No, he mumbled to himself again. Its just the dark playing tricks on my eyes.
Although his mind was beginning to wake up to the possibility of approaching danger, his body had allowed itself to slip so deep into a pit of slumber that it no longer possessed the will to pull itself out. So his mind cried out to his body, pleading with it to prepare for battle. First his eyes responded, then his hands, and so on. But they were only called to attention, not yet to action.
Now fully awake, but hiding under the pretense that he was still sleeping, he stared at the gargoyles with only one eye open. He was determined to prove to himself, once and for all, that his fear was either true of false. There were only two possibilities. They were either stone, or they were real.
He watched, and watched, and watched, till his eye began to dry. He desperately needed to blink. Then it happened. The gargoyle on the left opened its jaw, exposing a mouth full of horrifying fangs, and extended its long red tongue laced with a thick secretion of bodily fluid. In one quick motion it licked its left eyeball making a wet slapping sound, followed by a swallowing sound as the tongue retracted. They were not stone.
It was the torch. The gargoyles were drawn to the light of the torch like moths. The air was cold, and they were cold-blooded. With each passing moment they crept closer to the flame.
The old man made his hand ready on his sword, and continued to falsify his state of slumber by remaining still and taking slow, deep breaths. He watched them with both eyes now, but with his head hung even lower to conceal as much of his face as possible from their view.
They each crept just a bit closer and then stopped. The one on the right rubbed its face with its hands and blinked several times. The one on the left began to roll its neck and shoulders making loud popping sounds that were heard echoing throughout the vast empty spaces of the great room, then moved closer than the other.
Not much longer, he whispered to himself, Not much closer. I will wait till you come within reach of my blade. Then you will not see it coming, and I will take my chances with your friend.
They moved even closer to him. The one on the left drew itself even nearer than the other. It then stopped to stretch its neck towards the torch. By this time the creature was so close that the man could actually see the blood flowing through its skin along the right side of its bottom jaw, which was the closest part of its body to the flame.
Being able to wait no longer, the old man jumped from the throne, and with one enormous backward swing, he struck out with his sword. Were it not for the one thing that went wrong, his execution of technique would have been totally flawless. The old man had erred in his judgment. Thus, his blade had scarcely sliced the creature deep enough to draw a few drops of blood.
The monster let out a deep and fierce yell as it was struck, stumbled backwards, and fell against the stones below. It then staggered to its feet using its wings to maintain balance. At the same time, the other gargoyle raised its body from the floor.
The one stung by the sword looked down at the open cut across its midsection. The creatures mind was still absorbing the shock of having been attacked, and its body had not yet fully realized the sharp pain that it was about to endure. After a few deep breaths the creature rolled its eyes back and let out a terrifying scream as nearly every muscle in its body contorted with rage.
The man drew back with his sword again, but, just as he did, he heard the soft and gentle voice of a young lady calling out. She was hiding somewhere in the dark. He held his sword ready, but the sound of her voice was like a whisper carried by the wind, and the creatures were responding to it. Even the injured one seemed to forget his pain. They turned away from him and faced in the direction of the approaching voice.
Be still, her voice said. Be not angry.
Young lady, he called out to her, Who or what are you?
She teased him by not answering. All he heard in response was her laughter laughter which sounded much like a childs. Her laughter was followed by the ghostly echo of her bare feet against the stones as she ran in one direction, then the other.
If you are a spirit, tell me what manner of spirit you are!
Again she responded with laughter, and once more he heard the pattering of her bare feet as they scooted across the floor. The gargoyles turned their heads as they followed the sound of her feet being carried from one end of the hall to the other.
He looked up. The flame was now crawling around the head of the torch, burning itself out. However, it still clung to life as it gasped for its last few breaths of air.
If you are flesh, then who are you?
The flame burned out, leaving him little more than a smoldering stick in his hand. He held it out in front of him, and with his sword ready, he listened as she slowly walked towards him
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