Gargoyle Quest Read online

  The large windows of their Brooklyn loft looked out at the Manhattan skyline on the other side of the East River and provided a breathtaking backdrop to their duel. Lord Irish’s Gargoyle Knight video-game had been a smash seller, and the royalties combined with Rhianna’s income from her new position at the Metropolitan Museum of Art had allowed them to trade her cramped studio apartment for more spacious digs. According to Rhianna, her job involved handling cultural objects at the MET while gaining experience as a hands-on desk facilitator. Artan wasn’t quite sure what that exactly meant, but he knew the new job made her happy and that was all that mattered to him.

  Air whistled as Rhianna closed in for another attack, the blade in her hand an extension of her arm. Using her light frame and flexibility to her advantage, she stayed in constant motion, her eyes never leaving him.

  Good girl! You’re learning fast.

  The daily sparring sessions were a blend of hand-to-hand combat and swordplay. To his surprise, it was Rhianna who’d insisted on the sword-fighting lessons. She’d hated feeling like a damsel in distress during their encounter with his brother Cael twelve months earlier, and she vowed never to be so helpless again.

  Rhianna lunged at him, and for a moment she was slightly off balance. Before she could correct her form, Artan drove the edge of his blade down on her outstretched training sword. The impact sent Rhianna’s blade flying across the loft, and she tumbled to the hardwood floor. Unarmed now, her face broke into a sexy grin.

  “Okay, big boy, you win,” she said, slumping her shoulders in defeat.

  Artan lowered his sword and offered Rhianna a hand. As she grabbed it, he noted there was a lot more strength in those delicate fingers now than when he’d first met her. Her physicality was beginning to catch up with her razor sharp intellect.

  A devilish smile dazzled Rhianna’s lovely features, and Artan realized that her vulnerability had been a ploy. She simultaneously brought up both her legs while wrapping her hands around his outstretched arm and used her lower body strength for leverage. Artan went flying and hit the ground with a loud thump. Stunned, he shook his head and raised his arm just as Rhianna pounced on him like a wildcat.

  Artan blocked the attack, but he was caught off guard when Rhianna darted in for a kiss. Her luscious lips found his mouth, and all his defenses crumbled. He loosened his steely hold, realizing their workout—or at least the combat training—had ended for the day. He returned her kiss hungrily, their fierce sparring giving way to fiery passion.

  As their kisses deepened, he scooped up her delicate form in his powerful arms and carried her toward the waiting bedroom. Rhianna pulled away and placed her hands flat on his chest. Dismay flickered over her beautiful face.

  “There’s nothing I’d rather do right now, but….”

  “You’ll be late for work,” Artan finished, unable to hide his disappointment.

  This wasn’t the first time Rhianna’s new job at the museum had thwarted their morning romance.

  “I have to make a presentation to a new group of investors before lunch,” she continued, her voice faltering a bit.

  Artan raised his finger to his lips, silencing her.

  “I understand,” he said, his words tinged by an ancient Irish Gaellic accent. Most people failed to place his country of origin, mistaking his exotic inflection for Eastern European; after all, there weren’t too many fifth century Irish kings running around Manhattan whose mother tongue was Gaelic. He was nearly fluent in English now, thanks to cable television and the Rosetta Stone program of study Rhianna had set up on her computer.

  “You don’t have to explain, my love. Your duties demand your attention, as they should.”

  There was a time for play and a time for work. As a former king, Artan understood both the burden and commitment of a leadership position.

  Rhianna squeezed his shoulder, clearly not thrilled about letting her new responsibilities get in the way of their relationship. “I’ll make it up to you tonight.”

  Artan smiled. “It will give me something to look forward to.”

  Despite his words, Artan knew all too well that by the time Rhianna returned from work in the evening, the stress of her busy day would leave her too exhausted to watch television, much less engage in any romantic activities. Life in the twenty-first century never failed to surprise the former king of Kirkfall. The many amazing advances in science and technology complicated life as much as they simplified it, creating new obligations at each turn.

  Rhianna walked to the bathroom, stripping off clothing as she went. Artan smiled as he admired her beauty. The swanlike neck, porcelain skin and fiery mane of hair quickened his pulse every time he laid eyes upon her.

  While she showered, he scooped up the wooden training swords and hung the weapons back on the wall. A massive sword held a place of honor above the others. This sword was no mere toy designed for mock combat but the Blade of Kings itself. The magical weapon had played an instrumental role in defeating Cael. Its power had shattered the Eye of Balor, thereby reverting Cael’s gargoyle army to their original stone form.

  Nowadays the two halves of the magical gem Cael had used were securely kept under lock and key in two separate museums located on different continents. Rhianna’s father, Doctor Sharpe, had returned one half of the Eye to the National Museum of Ireland while the other piece remained here in New York City. Even though the fierce battle over the Eye had been waged only a year earlier, it seemed to Artan like an eternity ago.

  He clenched his jaw and turned away from the wall of weapons. The sight of the sword always dredged up memories he’d rather not dwell upon. So much had changed over the stretch of this long year, and Artan marveled at the strides he was making in adapting to this modern age. Much of his progress was due to his beautiful, patient teacher. Just as he was schooling Rhianna in the ways of combat, she was guiding him through the wonders and horrors of this new millennium.

  He stepped into the kitchen area, the sound of the running shower audible in the background, reminding him he was not alone. He took a seat at the rustic wooden table and wolfed down the leftover scrambled eggs and toast Rhianna had prepared for them before their morning workout. In a world where people consumed such, to him, strange food items as “burgers” and “pizza,” it was nice to know that eggs remained on the menu. He was famished, and the eggs tasted delicious despite being cold.

  The heady aroma of brewing coffee filled the air as he devoured his morning meal. Rhianna had quit her canned energy drink habit by switching over to coffee, a far healthier alternative in her opinion. The bitter brew held little appeal for Artan. He much preferred a good, honest ale, but she’d explained that most people didn’t drink beer at every meal. Still, the coffee was preferable to the Monster energy drink, which he’d spat out the first time he’d sampled it. How could Rhianna consume such a foul, unnatural concoction? Certain aspects of this age would always remain a mystery to him, no matter how hard he tried to unlock its many secrets.

  He was taking his final bite of his second breakfast when Rhianna emerged from the bathroom. A pink bathrobe clung to her shapely form as she toweled off her wild mane of red hair. He planted a quick kiss on her cheek as he brushed past her, fighting back the temptation to throw her over his shoulder and drag her to the bedroom, obligations be damned. If he gave in to temptation, she would never make it to work in time. Time-telling devices in the form of watches and cell phones were ubiquitous in this city. A mad surge of people rushing from one place to another defined the rhythm of life. Just thinking about it made Artan dizzy.

  Artan showered next while Rhianna continued to get ready for the day ahead. Ten minutes later, he was dressed and prepared to accompany his love on her morning commute into Manhattan. Joining Rhianna for her subway ride into the city wasn’t just a way to extend their time together before they were parted by her work; Artan found it valuable to get out into the city and observe the people of the modern world, studying their habits.

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sp; Artan wore dark jeans, boots, a black T-shirt and a leather jacket, a style he gravitated toward even though modern clothes still felt strange against his skin. His fashion sense combined with his longish hair and myriad of Celtic tattoos made people think he was a musician. At least until they got a close-up look at him. There was something in his haunted eyes that defied the image of a soulful artist, an undercurrent of danger and violence that went beyond the posturing of some wannabe rock star. He might not carry a sword or wear armor when walking the streets of Manhattan, but he remained a warrior. Nobody who looked into his eyes would ever mistake him for some Brooklyn hipster.

  “You ready?” Rhianna yelled as she slipped into a crisp business jacket.

  The two of them never failed to turn heads and earn curious glances when they went out, her polished and professional, him rugged and a little dangerous.

  Seconds later he was at her side as they made their way into the crisp fall morning. Holding hands, they briskly walked down the block until they arrived at the nearest subway stop. Within a few minutes, they were inside the next train bound for Manhattan, their home borough streaking past the train’s windows in a rapid blur.

  Artan considered the heaving throng of commuters around him. He’d led massive armies of men in battle, but their numbers paled in comparison to the millions who called this metropolis their home. He wondered what sort of jobs all these people were headed to. Their distant, sleepy expressions suggested they weren’t all that eager to face their duties of the day—yet on some level he envied them. They were needed. They had a role to play in this world, minor as it may be. He, on the other hand, was just tagging along for the ride.

  About a half an hour later, the train screeched into the 77th Street station. Artan and Rhianna walked in silence toward the massive entrance of the MET’s main building located on the eastern edge of Central Park, a stretch known as Manhattan’s Museum Mile. According to Rhianna the MET was the largest art museum in the United States and among the most visited in the world, containing over 5000 years of artistic achievement. The Cloisters, where he’d first met Rhianna during the confrontation with his brother Cael, was a much smaller branch of this vast museum.

  “You going to be okay?” Rhianna asked, a trace of concern in her voice.

  Artan smiled. “I know how to keep myself busy.”

  They shared a quick kiss before Rhianna vanished inside the walls of the impressive structure, leaving Artan alone on the sidewalk. Traffic flowed past him, yellow cabs dominating the streets as buses and trucks belched and honked. Sounds of nearby construction drowned out the traffic in intermittent bursts. The modern world was loud.

  Artan inhaled Rhianna’s perfume, which still clung to him, and turned away from the museum. The bustling city awaited.

  A chilly morning breeze whistled through Manhattan’s cement arteries as he began his long walk. Steel and glass towers loomed above him, both humbling and awe-inspiring. It was hard to imagine that mere men had constructed these monoliths. Was there any limit to humanity’s ingenuity? While frozen in his stone gargoyle form all those centuries, trapped in a state between death and life, vague details had penetrated Artan’s hazy curtain of awareness. Faint echoes of reality, a taste of what the world would be like when he awoke. It had eased the culture shock to a degree, but this time period would never quite feel like home.

  Getting the hang of modern technology had, to his surprise, been the easy part. Understanding the people born of this age of miracles proved a bit more challenging. He could wander the streets of the metropolis all day long without exchanging a word despite being surrounded by teeming crowds. This would have been unthinkable in Kirkfall. Human interaction was of little interest to these city dwellers who seemed more enamored with their beeping and chiming devices than their fellow man.

  His daily excursions through New York used to invigorate him. There was a whole world out there for him to explore. Recently, though, his walks had been losing some of their initial appeal. He wasn’t navigating the urban canyons any longer but was adrift within them. While the world went along its daily business all around him, his days were an exercise in killing time. He was merely keeping himself busy until Rhianna returned from work.

  What is wrong with you? he asked himself. You were given a new lease on life, found love again, and escaped an eternity frozen in stone. You should be happy and grateful.

  He should indeed. So why did he feel so…lost?

  Pushing aside his concerns, he headed for his first destination of the day: Bryant Park, located in the 40th Street Plaza, where he would meet Rhianna’s father for a game or two of chess. Artan welcomed the distraction. As he neared the park, he made a quick pit stop at McDonald’s and ordered a sack of cheeseburgers and fries. Leaving the fast food joint, he greeted the homeless man rooted near the entrance. The man’s worn features were covered in a filthy beard and tangle of unwashed hair.

  “How are things hanging, boss? Why the long face? Don’t let life get you down.”

  Artan smiled at the homeless man’s pep talk. His name was Ronny, a constant fixture at the fast food joint and one of the few folks Artan exchanged words with during his long walks through the city. Artan knew few details about Ronny except that he’d served in a great war in the desert and that the stress of his battle experiences had sent him on a downward spiral of alcohol and drug addiction. When Artan looked at the ragged, emaciated figure sprawled out in front the yellow arches, he tried to look past the sickening body odor and dirt-caked hair, past the madness. Instead, he focused on the haunted pale gray eyes. Perhaps he recognized a part of himself in that slightly lost gaze.

  Smiling, he handed Ronny one of the cheeseburgers. Ronny flashed him a crooked, grateful grin. “You’re the best, boss. Have a blessed day.” The burger was a small gesture, but he always tried to have some food ready when he spotted Ronny. War could shatter the spirit as much as it could break the body. Ronny was just one of its many victims. Artan understood all too well how the past could poison a man’s future.

  He walked toward the park and crossed the street, the scent of the cheeseburgers making his mouth water. He headed straight for the collection of chess tables lined up under a canopy of trees. Rhianna’s father spotted him and grinned from behind an army of chess pieces. Despite the smile on the archaeologist’s weather-beaten face, Artan felt a pang of guilt upon greeting his beloved’s father. Cael had claimed the man’s right eye and left him lame, and Artan couldn’t help but blame himself. Over the course of the last twelve months, Artan had grown close to the middle-aged former swashbuckler.

  Despite being in his mid-fifties, an age that would have been quite elderly in Artan’s time, Sharpe retained a youthful, roguish charm. At first, the doctors had predicted Doctor Sharpe would never walk again after his ordeal with Cael. Sharpe had surprised them all, and within three months he was hobbling down the corridors of the hospital and raising hell with the nursing staff. The man’s energy couldn’t be contained, even if his days of scouring the globe for buried treasure were likely over.

  “Good morning, Artan. How are you on this fine morning?”

  “Good,” he replied, knowing it to be a lie. “What about you, my friend?”

  “I woke up with a fire in my heart and a spring in my step. You better be ready for some chess. I’m not pulling any punches today.”

  Artan forced a smile, but he didn’t feel much in the mood for games.

  As Sharpe eagerly unwrapped his cheeseburger, Artan listlessly made his first move. His heart and mind weren’t in the game today, and it showed. After Doctor Sharpe snatched his fifth chess piece within fifteen minutes of starting the match, he rolled his eyes and said, “Where’s your fighting spirit? You keep this up and I’ll have your queen before noon.”

  Artan grunted a non-response.

  Sharpe arched his eyebrows. “Something on your mind?”

  Artan shrugged and tried to shift his focus back to the game.

  “So
what’s new in your world?” Sharpe inquired, his voice softening a touch.

  “Rhianna is enjoying her job at the MET—”

  “I meant, what’s new with you? Something’s up. Now, you don’t seem nervous, so I doubt you’re about to ask for my daughter’s hand in marriage. Or tell me she’s expecting and I’m the last one to find out. That said, the role of being a grandfather does hold some appeal, in case you’re wondering.…”

  Doctor Sharpe broke off as Artan shot him a dark look.

  “Sorry, I’m just an old man with a habit of talking too much,” he said sheepishly.

  “Let’s keep playing.” Artan tightened his jaw, irritated that the archeologist could so easily see through him.

  The older adventurer nodded and their game resumed. Once again it proved to be a one-sided battle as Sharpe snatched one piece after another. Five minutes later, it was all over.

  “Check mate, Artan.” For a moment, the two of them sat in silence while Sharpe set up the game for a potential rematch. “Now, let me guess. The twenty-first century is getting to you, isn’t it?”

  Artan blinked in surprise. Could the archeologist read minds like some of the seers had claimed to do back in Kirkfall? Or was his inner turmoil so plainly written on his face?

  Artan held Sharpe’s gaze as he replied, “Each day, I gain a better understanding of this world.”

  “Understanding the world is important. But knowing your place in it is a whole other matter.”

  Artan eyed the archeologist curiously. “What do you mean?”

  “Ever since your brother took my eye, life hasn’t been the same for me. I used to travel the world, but now I spend most of my days playing chess with other old farts in the park.” He gestured at the other chess tables, which were indeed mostly occupied by elderly men.

  “I’m sorry,” Artan began.