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The reflecting pond had been devoid of any activity for months. The occasionally faerie would bounce across the area and even show off by actually skipping across the pond on tiny human like toes with little use of their wings. But hardly anyone would sit on the benches, made of wood so incredibly smooth it was like glass, and stare into the pond, or enjoyed the placid atmosphere. Even when the gargoyles of Avalon were well engaged in their breeding season the reflecting pond received little to no visitors. One couple tried to breed in the water and once the peak of their arousal had left they trotted off into a different direction

The air was thick with the intoxicating scent of the flowers of the thick round bushes surrounding the area. Dainty petals, no larger than the size of a baby’s thumb, filtered from the flowers, creating a pattern. Reflections from the wooden awnings, benches and plants were marred and incomplete by the petals.

The tranquil solitude was shattered when a slender woman of bright turquoise stepped out from the trees. Hair of pastel pink cascaded down past her shoulders and was kept out of her eyes by circular flat hat. Her gown covered most of her body, including her breasts that threatened to tear through the metarial. The only part that is free her slender her waist.

Titania was lured to the reflecting pool by the sound of laughter. Many members of the fae had become quite serious when they heard of the news of the Unseelie grouping together. Titania encougarged the members that were allowed to be sent out to work hard and protect the humans they cherished and learn more about the enemy. The other faeries could not keep themselves from hearing about the small missions bestowed upon several members and would often whisper to each other about the upcoming battle, many had agreed they would fight agaisnt the Unseelie if Oberon grants them leave and a small handful were willing to risk banishment if Oberon refuses to lend a hand.

"They do not have to worry about any risk of bannishment," Titania followed the sound of the voices. "I will encourage my husband to at least a finger if not a hand, and even if he refuses to even send anyone out I will see that those why defy him will be rewarded." She had hoped the young gargoyles were amusing each other with jokes or humorus stories. It would relieve her of such tension that was dewlling, but she had entered the scene just as eight gargoyles had left.

"Shame I did not get to hear their version of the story," she wateched as the gargoyles did not glide, but rather walk away from the reflecting pond. The could have climbed up to the top of the awning and used it to help them gain better control of the wind.

They were lead by a six foot youth of gray skin and body of athletic trim. Dark purple hair was cut short, ending above the nape with a few bangs hanging over the center of his forehead. His browridges were uneven with a knob of hard flesh rounding the corner of each eye, a pointed spike of flesh crowing each temple and a short horn behind each spike. Dark blue wings provided a leather cloak for his warrior’ attire of a tunic sewn out of strong cloth and a loincloth made out deerskin. His chest was covered with armor made out of interlocking scales. A short sword hung from the side of his belt

"Step lightly, my love," the gray youth‘s large hand held the smaller hand of a turquoise color in his while he stared into the eyes of his mate. She stood a good six inches shorter than him and had a similar built. The youth lead her across the most even soil. "This path is a bit slippery."

"Now, Tristam, you know I am graceful on my feet," Her pale blond hair had a similar texture to the spelled gargoyle who attached her clan, but was more manageable. She had her rookery sister, Rosalynd brush it and style in two slender braids near the sides of her head. She was dressed in a green halter top with two, double shoudlerstraps. Two were across each shoulder, while the others hung a few inches lower. "Elena and Barachiel were the ones who decided to fall face first in the mud during our breeding season." She shifted her gaze back over the shoulder at the sound of a twig snapping. "I have heard they were able to quell their aching need within the water of the pond as well."

"Guinever!" Elena and Barachiel had followed directly behind them. She was of eggplant hue with soft hair of the same color and radiance as the lava. Named after the Princess’s own mother, she preferred to keep her hair styled in the same braid as Katharine had described. It had made her face seem even more round along with the dark semi circle crest rising out of the top of her head. It was darker in color than her skin and ran from the middle of her head to the nape. "I knew I should have never confessed anything to you."

"It doesn’t matter," Barachiel was named after the angel of lightening. It was the most fitting name when his human parents took one look of deep violate hatchling. Jagged streaks of white striped his reddish brown hair. The bottom of his butterfly shaped wings had a jagged bolt of lighting shaped flesh. Even the ends of his split styled tail were jagged. "All that matters is the fact our mates are carrying our eggs." He pulled Elena close and ran the tips of his talons through her bangs.

"You four are extremely impatient," the last four members of their party caught up. The irate male stood out the greatest amongst the darkness. His pale yellow skin was only darker by a few shades than his long silvery blue hair. His long and narrow beak had two shot spurs underneath, near the jawline. Like Barachiel it had almost seemed he had four wings instead of two, but they were more narrow, like the wings of several of the faerie folk. "Nerissa had almost stumbled."

"I’m fine brother," She only stood at five foot three with the leather webbing of her wings stretched across her arms and legs. Her wavy dark blue hair was streaked with brilliant shades of sky blue and pale bluish-green color, contrasting with the coral hue of her skin Three spikes jutted out over her sea of hair, resembling the fork of Poseidon. Nerissa carefully walked across the slippery land. The freshly made knife she had created at the reflecting pond was placed in the holster of her belt.

The were followed by there mates. The pale gargoyle’s was a blue female who walked with the gait of a confident fighter. Glossy black hair hung low bellow her shoulders and was kept out of her face by two slender horns. The sides of her face had spurs with a slight curve. Nerissa’s was a forest green youth of average build. His light blond hair was gathered into a ponytail. He had not much in horns save for the vestigial spikes in the center of his forehead and the knots of flesh framing above both eye. His most noticeable feature were the elbow spurs that were twice as long as those of his rookery siblings. He had carried more than the others. In his hands was a long wooden staff and each side of his belt he carried two leather pouches..

"That was quite a story," the blue female paused to walk on a slippery part of the path. "Are you going to tell any of the others?"

"As you know, Gaiwan, Clovis, and Azreal knew," Beowulf took his mate’s hand into his own. "We can’t have everyone know we once took a skiff out, Teresa."

"Why can we not?"

"We may risk having Katharine and Tom know," the green gargoyle leaned agaisnt his staff. It was mostly for defense. Like his mate he was an artisian. He was able to create sheaths, holsters and quivers out of the hides from different kinds of animals. He could also create armor and clothing. "Tom might be amused about how I really lost my first staff."

"Don’t be foolish, Salathiel," Teresa shook her head. "They wont punish you now for what happened then."

"I don’t think any of us want’s to risk it," Tristam had waited until they had gathered together at the end of the difficult path before he lead them through the forrest to the castle.

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The forms of the eight gargoyles had occupied the view of Titania until they had faded into the woods. "Thier secret is safe with me." She turned back to the pond and stared into the water’s surface. Her reflection smiled back at her. Even though it’s been months she could detect the odor of the powered up archmages and the rut of both Elena and Barachiel.

The Avalon clan had a great breeding season. Like most of the other fey she did not mind the cries of release from the tupping couples. The four couples who ventured to the pond demostraited the fact of how well the couples fit together. Nerissa the weapon maker and Salathiel were a perfect match. He would cover the handles of the knives and swords she made and provide sheaths for them and quivers for her arrows. The same as Elena who could sing and Barachiel who could act, both were performers. Teresa and Beowulf were both warriors and Tristam and Guinever were experts at wielding the sword.

"Such fitting couples yet half of them kept a secret from their mates," Titania placed a finger into the water, distorting her reflection. "How long has it been? Nearly three hundred years? I want to see the whole story, and not just their point of view. Show me the story of their skiff ride."

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Clovis did not mind the fact he was leaner than most of his rookery brothers. While most were practicing the warrior skills taught to them by Guardian Tom he was using his knife to carve small animals out of small blocks of wood or creating statues out of clay. He should not have used clay dug from the river bank. His deep blue talons were covered with the thick paste of the mud like substance. Adding to his frustration was the fact his model did not want to stay still.

"Azrael, please sit still," bits of clay stuck to his iron gray hair and more dotted his face and the rest of his body and cloths. Only his wings and wide, spiral horns were clean from clay. "I’m almost done." He was lying. His work of art was only half way completed. He tried to create Azrael‘s form in seated position. He had developed the lower legs and most of the body up to the chest. The forelegs kept leaning over. He needed them to stand up, straight and strong to support the chest and head.

Azrael let out a whine of protest. The dark yellow beast was tired of sitting in that position and wanted to rise to his feet. His pointed ears kept twitching at every sound while the breeze blew through his short thatch of black and white hair crowning the center of his head. Two rows of short spikes started at the at the top of each eye and continued past his head, down the back of his neck and stopped at the shoulders. A familiar scent prompted the end of his tail, ending in a blunt nub, to twitch.

"Azrael I said to sit still," he did not notice the body behind him, the figure Azrael tried to warn him of until it pushed him closer to the river. Clovis swung out, but was only able to smack whoever it was trying to push him. He nearly landed in the water, but he grabbed onto the soil and felt his toes strike the surface.

"You will never be a warrior," Tristam was the one who snuck behind Clovis and gave him a shove. The bluish gray hand print was sticking to his chest. He didn’t even flinch from the strik inflicted upon by his clan brother. "You need to stop playing in the mud and practice along with the rest of us."

"Leave me be," the blue youth climbed up from the water’s edge. "Or my tail shall give you a thrashing." His tail flicked back and forth. The single, thick spike on the round, ball like end caught the light of the moon.

"True warriors don’t always rely on their tails." Tristam’s smug look faded from his face before he fell forward.

"You are correct," the deeper purple coloring of Elena made it easy for the gargoyle sneak up on her rookery brother. She had deepended on her stealth and not her strenght since she deemed herself as not a fighter herself. Her strength was in her vocal chords and she chose to work on her natraul talent. "Are you going to leave our artistic brother alone."

"I will," The gray hatchling rolled out from under her and stood back up. Bits of clay stuck to his skin. "What are you doing near the river? I thought you were with Salathiel and Gawain."

"I was following them towards the dock because Beowulf asked us to meet there," Elena held out hands in front of the gargoyle beast and allowed Azrael to lick them. "I happen to look towards the river and saw the injustice you were about to cause. I couldn’t allow you to continue in picking on poor Clovis."

"I am not a warrior in the same sense you are," Clovis protested, his eyes never left Tristam "Elena and I are more of defensive fighters. You are more of an offensive fighter."

"What is it you were going to see?" Tristam chose to ignore his brother and remove the clay drying on his skin.

"I wouldn’t know," Elena simply shrugged. "Beowulf said it was surprise."

"Do you still know the way?" Clovis asked. Next to him, Azreal wagged his tail in curiosity.

"The three of you want to come?"

"It is better than looking for someone to challenge to a duel," Tristam answered in his most petulant tone while scowling at Clovis.

"You may think that is an insult to me, brother." Clovis inhealed deeply, justting out his chest. "But if I were a warrior on the same scale as you I would have been insulted, as you can clearly see I pride myself on my art."

"Are you sure you want to join us then?" Elena asked. "What about the sculpture you were working on?"

"I made the mistake of creating a sculpture to close to the bank," Clovis glanced to the half formed figure. The tops of the front legs had bent over till the had touched the sides.

"I will show you," Elena glowered deep into Tristams eyes. "If Tristam promises to leave Clovis alone."

"I promise," The words were barely out of his mouth before Elena had tackled him again. "I said I wouldn’t bother him." He shouted despite the pressure on his chest.

"I just want to make certain," she crawled off his chest and loped off in the direction towards the docks. "This way."

"That was defense?" Tristam’s only response from his rookery brother was a smug grin.

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Because of Beowulf’s pale coloring, Elena and her brothers were able to find their friends nestled in the nook of a rocky side of the island near the beach and the docks. The beaked youth looked more like a ghost than a gargoyle warrior.

"Why did you bring them?" Gaiwan’s skin shimmered under the light of the moon, making it look like he was carved out of emerald. His thick browridge formed a natraul tiara of spikes and knobs, keeping his fell of pearly white hair out from his eyes. "We are going to attract to much attention."

"Would we not attract more attention with Beowulf?" Elena reached the rocks first and forced her claws into the sides to keep from slipping.

"You brought our brother with one of the loudest mouths and a beast," his eyes were not on his sister, but the members of his rookery she had brought along. Clovis had no trouble climbing his way across the rocks. Azreal was slow and careful and Tristam nearly slipped as he tried to keep up with his darker brother.

"Why does it bother you?" Salathiel leaned against the staff carved out of the lightest wood. He carried the weapon, not because he wanted to be a better warrior in combat, but to defend himself when one of his more rugged rookery brother’s or sisters was to challenge him to a fight when he would rather be stitching together pieces of leather. "You can defend yourself if Tristam decided to do something stupid."

"I’m glad she brought more," Beowulf called from deep in the nook. "We are going to need everyone’s help to get this out into open water."

Elena was the first to climb deeper into the rocks and see what her brother had found. Beowulf’s lower talons were clutching onto the barnacle and seaweed covered rocks. His tail was holding onto the side of a long and narrow boat, like the one Guardian Tom used when he went out to see if the last of there clan had awaken from their curse. His hand was resting on the top of the figure in the mast of the ship, carved to resemble an old man with a beard.

"A skiff," Elena had found herself next to her pale brother’s side. She ran her talons across the edge of the boat from mast to where the finger like appendages of Beowulf’s tail held onto it. "Where did you find it."

"I was gliding around the outskirts of the island when a draft blew me closer to the Cliffside." He pointed to the dark mass of rock. "While I was righting myself I looked down and saw it was here."

"How did it get here?" Clovis stood on the other side of the skiff. "Is it in good shape?"

"There are no scrapes or holes, if that is what you mean." Beowulf bent down and grabbed the side of the boat, careful to not allow his talons to completely penetrate through the wood. "I’m going to need everyone’s help to get it into the water."

"Why would you want to do that?" Gawain stood behind Clovis as the both grabbed onto the boat. Salathiel stood on front of the blue gargoyle. On Beowulf’s side Tristam took a place next to the pale gargoyle and lifted the skiff.

"We are going to out into the world."

"We?" Gawain stood up too fast, the skiff slipped from his talon. He quickly grabbed it again after the first few grunts from Salathiel and Clovis. "What do you mean by we?"

"Those of us who want to go will go," Beowulf replied. "Azreal, take the lead. Try to find the least slippery rocks to walk across."

The gargoyle beast walked across the rocks, barking when his paws touched those that had more barnacles and the scent of seaweed was in less abundance. As he moved father out from the nook the rocks became more sparsely set out to where he would have to jump to get from one rock to the other.

The youths had a more difficult time carrying the skiff with the widely seperated rocks. They waited for Beowulf to lower the boat first before the placed the skiff down on the watery surface. The beaked gargoyle quickly climbed inside.

"I am not surprised you want to go," Gawain stared at the dark waves rolling closer to the island from the distance. "But where will you go?"

"That is for Avalon to decide."

"Why do you want to leave Avalon?" Clovis asked while trying to keep the skiff steady. "Do you wish to seek an adventure like Michael, Rinaldo, and Lionel?"

"That is not the only reason," Salathiel climbed in after his brother. He placed his staff down and picked up one of the long handled paddles. "We are hoping Avalon will send us to Castle Wyvern."

"Tom will be taking the trip again within a few years," Gawain pointed out.

"And nearly fifty years would have passed," the darker green youth answered. "What if they woke up now? The elder would surly be dead if we wait a few more years and Goliath and the others would be gray haired and old."

"How will you get back?"

"This is why I’m coming," Elena hopped into skiff, her braid rose up with her decent. "I know the passage to get back to Avalon." The others still waiting on the rocks gave her a look. "I asked the Magus and he told me and I’m not telling anyone else."

"We could use your help, Gaiwan." Beowulf picked up the other oar. "Your a better fighter than I am."

"I have to decline," Gawain shook his head. "I will protect your honor by keeping your secret and not telling anyone else." He glared at his gray colored brother. "You can trust Clovis and Azreal, but you may have a trouble with Tristam."

"I believe you are suggesting I should go," Tristam put one foot into the skiff. Those inside did not protest. "I understand. You need a true warrior to protect everyone." He climbed aboard.

"We promise to tell you everything," Salathiel cried back while he and Beowulf use the oars to take them father out into sea, and into the developing fog.

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A aqua colored finger ending in a nail covered in a glossy blue laquer brushed against the surface of the viewing pond.

"Lets see where they are headed." The velvet coated voice of Titania requested. What brings them to where they were headed to." She watched the cool surface as ripples spread across the water with no aid from her, nor any further influence from the wind.

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Paris, France 1749

"Halt, Thief!"

The figure shrouded in black raced across the cobbled pathways of the famed city of light. Every article of clothing on his body was black. The boots folded over the bottom of slacks were the exact same shade as the night sky. The coat he wore with long tails flapping behind him were as ebony as his leather gloves. His hooded cloak, used to cover the top of his head were of a different shade of darkness it’s self. It rippled with the fluid movement of an Arabian stallion at full gallop. The masquerade mask across the top half of his face stood out from the rest of his attire. Crimson in color it covered around his eyes and had pointed tuffs at the side, like the ears of a fox.

"Stop him. He stole from the king!"

The authorities wanted him because of the pendant he stole. The rare jewel he pilfered from the carriage leading to the palace. The king was going to reveal it at his ball the following night and the wealthy and important members of Paris society would be able to view it’s flawless beauty, until then it was wrapped in fine linen, imported from Ireland.

"We almost have him, hurry."

The masked thief ignored the cries of Paris’s elite forces. His goal stood before him. The centuries old cathedral would welcome him and offer him the sanctuary he desired. He was so close he could almost make out the stone gargoyles placed on the edge to ward off evil. He had to blink. What he was seeing was not right. The gargoyles did not come to life and were gliding towards him.

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Their skiff had left the mist and appeared in the river of an elaborate city. Tall buildings resembling ornate houses stacked on top of each other flanked the sides of the river. An exquiste castle like building was in plain view of the four adolesents.

"I wonder if we are in the right place," Beowulf was the first to leap out of the skiff. The second his talons touched soldier ground he reached over to the side of the skiff and pulled it closer to him.

"Could we be in a city that is near Wyvern?" Salathiel grabbed the lenght of rope that had brought along for the trip and tied around the main mast. "I hope we don’t have to far to glide."

"I wonder if we truley are in Scotland," Elena was the last to leave the skiff. She made sure the biding around the skiff was firm before she crawled out. "This place does not resemble the Scotland Tom has described."

"We might be in a different part of Scotland," Beowulf explained. "We’ll just have to figure out how far from Wyvern we are located."

"I still don’t think we are in Scotland," Elena shrugged.

"We shall glide around," Tristam had raced up ahead from his rookery sibilings and sank his talons into the closets building. "We’ll figure out where we are." He did stare down to see if his rookery siblings were climbing behind him. He could hear the sound of their talons impacting with the sides of the building. He was the first one to climb to the top and the first to stand on the edge of the building.

"Are you in a great haste that you cannot wait for us," Beowulf complained. The pale gargoye had climbed up right behind Tristam and waited until the others had reached the top before he spread his wings.

"We are all here," the gray youth pointed out once all four of them were at the edge. "I don’t see why shall wait any longer." He leaped forward before he could even feel the right shift of wing and wait for the air curents to catch the leather in his wings.

The image of the the city was spectacle. The hatchlings have heard of grand citys that were even larger than the island itself from Gaurdian Tom. Each time he had returned from his trip out to the world he would speak of the changed he had seen. The changed had included how the architect had improved.

"Look," Elena pointed towards the large structure. It had resemlbed a castle in it’s size and it’s turets. There were stone gargoyles on the leges and large bells that shone from the moonlight striking against their smooth surfaces. "Is it not beautiful?"

"Is that castle?" Beowulf had asked.

"If it is then this city has two of them," Tristam pointed towards the other castle.

"Halt, Thief!"

"What was that?" Salathiel was the first to hear the accusing cries. His large fan shaped ears was able to pick up sound far better than his rookery siblings.

"Stop him. He stole from the king!"

"There he is," Salathiel pointed at the dark figure racing towards the tall and aesthetically beautiful structure.

"We need to separate," Beowulf pointed at his sister and gray brother. "Elena and Tristam. I want you to glide higher and veer to the right. Salathiel and I will advance on him and veer to the left." Both he and Salathiel shifted their wings to descend towards the thief.

Their prey did turn to the left and they shifted their wings to catch up to him. They spread apart a few more feet to watch what he was about to do.

When the thief took a sharp turn to the right Beowulf immediately followed down the narrow pathway. He forced himself to gain speed until he was almost on top of the crook. With eyes fully illuminated he tackled him. His talons caught on the crook’s cloak. He would have slowed him down if the thief did not slip out of the material like asnake shedding it’s skin..

The masked man continued down the path, not caring about the cloak he had lost, and did not stop until a wooden pole appeared in front of his path at the last second and came in contact with his ankle.

Elena landed next to the fallen thief and smiled briefly at Salathiel. She grabbed onto the wrapped package. Her eyes were lit with a ruby glow as she clutched it towards her chest.

The thief took one look at her and bolted to his feet. He noticed Salathiel, still wielding into his staff and Beowulf behind him. There was a more narrow back alley massage way that would take him back to one of the larger paths to cathedral. He only made it a few feet before Tristam tackled him.

The masked man tussled with Tristam for only a minute. He delivered blow to the adolescent’s stomach while pulling out a dagger. When the hatchling advanced on him a second time he shot this weapon forward and pierced through the flesh between the ribs in his wings.

"Tristam!" Elena was the first to reach the slate gray youth. She kept the wrapped item the thief stole in her hands. "What did he do?"

"He punched me in the middle," Tristam kept his injured wing folded across his stomach. One hand covered over the incision. "And he stabbed me in the wing."

"Sleep will heal the wing," She touched his shoulder and pulled back when he shrugged her off.

"I am supposed to be a warrior." Envy filled his heart when he stared at Salathael’s staff. "Why am I not allowed a weapon?"

"When we return to Avalon we shall ask," Salathiel did not wish to tell him the real reason why some of the rookery were allowed to carry weapons. Tom felt some would abuse their skill and try to duel with those who do not wish to fight. "It is not right for all the warriors to fight empty handed when they are clearly skilled."

"We have a bit of a problem," Beowulf hadn’t let go of the cloak he pulled off the thief. He was not staring at his injured sibling, but at the human approaching them. "Should we hide?"

"Bon jour?" the human called at him. He stood at a height where he could look the Magus in the eye and was half his age. Sand blond curls poked through the bottom of his trio corner hat adorned with a long blue feather. He wore mostly blue. His jacket ending in tails and buttons with two rows of round bits of brass was a deeper blue shade than Clovis. Waist down he was dressed in tan knickers and boots with an arch high enough to make his feet look almost like a gargoyle’s in appearance. A crisp white cape was attached to his collar and a sash was across his chest diagonally. "Who tried to help."

"You can’t make allies if you hide form them," Elena cloaked her wings cars her shoulders and approached the man. "Hello sir."

"Please don’t hurt us," Elena used her most scared tone of voice and stared at the man with sad eyes. "We would never hurt you. We only attacked the man because you called him a thief."

"He was," the man lowered the weapon an inch. "He stole from the carriage on it’s way to the king."

"Was this the item he stole?" Elena held out the wrapped item in her hands before him. "We didn’t mange to catch him but we did grab this."

"Oui, that is the eye." The man was no longer scared, but relieved at the sight of the wrapped jewel in her hands. He stared past her and at the winged creatures behind her. They other three were all male. He set his musket down and approached the female. "May I ask what you are?"

"We are called gargoyles," she replied as took the stolen item from her. "The four of us are on a secret mission. We were supposed to go to Scotland."

"Gargoyles?" The corners of his mouth turned up at the name of their species. "I have heard of your kind. They were noble creatures who once lived in Notre Damn herself til they were slaughtered seventy years ago. You are not in Scotland, I’m afraid. You are in Paris France."

"France?" Elena did not feel too disappointed in not reaching Scotland. She was at the home of Katherine’s mother, her namesake. She heard the approaching footsteps before she saw two other men race up towards them. They were similarly dressed. One was as old as the one with curly hair but with a wider girth and the other was younger by a few years.

"Maurice, what are they?" The plumper human did not remove his eyes from Elena. The younger one stared at her, stared at the cloth wrapped item in Maurice’s hands and then back at Elena.

"That was a faerie queen," Jean scoffed. "Those were just stories."

"They do not look like stories," the younger soldier noticed the three males approaching them. "They are real."

"They are real and on the side of justice," Maurice said. "We could speak with those who remember, but there are few left who are still alive."

"We were told our ancestors used to defend the castles of Scotland from Vikings and other thieves," Beowulf bravely stepped forward. "We can no longer stop protecting than we can breath the air."

"Just like my Grand-mere had said," Maurice bowed politely before the gargoyles. His comrades took one look at each other before they followed suit.

"I dont understand why we have to be polite," Tristam strode pasteElena. "It may have been easier to explain to them the fact we were raised by humans. I’m sorry I’m not patient, but I have been stabbed and I am in a great deal of pain!" He removed his hand from his wings and held it before the humans. Blood dripped from his mail and fingers. "This is my blood."

"You are behaving like a hatchling," Salathiel grabbed onto the edge of the cloak Beowulf pulled off the thief. With one swipe of his long elbow spur he cut off a swath long enough to tie around Tristam. He looped it under his healthy wing and tied the cloth across the wound, and knotted it in the back. "It was just your wing."

"He is hurt," Maurice was beside the gray grail with in seconds after Salathiel finishing tying it down. "We have better gauss at the castle."

"We are just taking them back with us?" Jean asked.

"It is not necessary," Salathiel tried to mimic Elena’s polite smile. "Tristam is over reacting. We will be healed by tomorrow night."

"By turning to stone when the sun rises?" Maurice knew a lot about gargoyles despite the fact he did not know what they were by appearance. How much did his grandmother truly know? She claimed she had come across a few in her youth "And this one is name Tristam? Like a noble warrior."

"We have yet to tell you are names," Elena curtsied. "You have met Tristam. The one with the staff is Salathiel, my pale brother is Beowulf and I’m Elena."

"Another warrior, an angel and a beautiful name for a beautiful mademoiselle." Maurice’s response brought smiles to both Salatheal and Beowulf and a blush to Elena’s checks. "I am Maurice and these are my associates Jean, and Pierre."

"We are pleased to meet you and hope we can catch your thief for you," Elena cloaked one wing across her shoulder while she courtseid. As she stood back up she glanced over her shoulder to make sure her brothers were bowing.

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Avalon 2004

"Show me Louis the fifteenth," Titania touched the water with the palm of her hand. "For a few minutes and then return to the youths."

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Paris, 1749

The tiles of pure marble carried the loud echo of the king’s boots, as the monarch paced across in front of his throne. The long strip of red carpet, dividing the throne room in half, muffled the sounds when he walked across it. Louis the fifteenth was alone, save for a handful of gaurds and his advisor. His wife had accompanied him until she felt weary and retired to their chamber where her serving ladies were waitng to groom her before she retired.

"Mon liege, I feel it would be best if you would take your throne," expensive clothing, dyed a deep green, hung from his wiry frame, The ends of the sleeves of his jacket looked more like drapes, spread out above the tops of his wrists. His pale hands were tiny in comparison with his body and bony fingers hadn’t had their nails trimmed in a while. The advisor kept his dark hair slicked back under his powdered wig. His beady eyes were fixed on the king while the nostrils of his long and pointed nose flared. Sparse hairs formed his mustache. "If your elite forces see you standing about it would wound your dignity."

"I cannot stay still when I’m worried," Louis rubbed his fingers together. "We don’t know who stole the Eye and what they wish to do with it."

"They would find away to use it to make their pockets heavy," the advisor scratched the back of one of his large and round ears.

"I fear they may try to wear it," the king turned to the large doors of his room at the sound of the knock. He nodded at the guards to allow whoever it was in. "If all those stories are true."

"Why must you fret when they are just stories."

"I worry because there are too many of them," he set himself on the soft padding of his throne. He would keep his dignity in front of his subjects. His queen, advisor, and a few guardsmen could see him walk around. "It is a reason I will not wear it at the unveiling tomorrow night."

"Your highness, I have the eye." The doors open to reveal one of the members of the elite forces. The soldier was younger than what the king expected. He thought he would have met with the captain or one of the lieutenants. The young soldier bowed at the entrance for a few seconds before he continued towards the throne.

"He looks like one of Maurice’s young recruits," the advisor leaned down and whispered into his king’s ear.

The young soldier bowed once more before the kin while holding up a small object wrapped in linen strips. "We did not manage to arrest the one responsible for it’s theft."

"I am very relieved you had managed to get it back," the king pressed his lips to keep from smiling. He was grateful for the eye’s return, but the King could not go around smiling at everyone. "Ratton, you may take it from him."

"Oui, your majesty," the advisory scurried over to the young soldier and snatched the jewel with both hands. "I should keep this within my chambers. No one would try to look for it there."

"That is not necessary," the king waved his fingers at one of his guards. "Keep it with the valuables."

"If you feel that is most wise," Ratton’s thick eye brows joined together at the middle.

The king turned to the soldier. "I must admit I a bit surprised to see one of Maurice’s recent recruits reporting instead of himself."

"He had to assist the wound of a friend." The soldier replied. He stood firmly with his back straight and his head held high until King Louis or his advisor dismissed him.

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The windows of the castle were surrounded by frames with flowers carved in deep to give patterns of unique and riche designs. They were the eyes of the castle. Those who could see inside could see the activity. It did not show the essential, such as the throne room and the treasure room.

"I can’t see anything that would be considered a throne room," The pale form of a pale gargoyle clung to the side of the wall. His dark brown wings were pressed against the stone wall.

"How many windows have we looked," the dark green youth was perched above the window. His entire view was upside down. "How many are left."

"I can’t believe you two," Elena skipped across the many roofs of the castle to where her brothers were stationed. "I was looking in on Tristam, and I thought you would be on the top above me, not staring in the windows." Her sharp words caused Beowulf to raise his head suddenly, the top came in contact with Salathiel’s skull. "It serves you right."

"We were just curious about the structure of the castle," Salathiel only rubbed his had for a second before he climbed back up. "Its different than the castle on Avalon."

"Guards are approaching," Beowulf sailed over their heads and crouched low. He could hear them shift around where the stood to try to resemble some of the castle’s gargoyles. He counted on the humans not being able to see Elena’s and Salathiel’s coloring. Their eyesight was not as good as theirs at night. They would have had an easier time of seeing him.

"They are gone," Salathiel relaxed his posture. He kept his gaze on the backs of the two guards who just walked past. The posts of where the other guards stood and on the ground. "Perhaps it would be better if you go inside with Tristam, at least until Maurice and the others had convinced everyone we are their friends."

"We don’t know when dawn is," Elena agreed with him. "We could blend in the statues out her, but it might be safer to rest with Maurice."

"Hopefully we still have hours," Salathiel noticed movement coming from the nearest building. The person who stepped into view was dressed in dark cloths but his mask stood out like Beowulf. All it took from Salathiel to spread his ribless wings was the fox like ears at the sides of the mask. "It’s the thief."

"Salathiel," Elena tried to grab her brother by the tail, but he was already out of range.

"You two go and stay with Maurice and Tristam. I’ll try and catch him."

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"Follow that one," the queen of the third race instructed. Her finger hovered over the image of the green adolescent.

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If he was just visiting for fun, Salathiel would have taken note of the cityscape bellow him. The princess, guardian, and magus told him about the nearest city to Wyvern and from what he could deduce from their descriptions, it was nowhere nears as grand as the buildings below him. It had been over seven centuries since his human parents had to abandon their native homeland and progress certainty affected the humans architecture. He was almost tempted to find a way to take a souvenir with him to show his rookery brothers and sister who remained on the isle, at least something o show Clovis, Gawain, and Azrael, except he couldn’t, not if he didn’t want The guardian to find out what they had done.

He never lost sight of what he was persuing and kept his focus on the shrouded figure as he ran through the streets of Paris. Whenever he would take a sharp turn into a narrow street, or duck into an alley Salathiel would follow. Despite the human’s chaotic pattern of paths he continued to head towards the direction of the building Maurice had called Notredam.

Salathiel was only a few feet from the thief when he ran into the large structure. "You can run, but you cannot hide." It did not matter too much to the dark green gargoyle. He would find the thief in the building. He tried to glide into the nearest window, but the lack of air currents prompted him to land on the side of the building. He climbed the sides of the structure until he slipped in side.

"Who is there?" The voice belonged to a woman, surely not the thief he had been tracking.

"Whatever you do, please do not be afraid." Salathiel searched the room. He could not see anyone, but did find the entrance. "Where are you?"

"I’m in the hallway," the woman’s voice reminded him of the Princess when she tried to comfort him when either Michael or Tristam had pushed him in the mud, or if Lionel or Mercutio had swiped the last of the honey cakes before he had a chance to eat one. "Why would I be afraid of you?"

"I happen to be not human," Salathiel approached the hall where he heard the voice and saw dim light that had to radiate from a candle wick. "I’m a gargoyle, a bit similar to the statues on this building." He stepped into the light.

"You are far more beautiful than the gargoyles of Notredam," she was as almost as old as the princess and just as beautiful. Most of her gray hair was kept under black hood with a white a border. Each side of the border formed small flaps on each side of her lined face. The rest of her outfit was a black gown. She was holding onto a brass candle holder with three candles providing ample light for the two of them. "My name is Sister Nicole, Now tell me child, why do you seek sanctuary in Notredam?"

"I am not seeking sanctuary," he felt his wings fold across his houlderes, the triple claws at the end of each wing arm coming together. He felt like he had to dignify her. She looked like what the Princess had described as a nun and from the stories the princess had told him they were considered holy women. "I was chasing after a thief and he ran inside your home."

"This is not my house," the woman chuckled. It was comforting laugh like the sound of the small waterfall pouring into the pond. "I may sleep, and eat, and pray here, but this house does not belong to me. It belongs to God."

"This is a church?" Salathiel’s eyes widened. "I thought it was a castle."

"Sister? Who are you talking to?" the sound of a second woman plus growing candle light had altered Salathiel he was about to greet another Nun. The two people who had arrived were not nuns. They were both dressed in the same matching black outift. Their hands and feet were covered in leather and both wore jackets with long sweeping tails. The only differences included the fact that one holding onto the candle holder was clearly female by the shape of her figure and had her hood pushed back to allow her fell of dark chestnut waves to hang freely. The other difference was the man had his hood drawn up and was wearing a crimson mask on the upper half of his face and was missing a cloak.

"There are two thieves?" Salathiel allowed his eyes glow. His anger outweighed his curiosity. "How dare you steal from the king and try to hide in a church."

"Sanctuary!" the male thief grabbed the dagger from his sheath. The woman pointed the candle holder at Salathiel. "We call upon the sanctuary of the church to protect us. You cannot do anything."

"This is God’s house!" Salathiel snarled. "You think you can steal and hide out in his home." The flames did not scare him, and the dagger only infuriated him. "You were the one who stabbed Tristam’s wing." He was stronger and better armed than they were. The only thing holding him back was a warm hand gripping onto his shoulder.

"You can not harm them," the nun said softly. "They asked God for mercy and while they are here in Notredam they shall have it."

"They broke one of his rules. Thou shalt not steal." The princess did not order him and the rest of his rookery to huddle together and teach them aboutthe lessons in her bible. She had offered to read them bible stories when a few of the more curious members of the rookeyr had watched her read and inquired about the book.

"Who taught this creature about the commandments?" the female thief spoke wit enough disdain to cause a bitter taste to develop in Salathiel’s mouth. Her turning up her nose had raised his hackles even further.

"My human mother taught them to me," he slipped out of the Nun’s clutches. "She had apparently taught me better than your mother."

"There will be no insults in Notredam," the nun grabbed Salathiel by his wrist while giving a disappointed glance towards the humans. "Why did you seek me?"

"Father Robert wishes to speak with us," the man placed the dagger back in it’s leather case.. He did not remove his gaze from Salathiel. "Renard had returned."

"Of course he had returned," the nun lead the gargoyle down the hall and past the humans. "He brought Salathiel to us."

"I was lead here?" Salathiel was no longer angry. He was confused and shocked the thief he chased wanted him in Notredam, and Sister Nicole knew about it.

"Don’t worry. It will all be explained to you."

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Sister Nicole lead him through the halls and into the sermon room. If Salathiel had glided straight into the room he would have known he was in a church, right off the bat. The row of pews for people to sit at and the woven tapestries hanging on the sides of the building, depiction scenes from the bible stories Katharine had read to them when they were younger were exactly the way the princess had described them. There were two alters made of wood flanking each side of the pulpit and a large cross with the image of a beard man nailed to it by his wrists and ankles

Salathiel could easily figure out who father Robert was between the two men standing in front of the pulpit. He was a rotund man dressed in simple brown robes. The top of his head was shaved, an egg of smooth skin surrounded by a nest of silver hair. He had light blue eyes, a round nose, and pursed lips. The other man was dressed in the same black outfit as the thieves. He was holding his mask in one hand. Eyes of liquid silver glinted from the dim light. His mouth was set in a smirk and bright red hair was tied back. He stood with a debonair confidence in his spine.

"It is good to see he had made it here, all in one piece," the red head spoke in a chipper tone. "I may have indulged in a petite game of chase."

"I am quite confused," Salathiel did not give second thought to how the third thief had referred to the gargoyle chasing him as a game. "Why are there three of you? Why do make your shelter in Notredam, why is a friar and a nun helping you and why do you want me here if one of you stabbed one of us."

"In my defense I was frightened." the thief with the dagger spoke out, only to be hushed by both the female thief and Nicole.

"I believe we owe him quite an explanation, Claude." Father Robert gave the third thief a wink. "Would you like to begin, or shall I?"

"I should begin," Claude unhinged the cloak from his costume and began to fold it neatly into a triangle shape. "The three of us are not poor folk who steal to feed their family , nor are we middle-class who steal for greed. The three of us are aristocrats who pay homage to Notredam herself." He set the cloak down and placed his mask on top.

"Then why are you stealing from the king?" Salathiel asked.

"We were trying to protect the king," he removed his gloves. "The king enjoys collecting curiosities and the Eye of Odin falls under the category. He would never try to wear it because he believes the stories."

"The stories I have told to many of my patrons who wish to listen," Friar Robert sighed. "Unfortunately, only these three have taken the stories to heart and are willing to help. We have to keep the Eye out of the wrong hands. According legend whoever would don the eye would have aspect of their soul magnified, sadly every outcome turns into a tragedy."

"That is not quite true," Salathiel thought back to an older lesson the Magus had taught them. The subject was about their history. "Before he had to give it away the Magus read a story from the grimorum about the Mastermage. He wore the Eye and used a spell that helped gargoyles. It keeps us from waking up naked."

Robert smiled and coughed once to keep from laughing. "I am certain there are rare cases."

"You also said the King does not wish to wear the Eye but to display it."

"It is not the king we are worried about," Claude balled his hands into fists. "It is Ratton, his advisor. He is the one who anticipated the arrival of the Eye the most, not the King."

"I have tried to look for the best within everyone, but I cannot in Ratton," Robert shook his head sadly. "I can read faces and could always tell who was taking my sermons seriously. He never did. During silent prayer he would try to nap. Even when he comes in for confession I could tell he was bluffing."

"We are not the only ones who do not trust him," Nicole brought up. "Several of his special forces and guardsmen, and the Queen does not trust him."

"If many of you do not trust him does the king not pick up on it?" Salathiel hoped he hadn’t asked a rather stupid question.

"King Louis had a great advisor," Claude sighed. "He had died a year prior and had been trying to replace him."

"Will you please think about it while you rest here for the day?" Robert asked. "the sun is about to rise."

"How do you know?" Salathiel walked around to the far side of one of the alters.

"There was a time when there were gargoyles of flesh and blood protecting over Notredam. I remebered seeing them back when I was a boy of three before many were shattered in their stone sleep. The few that sruvived had fled the country."

"I do not have much of a choice," He sat down on his haunches and spread his wings to their full span. "I declare Sanctuary." The words had barely left his mouth when his body petrified into stone.

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Claude and the thieves were not waiting for him when Salathiel awoke. The large room echoed his roar as it deepened midroar for a second before shifting back to it’s normal volume. He could smell the scent of bread and the sharp aroma of cheese near him. A small loaf of bread, wedge of cheese and a bunch of grapes was set on a plate on the alter next to him.

"We thought you might be hungry," Sister Nicole was the first person who greeted him that evening. She carried a small pitcher, made out of pewter and a wooden drinking goblet. "And thirsty." She set the cup down and poured water into it from the pitcher. "We do not have much to offer."

"This is good," Salathiel tore off the end of the bread and grabbed three grapes from the bunch. After inhaling the food in his hands he took a long drink from the goblet. "Thank you."

"I hope you slept well. I have never heard of a creature who falls asleep by turning to stone except for your kind."

"We maybe the only kind." He tore of more bread and wrapped it around a piece of cheese before eating it.

"Have you thought about what we said last night?"

"Yes," he paused in mid chew and used some of his water to soften it further. "It had penetrated my dreams several times during the day."

"And?"

"I may tell my rookery sister and brothers," he wasn’t sure what was the answer she was looking for. "Where are Friar Robert and the others?"

"Friar Robert is writing letters to send out to other cathedrals. Claude and the others are preparing for tonight."

"They are going to steal the Eye tonight?" he tore off another piece of cheese and grabbed a handful of grapes.

"They have been invited to ball at the castle. They will be dressed in their usual clothing, and trust me. They are keeping an eye on Ratton."

"I’ll return to the castle, after I finished." He had barely set his goblet down before he took another bite of bread.

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Tristam studied the knife he had held in his hand. It was almost the size of a dagger with a sturdy wooden handle. The once flawless blade that caught every reflection of it’s surroundings had become stained with grease. He held it high above his head, the tip pointing at the roof.

"Did you forget how to use a knife?" Beowulf tried to figure his brother out. One second he was eating from the small feast Maurice had set out for them. Not only was Maurice willing to allow the three of them to rest in one of the Elite force’s training rooms but he had asked some of the palace chefs to create a meal of samples of what they were going to prepare for the king and his guests.

"I was just wondering what it would be like to have a dagger," Tristam made the same pose he used when challenging someone to a duel. One foot in front of the other. Wing out with the wingclaws pointed towards the front and the blade pointed at whoever he would challenge. He dropped the pose and pretended to place the knife into his sheath.

"All three of us are being selfish," Elena had barely touched her food. After Tristam had removed the gauze from his wing she wanted to look for Salathiel, but her brothers wanted to eat first. "We don’t know where Salathiel is and here we were playing around like hatchlings."

"You are correct sister," Tristam sat back down and used the knife to cut off a another thin slice from the breast of roast goose they were all sharing.

"I can not believe what I am seeing," Elena rose to her feet. "You two can stay here and eat. I am going to look for Salathiel."

"You do not have too look far," the voice of their missing brother caused all their heads to turn to the entrance where Salathiel stood in front of Maurice. "I found my way back here."

"Salathiel!" Elena was the first to embrace him. "Unlike the others I was worried."

"That is not the exact truth," Beowulf was the second to rise to his feet. "She wanted to look for you the second we have awaken. I thought it would be better if w had eaten first."

"You had enough food to provide you with adequate energy."

"Do not be too harsh on them, Mademoiselle Elena." Maurice set the small covered dish he carried down on the table the youths were using. "Salathiel sought great shelter the prior night."

"I lost sight of the thief when he neared Notredam," Salathiel knew he was lying and hated telling false truths to his rookery siblings, yet he couldn’t tell the truth. He could not tell his rookery siblings everything he learned while he was in the cathedral. "That is that other place that looks like a castle. It is really a church. I met with Friar Robert and Sister Nicole and the offered me shelter to stay for the day. Sister Nicole even gave me some food."

"You are not hungry?" Beowulf pointed to the food. In addition to the goose meat there was soup, still steaming, a fluffy soufflé made from several different vegetables and covered with cheese. cooked potatoes cut into quarters and covered with spices, flakey bread with butter, and slices of fresh fruit.

"They did not have any meat," Salathiel took his place next to Elena. "I might also try some soup."

"You might want to try some of these," Maurice removed the lid, displaying several tiny squares of cakes and round puffs of pastry stuffed with fruit and cream.

"I’m pretty sure I may have room for one of those," Salathiel could taste the sweetness of the dessert by just looking at them.

"I believe you all have enough to eat," Maurice turned to the door. "I need to send my men to all various guard posts."

"Did the thief truly elude you?" Tristam watched as his rookery brother place a few lades of soup into the bowl that was reserved for him. "I would never loose sight of anyone or anything."

"I do not wish to here any of your bragging," Salathiel used his knife to take a few slices of breast meat and place them on his plate. "and to tell the truth I didn’t"

"Why did you lie?" Elena placed the water jug closest to him before selecting a cake.

"I could not Maurice know the truth," he took a taste of his soup and blinked his eyes repeatedly. It was good, but there was a bit too much pepper. "Those were not expert thieves but a group set out to steal the Eye of Odin."

"We helped recover the Eye of Odin," Tristam placed a bite of goose into his mouth.

"I held the eye?" Elena paused from sinking her teeth into the cake. "Amazing." She took a dainty bite form the pastry in her hands. Not even Avalon’s magic itself could have created a delicacy that sweet.

"They eye does more damage than good." Salathiel nearly drank his soup. "From what I was told King Louis wants to display it a celebration tonight."

"We are going to watch the festival," Beowulf selected a couple of the pastry puffs and one of the cakes. "Its going to be held in a room with a lot of windows."

"We can keep an eye on the king’s advisor. Claude and the others feel he is going to use it for his own personal gain."

"What’s his name?" Elena took a sip from her drinking glass.

"His name is Ratton," Salathiel did not use his knife and fork to eat his goose-meat. He used his talons to tear into smaller pieces. "We will know him by his appearance. Sister Nicole used polite words. She said he was slight of body and had hands small for his size. His nose was great in length and front teeth were visible."

"What are we waiting for?" Tristam grabbed a few of the desserts and raced to the door. The others did not waist a second and followed their brother, only pausing to take a few of the cakes and pastries with them.

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"I would like to see this celebration," Titania brushed the surface of the viewing pond with the heel of her hand. "Particulary the man known as Claude Renard." She was greatly intriguied by the man who happen to be the ancestor of her husband and Fox.

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He was no longer dressed in black. He chose to honor his invite and dress in a gold and white jacket with matching gold slacks. The soft shirt he wore underneath had a puffed up collar that protruded from the top of the jacket. Lace frills stuck out the ends of the sleeves. His hands were dressed in white gloves and his feet were clothed in dark brown boots. He had managed to place his red hair under his powdered wig.

"Claude Renard," the screech came from one of Claude’s many would be suitors. He rolled his eyes at the sight of the one who approached him. Underneath her ensemble she would have been a thin woman with short brown hair, barely reaching her shoulders. Her gown for that evening looked like it was nothing but frills and lace stitched together. The hem of the skirt was side enough to keep people at least two feet away from her and the wig she chose was almost as tall enough as the back of the King’s throne. "We haven’t talked since Lady Charlotte’s debutante party for her eldest daughter."

"It was a beautiful ceremony," Renard could not look into her eyes. He was distracted by the cracks in her thick cake of make up covering her entire face. He pondered what would happen if some of the make up chipped off and fell while she was talking in front of several young men who would have been interested.

"It was magnificent I agree," she pulled out her fan. The handle was covered in a spiderweb of Belgium lace and the ruffled edges were trimmed in feathers. "Her daughter grew up into a lovely young woman. She is quite polite and articulate, but she lacks grace."

"There are several people here who lack grace." His reply caused her to smile, increasing the already noticeable cracks. He wondered if she could actual feel any breeze created by her fan under that mask. "And even more lack dignity and integrity."

"I agree. I said the same thing to the Queen’s sister when she visited last week from Poland."

"The Queen," Renard had found his way out of speaking with this high society ninny. "Have you seen Marie?"

"Why of course I have. She’s speaking with the orchestra. There is a woman who has beauty, poise, atricuracy, class, grace, dignity and integrity."

"It would be rude if I enjoyed myself tonight without greeting the King and Queen," Renard had to back up a foot before he could safety walk around her dress. "I must maintain my dignity. We will continue this conversation again if I see you."

Marie was still speaking with the conductor when Renard had found her. She had her dressmakers design a gown that had looked like they had gathered the light of the moon on their needles and looms and sewn in actual pearls. Her wig was taller than most of the women at the event, but no where near the gravity defying height of Mademoiselle Makeup.

The Queen spotted him first. "Monsieur Claude Renard," her brushed eyebrows rose up a few inches. "Do you wish to make any request for tonight’s music?"

"I do not have much to suggest," he bowed before her, his knee came into contact with et floor. He did not rise again until she held out her hand in front of him and he placed a small kiss on her fingers. "I was always a fan of Bach."

"We shall play a few more songs of Bach," she instructed the conductor.

"Au your majesty," the conductor turned to face his orchestra and moved his hands. The woodwinds started first followed by the brass and string section . The drums of the percussion are came last after a few notes were played.

"This is a romantic song," The queen held out her hand in front of Renard. "Would you care to lead me for this dance?"

"I would be greatly honored," he sought for the King amounts the crowd. He found the eyes of Ratton glaring at him disapprovingly. "What about your husband?"

"I am certain he does not mind," she was not going to lower her hand and smiling at him until he took up her honor. "He is certainly dancing with several other women."

"I hope I do not disappoint you. I am surely not as light on my feet as the King." He took her hand in one hand and placed his other against her back as he carefully led her out onto the dance floor.

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Everything on the inside of the ballroom was enchanting to the eyes of the visitors from Avalon. The people in their exquisite clothing moved with a fluid fashion the hatchlings grew up to believe were best suited for royalty. The music was something they had not had ever heard before. The notes were light and whimsical and Elena felt herself humming along.

"Is that how they dance these days?" Tristam was more interested in what the soldiers and elite forces were doing. There were only a few in the ball room and once the music started they had seemed to vanish.

"I admit its nothing like the dancing Princess Katharine and Tom had performed," Beowulf had slipped into the cloak he had taken from the temporary thief the night before. He did not want to repeat the act of ducking whenever a guard came close. "Nor, does it look like anything they have told us about in the stories."

"They still perform the dances from 800 years ago," Salathiel was not paying any attention to the dancing couples. His eyes were on the thin man in green. He was easy to find, thanks to Sister Nicole’s description.

"Look how the Queen dances," Elena was enraptured by the graceful dancing of the Queen and her escort. "It is like she was dancing on air. The man she is with is handsome, for a human."

"Why is she not dancing with the King?" Beowulf noticed the King walking around and speaking with his guest and followed around by the man that fit Salathiel’s description.

"She is dancing with the other man because she asked," Elena replied.

"Women don’t ask men to dance."

"Now they do," Elena’s tail tapped along with the music. "I think it’s wonderful."

"I’m going inside," Salathiel climbed the side of the castle. "I’m going to try to find the display room. I can better protect the eye from inside."

"How are you going to get in there?" Tristam didn’t mind to remove his gaze from the celebration. Without his choice of interests the ballroom seemed dull. "There are no windows into that room."

"I’ll look for it once I’m in the castle," the green youth reached the roof. "It can not be that hard to find. The doors would be heavily guarded. Tristam, I need you to keep your eyes on Ratton. If he leaves the room try to find Maurice."

The gray hatchling returned to the window. He tried to ignore the dancing in the search of the thin man with the large ears and big nose.

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Louis had never left his gaze from his wife as she and Claude Renard danced around the room. He applauded along with the rest of the crowd at the performance of both the graceful dancers and talented humans before making his way to the table covered with confections.

"Your highness," Ratton had appeared by The King’s side when the Monarch selected a chocolate bon bon. "You need to watch what you are eating. You may get fat."

"I do not have to worry," the King took a bite of his chocolate. "I horseback ride and practice archery. I shall be dancing with my wife for a while and what if I do get fat? It is no one’s concern but my own."

"You have an image to maintain," Ratton pointed to the thrones he had several of the castle workers bring into the ball room. "You are ruining that image by not staying on your throne."

"If I do not move about I would surly become fat."

"You still have an image to maintain. I have heard about how other kings would stay on ther thrones until they have greeted all their guests."

"The Queen does not remain on her throne," He pointed to his wife who was speaking with several noble women. "Why should I remain seated while she enjoys herself?"

"That is another issue I wish to address. Why did you allow her to dance with another man?"

"I like to be fair," Louis walked towards the back of the room where his throne waited for him. "If I can dance with several women, then my wife is allowed to have her fair share of men."

"You must becareful, your highness," he turned around to watch the crowd. "You must retain some dignity unless you want to turn the crown of France into a farce. You do not have to like statue all the time. There must be a balance."

"I agree," The king lowered himself to his throne. "Every day I sit on my throne and retain my dignity. I listen to proclamations from my subjects. Ideas on how to improve this city. Tonight I want to relax and enjoy myself."

"Do you want to have a line set up of those who have yet to greet you?" His dark eyes twinkled while the corners of his mouth twisted up into a cruel smile. "Or would you prefer if I bring out the Eye of Odin?"

"Perhaps we can do both."

"Ah yes," Ratton grabbed the shoulder of the nearest servants passing him by. "I want you to make an announcement. Tell the guests that if they had not yet had a chance to greet the King they may do so now while waiting for the unveiling, and see if you can get the Queen in her throne." He grabbed his hand by thaw wrist and pulled his fingers up across the fingers.

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Several of the women were the most annoying people to talk to and Renard tried to avoid them at all costs. There were a few who’s smiles were genuine and were not afraid to be honest. Some of the men were no better. Renard was having an interesting discussion with the owner of the theater house when a young heir had almost rudely invaded.

"You have to come to mon soiree," the heir proclaimed. It was not addressed as an invite, but more of a command. "It will not be as large as this, but it will be similarly grand."

"To whom of us are you addressing?" Renard was finding more difficult to not loose his patience as time progressed. He tried to enjoy himself while keeping an eye on Ratton.

"I’m inviting the both of you," the heir’s smile looked more like a sneer as he laughed throuh short chuckling noises. The act of laughing seemed to have cause him pain. "My cousin will be at my house and she would like to meet you, Renard. She also loves to attend plays."

"Does she also like opera?" The theater owner was interested. " A new opera will be opening close to the time of your soiree.

"I would be delighted to be her guest to the opera," Renard knew he had appealed to the heir by the second sneer that broke out. In truth he was just trying to find a way to please the pompous man enough for him to leave them alone.

"I am sure she would be pleased."

"I will attend your soiree," a flash of dark green caught his eyes and he turned towards the enteric as Raton left the room. "Excuse me. I’m feeling a bit faint. I need some fresh air." He headed for the door, only pausing to brush his shoulder against a young woman attending the party with her father. It was his signal to let her know Ratton was making his move and she would have to tell the third member of their team the news.

________________________________________________________________________

Salathiel was correct in his assumptions. The doors were not only closed and locked , they also had four guards. All four of them were armed with the strange metal and wood weapons, Maurice had called Muskets. There was no way for him to get inside even if he could open the doors from above. He had chosen to stick to the roof to avoid being seen by the humans. For some reason none of them had thought to look up. It had been a slight struggle for him to keep his staff in place. The best way for him was to cling to the ceiling using one hand and both feet while holding on to his staff.

The green gargoyle turned to view the hallway facing the grand ball room at the sound of the shuffling steps on the hard tiles. There was no mistaking the sight of the green jacket the man wore, the same color not as Salathiel, but of Gawain. The look on his ugly face was one of determination.

"You can unlock the doors," Ratton spoke in an impatient clip. "The King had requested it was time for the jewel to be presented in front of his audience.

‘You are not going to give it to the King,' Salathiel inched closer to the door. ‘You are going to see if the rumor about the eye is true.’

"Oui. Monsieur," Two of the guards stepped away while the other two used their keys to unlock the door.

‘So he does not own a key. It’s not hard to see why.’ He pulled himself closer to the ceiling until his stomach came in contact with the smooth surface. There was no time to loose. The second the doors opened wide enough he pushed himself forward to the treasure room. He kept his wings open and glided upside down close tooth ceiling like a moth. He felt his tail brush against the archway before he touched the ceiling once more.

________________________________________________________________________

Claude was too late. The doors had been resealed by the time he had reached the treasure room. "I will not give up." It was only too late when one side had given up.

The guards stood more alert when he approached them. "Are you lost, monsieur?"

"I am not lost," Renard pointed to the doors. "You have to let me inside."

"We cannot do that monsieur. Only the king, Queen and their chief advisors are allowed within the treasure room."

___________________________________________________________________________

The treasure room was not what Salathiel had exactly in mind. He had thought he would see piles of gold, silver and jewels. The room was filled with artwork. There were more tapestries and paintings hanging on the wall and sculptures placed around on the floor. There were a few things he would have considered treasure, such as the sword with the jeweled handle. placed on a long table lined with cloth. The mirror with diamonds around it’s frame, a large chalice made of gold, and several amulets and crowns had acompained the sword.

It was no mystery which amulet the advisor was approaching. The blue jewel framed by the eye shape band of gold was like one of the Magus’s iris’s and the bolt of gold slicing through it was like it’s pupil.

"I suggest you step away from it," Salathiel released his hold on the ceiling and relied on his wings to carry him towards Raton.

"A monster!" Ratton stepped away from the display when he learned he was not alone and stared up. He could not believe what the was seeing. The creature gliding straight towards him resembled a green human with pointed ears, leathery demon like wings on it’s back, and hands ending in talons. He stepped backwards, almost falling over the wooden table use to display the jewelry and ducked to the side. Ratton quickly rose to his feet the second he heard the beast landing a few inches from him. He grabbed the handle of the sword.

Salathiel swung his staff against Ratton’s arm as hard he could. If the advisor called to the guards he would have tried to convince them Ratton was trying to steal the Eye. It would have fallen on deaf ears though. Who would they most likely believe. A gargoyle, or the King’s advisor?

Salathiel jumped back when he saw the glimmer of the over head chandlier reflect off the edge of a silver blade. To his luck Ratton missed but tried to swing again. Luck seemed to be on Salathiel’s side. The human had less skill with the sword than he did, by the sloppy movements. The advisor stepped closer to him and Salathiel side stepped him. He herd the clang of metal striking against the floor as he brought his staff against the man’s ankles.

"I’m going to send you back to hell, where you came from," Ratton limped back and brought the sword around again. Salathiel brought his staff forward. The edge of the blade lopped off the top part of his staff.

Salathiel’s eyes became fully illuminated. Ratton ran past him, still with the sword in his hand, towards the eye. The gargoyle caught up with him quickly and grabbed the man by his cloak. Using all his strength he forced the man backwards and was ready to strike him with his broken staff. Ratton turned around and struck the edge of the blade against the middle of the staff cutting it in half. It was enough for Salathiel to loose his grip of the cape and fall backwards against the pedestal holding the chalice. The metal cup fell from it’s perch.

Salathiel kept his eyes on Ratton as he rose to his feet. The human had grabbed onto the chain attached to the eye. Salathiel bounded forward, racing on all fours and landing on the back of the advisor.

"That was very foolish creature," Ratton dropped onto the floor. Using every strength in his body he inroad the claws digging into his flesh and pulling against his arm, and slid the chain over his head.

________________________________________________________________

Renard knew he was not going to win any argument, any time soon with the kings fort soldiers, by dancing around the subject. "I’ll level with you. I’m on a mission from God."

"God you say?" Only one of the guards was willing talk to him. The others just snorted in disbelief. "And where and when did God tell you about this mission?"

"In Notredam this past Sunday." The guards were still staring at him as if he had lost some part of his mind. "I did not hear God in my mind. The mission came from Friar Robert."

"Go on," the answer seemed to remove any doubts of his sanity from their minds.

"He believes the stories about the eye, the same as the King. He feels Ratton will use the eye to take usurp the throne."

"Are you trying to tell us Raton is locked within the jewel and is going to use the eye to kill the king?"

Renard noted the skepticism. "Who are you going to believe? Friar Robert or Rauton, and be honest. How many of you truly trust Ratton?"

The guards took one look at each other and gathered together to being a discussion. How long it would have truly lasted, Renard did not know. The conversation came to an abrupt end at the sound of the something falling onto the floor.

The guards fumbled with the keys and quickly unlocked the doors before opening them. There was evidence of small scuffle within. There were a few pieces of jewelry on the ground along with the chalice. The sword was also on the floor. What truly caught the attention of the guards was the strange green creature lying on it’s back and Raton. The man was surrounded by blue flames that were about to completely overwhelm him.

"It’s too late," the green creature, Salathiel sat up. "He put on the eye."

"It’s never too late," Renard ran into the room. He grabbed onto the handle of the discarded sword. "It is never too late, until you give up."

"But it is too late, Claude Renard." The flames had died down around the Advisor. He still wore the eye, but that was the only thing that hadn’t changed. His ensemble shifted from Green to gold, nearly mimicking what the King wore, including a long cloak.

His body was covered with a pelt of drab gray fur, His nose and lower jaw had combined into a snout with long whiskers protruding from each side of the his nose. His hands ended in long fingers, tipped in claws.

"Quite change the eye has given you," Renard pointed the end of the blade at his snout. "Are you sure you want to keep it?"

"My appearance is small compared to how you had plotted to steal the eye," Raton raised his hand. The sword flew out of the noblemans hand and spun around, the tip of the blade pointed at him. "You new about my desires for quite a while. That is why you and your friends set out to steal the Eye, disgusied as common thieves."

‘He can read minds,’ Renard stepped back, just as the young gargoyle, Salathiel leaped for Ratton’s side.

"Of course I can read minds," Ratton held up his hand again. The gargoyle seemed to pause in mid air. "I am the wisest man in all of Paris and the eye has increased the abilities of my strongest suit, my brain." He pointed at two of the guards who entered the room. The gargoyle was slammed into the two of them, knocking both soldiers of their feet. "And now you know what else I can do." He held out both hands as the other two soldiers fired their muskets at him. The round bullets paused inches in front of the former human and fell to the ground.

"The eye has amplified another true aspect of yours," Renard felt his face heat up. "You have become a true rat."

"Your petty insults mean nothing to me," the sword hovered closer to Renard’s chest. "I’m not going to kill you. I want you to live long enough to see me behead the former king in front of my subjects. Then I shall either kill you, or throw you in prison. I have yet to decide." The jeweled hand of the sword still defied gravity even as he pushed the doors open with just a movement from his hand.

__________________________________________________________________________

It wasn’t difficult for them to find Maurice. The captain was speaking with Jean and Pierre when the found him near the sought side of the castle. Maurice instructed his men to round up as many guards as they can and follow them into the treasure room.

Beowulf was the first to glide towards the treasure room and was only mildly confused when they opened. "Did you stop him?"

"Correction," the creature that stepped out of the room was nothing the pale gargoyle had seen before. He had the physical form of a human, but had the face, claws and fur of a rat. "I stopped them." He pointed at Beowulf.

The beaked gargoyle felt himself rising up and flying backwards. He turned around in time to see Elena flying straight for him. He tried to move his head to the side to avoid a complete head on collision and felt the side of his head striking the side of her forehead. The impact was painful, not quite painful to become unconscious. Beowulf felt his body drop and grabbed onto Elena’s arm while holding up his wings.

"No matter how many you send," the rat man raised another hand and seemed to magically toss both Maurice and Tristam in the treasure room behind him. "I will remain the victor."

Beowulf weakly watched as Ratton closed the doors behind him. It would have been foolish to try to attack him. The rat man seemed to know their every move.

"No matter how many armies," both Ratton and Beowulf turned to the hall as Jean, Pierre and several guards ran up. "You think you can outnumber me, but I have the upper hand." He raised up both hands. The soldiers levitated several feet in the air. Ratton kept his hands up as he ran under them.

"How are we going to stop this guy?" Beowulf helped Elena to her feet. Her headache was probably just as bad as his.

"I’m trying to think of a plan," she answered at the same time gravity returned to the soldiers. "He must have believed he was a far enough away."

"I don’t believe that is it. I don’t see him. He must have turned a corner. He didn’t know they had landed."

"What are you trying to say?" She watched as the soldiers rose to her feet. Behind them she old hear the doors to the treasure room had opened.

"He has to be in a certain range to use his abilities."

"That would have explained why the sword dropped after he shut the doors," a nobleman was the first to exit along with Tristam and Maurice. Salathiel and the four guardsmen followed. "Probably cannot hear our thoughts from where he is.

"I have plan," Beowulf tried to ignore the stares from the soldiers. They were no longer afraid, just curious.

___________________________________________________________________________

Ratton was just outside the doors leading to the ball room by the time Beowulf and the others had caught up to him. The former human had used his ability to cause the handful of guards to levitate.

"Go," Maurice pointed at the ceiling where Salathiel, Tristam and Elena had kept their talons inserted into the structure. Salathiel had shown his rather and sister how to navigate around the chandlers. At Maurice command the three gargoyles increase the speed and crawled to the area right above Ratton. "I hope your plan will work."

"It is a sound plan," Renard placed a hand on Beowulf’ shoulder. "We are too far away for him to hear."

"He also did not calculate the facts of what would happen if he was attacked by several people at the same time." His eyes were on Ratton. They former human’s ego was buying them more time. "Nor if he was attacked from several different angles."

"Aim for his arms," Maurice instructed. He fired his musket first, the signal for everyone to fire their weapons. The second he heard the bullet exit the musket he knew the first flaw to their plan.

"Nice try," Ratton spun around and raised his hands. The shielded that had protected him from the bullets before had returned. He did not see as a few of the levitated soldiers who hadn’t dropped their guns raise their muskets at him. "I can still hear you." He turned to face them and raised another hand. The shield came from the other angle a few seconds too late. The other bullets were paused but the first one kicked his upper arm.

Beowulf watched as his brothers and sister land on the former human as he was temporarily paused from the pain inflicted on him. "Now." He climbed the side of the wall as Renard, sing Maurice’s sword," led the others toward Ratton

The Advisor had removed both Tristam and Elena from his body with a wave of the hand. Beowulf could make out Salathiel trying to pull the eye off and even took a swipe at the chain with one of his elbow blades. With another wave Salathiel was thrown off and into the two nearest soldiers.

Renard avoided the soldiers and gargoyle being tossed and leaped over their bodies. He immediately felt himself flying up a few inches and landed on the ground.

Beowulf wondered why Ratton was not killing anyone, unless he was willing to wait until after he had adhered his goal, or maybe it was due to the fact the Advisor has gradually grew more rodent like. The advisor had a few features when he first transformed, but by they time he was shot he grew into half human and half animal.

The pale gargoyle dove down while Ratton was distracted, trying to keep his mind clear until he was a few inches above the former human. He grabbed the chain around his neck and glided forward, pulling against the small chip Salathiel had placed. He looked up as Renard sliced the  against the chip before Ratton managed to throw both of them against the wall.

Beowulf felt dismay but was not knocked out, like Renard. He turned to watch as Ratton raised one hand and levitated every soldier who fought with swords while using the other arm to maintain his hold on the soldiers behind him. The pale gargoyle stared at Maurice who had refueled his musket.

"Shoot and I drop the soldiers," Ratton smiled. "I doubt any of them could create a bullet shield."

Elena did not sound her battle cry but her yes were full illuminated when she pounced on the back of Ratton. The female gargoyle was quickly throne of as Tristam and Salathiel both nearly tackled him. Tristam had grabbed onto the eye and pulled with all his strength. Salathiel and few soldiers from the back pinned the rat man down, long enough for Tristam to pull the eye from the chain.

Blue light surrounded both the gray gargoyle and Ratton. Salathiel and the soldiers quickly climbed off his body while it was surrounded by a glowing blue flame. The last of the embers had died a Ratton had returned to a human form.

_________________________________________________________________________

The King glanced at the four young warriors from Avalon before staring at the jewel in his hands. "How many stories out there are true?"

"I believe all stories should be taken with a grain of salt," Renard stood flanked by two other nobles. One was the woman from the party he had alerted .The other was nobleman dressed similarly to him. "Some might have a single speck of truth while the rest is purely fiction and some are mostly true with only a few exhaderations."

"I see," the King turned back to the gargoyles. "I have heard there were once gargoyles in Paris before a zealous and misguided human murdered them Were you here to find out about them?"

"No your highness," Beowulf bowed as he spoke. "We were on our own mission. We seemed to have gotten sidetracked."

"You did not have help out with Ratton and the Eye."

"We could not call ourselves gargoyles with pride if we hadn’t," Salathiel replied.

"Now for the eye," The king stared at the jewel at the end of the broken chain. "Claude, you feel I should leave it in Notredam?"

"At least until I can work out a way to travel to Norway," Renard nodded.

"Why Norway?"

"We believe if we returned it to the highest mountain it would no longer cause any trouble," the noblewoman answered.

"I see," the king took one ;sat look at the eye before glancing up at Renard. "I will organize a royal trip myself. It will be severely guarded."

______________________________________________________________________

The skiff was left where the four hatchlings had left it, nestled under the bridge on the river. Despite the fact the craft was not tied to anything it had not moved an inch. Beowulf had wondered if was the only one who noticed the fact when he pulled the head of the slender boat closer to him and his rookery sibiling.

"Are you certain you cannot stay?" Maurice one of the few humans who had accompanied the trio down to the river. The captain of the elite forces was joined by Claude Renard, still dressed in his best clothing and Sister Nicole. The nun wanted to see Salathiel one last time before he returned home.

"We have family to return too," Elena gave him one last polite curtsey. "They are probably worried about us."

"I understand," he placed a hand on Tristam’s shoulder. "I had seen you try to wield a knife like a sword. You have great skill and will make a fine swordsman someday."

"Thank you," Tristam bowed briefly before grasping the man by the wrist. "This is how warriors in my clan greet each other and acknowledge they had done a fine and noble task." He released the captain and grabbed Renard in the same way. "You are also a great warrior."

"I wouldn’t quite classify myself as a warrior," Renard grinned. "I was just using my skills to do what is right."

"Although stealing from the king is not exactly right," Maurice said in a stern tone of voice. His disapointed expression quickly changed into a smile when Renard gave him a worried look. "Relax mon ami. Although you should have warned us."

"Not many would have believed the stories, and if Ratton denied it, who would you ave believed?"

"I certainly would not have believed Ratton."

"I want you to travel safe," Sister Nicole could not tear herself from Salathiel’s embrace. "And mind those who have rasied you."

"My word is my promise," Salathiel gave the old woman one last gentle squeeze before stepping back. "Thank you for watching over me while I slept."

"You are welcome."

"It was a pleasure to know the three of you," Salathiel nodded to his human friends before he joined Tristam and Elena in the skiff.

"I’m not leaving until I have said my goodbyes," Beowulf was the only one who remained out of the skiff. "We will never forget you." he gave Nicole a hug and clasped onto the wrists of both Renard and Maurice before climing aboard the wooden structure.

________________________________________________________________________

To their luck the skiff did not take them around to the dock where they would most likely be seen by the others, but rather to the cliff side where they had found the structure.

"That was it?" Gawain had seemed a bit disapointed with their return. "You were only gone for a little more than an hour?"

"I take it you didn’t find Goliath?" Clovis was more interested if the mission was a sucsess or not. "Or if you had he was still asleep?"

"We were sent to France," Tristam was the first to climb out of the skiff.

"The homeland of Katharine’s mother?" Clovis was impressed.

"The outside world had changed greatly from the stories they had told us," Beowulf was the last to climb out and the first to try to pull up the boat. "I can use your help."

"You want us to put it back where you found it?" Tristam grabbed onto one side and pulled . He was joined by both Clovis and Elena.

"What happened to your staff?" Gaiwan had noticed Salathiel had lost his weapon as both green gargoyles grabbed onto the sides ofthe skiff and pooled their strenth to help pull it across the rocks.

"A giant rat man stole it," Salathile glanced down to make sure he did not loose his footing.

"A giant rat man?" Gaiwan blinked. "You fought a giant rat man in France?"

"Mayhap after we finish with this chore they shall tell us," Clovis suggested as he followed Azrael. Like before the dark yellow beast sought out the most sturdy path for them. "I am certain Tom will give him another one."

"We will tell you, if only you promise not to tell anyone else," Beowulf grinned as they neared the crag where he had found the skiff a few nights ago.

________________________________________________________________

The turquoise finger dipped into the water of the reflecting pond and plucked out the single pink flower petal resting on the surface. The image of the four heroes retiring safety to their home distorted from the ripples until it becalm completely blurred.

"So that is how it happened." Titania watched as her image returned. "I would like to now why Olin’s eye did not reach Norway at that time. Most likely something happened during the trip north. Claude Renard, I wish I was living in Paris at the time. I guess in a way it was for the best. Your desendedts certainly have picked up your best traits." Renard had surely inherited his integrity and both Fox and he had inherited the clever thief’s wit, creativity and bravery.