorian wing that he used as a
laboratory.

*****


"Jalapena!"  Lexington spoke up suddenly.

Birch stopped telling the story and looked at him curiously.

 "I don't believe it," Lex stared at Birch.  "Birch, tell me
again what--"

"Lex, let them finish the story, okay?"

"But Brooklyn, I'mmppggffffff...."

Brooklyn reached down and locked his arm around his smaller
rookery brother's face, muffling him.  "Please, go on," he
said.

For a moment, Lexington struggled, his eyes glaring up at
Brooklyn furiously.  Then as Birch continued, he stilled, and
Brooklyn's grasp loosened.  Apparently, Lex, caught up in the
story again, had decided that whatever revelation had come to
him could wait until later.

*****


For about an hour, Birch lost track of things like meddling
rookery siblings, snow, and wings.  He entered careful
records onto a data chart, occasionally picking up a vial and
peering at the liquid inside.

He was gingerly adding a few droplets of a chemical to a
vial, making adjustments, when the door opened.

"Birch!"

He looked up, the vial held in his talons.

"Karian?"

"You've got to come, _now_.  Something's happened," she said,
breathing heavily, as if she'd been running.  Her small,
pretty, face was twisted with concern, and her wings were
flared.

Without a word, Birch set down the vial, with a frantic
prayer that the chemical would sit without any adverse
reactions.  Then he raced after Karian.

*****

Birch could hear the commotion in the Great Hall long before
he and Karian reached it.

There were several voices: Phyla's calm, reasonable, tones;
Hotspur's warm rumble, loud with anger; and Tala's clear,
strong, distinctive young voice, protesting with an
uncharacteristic waver.

"Phyla, I told you, I'm _fine_."  Tala twitched her wings,
which were already almost as broad as Phyla's, even though
Tala was much smaller than the clan leader.

Birch and Karian loped forward, their heavy feet thumping on
the stones.  Behind them, Birch heard a door open as more
gargoyles arrived, drawn by the commotion.

Tala folded her arms stubbornly, looking acutely embarrassed
to be the center of so much fuss.  Her eyes were glowing ever
so slightly, her black hair falling loose over one shoulder.
She had lost her gold hair band somehow, and was wearing a
short-sleeved black sweater that matched her hair and jeans
with holes cut in the knees.  On her exposed left arm there
was a thin trickle of blood, and against the deep, reddish
brown color of the skin on her foot was a discolored area, a
bruise.

"At least let Anna take a look at you," Phyla insisted.

"If I find those damn rednecks I'm going to bash their heads
together," Hotspur growled.

"What happened?"  Karian moved forward, into the middle of
things.

Tala sighed.  "Nothing.  It was just a stupid thing."

"She was out alone in town," Phyla explained calmly, watching
Tala.  "And some local boys spotted her.  She won't tell us
any more than that."

Someone shoved roughly past Birch -- Rowland, who hardly ever
moved roughly.

"Tala?!"  He stopped next to Karian.  Rowland reached out a
hand to Tala, then let it fall, curling his talons into a
fist.  "What happened?"  He turned to Phyla furiously.  "Is
she okay?"

Hairless, with pale, royal blue colored skin, Rowland was
bulky but shorter than Tala, with wings jutting sideways from
his body and along his thighs.  But when he was standing
upright, like now, he presented a formidable appearance.

"Excuse me," Tala told Rowland caustically.  "'She' is right
here."  Tala unfolded her arms and waved her talons at
Rowland.  "And 'she' is just fine. I just need a band-aid."

The muscles in Phyla's pointed, gentle face worked tensely
for a moment.  Then they settled into the leader-like mask as
she nodded.  "Very well.  Rowland, see that she really ~does~
tend to that cut properly -- it's hours yet to sunrise."  She
looked into Tala's eyes.  "We will be discussing this later."

Phyla turned and slowly walked away from the cluster of young
gargoyles, Hotspur following. At the far end of the hall,
before they vanished through the door, Hotspur put his arm
across Phyla's shoulders, murmuring something to her.  She
answered quietly, and then they were gone.

Birch realized that Guen and Hunter were standing beside him.

Guen was still wearing the plain white smock she used while
working in her own lab, located in one of the Victorian
section's towers.  There were small green stains on the
smock, stains that might have been anything from food
coloring to some chemical used to detect pollutants in
drinking water.  With her wings tucked over her shoulders,
she resembled a medieval alchemist, or sorceress, her long,
brown curls tucked behind her horns, away from her face.

"Tala," she said, in her quiet, gentle voice, "Please tell us
what happened."  Guen pulled a clean cloth out of her pocket
and held it out to Tala.

It was the right gesture.  Tala took the cloth, and began to
speak.

"I was on Font Street.  Trying to see into the skylight of
that new video store.  And some jerks hanging out on a roof a
few townhouses down spotted me.  I hadn't noticed them when I
landed there.  They started...yelling...they called me a
monster, a freak....  And then they started throwing things
--" Tala broke off, and caught her lower lip with one small
fang.  Then her face hardened.  "One of them jumped across
the gap between the roof tops, got too close.  I took care
of him, then took to the air."

As she spoke, Tala fumbled with the cloth, trying to tie it
around her arm with one hand.  Rowland took the loose end of
the cloth.  Tala glanced at him, then allowed him to bind the
wound for her.

"Maybe we should go after the rest of them," Rowland said in
a low voice.

Birch, Guen, and Hunter, even Tala, looked at him sharply.  A
wind gusted outside, faint beyond the thick stone walls.

"Hey, easy, bro."  Hunter put his talons on Rowland's
shoulder.  Physically, Hunter was identical to Rowland,
except he was a few inches taller.  They were literally
brothers, twins, hatched from the same egg, an unheard-of
occurrence in clan history.

"It would just make things worse," Tala told Rowland.

"We would draw more attention to ourselves," Karian agreed.
"Let's just forget the whole thing."

Guen opened her mouth to say something, then closed it.

A swooping sound came from above, the sound of wings against
rising, warm, indoor air currents.  Jaewing dropped down from
the gallery to the main floor.

"Wow!"  He said, hurrying over.  "You okay, Tala?  Hotspur
told me..."

Tala shut her eyes for a second.  Birch could almost hear her
counting slowly from one to ten.  She opened her eyes.  "What
did you guys do, distribute the Tala newsletter?  Yeah, I'm
okay, Jaewing."

"Man, that was scary," Jaewing went on.  "No one's ever been
attacked like that....well, except for --" he broke off as
Karian stepped on the talons of his foot.

Sighing inwardly, Birch followed the whole exchange.  He
understood how Tala felt, but at least they all looked up to
her.  They didn't view her as some delicate hatchling.

The others began to leave the Great Hall.  Birch started to
follow Jaewing and Karian, then paused and turned back.

Leaning on a limestone pillar as she watched the others
leave, Guen had her talons twined together, a worried
expression on her yellow-brown face.

"It's just one little incident," Birch told her.  With the
others gone, the hall seemed to echo in silence.

Guen straightened and stared at him.  "Do you honestly think
it will end with just 'one little incident?'"

The wind gusted again, for a moment sounding like Balthazar's
howling.  Birch thought of his footprints, cut sharply into
the crusted snow of the lawn.  He hoped fervently that it
would snow again before sunrise.

*****

In the courtyard of Castle Wyvern, several of the new
gargoyles had settled onto the stones, legs crossed, wings
falling about them like blankets.  Brooklyn remained
standing, while Lex crouched next to Bronx, his arm across
the gargoyle-dog's broad neck.

"But Gues was right," Karian said softly.  "It didn't stop with
'just one little incident.'"  She looked down, frowning, and Birch
rested his hand on her shoulder.

"Karian," Guen said gently, "You want me to tell it?"

The fine-boned gargoyle sighed.  "No.  No, I will."  Her
fists clenched, and a faint red glow flickered in her eyes
before she spoke: "Guen, Hunter, Jaewing and I went into town
to see the re-release of Star Wars.  Hunter had been nagging
us for weeks," she added, glancing at one of the two
light-blue twins, who frowned.

"If you'd just gone with me opening weekend...."

Rowland, who Brooklyn noticed was just slightly smaller than
his blood brother, but only if you were looking for it,
whacked Hunter on the arm.

"Hey!"  Hunter said indignantly, rubbing the tender spot.
"All I meant was...."

"Of all the insensitive...."

"Guys, please...." Guen protested.

"Watch who you're calling insensitive. You --"

"_I_ wanted to go," Birch said quietly, "But then Jaewing
said...."

"Guys!"  Jaewing bellowed, and they fell silent.

Brooklyn, watching the exchange, swallowed.  The rookery
siblings used to bicker like that....a long time ago.
Brooklyn glanced at Lexington, and figured he'd been awfully
lucky not to have survived alone, without his rookery
brothers.  But still, he missed the rest of them badly
sometimes.

"Karian, continue," Guen said with an exaggerated formality
that seemed aimed at the twins.

"There's this door in the roof of the theater that's never
used.  We use it to sneak in all the time, and no one ever
seems to notice.  But this time was different...."

*****

The flickering light of the end credits on the movie screen
illuminated the faces of the four gargoyles perched at the
edge of the crawl space beneath the roof.  From the speakers
lining the curtained walls came the stirring chords of the
Star Wars end credit theme.  Just below them was the window
of the projection booth.  Hunter spent part of the time
watching the movie, which he had already seen three times,
and part leaning over to stare fascinated at the flickering
beam of light, trying to peer into the booth.

Jaewing reached out and pulled Hunter back, giving him a
pointed look.  Hunter grinned, and his eyes returned to the
screen as he avidly scanned the names in the credits.  The
light-blue gargoyle was obsessed with movies and special
effects.  He'd said once he'd give almost anything to work at
Industrial Light and Magic, "except I think I'd end up
_being_ the special effects," he'd added with a laugh.

In the darkness, Karian let out a mild curse.

"What?"  Guen whispered.

"Amber.  She just squirmed out of my pocket."

"Well, go find her."

The lavender gargoyle began crawling around in the dusty
space, making a small chirping sound.  The end credit music
segued into "Princess Leia's Theme."

"Karian," Jaewing protested, "Not so loud, someone will hear
you."

"Doesn't matter," she whispered back.  "The management just
thinks we're rats."

"Oh, good, I feel so much better."  Jaewing sighed and turned
back to the screen.

At the inner end of the space, where the light of the screen
barely reached, was the door which they used for access.  Now
Karian noticed it was open a crack to the chill winter night.
Amber, a tamed chipmunk, had probably gone out that way.

"I'm going outside," she whisper-shouted back.

"Okay," Birch answered.

Karian pushed open the door and felt the cold air brush her
face, stirring her long white hair.  Ahead of her, the stairs
led up to the opening of the roof.  Reaching into the pocket
of her sweater, she pulled out a peanut.  "Chk-chk-chk,
Amber, here girl..."  Kneeling at the bottom of the stairwell
with the rectangle of night sky above her, the gargoyle
peered about the shadows.  And then, at the top of the
stairs, a tiny, pointed-eared silhouette appeared. It poised,
looking at her.

"Amber," Karian scolded, as the chipmunk scampered down the
steps and took the peanut as if that had been the purpose in
the first place.  Gently, Karian closed her talons over the
fire-colored chipmunk with the black and white stripe up its
back, and returned the tiny creature to her pocket.

There was no point going back now; the others would be up in
a moment.  Karian stepped out onto the night-lit roof.

As soon as she did, there was a step behind her.  Startled,
Karian turned and saw a human male dressed in jeans and a
parka standing in the opening to the stairs.  In his gloved
hands he carried a piece of pipe.

"Well, this is gonna be easier than we thought," someone else
said, from behind her.

Turning slowly, keeping an eye on the first man as she did,
Karian saw two more figures on the roof.

"What's this?"  The third one said.  He held something in his
hand that she couldn't place.  "One lone girl gargoyle?  This
will be _too_ easy."

At once, the three of them leapt for her.

Reacting more out of instinct from generations of breeding
rather than knowledge, Karian grabbed one by the front of his
parka and heaved him across the roof.  He landed and lay
still.  A familiar but rare sensation began to burn behind
her eyes as they began to burn an angry red.  Clumsily, she
turned and ducked as the first one swung at her with the
pipe.

But she had forgotten about the third one.  Before she could
move, she heard a click.  There was a spark, and then some
entangling substance rushed at her face, covering her.  She
tore at the material, but it was of some tough webbing,
almost like bendable Lucite, that resisted her talons.

She hardly knew where it came from, the battle scream that
rose out of her from some hidden place.  She had never done
anything like it before, and it startled her so much she cut
it off abruptly.  It reminded her of the scream of panthers
she'd heard on a nature program.

Helpless under the webbing, she felt a hard blow across her
back.  Karian fell forward, the ropes pressing painfully
against her face and limbs.

Then she heard one of the men grunt.  Turning her head,
Karian saw Jaewing lifting the human three feet off the
ground with one hand, his eyes burning white.  Hunter and
Guen rounded on the other man, while Birch knelt by Karian,
his talons working on the webbing.

Guen pitched the man over her shoulder in a neat throw;
Karian reminded herself to ask Guen how she did that.
Jaewing threw the third man on top of the second.

"Are you okay?  Karian?"  Birch gently pulled off the
webbing, disentangling it from Karian's hair.  "Did they hurt
you?"  He took her shoulders and looked at her carefully as
they knelt on the rooftop.

"No...I'm okay."  Karian swallowed; she would _not_ cry, not
in front of Birch.

With a look of fury on his beaked face, Jaewing stood over
the unconscious humans.  "I can't believe it," he said.  "How
could this happen again?  Karian, are you all right?"

"Yes," Karian said staunchly, getting to her feet.  Her hand
went to her pocket, ascertaining that Amber hadn't been
crushed.

Guen shook her head.  "This is bad, guys."

"It's just rednecks," Hunter said, "Out for yucks."

"No."  Guen knelt, and picked up an object lying on the
ground: a thermos.  "They were waiting for us.  They must
have seen us go in."  She picked up the limp webbing.  "I've
never seen anything like this, have you Birch?"

The brown gargoyle knelt next to Guen and ran his talons
along the webbing.  "Feels like nylon, but mixed with
something else, too.  Special.  Almost like...."

"Designed for us," Guen said, low.

The others looked skeptical.

Below them, humans began to file out of the theater onto the
street, which was lined with tall, old maple trees, their
branches bare, dusted with snow.  Across the street the
proprietors of an Italian restaurant had strung up white
lights on the small trees by the entrance.  Their glow
reflected off the snowdrifts that edged the street.  In the
sky hung a full moon, the shadows of its geography visible in
the crisp, clear night.

"Come on," said Guen, coiling the webbing in her arms.  "We'd
better take this home.  Phyla needs to know what happened."
*****

The leader of the Cadwyn Clan stood with her powerful wings
cloaked as the others in the Brodwin living room spoke
excitedly, filling the air with a buzz.

Hotspur, standing beside Phyla, cleared his throat, and the
sound cut through the intense conversation, bringing quiet.

"Thank you, my love," Phyla said, and turned to look at those
gathered there.

Professor Brodwin sat forward in his armchair, hands steepled
together, as if he might jump up at any moment.  His handsome
face looked forbidding.  On the couch, Anna Brodwin, M.D.,
inspected the bruise on Karian's back, on the ridge of her
wing.

Birch leaned against the wall beside the couch, his head next
to an oil painting of a Cornish castle -- the original of the
replica they lived in.  The castle rose from a headland,
surrounded on three sides by the sheer cliffs falling down to
the sea.  The artist had portrayed the castle at night, and
the moon cast a path of light across the water.  Up on one
tower of the castle a winged outline perched, poised as if to
take flight.  The title plate set into the eighteenth century
frame read simply "Guardians, 1789."  The artist was unknown.

"Guen, are you sure about this?"  Cal asked.

She nodded, seated in another arm chair with the webbing
heaped at her feet.  "I read about it in the papers, there
was an article about a gargoyle-hate group in New York City.
It described netting very much like this."  Guen shuddered.
"It also mentioned electrically powered hammer devices.
Apparently --"  Guen swallowed.  "Apparently they shatter
stone on contact."

Cal ran his hands through his thick, dark hair.  "It has
happened before, in the history of The Trust," he said.
"Morgan will know, or 'Rica.  But there are only two recorded
cases of a deliberate, vicious attack like what happened to
Karian and Tala.  At least, only twice since the witch-hunts
of the seventeenth century."

"_Recorded_ attacks, Cal," Anna said.  She turned Karian to
face front, her acknowledgment that the exam was over and the
wound not serious.

Her husband shook his head.  "The keepers of The Trust always
recorded everything.  They wouldn't have omitted something
like that."

"The point is," Phyla said, "What we're to do about it.
Karian, Birch, Guen, spread the word to the others.  Until
further notice, no gargoyle leaves the estate."

Guen got to her feet.  "But Phyla, we can't just...."

"Guen, that is how it must be, for now.  We can't risk anyone
else being hurt.  I'll gather my council for a meeting, and
we'll discuss what we should do.  In the meantime, Anna and
Cal and the kids can keep their ears and eyes open."

*****

"And that's it?"  Jaewing demanded, standing on the east
tower.  "We're going to _hide_?  Of all the...."

"Phyla's our leader," Karian said softly.  "She knows what's
best."

Tala, arms folded as she looked out over the grounds, looked
resentful.

Around the castle/manor house spread the wide, snow-covered
lawns.  Beyond them stood the woods, branches bare, and the
open space of the farm.  To the north stood the small
range of rocky hills that bordered the Cadwyn estate.  Ivy
and Ben hiked there, and it was the perfect place to roost
and glide.

Guen leaned her talons against a balustrade, staring east,
towards the faint glow that marked the town.  Beyond its glow
the horizon was lightening faintly.   "It's just not _fair_,"
she said.

"No, it's not fair at all."

The door leading back inside the attic had opened, and a
small figure emerged onto the roof, a figure wearing a ski
parka over flower-print flannel pajamas.

The young gargoyles turned and saw the child standing there.
Her usual braids were undone, and her long dark hair fell in
loose waves over her thin shoulders.  Ivy Brodwin had her
hands shoved deep in the pockets of her parka.  On her feet
were a pair of thick, gray wool socks.

"Ivy, what are you doing up?"  Guen asked patiently.

"I heard all the commotion, couldn't sleep.  Ben can -- he'll
sleep through anything," she added smugly.

"Little rookery sister," Jaewing said, kneeling in front of
her, "Your mother wouldn't be happy if she knew you were up
here."

Ivy smiled, her eyes lighting up as they always did when any
of them called her "rookery sister."  "What she don't know
can't hurt her," the girl said flippantly.  Then,
theatrically, she stretched her down-covered arms and yawned.
"But, maybe you all _don't_ want to hear what was said in
Phyla's council."

"You listened in on the council?"  Guen sounded shocked for a
moment, then a broad grin crossed her face.  "Why am I not
surprised?  Okay, kiddo, spill the beans."

As Jaewing got to his feet, Ivy tucked herself under one of
his wings, shielding herself from the wind.  "Morgan was
appalled; he says your clan have been here for four hundred
years, and he won't cower like a mouse while human upstarts
intimidate his clan.  Phyla got mad and told him times had
changed since he was leader a long time ago, and just look at
the news reports.  Then she said no one could leave the
estate.  Everyone started arguing.  Siward sort of accused
Phyla of being a coward, and Hotspur might have killed him if
the others hadn't been there."  Ivy frowned.  "It really is
rotten.  You guys never hurt anyone.  Why can't they just
leave you alone?"

"I don't know, little sister," said Jaewing.  "But we can't
just stay here and _take_ it," he added, something like a
growl rumbling in his chest.

"And what are you going to do," Tala said sharply.  "Go about
tearing up the town, looking for gargoyle-haters?  Oh,
that'll really improve our image."

Guen turned back to the others.  "Dawn's coming," she said
simply.  "We'd better get back to the battlements."

In the pre-dawn light, they could already see, on the castle
walls rising beyond the maze of roof-tops between, the clan
gathering to greet the day.

"No flight tonight, Ivy," said Jaewing.  "Sorry, maybe
tomorrow."

"That's okay," Ivy said.  "I just wanted to let you guys know
what was going on.  But....can you take me over with you?
Otherwise I might miss it."

Jaewing gathered Ivy up in his arms, hopped onto the
balustrade, and took flight.  The others followed.

The eastern sky brightened and a fiery red crept up.  On the
battlements the whole clan was gathering to greet the day --
of all ages from the smallest hatchling to the most weathered
elder. The cold rays of the dawning sun touched the
gargoyles. Many of the elders adopted defensive, warning
poses, their talons curled, fangs wide, to greet the day.
Others crouched with their arms about their mates, or rested
their chin on their hands in a contemplative way.  Guen, in
unconscious imitation of Morgan, took a pose similar to the
elder's, poised as if to take flight at some unseen enemy,
her wings unfurled.  Hunter and Rowland took up their
position side by side, Karian handed Amber to Ivy before
standing straight with her wings folded over her shoulders.
Birch crouched facing the courtyard, well away from the edge
of the parapet.

None of them seemed to think it amiss to have a small,
dark-haired human child in pajamas and ragg socks watching
solemnly as they turned to stone.

*****
Sunset at Cadwyn Castle.

The last remnants of light burned beyond the bare trees like
cold fire.  It had not snowed, and the winter evening had a
cold, bleak, odd beauty.  The estate pond was frozen, crusted
with snow.  A single star gleamed at the horizon.

On the battlements, all was silent, as if the stone statues
were caught in a frozen winter spell.  But as the final rays
of the sun lanced over them, then died, tiny hairline cracks
began to form in the statues.

As night descended, they broke free, chips of stone skin
scattering to the night wind.  The gargoyles yawned and
stretched after their day's nap --

*****

"Karian," Jaewing interrupted, "You can't possibly know
what's it's like to watch us all wake up."

"Can too," she retorted.  "Ben described it to me."

"It wasn't that night, anyway," Hunter put in.  "Two or three
nights later at least.  It was pretty quiet for a while..."

 "Who's telling this story?" Karian objected.

*****

The gargoyles yawned and stretched after their day's nap.

A teen-aged boy with light brown hair badly in need of
cutting leaned against the inside of the tower door providing
access to the battlements, watching them.  He was gangly,
dressed in worn jeans, a red down jacket with old ski-lift
tickets attached to the zipper, and gray wool gloves.  His
nose was red with the cold, and the earphone wires of a
walkman dangled from one pocket.

Some of the gargoyles leaving through the door greeted him by
name, taking his presence for granted as they went past,
tucking their wings over their shoulders.

At last the boy stepped out of the doorway and walked along
the battlements.

"Jaewing!"  He called.  "Karian, Birch!"

The three stopped and turned.

The boy shoved his gloved hands into his pockets.  "I have to
talk to you about something."  He glanced around and saw that
the wall was otherwise empty.  "Before I go to Phyla," he
added.

Karian and Birch cloaked their wings while Jaewing crouched
on a crenellation.  "What is it, Ben?"  Jaewing asked.

Benjamin Brodwin (always called "Ben" unless someone was
trying to annoy him) removed a hand from his pocket, his
fingers clutching a folded, rumpled brochure that looked as
if it had been hastily stuffed into the pocket and left there
all day.

"We've got trouble, guys," he said.  "But I don't want to
start a panic.  So I figured I would show you guys and let
you decide what to do."

"What is that?"  Birch reached out his hand.

Reluctantly, Ben handed it to him while Jaewing leaned down
to see better, crouched with his hands curled around the
stones to steady himself, and Karian read over Birch's
shoulder.

The booklet was printed on cheap, dull white paper and looked
as if it had been folded by hand.  On the outside flap in
gray scale was the image of a hammer with a rectangular
shaped head against a circle.

Karian felt a piece of memory stir -- something Guen had said
about hammers.

Birch opened the booklet, as the wind tugged at the corners
of the paper.  Printed in gray scale was a generic drawing of
a man, woman, and child looking terrified while a vaguely
drawn shadow with wings hovered above them.   The wording
beneath was in some kind of Gothic-style font.

"'Ye shall not fear the terror of night.' --Psalms 91"

"You do not have to be afraid.  You are not alone.  There is
an evil rising -- but it is within your power to stop it.
The night can be safe again.  Take up the hammer.  Join the
fight."

Beneath that, in smaller lettering, it read:

"Weekly meetings of the local chapter of The Quarrymen
Society convene at 7:30 pm on Thursdays in the basement of
212 Spring Street."

Birch's jaw dropped, speechless.

"But -- what --" Jaewing stammered.

Ben stabbed at the paper with one gloved finger, his breath
rising in angry clouds in the cold air.  "I think that's
supposed to be...their idea of a gargoyle," he said,
disgusted.  "I found one of these pushed into the slats of my
locker at school."  He brushed the shaggy hair out of his
eyes.  "I showed it to Ivy.  She hasn't seen any."

"I don't understand."  Karian shook her head.  "What 'evil'?
Do they mean _us_?  How could they possibly..."

"I don't know!"  Angrily, Ben kicked the toe of his sneaker
against the stones.  "They just started appearing today."

******

"Quarrymen?" Brooklyn exploded.  "Are you sure that's what it
said?"

"Yes," Karian replied, a bit shortly.  "I guess we should
have brought you a sample, but with everything that happened
next, no one had time to think of it."

"He doesn't believe us," Tala said bitterly.

Brooklyn extended one hand, palm up.  "Look, you have to
understand, we've been fooled one too many times.  Our life
here is dangerous.  Maybe you are telling the truth, but Lex
and I have to be sure."

"We read and saw the news reports."  Guen rose and faced
Brooklyn.  The wind tugged at her cloaked wings, curling them
around her arms and legs.  "We know your clan has been
hunted, has been forced to hide from this city.  We
thought...we thought that with your experience with
humans, you could help us with our problem."

"Your problem?"  Lexington cocked his head to one side.  "You
mean the flyers?  The attacks?  I mean, that's terrible,
we'll help if we can, but if that's all you have to deal
with, consider yourself lucky."

"No, not just the flyers," Jaewing said grimly.  "The
Quarrymen have our leader.  They have Phyla."

*****

In the upstairs room the Brodwins and the gargoyle clan
habitually used as a family gathering area, the hatchlings
Bat, Gabe, Astra, Kell, and Mera were playing Monopoly,
seated cross-legged with their wings folded over their
shoulders.  Gabe purchased two more hotels just before
Astra's turn, and when she landed on his settled Atlantic
Avenue, he grinned smugly, revealing his sharp, tiny fangs.
Astra stuck her tongue out at him as Bat took up the dice,
vowing revenge for his acquisition of her railroads.

Anna Brodwin sat in the armchair beneath the painting of the
Cornish castle, her jean-clad legs tucked under her as she
went through the mail.  Through the tall, many-paned windows
the clear night sky was filled with stars, along with the
skeletal tops of the trees in the nearby woods.

A fire burned in the fireplace.  Lying before the hearth on
her stomach with her wings spread about her on the rug like a
dark brown pool, was Guen, a dusty book on medieval warfare
open before her.

Phyla and Hotspur were on the couch side by side, also
reading.  Phyla was deep into "Beowulf," while Hotspur was
twelve pages from the end of "The Hitchhiker's Guide To The
Galaxy."  Every so often he would stifle a laugh, and Phyla
would playfully whack him on the arm with the end of her
light-brown colored tail.  The gold streaks in Hotspur's
coarse brown hair caught the firelight.  Both wore jeans, and
Hotspur a large flannel shirt, Phyla a cream-colored, long
cable-knit sweater, with slits and special buttons on the
back to accommodate for her wings.

With the only partially-stifled arguing of the hatchlings and
the sound of crackling fire and turning pages behind him,
Birch sat at the computer with his wings draped over the
shoulders of his shirt.  His tail curved along the rug,
around the supports of the ergonomic swivel chair.  Anna
had ordered it specially designed to allow for the wings on a
gargoyle's back and the additional weight and bone
protrusions.  There was also a computer in Cal's office which
everyone used; but the special chair had appeared soon after
Birch had gotten his own e-mail account.

He logged on, and was pleased to see a pile of messages in
his in-box.  Grinning, Birch waited for the messages to load.
His rookery siblings were great company, all the company he
would ever need, but still...people he would never dare
approach in person held interesting back-and-forth exchanges
with him.  It made him a little sad, behind it all, because
if they saw him face-to-face, he knew what the reaction was
likely to be.

There was one from Braveheart; Birch read it first.

"I've been thinking about your heights problem .  Myself, I
prefer heights, if you can believe it ;)  In fact I really
hate, low, cramped places.  But being up high...that's
different. It's exciting, you don't have to be afraid of it.
My psych major friend says the next time you're nervous
to try this. (Don't worry, I didn't tell her about you, just asked
what to do about phobias in general.  She gave me this worried
look,  but I persuaded her not to pick my brain).  Imagine
yourself on the top of the highest building around.  It's
night.  The stars shine in the sky over your head, and
below...you can see the lights of the city..."

******


In the courtyard of Castle Wyvern, in New York City,
Lexington cut Birch off in mid-sentence, and finished it for
him:

"...The wind is in your face, but you aren't scared of
falling.  It's exhilarating.  You're above all your troubles,
above those that could hurt you, the sky is your haven."

A winter wind skirted around the towers of the castle,
whistling.  Brooklyn was staring at Lexington, Bronx had
cocked his head to one side curiously, and the Cadwyn
gargoyles looked completely confused.  Except for Birch, who
had an oddly suspicious look on his face.

"How did you know the rest of..."  He trailed off, and then
awareness spread across his beaked features. "_Braveheart?!_"

Lex nodded calmly.  "And you must be Pendragon.  I was
wondering when you'd figure it out."

Birch opened and closed his mouth several times, then shook
his head, stepped forward, and grasped Lexington's arm in a
warrior's handshake.  "Wow," he said.  "All this time, I was
thinking, well, I can never meet any of my net pals because
they'd be utterly terrified if they..."  The two gargoyles
looked at each other, and they began laughing.

"Oh, boy."  Brooklyn rolled his eyes.  "I can't believe
there's _two_ of them."  In his wry voice there was a hint of
pleasure; it was difficult to remember the last time he had
heard any of his clan laugh.

The two young gargoyles began to exchange inside jokes and
puns using terminology that made Brooklyn's head hurt.  He
looked pleadingly at the group.  "Could someone please finish
the story?"

Guen glanced at her watch, which looked water-proof, and
nodded.  "Anna kind of gasped when she opened the letter.
When we asked her what was going on, she stood up and read it
out loud to us, then and there..."

*****

"To the gargoyles of Cadwyn Castle," Anna read, standing in
the middle of the room.  "We have come to realize that we may
have been hasty in our judgement of your kind.
Open-mindedness and acceptance is something we pride
ourselves on; and we have perhaps been neglectful .  There
may be hard feelings, but I can assure you we meant only to
protect our families.  We hope you can forgive us, and would
like to meet with your leader and hold what I would like to
presumptuously call a peace summit.  Just to talk, to get to
know one another.  And perhaps, come to an understanding."

Slowly, Guen sat up, closed her book, and got to her feet.
Birch turned away from the computer.  Even the hatchlings
were silent.

"Come to the mill on Bucksram Road at midnight tomorrow.  If
you are uneasy about this, bring along other members of your
clan for protection.  But I assure you, it won't be
necessary."

******

Brooklyn made a low, repetitive sound in his throat.
"Uh-uh-uh-uh-uh."  He shook his head.  "I hope Phyla didn't
actually go, did she?"

Guen sighed.  "Yes, she did.  With Hotspur, Lorica, Morgan,
and Siward.  When they got to the mill, there was a light
burning inside.  So they went in -- and six Quarrymen Society
members jumped them.   They had those nets.  If it hadn't
been for the knife Siward always carries,  they'd never have
gotten themselves free and able to fight.  But they got out.
Three Quarrymen were injured."

"Did they have hammers?"  Brooklyn let out a whuffling sound
through his beak, part concern, part exasperation.  "Like
sledgehammers, only with a switch to turn on the electrical
current?"

"Not that Phyla and the others mentioned."  Guen shook her
head, and fixed her gaze on Brooklyn.  "But I read about the
Quarrymen in New York...that they have a weapon that can
shatter stone on contact."

Behind her, Tala shuddered, convulsively, once, and stopped.
Rowland chewed on his lower lip.

"But you said the Quarrymen had Phyla," Lex said.  He and
Birch had abandoned their revelry and were listening quietly.

"It was after the ambush," Guen explained heavily.  The wind
tugged at her brown curls as she folded her arms over her
chest, as if for warmth.  "This afternoon, Ivy and Ben didn't
come home from school."

"The second message arrived just after sunset," Jaewing said
grimly, his eyes almost but not quite phosphorescent, "Told
us that if three gargoyles were not delivered to a field off
of route 611, Cal and Anna would never see their children
again.  They argued about it for a while.  Phyla insisted on
going.  Hotspur was yelling at her, Morgan looked ready to
send her to the rookery.  But she was...is..." he added
hastily, with a shake of his black hair, "our leader.  In the
end, Hostpur and Siward went with her.  And they wouldn't
allow back-up, in case the Quarrymen found out and hurt Ben
and Ivy."

Tala balled her hands into fists.  "No one was listening to
anyone else...arguing like a bunch of stupid hatchlings," she
growled.  "For all we know they're still discussing it.  And
meanwhile, those jerks have our rookery siblings and Ben and
Ivy."  Her voice rose to a shout.  Bronx barked.

"Guen told us about the newspaper reports...and we'd all seen
you guys on TV.  She said if anyone knew what to do about
Quarrymen, you would.  It was Jaewing's idea," Birch added,
almost enviously.  "So we took off for New York."

******

As the others leapt from the ramparts of Cadwyn Castle, Birch
hung back a moment, nervously looking down at the grassy lawn
below.  He was going with them, he was determined.  It wasn't
the trip that worried him.  Once airborne, he could glide
competently enough.

There was a light touch on his shoulder.  Karian.  She
lowered her talons from his shoulder and took his hand,
crouched for take-off.  He sighed resignedly.  There wasn't
time for fears just then.

"Birch," the pale lavender gargoyle looked at him with her
large eyes, her forehead tucked with concern.  "When are you
going to glide just for the sheer joy of it?"

Then, with Karian pulling the brown gargoyle along with her,
they leapt.

*****

They saw it from far off, nothing but lights to mark its
solidity in the darkness.  Around the island sprawled broader
islands, all glittering, linked by gossamer bridges which
seemed to be made of light.  Soon the dark hills, cut by
houses, gave way to denser areas of population.  The
seven gargoyles winged swiftly around a mountainous piece of
rock, the remnants of the earth blasted out to make way for
the highway, and crossed in front of a massive billboard.

Now they could see the towers of light, the tallest of them
wreathed in pale, thin wisps of clouds, and the glimmering
surface of the water, like a black mirror.  In the cold
night, the pinpoints of light seemed to spring out sharply
like stars fallen to earth.

They veered left, the wind in their hair and caressing their
wings, and approached the section of the island with the
tallest buildings, towards the southeast.

"Is this Manhattan?"  Karian asked wonderingly.

"That's Manhattan," Guen answered triumphantly, giddily, the
wind swallowing her words.

Soon they were over the water, and headed towards the center
of the island.  In the distance they saw a huge green patch
like a quilt.  Its southern end was marked by a grand row of
towers, not all of glass and steel, some of older lineage,
made of stone and brick, with stone faces as decorations.
Beyond them was a brighter, more luminous patch of city, as
if there lay the true heart.   Between buildings they caught
glimpses of brightly lit billboards and digital readouts
mounted on the sides of the skyscrapers.

"That must be Times Square," said Jaewing.  He sighed
wistfully.  "I hope we have time to go see it."

"Man, are my wings tired!"  Jaewing said.  He got a strange
expression on his face, then laughed once, like a bark.

"What?"  Hunter asked.

"I just got it!  That joke humans tell.  It's funny, because
they don't _have_ wings!"  Jaewing snickered, then sobered.
"We're going to have to stop and rest soon," he added, looking
down under one outstretched arm.

"Hm."  Tala scanned the buildings beneath them.

"Wow, look at that!"  Rowland said suddenly, and dove off to
the right.

The others followed.  "Rowland!"  Guen called after him.

The small gargoyle's artistic eye had been caught by a
building that seemed constructed of blue glass.  It was
circular, the top crested by multiple terraces, each one
narrower than the first.  Perched on the innermost, and
narrowest, layer, was a large ball, held in place by
brackets.  The ball was lit from within, turning it into a
glowing, blue orb.

Rowland settled onto the ball.  He crouched there, leaning
slightly forward, surveying the city with wonder in his eyes.
"I wish I could paint this."

Hunter landed with the others on the next terrace down, then
looked up at his twin.  "I should have brought the video
camera.  But VHS would never have done this justice..."

"Guys," Jaewing pointed out.  "We need a plan."

Guen nodded.  "We have to find the Manhattan gargoyles.
Problem is, none of the articles I read seemed to know where
they live now."  She began to scan the skyline.

"It would be a high place," Birch said suddenly.  "Up close
to the stars..."

Hunter looked north.  "The tallest building."

Her talons curling around the railing of the terrace, Guen
inhaled sharply.  "No, but why would _he_  hide them?"  She
mused aloud.

"What?"  Jaewing asked.

"A high place, the tallest skyscraper.  It fits the bill. And
it was, at one time, Castle Wyvern."  Guen pointed south,
towards the east 40's.

Rising up in a haze of illumination, The Eyrie building
seemed to both tower over the other impressive landmarks and
make them look clumsy and awkwardly designed.  The lower
floors gave way to a delicate structure of steel beams and
glass that held, as if in offering to the sky, a castle.

"What are we waiting for?"  Jaewing climbed up onto the
railing.  "Let's go!"

******

Birch stopped his narrative with a sigh and looked around the
empty corners of the courtyard.  "But the rest of your
clan...your leader..."

"They're all out, I'm afraid," said Brooklyn.  "When
Goliath's not here, I'm in charge."

"Then you two can help us!"  Karian face brightened.  The
dimple appeared, and as her eyes fell on Lexington he
squirmed.

"Aw, Brooklyn," he whispered, "We've got to do something!"

"I'd...like to talk with my rookery brother in private for a
moment."  Brooklyn turned and marched across the courtyard,
Lexington hurrying in his wake.

They stopped under the enclosing curve of an arch.  It struck
Brooklyn that some of the XE security team, and no doubt Owen
Burnett, should have come running when seven strange
gargoyles appeared on the cameras.  Then again, knowing Owen
Burnett, he was probably watching the whole thing with that
smug, controlled smile on his face, dutifully recording
everything for Xanatos, or, with the part that was Puck, was
interested in the game, to see how it played out.  Brooklyn
flinched.  That first thought had an acrid flavor to it --
maybe even unjust.  Fine.  If Owen wanted an evening's
entertainment, let him.  Brooklyn had other things to worry
about.

"So, what do we do?"  Lex's young-old features wrinkled with
uncertainty as he looked up at his rookery brother.

"I don't know," Brooklyn answered truthfully.  "They seem to
be telling the truth.  But we've been tricked so many times."
He turned and slapped the palm of his hand against the stone
wall of the castle.  "I wish Goliath were here," he muttered,
low enough so that he hoped Lexington hadn't heard.

But Lexington had.  "So?"  He spread his arms, his
flying-squirrel like wings flattening out.  "You're second in
command.  Just think of what he'd do."  Lex paused.  "We
could go out looking for them," he said uncertainly.

Brooklyn shook his head.  "There isn't time.  If we go, it's
got to be well before sunrise.  Otherwise Phyla won't have a
chance."  His long, beaked face seemed to lengthen as he
thought.  Then he raised his head.  "Goliath would never
knowingly allow gargoyles to die at the hands of
the Quarrymen.  He'd never turn his back on a clan asking for
his help."  Abruptly, Brooklyn turned with a flick of his
tail, walking with his particular, bobbing gait out of the
archway.  "C'mon, Lex.  We're going to Pennsylvania."

The seven had been talking quietly, but stopped abruptly when
Brooklyn and Lexington returned.

"We'll do what we can," Brooklyn said, spreading his arms.
"We'll come with you back to your home."

"Bronx, guard the castle."  Lexington knelt beside the
doggoyle and patted his broad shoulders.  "Guard Alex."

Bronx *whoofed*, then made a small, inquisitive whining
sound, cocking his head to one side as if asking Lexington if
he was sure this was such a good idea.

"Wait here," Brooklyn told the others.  "There's something I
have to do first."

*****

He found Owen Burnett in his office with the baby monitor at
his elbow.  The desk, as usual, was immaculate, with reports
in neat piles.  As the gargoyle came in, the glow of the
computer monitor reflected off Owen's glasses, hiding his
eyes for a moment.  The effect unnerved Brooklyn.

Then Owen moved, getting to his feet.  His stone arm hung
fisted at his side.  "Good evening, Brooklyn.  Is there
something I can help you with?"

Wings cloaked, Brooklyn cleared his throat and stepped closer
to the desk.  "I need to leave a message with you for
Goliath.  It's important."

"Of course," Owen said calmly, reaching up with his good hand
to adjust his glasses.  Then a tiny smile, not even a grin,
touched his lips and was gone before Brooklyn was convinced
he had even seen it.  "This wouldn't, by any chance, have
something to do with your seven guests?"

Brooklyn tried not to glare at Xanatos' aide.  "So you do
know about them."

Owen nodded.  "The security team was most...anxious...about
it, but I persuaded them not to interfere."

From the baby monitor came a soft sigh, not a fussing sound,
but that of an infant stirring in his sleep.

"Oh, uh, thanks," Brooklyn said.  "About that message --"

"Perhaps it might be best if you wrote it down.  Then I can
deliver it personally to Goliath."  Owen handed Brooklyn a
legal pad and an elegant fountain pen, and stood waiting.

The gargoyle leaned the pad against the gleaming wood of the
desk top, uncapped the fountain pen, and wrote in his oddly
archaic, slightly spiky script:

"Goliath -- Lexington and I have gone to Pennsylvania to help
a clan of gargoyles. They're having trouble with some local
Quarrymen.  Sorry I couldn't wait to talk with you first,
there isn't time.  Don't worry about us.  We'll be back--"

Brooklyn paused, started to gnaw on the end of the elegant,
blue and silver fountain pen, and caught himself.  "We'll be
back as soon as we can," he finished, and signed his name.

He tore off the yellow sheet of paper and handed it to Owen,
who folded it in three neat creases and tucked it into the
inner pocket of his blazer.  Brooklyn dropped the pen to the
desk.

From the baby monitor, Alexander whimpered, then began to
cry.

"If you will excuse me," said Owen, stepping past the
gargoyle with a nod.

"O-of course," Brooklyn said.

At the door, Owen paused and looked back.  "Good luck,
Brooklyn," he said.

There was the trace of that smile again, and then Brooklyn
was alone in the office.

*****

Brooklyn led the way up the flight of steps leading out of
the courtyard, up onto the battlements.  He crouched on the
wall, waiting as the others joined him.

Nine gargoyles perched on the stones, the wind skirling about
them.  Then, one by one, they gathered their muscles, and
took flight, leaping out into the clear nothingness, buoyed
up by the winter wind under their wings, the city gleaming
far below.

Lexington was about to dive after Hunter and Rowland, when he
noticed Birch crouched about a yard away.  One hand held the
crenellation, the other touched the stones next to his feet.
The brown gargoyle was looking out at the heady air, and the
fine wisps of dark gray, night clouds that curled about the
castle.

"Birch?"  Lexington turned to him.

Birch slowly looked up.

"You coming?"  Lexington asked.

"Uh...yeah.  Yeah.  In a second."  But his wings were still
folded over his shoulders.

"Can I ask you a question?"

The Pennsylvania gargoyle glanced over at Lexington.  "Sure,"
he shrugged.

"What exactly happened to you when you were a hatchling?"

The wind tugged at Birch's wheat-colored hair.    His eyes
turned in the direction of the light-formed arcs on top of
the Chrysler building.  "I was shot.  The adults were giving
the hatchlings gliding lessons.  It was spring, some local
guys were driving around in a truck, some sitting in the
back.  I lagged behind.  They must have seen me, mistaken me
for a rare bird or something, I don't know.   The bullet tore
right through my wing.  All I remember is lying on the
grass, with these men standing over me -- and then Hotspur,
Phyla's life-mate, came back and scared them away.  He carried
me back to the castle."  Birch paused.  "The wing had healed
by next sunset."

"I broke my wing once," Lexington said quietly.  "Last year.
It healed over a day.  It was great to be able to glide
again."

"Yes.  Great," Birch said.

"Take your time," Lexington said, squatting on the wall.  "I
won't leave until you do."  He leaned his elbow on the
crenellation in a relaxed posture.

Birch looked at him in surprise.  "You don't think
it's...dumb?  A gargoyle who's afraid to glide?"

Lexington shook his head.  "Remember what I wrote to you?
Listen, try this.  Close your eyes and _imagine_ yourself
gliding.  You're spreading your wings and soaring off into
the night.  The wind's rushing past you, holding you up.
_You're not going to fall, Birch._"

The other gargoyle squeezed his eyes closed.  A peaceful look
came over his face.

"Now, open your eyes, spread your wings, and jump.  Don't
open your eyes until you're in the air.  I'll be right next
to you."

Lexington saw Birch's talons curl convulsively.  Then they
relaxed.  Slowly, he rose, unfurled his wings, and leapt.
The small, brownish green gargoyle leapt after him.

He saw Birch's eyes pop open -- he didn't look afraid.

The others had pulled far ahead and were already approaching
Times Square, heading for the Hudson River.

"We're slow-pokes," Lexington called.  "Quick, do what I do."
He went into a barrel roll, dove lower, caught a swift
updraft, and let it shoot him forward.  He glanced back and
saw Birch hesitate, then do the same.

As the coffee-brown gargoyle came up beside him, he had a
grin on his beaked face.  "Wow, how'd you learn to do that?"

"Try being chased by immortals," Lex said.  "You pick things
up."  Then he zoomed ahead of Birch on purpose.

"Immortals?"  He heard Birch say faintly behind him.
"What....?"  And then he had caught up with Lexington.  "What
are you talking about?"

Lexington looked at the others taking a curve around the
large white building at the heart of Times Square.  "It's a
long journey.  I'll tell you about it."

******
The same time
A barn in Southeastern Pennsylvania

"C'mon, kid, we aren't going to hurt you!"

The speaker, a young woman in jeans and a yellow sweater with
her head and face covered by a blue hood, kept a firm grip on
Ivy, despite that fact that Ivy was kicking her repeatedly in
the shins. The woman gasped in pain but didn't let go.

Ben tried to wrench away from the two other hooded figured
that held him, but another stepped forward and Ben found
himself surrounded.  He subsided, glaring up at them through
the hair hanging in his eyes.

Around them the empty main room of the renovated barn was
cold, though not dark, illuminated by track lighting.  Ben
squinted as the light caught him in the eyes.

The fourth hooded figure pulled out a key and unlocked the
dead bolt of a door set into one of the newly constructed
walls that divided the barn space.  The air smelled of wood
shavings and paint.

Light from the outer room streamed into the smaller space
beyond the door.  Ben noted that in addition to the lock, the
door was of thick wood, unpainted.  One of their captors
switched on the light, a bare bulb in the newly painted
ceiling.

Ben felt a light push on his shoulders, an indication that
they wanted him to go inside.  Dragging his heels, he
continued to pull against the gloved hands holding his arms.
Another, harder shove sent him stumbling forward.  He turned
and saw the one holding Ivy pick her up, kicking and
struggling, carry her into the room, and drop her onto the
cot that stood against one wall.

The springs creaked, and Ivy let out an indignant yelp.

On the cot were several blankets, neatly folded.  A wooden
table held a bottle of juice, paper cups, and a package of
cookies.  In the corner stood an area heater, its coils
glowing orange.

"Okay," the fourth hood, with the manner of a leader, folded
his arms while the others barred the door.  "You two behave
yourselves.  No one wants or is going to hurt you.  We just
want the monsters."

Crouched on the cot in her parka, a sound rose in Ivy's
throat like a snarl.

The leader moved his head, looking at her sharply through the
eye slits.

"They aren't monsters," Ben said, swallowing several times
because his mouth had gone dry.  He glanced at the juice,
wondering if it was drugged.  "If anyone's the monster here
it's you.  You kidnapped us!"

"For your own good."  His voice was not unpleasant, deep,
reasonable, average.  "Children, you don't understand.
Spending so much time with those creatures has corrupted you.
You are innocent and impressionable -- and they have used
that against you.  They're beasts, demons -- they will
destroy all the humans if we don't stop them."

"They aren't beasts!  Or demons!"  Ivy scrambled off the cot
and stood with her fists clenched.  Her braid had loosened in
the struggle, and wisps of hair fell around her face.
"They'll come get us.  They'll tear you apart."

Ben moved towards his sister.  "Ivy..." he said, teeth
clenched as he glanced at the blue hoods.  "You're not
helping..."

"You don't want to make them mad at you."  Ivy said in a low
voice.  "You really don't.  And when they find out what
you've done, they'll rip out your hearts.  They'll take you a
hundred feet up in the air and then drop you.  They'll come
here after you."

"Yes," one of the figures in the doorway said, fingering the
sledgehammer at his belt.  "That's the idea."

Ben felt a chill run through him.  Ivy froze as if turned to
stone, the color drained from her face.

"No!"  She screamed, and sprang at the leader.  She began to
punch at the man with her fists, having little affect.

"Ivy, Ivy stop it!"  Ben ran to her and tried to pull her
off.  "Don't, you're only making it worse."

Then he staggered and fell to the floor as someone shoved him
aside and the others grabbed for Ivy.

"Let go of me, you jerks!"  Ivy socked one of them in the
eye.

The one she had wounded clutched at his face through the
hood.  "Stupid kid," he muttered, and gave Ivy a backhanded
slap that caught her on the cheek.

Ben struggled to his feet and leapt on the man's back.
"Don't you dare touch her!"

"Oh, for crying out loud," the woman muttered.

"Enough!"  The leader ordered, as the man Ben attacked
grabbed the boy by the front of his parka and drew back his
fist to strike.  Ben flinched away, but then the leader put
his palm over the other man's fist.

"No.  Don't hurt them.  They are not the enemy here.  They
are the victims."

"We'll have to tie them up," the woman insisted.

The leader looked down at Ivy, who was crouched on the floor
with her legs tucked beneath her, her hair hanging in her
eyes as she glared up at them sulkily.  "Not necessary," he
said gently.

Ben crouched next to Ivy and smoothed her hair.  The four
hooded figures left the room, and the door closed, followed
by the click of the deadbolt.

"They're going to kill them," Ivy said dully.  "They're going
to trap them and wait until dawn and then --"

"Don't say it," Ben snapped.  "Don't even think it."

In silence, they huddled together on the floor of the warm
little room under the glare of the bulb, and waited.

*****

"Do you think Goliath is going to be _really_ mad at us?"
Lexington said, raising his arms to catch a faster air
current.  He shot forward, keeping pace with Brooklyn.

The two Wyvern gargoyles were in the lead, the Cadwyn
gargoyles in their wake.  Nine winged silhouettes shot across
the moonlit sky, over houses and patches of woods, strips of
highway and shopping complexes.  Outside of Manhattan the air
seemed colder.  Far below, Brooklyn saw the ribbon of a
river, its surface glittering in the moonlight, spanned by
the gossamer lights of a bridge.  Dark, tree-covered ridges
lined the river's banks.

"Probably, " Brooklyn said briefly.  He winced, already
hearing his clan leader's voice giving him a lecture on
responsibility.  A bit sulkily, he wondered why under the
stars Goliath had appointed him second in command when he
seemed to think Brooklyn was such a hatchling.  Well, he
would worry about that later.  He had other concerns now.

They had caught a strong thermal that had carried them well
south of New York City.  Luckily it was a windy night, and
they were able to ride the currents for several miles at a
time before it became necessary to find a perch, wait a few
moments, and catch the next wind.

They banked left, heading south.  The woods gave way to
another town.  Far below, a lonesome gas station stood by an
intersection, creating an oasis of bright light on the dark
road.  By the gas islands, a dark green pick-up truck was
parked, its engine running.

As the gargoyles passed over, two men in ski masks emerged
through the door of the station's mini-mart.  One of them
held a young woman in an orange smock, most likely the night
clerk, the muzzle of his gun against her neck.

Without a word, Brooklyn banked suddenly and circled, going
back.  He heard Lexington give a small sound of surprise.  In
the next instant he passed Brooklyn, streaking towards the
men with the guns.

He didn't stop to think -- they never did.  Brooklyn felt the
familiar heat behind his eyes and in his chest, and the
overwhelming, undeniable urge to protect.

Lex hit the chest of the other guy in the ski mask just as a
gun went off.


When the two New York gargoyles turned and dropped suddenly,
falling to earth like comets, Guen, who was just behind
Brooklyn, slowed in shock, then veered back to see what had
happened.

Lexington was wrestling on the ground with a guy who must
have been twice the gargoyle's size, if not twice his weight.
A sawed-off shot gun lay on the pavement nearby, in the
phosphorescent glow of the gas station's island lights.  It
had discharged when Lexington hit the guy, but the shot had
harmlessly struck the vending machine.  Brooklyn stood facing
a second guy in a ski mask who was holding a young woman,
threatening to shoot her as he backed up.  The burgundy
gargoyle's eyes were glowing a fiery white and his wings were
unfurled.

Swift as a falcon, Guen gained altitude, vaguely aware that
the others had turned, too, and that Karian and Birch had
followed her while the other dropped to the verge between the
gas station and the road.  Dropping, she struck the thug
facing Brooklyn in the back.

With a grunt the man fell forward, releasing the girl but not
the gun.

The night clerk took one look at her rescuers, let out a
high-pitched scream, and ran off into the night.

On her knees, stunned by what she had just done, Guen looked
up and saw the thug standing a few feet away, his hands
shaking as he leveled the gun at her.  A growl rumbled up in
her throat, startling her; she couldn't remember making a
sound like that before.

Then Birch rammed the thug from the side.  His gun fell to
the pavement with a clatter.  The young gargoyle landed on
top of him, momentarily pinning him to the ground.

~What's he waiting for?~ Guen thought, remembering the
techniques she had read about.  But after his initial attack,
Birch seemed confused about what to do next.  The man put his
knees against his chest and shoved, hard.  Birch, taken by
surprise, sprawled on the pavement as the thug picked up his
gun and leveled it at the gargoyle, his finger on the
trigger.

"No!"  Karian screamed.  Her eyes blazing, she clumsily
grabbed the barrel of the gun.

The one Lexington had pinned pushed the small gargoyle off
and reached for his gun.  Lexington flicked out his tail,
sending the weapon sliding across the pavement out of reach
as Brooklyn picked the guy up by the neck of his parka.  The
lanky, white-haired gargoyle let him dangle two feet off the
ground for a moment, then flung him to one side.

It was hard to see the gun while Karian struggled with the
second man and Birch stood uncertainly, his talons clenching
and unclenching as he decided what to do.  Guen tensed her
leg muscles, ready to launch herself into the fray.  At any
moment she expected to hear a second gunshot, see one of her
rookery siblings crumple...

Before she could move, Brooklyn shoved past her.  His tail
flicked out and caught the second man on his exposed wrist.
Screaming in pain, the human loosened his grip on the gun and
turned to see what had touched him.  His expression changed
when Brooklyn leapt at him.  The New York gargoyle flattened
the crook with one swift blow.

Jaewing, Rowland, Hunter, and Tala stood in a cluster,
watching with slack jaws, their eyes wide.  At the glass door
of the mini-mart, two humans appeared, an older man and a
younger who looked like his son.  Cautiously, they stepped
outside, staring down at the fallen thieves.

Lexington pried a knapsack off the slack form of the first
thug and unzipped it.  Pulling out several wads of cash, he
hopped up to the father and son.

"Here," he said.  "I think this belongs to you."

In a dazed fashion, the older man took the cash.

"C'mon," Brooklyn muttered.  "Let's get out of here before
they come to their senses and remember to be terrified of us.
Jaewing, Rowland, Hunter, Tala, come on, we're going."  The
second in command of the Wyvern clan began to climb the side
of the gas station, digging his talons into the pristine,
white-washed cement.

When they were airborne, Jaewing looked over at Guen
curiously.  Brooklyn and Lex were farther ahead, out of
ear-shot.

"Why did you do that?"

"What do you meant?"  Guen asked Jaewing.

"Attack those crooks.  They had _guns_, Guen...you and Karian
and Birch could've...."

"I...don't know...." Guen said.

"It was weird," Birch tried to explain.  "I felt
this....heat, behind my eyes.  But it was more than
that...we've all felt that.  But they were robbing those
humans, they might have killed that woman..."

"We had to _do something_," Karian finished for him.

Hunter rolled his eyes.  "Yeah, and they were real grateful,
weren't they?  They didn't even thank you, and that girl ran
off like we were refugees from A Nightmare On Elm Street."

"That doesn't matter," Guen said suddenly.  "I'd do it again,
even if they never thanked us."
*****

The dark blur of woods gave way to the pattern of fields
blanketed by old snow, where nine winged shadows chased each
other over the smoothness like phantoms in a hurry.  Then
woods again swallowed the shadows, and in the distance lights
glittered, a town.

Jaewing raised his wing and peeled off to the right, though,
not heading towards the town but to some point a few miles
outside its edges.  The dark gray ribbon of a highway cut
through the rural landscape and was behind them.

Lexington pumped his small, flying-squirrel style wings and
spurted ahead.  He could feel the strain in his shoulder
muscles.  Glancing back at Brooklyn, he saw that his rookery
brother seemed tired as well.  Gargoyle wings were designed
for gliding from cliff to cliff, tower to tower, or for brief
aerial attacks, not for long-distance travel.  The
Pennsylvania gargoyles seemed worn out as well; Birch,
Karian, and Rowland were lagging behind.

"There it is," Jaewing said, pointing downward.

They glided over a border of pine trees and a stone gate with
surveillance cameras and followed the line of a long drive
that had been plowed, forming two snowy ruts.  Standing
proudly against the starry sky with the trees framing it in
the background, rose a four-towered castle, its sandy
stone a contrast to the white snow.  Flanking it were later
additions, structures that looked like authentic period
architecture rather than an imitation, as the central portion
was.  Lexington knew a genuine medieval castle when he saw
one, and this one wasn't.  But it was darned close.

Lights glowed in its towers and windows, shedding a warm gold
light over the stones of the walls and onto the snow.  But
something didn't seem right.  The towers.  There should have
been gargoyles on the towers, and winged shadows circling and
diving in the sky above the castle stones.

"Everyone must be inside the Great Hall, at the council,"
Jaewing announced, as if reading Lexington's thought.

Brooklyn glided closer to Lexington.  "And they didn't think
to post a watch?"  He murmured.

Jaewing adjusted his wings and made a slow drop to one of the
towers.  One by one, the others followed, folding their
wings.

"Ow," Hunter complained.  "That's the last time I fly that
far in one night."

The others grimaced and rubbed their shoulders.  Brooklyn
stretched, then folded his black wings over his shoulders.
Only Tala did not seem to be in much pain, although she moved
a bit stiffly.

"Welcome to Cadwyn Castle," Jaewing said proudly.   "Come on.
Follow me."  Jaewing went over to the opening in the tower
floor and started down the stone steps.

The seven Cadwyn gargoyles led Brooklyn and Lexington through
their castle.  It was modernized, as Castle Wyvern was, but
its construction felt different, more airy and complex.
But the placement of the windows, the layout itself, was
familiar, and Lexington remembered Birch explaining that
Cadwyn Castle was a replica of a castle on the Cornish Coast.
So Cadwyn, like Wyvern, was designed to withstand the
buffeting of wind and waves, and built with the protection of
the sea on one side and sturdy battlements on the other.
Except there was no sea here, just woods and fields.

Hunter pushed open a door and they started down a broad
flight of sandstone steps.

Lexington and Brooklyn followed Guen, Jaewing, Birch, and the
others, their foot talons clicking on the smooth stone floor.
Electric lights on candle-like brackets lit the hall with a
soft glow that was not quite like torchlight.

At the bottom of the steps there was a large tapestry hanging
on one wall.  Lex paused to look at it more closely, touching
his talons to the embroidery.  It looked very old, and
portrayed a warrior in full armor, helmet on the ground
beside him.  The dress was odd, not unlike the armor
Lexington had know in the 10th century -- the helmet
cone-shaped -- and yet not like.  Simpler.  The warrior stood
in a garden, with curls of leaves, ivy, and tiny flowers all
around him.  Facing him with large, black, wings cloaked was
a broad-shouldered, forest-green male gargoyle with black
hair and two prominent forehead ridges, dressed in a white
tunic.  The armor-clad human and the gargoyle clasped each
other's wrists in a warrior handshake.

"Lex!"  Brooklyn hissed.  "Lex, come on!"

Lexington tore himself away from the tapestry and bounded
after the others.

They stopped before a tall door with big iron brackets set
into the wood.  Birch turned back.

"It's The Great Hall," he explained.  "Um...you two should
probably hang out at the back of the room, wait until we
introduce you..." Birch trailed off and glanced nervously at
the door.

"You see," Karian explained, "We kind of didn't tell anyone
where we were going, or why."

"We did leave a note," Jaewing protested.  "But Birch is
right.  Better let us go first."  Boldly, with the air of one
who will face Fate with shoulders stiff, he opened the door.

The first thing Lexington noticed was sound.  It wasn't noisy
in The Great Hall -- not in a busy way.  The inhabitants were
listening to the speaker at the front attentively.  There
were the small rustlings, coughs, and stirs that happen in
any large audience -- Lex had heard the human crowds in movie
theaters and concert halls time and again.  But these were
not humans.  They were gargoyles.  Dozens upon dozens of
gargoyles, of all ages, from the smallest hatchling, held in an
adult's protective arms, to a light blue, white-bearded
gargoyle with a build and demeanor that reminded Lex of
Hudson.  The small rustling this time also came from the
sound of wings -- wings being tucked around shoulders with a
gentle snap, or being brushed against an arm.

Lex reached up and his talons closed convulsively around
Brooklyn's wrist.

"Brooklyn --" he whispered.  "Look at them all!"

His rookery brother didn't look at him.  His eyes were fixed
on the crowd gathered in the Hall, and Lex couldn't read
Brooklyn's expression.

"You two okay?"  Jaewing asked absently.  "Stay here a
moment.  Okay guys, remember now -- if we don't look guilty,
maybe they won't yell at us."

The seven Cadwyn gargoyles slowly moved into the crowd
leaving the two New York gargoyles in the shadow under the
gallery running overhead.

Electric spotlights, not torches, lit the Hall, but still it
reminded Lexington of the councils at Castle Wyvern centuries
ago.  He had sat and watched and listened but had not spoken,
being too timid as the large gargoyles had discussed clan
problems, strategies, concerns.  Sometimes the hatchlings or
even the adolescent gargoyles would grow restless, start
nudging each other, teasing and joking until Goliath or
Hudson bellowed at them to be still.

Several adults and two elders stood before The Great Hall's
large fireplace, which was made of brown quarry stone.  One
of the adults was dark blue, like Jaewing, but smaller than
Jaewing would probably be at full size.  At the tips of his
pale blue wings were four long, deft extra digits.  He wore a
tool belt and stayed at one end of the fireplace, listening
with his head cocked to one side, powerful arms folded.

Next to him was a female with a build like Lexington's, of a
forest green similar to the gargoyle in the tapestry.  Unlike
Lexington, she stood absolutely upright and seemed
comfortable doing it.  Her face had an elvish quality, a hint
of mischief, but she, too, listened seriously.  With her was
a very pretty adult female with pale lavender skin and black
hair.

Nearby were two humans, a tall, dark-haired man wearing
wire-rimmed glasses and an attractive woman with curly brown
hair.  They listened with her cheek resting on his shoulder,
their fingers clasped together.

At their feet crouched a gargoyle watch-dog, tawny and
barrel-chested with a narrow, pointed snout like a wolf's.
He had a ruff of fur along the back of his neck.  The gar-dog
raised his head, sniffing at the air, then let out a
resounding bark.

The light blue elder had one hand to his beard and was
stroking it thoughtfully, his other hand fingering the belt
of his breeches as if there should be a sword there.  The
speaker was a slight-boned female elder with light violet
skin and silvery white, long hair.

"The Brodwins are part of the clan," said the female elder.
"Ben and Ivy are like our own hatchlings.  But Phyla wouldn't
want us to just go charging off without --"

The gar-dog raised his head, sniffing at the air, then let
out a resounding bark.  The speaker glanced aside sharply as
the gar-dog gave an excited whine and bounded into the crowd,
headed for Birch.

"Hey, Balthazar," Birch said softly, crouching so the
watch-dog could lick his face.  He scratched the ruff of fur.
The gar-dog settled down and loyally sat back on his haunches
at Birch's feet.

"And what about Phyla?"  Jaewing called out in challenge.
"And Hotspur?  And Siward?  Are you going to just let the
Quarrymen have them?"

A murmur rippled through the vast room.  The light blue,
bearded gargoyle had a small, almost imperceptible smile on
his face.

"Ah," the female said acidly.  "The prodigal band has
returned.  So good of you to join us."

The seven young gargoyles reached the fireplace and stopped,
clustered together.  Huddled with Brooklyn in the shadows at
the back of the room, Lexington began counting gargoyles but
stopped after thirty-seven to listen to the conversation
developing at the front.

"We brought help," Karian said, moving forward impulsively.

"Help?"  The violet female lifted her chin and stared down
severely at Karian, who had no sign of a dimple anywhere in
her face.  "If you truly wanted to help, you wouldn't have
run off during a crisis.  As if we didn't have enough to
worry about."

"Well, you wouldn't listen to us before," Hunter pointed out.
"We did what we needed to do to help the clan."

"What you did was irresponsible and selfish."  The elder
female folded her arms, not speaking sharply, but
sorrowfully, as if disappointed.

"Don't you get it?"  Guen moved forward next to Jaewing and
Karian.  "This is different than anything we've ever dealt
with before.  We needed to --"

"What would you know about what's come before.  You're barely
old enough to glide on your own."

"Age has nothing to do with it, Lorica." The light blue
bearded gargoyle spoke slowly and carefully, his voice rich,
somewhere between a tenor and a baritone.

"They shouldn't have gone, Morgan."  The other elder shook
her head, her white hair falling forward.

"Please," the human female reached out her hand.  "Can't we
argue about this later?  What about Phyla and the others?
Jaewing's right.  You can't let the Quarrymen have them."

"Anna, your children..." Lorica began.

"They won't hurt them," Anna said, as the human man put his
hand on her arm as if steadying her.  The curly-haired woman
clenched her hands into fists.  "I'm terrified for Ivy and
Ben, but as I tried to tell you before, The Quarrymen won't
hurt a human child.  It's the gargoyles they hate."

"We could attack their headquarters," the forest green female
suggested.  She curled one hand into a fist and swung it in
emphasis.  "Plan a sneak attack, set a trap, they'll never
know what hit 'em."

"Yeah, if we knew where it was," someone called out.

Lorica shook her head.  "We can't do that.  What if we fail,
and are caught at sunrise?"

"What then?"  The forest green female asked.

"We need to think," Lorica said.  "We can't risk..."

"I don't believe what I'm hearing."

All heads swivelled to the back of the room.  Lexington, who
had barely realized it was Brooklyn who had spoken, watched
as his rookery brother moved forward out of the shadows.
His voice, when he spoke, was low and strong.

"Brooklyn," Lex whispered nervously, "What are you _doing_?"

But Brooklyn ignored him.  He strode forward, wings cloaked
over his shoulders.  "Your leader is a captive of The
Quarrymen.  The children of your human protectors are in
danger.  And you want to sit around and _think_?"

"And who might you be?"  Lorica raised her eyebrows
disdainfully.

Brooklyn raised his head proudly, his white hair tumbling
down his back as he stood up straight, to his full height.
"My name is Brooklyn.  I am second in command of the Wyvern
Clan."

"This..._hatchling_...is a second in command?"  Another elder
called out.

Brooklyn fixed the gargoyle with a steady glare.  The elder
was a male of a striking pewter color with greying brown
hair, and he was big and broad-shouldered, like Goliath.

"I was hatched one-thousand and thirty seven years ago,"
Brooklyn said quietly.  "How old are you?"

Guen put her hand to her mouth as if stifling a laugh.
Several of the gargoyles, and the two humans, looked
quizzical.  Then an expression of sudden realization dawned
on the man's face and he adjusted his glasses, staring hard
at Brooklyn as if not quite sure he was real.

Still in the shadow of the gallery, Lexington shook his head,
eyes widening.  He and Brooklyn had been hatchlings together,
rookery brothers.  But Brooklyn seemed -- different.  It
had been happening more and more lately, and had started with
that mess with Fang, Talon, and Maggie while Goliath was
still away.  But this...Lex felt as if he no longer knew his
rookery brother quite so well.  He was remote, intimidating
somehow, yet benevolent.  Like...Goliath.

"Jaewing, what do you know about this?"  The pewter-colored
elder turned to the young gargoyle.

Jaewing grinned shamelessly.  "Everyone, this is Brooklyn.
Brooklyn, this is the Cadwyn Clan."

"What is he doing here?"  Lorica asked.

"He's the help we were talking about," Birch said timidly.

With a flick of his wings, Brooklyn bowed in Lorica's general
direction, taking in the whole group clustered at the
fireplace.  "It is an honor to meet your clan.  My rookery
brother Lexington, a swift and clever warrior, is here as
well.  We want to help in any way we can."  He gestured
formally towards the back of the room.

Lexington swallowed, but realized he had no choice.  He
stepped out into the light, feeling terribly self-conscious
as he moved towards the front.

Lorica looked him up and down as he approached.  The skin
between her forehead ridges crinkled doubtfully.  Then she
turned back to Brooklyn.

"And what do you propose to do about this mess, hatchling?"

"Find a way to save Ivy and Ben and your clan leader.
Nothing else matters.  Sometimes you do have to be cautious.
My leader taught me that.  He also taught me that sometimes
caution isn't the most important thing.  Protecting clan is."

A powerfully built, pewter-colored male gargoyle with fuschia
lining to his wings and a narrow beaked face spoke up.  "I'd
hardly call walking into the Quarrymen Society's trap
protecting clan!"

"You do what you have to do," Brooklyn said quietly.

"You talk as if this were a war, boy," said the gargoyle with
the tool belt.

"Isn't it?"

A murmur of conversation rippled around the great hall.  The
two humans came over to Lorica and began to speak with her in
low voices.  Occasionally Cal or Anna Brodwin would glance
over at Brooklyn and Lexington.

Birch, Karian, Jaewing, Guen, Hunter, Rowland, and Tala stood
on either side of the New York gargoyles, flanking them like
an honor guard.

Brooklyn stood listening to the hum of argument, his eyes
traveling over the audience of gargoyles, lingering there as
if trying to memorize the color and characteristics of each
one.

With four more doggoyles crouched beside them, several
hatchlings were peering over the railing of the gallery
above, pointing and whispering.  Lexington caught the eye of
one of them and grinned.  The hatchling's shining black eyes
widened at being caught, and he and his companions ducked
back.

"I know what has to be done," Brooklyn said suddenly, low and
carrying.

Startled, Lexington turned to him.  "Huh?"

"Listen to me, please!"  Brooklyn raised his voice.  The
murmuring faded somewhat; Lorica and the others at the front
turned to look at him.

"Well?"  Lorica folded her dark lavender arms and looked
archly down at Brooklyn from her slender height.

"We send a message to the Quarrymen telling them we'll make
the trade."

"Make the trade?"  The lavender female echoed.  "'Do what you
have to do,' and that includes you, a stranger to this clan,
coming here and telling us we have to put our lives in
danger."

Several of the Cadwyn gargoyles opened their mouths to speak,
but Brooklyn cut them off.  "No.  Not yours.  Mine."

The room went silent.

Morgan shook his head.  "We can't let you do that, Brooklyn."

"But my clan has dealt with the Quarrymen before.  We know
how they think.  It's the only way that makes sense -- we can
save the kids and put someone on the inside with your
leader."

The pewter gargoyle snorted.  "And I suppose you'll break
Phyla and Hostpur and Siward out single-handed."

"He's daft, Raeven,"  Lorica said.  "That's what comes of
giving younglings too much free reign."

"Not alone," Lexington blurted.  "I'll go with him."

"No, Lex."  Brooklyn turned and put his hand on his rookery
brother's shoulder.  "I'm not letting anyone else take this
risk.  Besides, I need you to--"

Lexington reached up, closed his talons around Brooklyn's
wrist, and removed his hand from his shoulder.  "Never mind."

"Lex, I--"

Whatever he was going to say was drowned out as the Cadwyn
gargoyles surrounded Brooklyn, firing questions.

Crouched on the stone floor, Lexington watched as Brooklyn
completely vanished from view behind the wall of gargoyle
bodies.  Jaewing and the others had been jostled aside and
were now dispersed, telling their rookery siblings of their
journey.  Guen had vanished completely.

Suddenly he felt someone tap him on the head with one talon.
He turned sharply and saw that it was Brooklyn.

"What do _you_ want?"  Lexington said rudely.  "Shouldn't you
be busy telling everyone how you're going to save the day all
by yourself?  Anyway, it's a stupid idea, you're going to get
yourself killed, but _I_ can't stop you."

"Arrrgh, Lex, will you knock it off and let me explain?"

"Hey, look, I get it.  You don't want the runt to get hurt."

A low growl rumbled in Brooklyn's throat.  Lexington took one
step backwards, startled.

"The reason why you can't go with me is that I need you to
lead a scouting party," Brooklyn explained, less than
patiently.  "That's the plan -- you and the fastest gargoyles
here will follow the Quarrymen when they take me.  That's how
we'll find their HQ, and where Phyla and the others
are.  I want you -- you, Lex, no one else, got it?  -- to be
in charge of that.  If the scouts lose sight of the
Quarrymen, it'd be very bad.  It's not that I don't trust
Jaewing's clan.  But who do you think I'd rather hand my life
to?  Them...or you?"

Lexington scratched a talon down a pillar, dislodging a few
flecks of stone.  "Oh," he said.

"Now, go get your scouting party together," Brooklyn
continued.  "I'll tell the others to get ready for a fight."

*****

The door was bronze, some once-decrepit item Anna Brodwin had
picked up at an antiques auction as a gift to her husband to
restore.  Now it was polished clean, its smooth, undecorated
panels sharply defined.  Its hinges creaked when Guen pushed
it open.

In contrast to the warmth and noise of the Great Hall, here
it was cold and quiet.  She flicked a switch and the track
lighting came on, drowning the blackness of the night beyond
the tall windows.  The room was high-ceilinged and vaulted, a
mere fraction of the scale of the Great Hall, its walls and
floor of stone.  The light touched the glass cases that were
the only structures in the room, making the old metal they
contained gleam.

Gargoyles protect.

She had know that all her life, they had all known it.  But
so far, for the most part all that had meant was guarding a
secret.

Guen stopped before a rectangular case held closed by a
silvery metal lock.  She grasped the lock in her talons and
yanked.  The metal broke away in her hands like hard maple
sugar candy.  Then she gently opened the glass door and took
down a 16th century sword encased in a scabbard of dark
brown, tooled leather with maroon trim.

There were heavier swords in the collection, swords of
legend.  One was rumored to date back to the time when the
clan lived in the Cornish cliffs in England.   But they
didn't suit her.  And the light blade she had chosen would do
nicely for the coming battle.

*****

The Quarrymen had left a phone number to call with their
answer.  Anna made it, seated at the desk in her study.
Clustered around her chair as if to support her were Cal,
Brooklyn, Guen, Lorica, the small, elf-faced gargoyle, whose
name was Emilia, and the gargoyle with the tool belt,
Hopper.  Both Anna and Cal were dressed in black jeans,
sweatshirts, and sneakers.  On the table by the couch was a
cardboard box holding several wireless communication sets.

Brooklyn noted the sword Guen now wore belted at her waist,
but he didn't comment.

"One," said Anna.  Holding the black cordless phone to her
ear, she stared down at the papers littering her desk as if
not really seeing them.  "No.  Let me speak to Ben.  Dammit,
put him on now!"  The dark, curly-haired woman sat up
straighter in her chair.  "Ben?  How's Ivy?  Are you
all right?"

Cal reached down from behind Anna and took the phone from
her.  "Ben, it's Dad.  Listen to me, just do what they say.
We're getting you out of there.  I know, son...no, look, I
promise we won't let anything happen to the
gargoyles....hello?  Ben? Ben!..."  He swore and hit the
hang-up button.

Dully, Anna spoke.  "We're to have one gargoyle, alone, at
the field at the intersection of route 413 and Old River
Road, in one hour from now.  In return, they'll release Ben
and Ivy at the mill."

"That doesn't give us much time until sunrise," Brooklyn
said.  "Just a few hours."

"It will have to be enough," Lorica said grimly.

"Brooklyn," Cal turned to the gargoyle.  "I want to thank you
for doing this."  He held out his hand, and Brooklyn shook
it.

Hopper went over and in a business-like manner removed a
few items from the box.  "Now, we'll be putting a small
listening device on you," he said to Brooklyn, taking a
screwdriver from his belt and making an adjustment.  "You
can't hear us, but we'll hear everything that happens once
you're captured.  Lexington's scouts will keep in contact
with us over at the mill.  We, as well as Lexington, will
also be able to contact the castle.  This equipment is pretty
powerful, we were lucky to get it on such short notice."

Brooklyn nodded, and stood still as the gargoyle placed a
tiny aural device in his ear.

Cal picked up a microphone and headset.  As if weighing them,
he held the devices in his right hand.  "Okay, let's go test
this."

"Hopper, let's go get Morgan and the jeep.  We'll meet you
out front, Cal."

Anna and the gargoyles left the room.  Brooklyn was about to
follow Cal when Guen suddenly spoke.

"Hey, Manhattan!"

He turned, brow ridge raised in amusement at the name.

Guen crossed her arms, holding her elbows in her palms.
"Take care of yourself, okay?"

"Anything you say, Penn.  Just make sure the cavalry's
ready."  Then he grinned, and was gone.

*****

"MacGyver, this is Braveheart, do you read?"  Lexington put
his talon to the ear piece and heard Hopper's voice,
crackly over the device.

"Read you loud and clear, Braveheart.  We're in position, how
are things looking at your end?"

"Quiet and ready," Lexington answered.  "You?"

"Same."

Lexington crouched in an oak tree at the edge of the field
along with Aemelia, Hunter, Rowland, Karian, and Tala.  The
field was quiet in the night, the hard-packed snow glowing
faintly.  The night had grown sharply colder, and feathery,
ghost-like clouds began to blot out the stars.

In the middle of the field stood a brick-colored,
white-haired figure with cloaked black wings.

Unconsciously, Lexington dug his talons into the bark of the
tree.  With his free hand, he changed the frequency on the
listening device.  "Pendragon, this is Braveheart, do you
read?"

"Pendragon here.  The troops are ready and waiting for your
signal."

"Okay, stand by, Pendragon."

Down the empty stretch of nearby road came the faint hum of a
vehicle.  It grew louder, and then a black van, its headlamps
dark, turned off the road and began to rattle and bump over
the dead field.  Brooklyn turned and faced it, back straight.

Lexington hit the frequency switch again.  "Okay, MacGyver,
they're here."

"Right, we'll tell the home base."

The van stopped, backed up, and turned around.  Twin tracks
cut the snow from the road, across the field.  Still Brooklyn
didn't move.  Karian glanced at Lexington, who met her eyes
for a moment and turned back to the field.

Two men in the royal blue Quarrymen uniform and hoods climbed
out of the van.  They both held some sort of gun.  They went
around to the back of the van and opened it, letting out four
more similarly garbed figures.

"Six?"  Tala whispered in disgust.  "They sent six to capture
_one_ gargoyle?"

"That's how they think," Lexington whispered back grimly.  He
dug his talons into the tree trunk again, unaware that a pile
of shavings had gathered in the snow at its base.

The two with the bulky guns approached Brooklyn from the
front, while the other three Quarrymen moved in from behind.

And the gargoyle stood still.

"Hey, fellas," Brooklyn addressed them, spreading his arms.
When the Quarrymen's fingers went to the triggers of their
guns, he lowered them.  "We made a deal, right?  I'll come
with you quietly, you don't need to--" His voice cut off with
a startled shout as one of the blue-hooded figures fired.

A net attached to a weight shot out and enveloped Brooklyn.
It took every last piece of will for Lexington to remain in
the tree.  His wings twitched.  Out on the field, Brooklyn
sank to his knees in the snow, the clinging, plastic-like
substance weighing him down, tangled in his hair and horns.

The three came up, tugged at the netting, and heaved the red
gargoyle into the open van.  There was a thud that made
Lexington flinch, and the van lurched.

"Okay, they have him," Lexington whispered urgently into the
mic.  He tensed, ready.  If Ben and Ivy were not released, he
and the other would try to free Brooklyn.

"I see the kids," Hopper said over the comm device.
"They're letting them go...we have them!  They're okay!"

Lexington gave the other gargoyles in the trees an "OK" sign
with his talons.

Below them, a hooded figure slammed the van's back door shut.
Then he joined his companions inside.

"Easy now," Aemelia said, as Lexington poised to take flight.
"Wait for it -- we don't want to be spotted."

The van drove off the field.  When it reached the road, it
sped up.  Lexington dove from the tree like a small, dark
green missile, caught the wind, and streaked after the van.
The others were just behind him.

A tan blur skimmed suddenly past on his right.  Tala.  She
took the lead and held it effortlessly.  Lexington, who had
always been one of the fastest gliders in his clan because of
his light weight and maneuverable wings -- and was now _the_
fastest -- was already using his skills to the fullest and
couldn't match her.

Rowland came up on his left.  "No one can catch Tala," he
called into the wind.  There was grudging admiration -- and
wistfulness -- on his face, and something else Lexington
couldn't quite read.  "But I'm working on it!"  He added.

They trailed the van for miles.  It turned off onto a dirt
road that cut through the woods.  The trees cleared, and
ahead there appeared a large clearing where the dead stalks
of overgrown grass broke through the crust of snow.  In the
center of the clearing was a red barn with a stone
foundation.  It looked as if it had been repaired recently,
and freshly painted.

The van stopped, and Lexington signaled to the others to land
just within the protection of the trees.

Two rotweilers came galloping around the corner of the barn,
barking in a frenzy at the van.

"Oh, boy," Lexington breathed.  "If they smell us, we're
puppy chow."

The driver side door of the van opened, and the driver spoke
a sharp command.  Whining, the dogs settled restlessly onto
their haunches.  Lexington reflected in satisfaction that
Bronx would probably eat each dog in one gulp.

The Quarrymen opened the back of the van and hauled Brooklyn
out, pulling him roughly to the snow.

"Such luxurious transportation," Brooklyn said sardonically,
glaring up at the men.  "Thanks."

Ignoring him, the driver gestured with his gun towards the
barn.  "Get him inside with the others.  And Jackson, see if
Castaway transmitted that data yet."

Lexington must have started at the name because Karian gave
him a concerned look.  "Lex?"

"John Castaway," Lexington said flatly, his eyes never
leaving the group by the van.  "Hestarted the Quarrymen.
He's helping them."

One the men keyed a security code into a pad next to a metal
door.  There was a buzz, and he pushed down the handle.
Cold fluorescent light from within flooded out onto the pale snow.
The others shoved Brooklyn inside, and then the door latched
closed with a heavy, permanent-sounding click.

"Pendragon, do you read, this is Braveheart."

"Braveheart?"  Birch answered immediately.

"We've found them.  It's a barn at the end of a dirt track,
off of..."

"Hansen Road," Karian supplied.

"Got it," Birch said.  "Guen's already on the move.  We'll be
right there."

Lexington turned to the others.  "I'm going to take a look
inside."

"Hold it."  Hunter put his hand on Lexington's shoulder.
"What about those dogs?  What if you get caught?"

The dogs were sprawled on the snow, panting comfortably.  The
gargoyles were upwind.

"Brooklyn's my rookery brother," Lexington said.  "If you
think I'm going to just sit here not knowing what they're doing
to him..."

"Whoa, there," Aemelia interrupted.  "Okay, Lexington.  But
you aren't going alone.  Tala, Rowland, Hunter, you'd better
go with him and protect him from himself.  We'll watch for the
rescue squad."

"What about the dogs?"  Karian asked worriedly.

"Leave that to me." Tala got to her feet and unfurled her
wings with a snap.  Before Rowland or the others could
object, she stepped out of the trees, a tawny shape against
the snow.

She cupped her hands over her mouth.  "Here, puppy, puppy,
puppy!"  She called.

The dogs snapped to attention and growled.

"Come here, puppies," Tala said, in the baby-talk voice
humans often used for adorable pets -- only the rotweilers
were far from adorable.  "C'mere," she patted her hand on the
thigh of her jeans.

The dogs got to their feet and let out violent snarls,
sniffing fiercely at the cold night air, forelegs
tense.

Without warning, they bolted towards the young female
gargoyle.  She darted back to a stout tree trunk, climbed
halfway up, and leapt off.  Her broad wings spread to the
fullest, she skimmed low to the ground, just over the dogs.
They leapt at her, snapping, missed, then dashed after her.

Next to Lexington, Rowland crouched tensely, as if ready to
leap to her aid if she fell.

Tala reached the far side of the clearing and gained a tree
branch about ten feet in height.  Crouching there like some
large, odd, bird, she grinned down at the dogs.  They
half-sat, jaws open, their bottoms wriggling in frustration
because they could not reach her.

"Yes, you're such stupid puppies," she cooed.  "Yes you are!"
She grasped her tail in her free hand and dangled it down.
The dogs jumped, and she jerked it out of reach.

"Let's go," Hunter said.  Quickly, he, his twin brother, and
Lexington scaled a tree and leapt.

In the relatively sheltered clearing, it was difficult to
gain height, but like Tala the three small gargoyles flew low
over the clearing and landed beyond the barn, out of the
sight of the dogs.

They could still hear Tala teasing them, keeping them
distracted.  "Oh, what an ugly dog, yes he is!"  There was a
snarl and an empty sounding *snap*.

The only visible access to the barn besides the metal door
seemed to be several small windows, high up on the wall.
There were two on the far side.

Lexington had to stand on Hunter's shoulders while Rowland
kept a look-out.  Through the newly glazed windows, he saw a
large, main room lined by partitioned rooms.  In one corner a
bank of computers and printers stood near several pieces of
medical testing equipment and lab supplies.  Out of a dot
matrix printer churned paper covered in data.

There were over a dozen Quarrymen, sitting before the
computer terminals, or at tables.  Some were reading what
looked like reports of some kind, others just kicked back.
There were boxes of take out Chinese food and pizza scattered
amid laser guns, tranqs, and electrified hammers.  The
hayloft of the barn had been refurbished, and Lexington
saw rows of cots where men and women, their heads and
identities bared of the hoods, lay in sleep.  They were of
varying ages and races.  They looked peaceful, ordinary.

At the other end of the room was Brooklyn.  He was in a
zoo-like cage, about 8' by 10', with a steel roof.  Judging
from the wires that crawled up the white-washed walls,
Lexington guessed that the bars were electrified.  The
white-haired gargoyle was free of the netting, and stood
watching the Quarrymen.

There were two other cages, one on either side of Brooklyn's.
In one there were two males.  One was broad-shouldered and
almost as tall as Goliath, with brown-orange skin and a
coarse ruff of brown hair run through with gold.  The other
was smaller, but muscular and burly, his skin a
golden yellow, with curly brown hair.  Two surprisingly
elegant, small horns rose from his forehead.  In the other
cage was a lone female with long, flowing black hair and
powerful looking wings lined with a dark brown that echoed
her hair and contrasted with the paler brown of her
skin.  Lexington realized it was Phyla, the clan leader.  She
stood quietly with her hands in front of her, the talons of
one wrapped about her other wrist.  Her face, though
delicate, held a deep calmness that reminded Lexington of
Hudson.

Lexington wished he could hear what the Quarrymen were
saying.  Then he remembered that he could, and changed the
frequency on the comm device, picking up on Brooklyn's
signal.

*****

As the Quarrymen disentangled the net from his body, a third
gave him a vicious shove.  Brooklyn stumbled into the cage
and fell against the rear bars before he could stop himself.

A jolt that was unbelievably unpleasant, not quite searing
pain, raced through his body, making his heart pound.  He
roared, his eyes burning.  He fell to the floor as the tremor
of the electric shock left his body.

"Remember that, gargoyle," one of the men said, practically
spitting out the last word.  "You won't be getting out of
there soon."  He slammed the cage door shut.

"Castaway wants blood and tissue samples from that one," a
hooded figure seated at a computer terminal said.   "He says
this one's not local -- it's from _his_ neck of the woods."

Left alone, for the moment, Brooklyn gingerly got his feet
and tried not to think about the tissue and blood sample
taking process.

In the other cage, Phyla's looked at him curiously.  "Who are
you?"

He turned to her.  "I'm Brooklyn of the Wyvern clan -- I'm
here to rescue you."

Behind him, one of the two male gargoyles in the other cage
made a derisive noise.

The female raised her brow ridges.  "Ah -- I see.  You do
know, don't you...that you're also trapped inside an
electrified cage?"

Brooklyn shrugged.  "Oh, that. Don't worry, help's on the
way.  You must be Phyla.  And which one's Hotspur and which
one's Siward?"  He asked, gesturing back at the males.

"The big one's Hotspur, and that's Siward," she pointed.

"Nice to meet you," Brooklyn said, turning.  "Wish it could
be under...better...circumstances."

Hotspur nodded, looking a bit skeptical, but polite, and
Siward grunted.

"How do you know..." Phyla broke off.  "Wait -- you traded
yourself for Ben and Ivy, we heard the transaction over their
CB." She frowned. "Bad enough any member of my clan is in
danger for my sake," she said, glancing at the males.  "But a
stranger...you are a brave one, Brooklyn of the Wyvern Clan."

"And how, exactly, do you propose to get us out of this, oh,
brave one?"  Siward folded his burly arms.

"You sound like Lorica," Brooklyn muttered.  "Your clan knows
where we are, now," he said aloud.  "If all goes well,
they're going to break us out."

"_If_ all goes well," Siward echoed.

"Are you mad?"  Phyla's voice was quiet but dangerously
edged.  "You're going to get my clan killed, stranger."

"You underestimate them," Brooklyn replied.

The Quarrymen at the computer gestured his companion over.
"Look at this," he said, tapping at the monitor screen.

"Well, well," said the other man, who had been driving the
van. He had a deep, oddly pleasant voice.  "I guess we'd
better take his advice, then.  Cole, give me a hand."

He unlocked a metal cabinet and pulled out a length of new
chain and several pairs of manacles.  Gathering them up, he
and his companion went over to Brooklyn's cage.

"What are you doing?"  Hotspur said sharply, taking a step
closer to the bars.

"We've just been told interesting things about this one."
The second Quarryman keyed in the sequence to unlock
Brooklyn's cage with one gloved hand, holding a tranq gun in
the other.  "He's going to have to be put on a leash."

"Behave yourself," the pleasant-voiced man told Brooklyn.
"Or we'll have to tranq you, and I don't think you want to be
out cold just now."

A low growl rumbled up in Brooklyn's throat, but he permitted
the man to close the manacles around his wrists and ankles.
Then he threaded the ends of the chain through two metal
brackets bolted to the floor, and padlocked the whole thing
into a big loop.  It was true -- he couldn't do
any good unconscious.  And now he couldn't leave the cage
even if the door was unlocked.

The strange thing was, the way the pleasant-voiced man had
spoken had implied that he had thought about Brooklyn's
thought processes.  Some Quarrymen he had encountered barely
acted as if they were sentient -- no better than dogs.  But
others, like this one, and like Castaway, reacted as if aware
of a clever, reasoning, creature.  Evil, but reasoning.

Brooklyn wasn't sure which attitude was worse.

*****

Outside the window Lexington drew back his fists to break the
glass.  Hunter's voice halted him.

"Lexington!  What are you doing?  They'll be here soon."

"They're chaining Brooklyn up!"

"Lexington, it'll be all right," Rowland said soothingly.

Lexington bit his lower lip, watching as the Quarryman locked
Brooklyn's cage.  At least this time, he had been able to see
the placement of the keys pressed to unlock it.

The three gargoyles outside the barn waiting, as the heavens
lowered with clouds that promised snow, and the blackness
slid closer to dawn.

*****

"What do we do with them?"  The Quarryman asked, once more
seated at the computers.

The Pleasant-Voiced Man (as Brooklyn had begun to think of
him) leaned with one hand on the counter-top, reading over
the computer screen over the other man's shoulder.  "Destroy
the two adult males at dawn."

In the other cage, Brooklyn heard Phyla say softly, "No!"

The Quarryman leader continued: "The younger male and the
female we'll keep for testing, and as a bargaining piece to
get the others.  We can't let them know we've killed the
other two -- let them think they're still in our custody."
He glanced over his shoulder at Brooklyn, then turned
back to his comrade.  "Castaway has asked me to hand that red
one over to him in a few days.  I'll do it -- without him,
this operation would never have gotten off the ground."

Brooklyn began to pull at the chains, ineffectively.  They
were thick and heavy, adequate to contain a Goliath.

"Might as well start with testing now, though," the human
added.  "That way we can use all four.  And save the remains
of the males for study."  His voice was serious, thoughtful.
The blue hoods robbed these humans of expression.  It
unnerved Brooklyn -- all he had to go on was body
language, and their eyes.  It was like fighting an enemy
without a face.

The man at the computer nodded and typed something.

Three Quarrymen got to their feet to help their leader as he
approached Phyla's cage.  Cautiously, one of them keyed in
the numbers to unlock the door while another trained a
tranquilizer gun on the gargoyle.  Phyla watched them with a
cold, dignified, defiant look, standing tall in the middle
of the cage.

Another human, a woman, approached Phyla with a second set of
chains similar to Brooklyn's.  Suddenly the expression on
Phyla's face dissolved into rage.  Unfurling her wings, she
threw back her head and let out a battle scream, her eyes
blazing red.

The human female with the chains took a halting step back.
In the other cage, Hotspur let out a bellow, and Brooklyn
called out a warning, "Phyla, don't --"

The other Quarryman steadied his gun, and fired.  The dart
took Phyla in the thigh, penetrating her jeans.  She
faltered, her eyes still bright, then yanked the dart from
her leg and threw it at the Quarrymen.  They ducked.  Phyla
lunged at the group, then staggered abruptly, putting her
hand to her head, then sinking to her knees.

"Phyla!"  Hotspur unthinkingly hurled himself at the bars.
There was a zapping sound, sparks, and the large gargoyle
roared in pain, his eyes twin lanterns as he staggered back.
Brooklyn knew the look.  Hotspur was beyond reasoning now.

It took all four Quarrymen to lift the limp Phyla.  Her
chestnut hair trailed towards the floor as they carried her
to a metal gurney and placed her upon it.

Siward's eyes were glowing as well, but as Hotspur threw
himself at the bars again, he wrapped his arms about his
rookery sibling's shoulders, restraining him.

"Hotspur!  You're not helping her.  Stop, you'll hurt
yourself."

Hotspur looked at his rookery brother, then through the bars
at Phyla.  One of the Quarrymen had taken out a needle and
syringe and was preparing to extract a blood sample.  Phyla
lay still, her eyes closed, her breathing rapid but steady.
Her tail dangled off the end of the metal table.

Brooklyn eyed the wires on the wall, but they were out of his
reach.  There was no way to short-circuit them.  The
Quarryman pushed up the sleeve of Phyla's sweater and stuck
the needle into her arm, drawing blood into the vial.
Brooklyn pulled hard at the chains.  They groaned, the
manacles cutting into his skin.

And then, with a shattering crash, eight gargoyles came
through the barn windows, sending glass flying, and the air
was filled with the raucous peal of an alarm.

The room sprang into chaos.  Glass littered the floor.  The
Quarrymen dove for their weapons and turned to face the
gargoyles.

Lexington, Hunter, and Rowland, dropped in through one of the
broken windows and more gargoyles arrived in their wake.
Brooklyn saw Guen, her light-weight sword raised, her eyes
alight, dropping down on an unsuspecting Quarryman.  She
landed, struck him on the head with the pommel of her sword,
and leapt forward as he slumped to the floor.

Some of the humans panicked and began firing their
non-projectile weapons indiscriminantly.  Red lines
criss-crossed the room and made scorch marks on the newly
painted walls.  Jaewing ducked a hammer someone had hurled at
him. The