Son of Khyber: Thorn of Breland by Keith Baker Page A

couldn’t rely on striking a vital organ with that first blow, what gave the best odds of crippling the creature?
    Paranoia and preparation paid off. Thorn heard a faint
click
as Fileon pulled at one of the casement panels—and then the gargoyle was in motion. It moved with inhuman speed, catching the halfling before Thorn had time to react. The beast drove one palm into Fileon’s forehead, knocking him backward and off the ledge.
    He might have been crippled and caught by surprise, but Fileon’s reflexes were remarkable. He spun in midair, reached out, and caught hold of the very edge of the ledge. He slammed into the wall below, but he kept his grip on the outcropping, hanging off the edge of Torran Spire. Blood was flowing into his eyes from the gash on his forehead, and his hands were scraped raw.
    Even as Fileon was falling from the ledge, Thorn was in motion. She flung Steel at the beast’s eye, which was no longer stone. Regardless of whether there was a true brain behind it, few creatures with eyes could afford to lose them. But hitting such a target while hanging from a wall was no small task. Thorn struck close to the mark, but not close enough—and the gargoyle’s skin was nearly as tough as the stone it resembled. Steel caught the beast directly between the eyes with enough force to snap its head back, but the blade didn’t penetrate the skin.
    Thorn had drawn the creature’s attention away from Fileon, but there wasn’t a moment to lose. Once the gargoyle took to the air, it would have the advantage—and that was assuming that it stayed to fight, instead of fleeing to warn its mistress. Trusting in the spider charm, Thorn pulled her left hand free of the wall andran directly up to the gargoyle, the magic holding her feet to the stone. The enchantments woven into Steel drew him back to her, and she caught him without thinking. Yet Steel would not serve for the task ahead. While she preferred to fight with finesse, sometimes sheer force was required. With a thought, she pulled Steel into the pocket of space bound into her glove and drew out the weapon that had been held within. It was the myrnaxe, the brutal weapon forged in the fires of Droaam.
    While she hadn’t crippled the creature, Thorn’s blow had at least staggered the gargoyle. Now it was the focus of all her senses. She could see it straightening, its wings spreading to catch the air. Not fast enough!
    Thorn sprinted past the struggling Fileon and straight along the glass of the closed windowpane, then she slammed into the gargoyle. She caught it with the iron-shod haft of the myrnaxe, and it felt as if she’d struck a wall. Yet it was sufficient. The gargoyle stumbled back, falling down against the roof. Without sparing a moment for thought, Thorn raised the myrnaxe and brought the spear end down against its chest, striking the spot where a human would keep his heart. Instinct and training guided her hands, but what happened next was enough to jolt her from her trance. She’d expected resistance. She’d seen how Steel bounced off its hide. Instead, she felt nothing at all as the spear slid through the gargoyle. Her hands were touching its chest, and she realized that she’d pierced the roof of the building.
    The surprise came with a cost. The wound would have surely driven a human into the ground, but the gargoyle was more resilient. The roof vanished in a flash of pain as the gargoyle smashed the back of one stony hand across Thorn’s face.
    Thorn staggered back across the roof, struggling to keep her balance. If not for the spider charm, she would have fallen. She called Steel into her hand, preparing for the gargoyle’s leap. But it never came. The creature was thrashing against the roof, flailing with its arms and legs. It was impaled by Thorn’s spear and, try as it might it, could not pull free. Shingles flew, and the beast carved deep gouges into the stone, but it could not stand. Mercifully, it was silent.
    Thorn circled the