The Glass Gargoyle (The Lost Ancients Book 1) by Marie Andreas Page A
Authors: Marie Andreas
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was still not a good place to be. If I didn’t think so before, the syclarion and dead body comment from Marcos would have done it for me.
After a few minutes the regular jungle forest sounds returned, and I let the tension out of my shoulders and scrambled out of the plant-life. Marcos had only been a few feet behind me when he saw the body, so I shouldn’t have to go far.
The logical part of me said just keep going down the trail he’d been on and get the hell out of here, but logic was never my strong point. My need to know almost always beat logic into a small puddle on the ground.
Keeping my steps as soft as possible, I backtracked, peering closely into the brush on both sides. Had the syclarion murdered someone right before we saw it? A chill dripped down my back. I admitted it to no one, usually not even myself, but one of the reasons I’d chosen to live in Beccia was that no syclarions called it home. The creatures disturbed me far beyond a healthy fear of powerful and deadly beings.
I saw the body just as I was about to turn back around. It was a good ten feet from the trail and judging by the bones sticking out through the leaves, it wasn’t a recent kill. I slowed down, and stayed to the right of the trail. I really wanted to make sure no one was going to sneak up on me. But the sound of squab monkeys and the larger leaf birds told me no predators were around.
With a deep sigh—and again reminding myself that curiosity wasn’t a good thing—I crept forward. The body was humanoid, but not a pure human. At least seven feet tall and the arms looked to be almost as long as the legs. That information I could tell from my stopping place of five feet away. If I wanted to know anything else I’d have to move closer.
I couldn’t smell death, and that was good. It was an old body, maybe dug up accidentally by someone looking for treasures on the ruins’ edge.
Or it was a recently dead body with spells on it so it wouldn’t be easily detected.
While the sides of my brain argued, my feet took tiny steps closer. The body was that of a young giant, from his size probably no more than 80 years of age. The body didn’t look that old for all the flesh that had been lost. More like someone had tried to hide it in a vat of tanner’s acid.
Sweat dripped down my back even though there was still a tinge of frost in the air.
Perallan had a red-headed giant digger before I came along, a dwarf-giant, small enough to fit comfortably in ruins that had ten-foot-high ceilings. He’d gone missing, supposedly off to join a band of pirates, a few months before my previous patron died and Perallan brought me on to work his dig.
My mouth went dry as I moved closer. I had to be sure before I said anything to anyone.
The clothing was burnt through, but from the remains it looked like standard digger wear. And the few tufts of hair were faded red.
Chapter 10
A rustle behind me made me jump up and forward. Only a strong sense of self-preservation kept me from falling into the decomposing body.
I spun toward my attacker.
Only to have three bright blurs of color slam into the side of my head.
“Damn it!” I compensated for the impact of the faeries and forced myself to overbalance away from the rotting corpse. Getting the faeries to stop their recent habit of slamming into me was going to be a priority once my life got back to normal.
“What are you three doing here?” I had dropped to one knee, but my three freeloaders were still on my head. “Get off.” I waved my hands to try to dislodge them but only Crusty let go. And that was just to fly toward the body.
“Is very dead.” Her voice had about the same sound it had when she was out of beer. She buzzed over the body, but I noticed she wouldn’t get much lower than a few feet above the ground. Faeries weren’t squeamish, as a species, or at least the three members of the species I’d had living with me, they were the most anti-squeamish beings
After a few minutes the regular jungle forest sounds returned, and I let the tension out of my shoulders and scrambled out of the plant-life. Marcos had only been a few feet behind me when he saw the body, so I shouldn’t have to go far.
The logical part of me said just keep going down the trail he’d been on and get the hell out of here, but logic was never my strong point. My need to know almost always beat logic into a small puddle on the ground.
Keeping my steps as soft as possible, I backtracked, peering closely into the brush on both sides. Had the syclarion murdered someone right before we saw it? A chill dripped down my back. I admitted it to no one, usually not even myself, but one of the reasons I’d chosen to live in Beccia was that no syclarions called it home. The creatures disturbed me far beyond a healthy fear of powerful and deadly beings.
I saw the body just as I was about to turn back around. It was a good ten feet from the trail and judging by the bones sticking out through the leaves, it wasn’t a recent kill. I slowed down, and stayed to the right of the trail. I really wanted to make sure no one was going to sneak up on me. But the sound of squab monkeys and the larger leaf birds told me no predators were around.
With a deep sigh—and again reminding myself that curiosity wasn’t a good thing—I crept forward. The body was humanoid, but not a pure human. At least seven feet tall and the arms looked to be almost as long as the legs. That information I could tell from my stopping place of five feet away. If I wanted to know anything else I’d have to move closer.
I couldn’t smell death, and that was good. It was an old body, maybe dug up accidentally by someone looking for treasures on the ruins’ edge.
Or it was a recently dead body with spells on it so it wouldn’t be easily detected.
While the sides of my brain argued, my feet took tiny steps closer. The body was that of a young giant, from his size probably no more than 80 years of age. The body didn’t look that old for all the flesh that had been lost. More like someone had tried to hide it in a vat of tanner’s acid.
Sweat dripped down my back even though there was still a tinge of frost in the air.
Perallan had a red-headed giant digger before I came along, a dwarf-giant, small enough to fit comfortably in ruins that had ten-foot-high ceilings. He’d gone missing, supposedly off to join a band of pirates, a few months before my previous patron died and Perallan brought me on to work his dig.
My mouth went dry as I moved closer. I had to be sure before I said anything to anyone.
The clothing was burnt through, but from the remains it looked like standard digger wear. And the few tufts of hair were faded red.
Chapter 10
A rustle behind me made me jump up and forward. Only a strong sense of self-preservation kept me from falling into the decomposing body.
I spun toward my attacker.
Only to have three bright blurs of color slam into the side of my head.
“Damn it!” I compensated for the impact of the faeries and forced myself to overbalance away from the rotting corpse. Getting the faeries to stop their recent habit of slamming into me was going to be a priority once my life got back to normal.
“What are you three doing here?” I had dropped to one knee, but my three freeloaders were still on my head. “Get off.” I waved my hands to try to dislodge them but only Crusty let go. And that was just to fly toward the body.
“Is very dead.” Her voice had about the same sound it had when she was out of beer. She buzzed over the body, but I noticed she wouldn’t get much lower than a few feet above the ground. Faeries weren’t squeamish, as a species, or at least the three members of the species I’d had living with me, they were the most anti-squeamish beings
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