A row of ten Utes and 4WDs lined up along the road, heavily loaded with werewolves, warlocks and witches.
“Petrol is a problem,” Raiden said to Dior as he led the gargoyles along the line of waiting vehicles. “To refuel, we have to venture out of the shelter of the wards and glamor, find a pump which hasn’t been tapped dry, see if there is power to the station, find out how to turn it on if it’s been shut down, fill up, and return, without attracting attention from any winged ones that are hanging around. So, many of the runs are turning to horses and horse-drawn carriages over cars.”
“You are planning for the future,” Dior observed.
“Yes,” Raiden leaned against the side of the lead vehicle. “I think we all need to. Even if we manage to open portals and fight back on their territory, that is one of their cities, not all of them, and from what Ashlynn has passed on from Cael, there are many cities.”
“Something to think about,” Dior agreed. “After we retrieve our mate, our focus will be feeding our city. We may need to enlist the help of the coven there.”
“Good luck with that,” Raiden snorted. “The coven is not the easiest organization to work with. A lot of overinflated egos.”
Dior’s grin was slow. “I am used to overinflated egos,” he slid a glance to his mates.
“Hey,” Blaise protested. “It is not overinflated if it is justified.”
Raiden laughed. “Alright, I will leave you to it,” he opened the passenger door of the Ute, and swung up, one foot on the step up. “Look after my daughter, please, Dior.”
“Of course, Raiden,” Dior inclined his head and stepped back as the Utes drivers started their engines and Raiden slid into the cab pulling the door shut behind him.
Dior saw Ashlynn running down the road to join them. “Well, this is exciting,” she grinned, opening her wings as she reached them. “Shall we, boys?”
“Alright?” Dior asked Charon.
The gargoyles and the winged man had spent the night in the lounge area of Raiden’s house, accommodation which was not private enough to engage in anything other than sleep, but during the course of the night, as was their nature and habit, the gargoyles had become entangled, gathering the winged man into their midst as one of their own, and when Dior had woken, it had been to Blaise’s head on one shoulder, Charon’s on the other, and Etienne half over the winged man.
Charon had been quiet all morning, washing and eating with minimal words, and seemed deep in thought.
“No,” the winged man replied under his breath with a flash of honesty. “I am very far from alright.”
“We will do this thing for Raiden,” Dior put his hand on his shoulder. “And retrieve Verity, and then I think we will all have a long talk, hm? Perhaps what burdens you, will be lighter for sharing.”
Charon swallowed heavily and nodded. “As you say. Let’s get Verity. I am not sure discussing it will help, however.”
“Try it, before you decide it will not,” Dior recommended. He undressed and bundled his clothing. Charon carried a bag borrowed from the werewolves in order to carry the gargoyles’ clothing for them, and he moved between the gargoyles collecting their possessions. “Remember,” he said to Charon. “Stay with Ashlynn during the battle and stay out of direct conflict.”
“It seems cowardly,” Charon protested.
“Nonetheless,” Dior was amused as he shifted. “You do not possess stone skin and so you will stay out of the battle and protect Ashlynn.”
“I think you mean, Ashlynn is to protect me,” Charon replied with humour.
Dior guffawed as he leapt into the air.
They passed through the ward and glamour, the fields and house disappearing below them, appearing to be nothing more than slightly arid fields, long abandoned.
“The wards and glamor are very effective,” Etienne observed.
“Yes,” Dior agreed. “Gain height, we don’t want to encounter the ward from this direction. I expect, from Ashlynn bringing us in on foot, that you can fly out easily enough, but going back in would be less pleasant.”
“Agreed.”
They could see the convoy of Utes and 4WDs kicking up a dust cloud along the dirt road, and in the distance several towns, one of which poured smoke thickly into the sky. “I would hazard a guess that is our destination,” Dior commented dryly.
“You would be correct,” Ashlynn replied. “I wonder what the f-k they have been burning to make such a smoke cloud?”
“We are ill-prepared for this world,” Charon said. “For how you live. I imagine they have been trying to cook what they have slaughtered.”
Dior considered him. “What would happen, Charon, if you approached them?”
Charon shrugged. “There is no reason that they would see me as the enemy.”
“I will go with you,” Dior decided. “Perhaps there is a way to resolve this without violence. Ashlynn,” he looked to the vampire hybrid. “Could you have Raiden hold back whilst Charon and I attempt to resolve this peacefully?”
“Sure,” Ashlynn was dubious, however. “Dior…” She hesitated and glanced at Charon before sighing. “Be safe.”
“Of course,” Dior assured her.
“Here, I will take that,” she took the bag of clothing from Charon. “Good luck.” She tucked her wings tight to her body and dove into a dizzying spin, her speed impressive, before she opened her wings a little closer to the ground than Dior would have found comfortable, but his stone body weight was a factor that the hybrid did not share, landing on the roof of the lead Ute. The convoy pulled to a stop.
“That was a little more dramatic than strictly necessary,” Charon commented.
“She is new to her wings,” Dior replied, amused.
Charon’s eyebrows raised. “Did her parents not drop her from the aerie?”
“Ashlynn’s line is a little… unusual. It will take time to explain.”
“Another time then,” Charon agreed.
As they approached the town, Dior saw several figures leap off the buildings, wings in varying hues of feathers spreading, circling up to meet them, the sunlight catching off the plated armour on their chests and shoulders, and the weapons on their hips.
The woman at the lead of the approaching winged people spoke to Charon in a language that Dior did not recognize, but for a few words that were similar to those used in magic.
The original tongue, he decided, from which the words of magic originated. It was fascinating to hear it spoken, and how much the pronunciation had changed between the realms.
Charon replied, gesturing to Dior.
The exchanges became heated between the group and Charon, with both sides gesturing and snarling at each other.
“So, fight?” Dior wondered.
“No,” Charon replied. “No,” he said to the woman. “We are all stuck here. If we do not work with them, we all starve together. They cannot grow food, unless we stop attacking them, unless we protect them. Prisoner of war rule – survive by any means.”
“It does not intend for us to work with the slaves,” the woman replied, tossing her hair back from her face. “They are the enemy on this realm, according to the rules of the game.”
“Maybe, when we first enter, that is the rule,” Charon replied. “But once we stay beyond twenty-four hours, we become prisoners of war, and the only rule left is to survive and return on the first day of the next games.”
“This is not my first games,” the woman was irritated. “I know the rules.”
“Then think logically,” Charon suggested. “Look around you. Do you see any slaves attending the fields? Do see crops being harvested or planted? Do you see cattle being fed or slaughtered? Where does the food come from if the slaves cannot produce it?”
“We hunt,” one of the men replied.
“For the slaves, as well?” Charon asked. “No? So, when the slaves in these buildings around you starve to death, and their corpses begin rotting, are you planning to wallow in the stink? Do you want to be digging graves in which to bury their fetid dead?”
“They kill us,” the woman glowered at Dior. “I have seen this one before when I first entered this realm. It is responsible for many of our dead.”
“We attack them, it is only expected that they will defend themselves against us,” Charon replied. “And if you have seen Dior in battle before, Galatia, you know that you do not want to fly in opposition to him and his triad today.”
“We will discuss your proposal,” Galatia replied tersely, and they turned returning towards the town’s rooftops.
“Your proposal?” Dior looked to Charon as they returned to the Utes.
“At the very least,” the winged man said as they landed, the gargoyles’ heavy footfalls thudding and kicking up dust clouds. Etienne remained circling overhead, keeping watch. “We need to stop marauding packs like this one so that the people in these regions can farm in peace. If we manage to build alliances with enough of them, we may even be able to distribute the food produced.”
“And at the most?” Dior wondered.
“At the most, if we do decide to fight back…” Charon let it trail off, his reluctance evident. “We will have a winged army to do so with.”
“Would they fight against their own people?”
“I don’t know,” Charon gestured with his hands. “There is… unrest amongst the players of the games. There has been for a long time. It tends to become an unpaid career, the way the games are structured, and the pressure on families can be devastating, if their main wage earner is also the only member of the family that they can send to the games… There is a lot of resentment.”
“Yes, I can understand that.”
Charon shrugged. “The first step to persuading them to fight for us, is to have them work with us towards a common goal – food is a good one. Everyone needs to eat.”
Dior did not miss that Charon had used the term “us” twice. “That is very clever, Charon,” he said with warmth.
The winged man smiled, embarrassed. “Thanks.”
Raiden walked up to them. “So?” The alpha werewolf asked.
“Charon has proposed that all people need to eat and if they wish to continue to do so, they need to work with us,” Dior said proud of his mate. “We are waiting on them to decide whether they wish to fight and starve or negotiate and eat.”
“Negotiate and eat, hmm?” Raiden grinned. “Well, let’s hope their stomachs talk.”
Etienne suddenly dropped towards the earth, his wings tucked tightly to his body, and disappeared from sight. Blaise leapt into the air with a cry, and Dior and Charon followed, alarmed by the griffin’s dive. As Dior and Charon gained height, they saw Blaise suddenly begin his descent.
On the ground, Etienne had shifted into man form and had caught someone tightly against him, the tumble of dark hair that fell over the griffin gargoyle’s shoulder causing Dior’s heart to constrict.
“Verity,” he said to Charon, and saw by the winged man’s expression, that he had also identified the woman embracing Etienne, as Blaise shifted and joined them.
Charon and Dior began their dive and Dior shifted as his feet touched the ground, running to where Blaise was kissing Verity.
Etienne turned to greet Dior and Charon, tears streaming down the gargoyle’s face unheeded. “She suddenly was there,” he said gesturing with his hands. “And I…”
Dior caught Verity up against him, the perfect press of her body against his causing him to groan as he clutched her tightly to him and breathed in her scent.
“F-k, I am so happy to see you,” he kissed her before releasing her to Charon, who buried his face into her hair as Blaise threw his arms around both.
There was a big blonde werewolf trying to sink back into the shadows of the tree-lined road.
“Who are you?” Dior demanded.
“Look man,” the blonde man’s eyes dropped to Dior’s erection and then back up. “There is happy to meet you, and there is happy to meet you, if you get my drift.”
“Forgive me,” Dior smirked. “But we have been parted from our mate.”
“Hey, I am a wolf, I am used to the bare arsed-ness,” the man pulled a face despite his words. “But that is a f-king flagpole.”
“Who are you?” Dior repeated, amused.
“Maverick,” the blonde man replied. “Look, I am really happy that witchy has found her mates, but I was in the middle of an escape attempt, so if you don’t mind, I will carry on my -. Oh, f-k,” he grimaced his eyes over Dior’s shoulder.
The lion gargoyle turned to see the cause of the man’s dismay and saw Raiden shift out of wolf form. Several werewolves sat in wolf form behind their alpha, faces set in wide wolfish grins.
“Maverick,” Raiden was fighting back laughter. “Fancy meeting you here. Out for a stroll?”
“F-k me,” the blonde man groaned.
“They have returned to the skies,” Charon said, his face turned upwards. Dior followed his eyes to the heavens and saw that the winged ones circled above. “They have seen us.”
The winged ones changed their direction, their wings extended, their descent perfectly controlled, feathers fluttering as they dispersed the airflow. They landed lightly and precisely.
The woman, Galatia, tilted her chin, her eyes sweeping over the naked gargoyles and alpha werewolf, the wolves that stood to attention, wary but placid, Verity and Maverick, before settling back on Charon.
“We have come to a decision,” she said to Charon with dignity, ignoring everyone else.
Charon stepped away from Verity and Blaise. “And?” He asked.
“We will offer the slaves in this vicinity our protection. In homage, they will supply us with food and appropriate accommodation.”
“We can negotiate on the details of what exactly that homage means,” Raiden grimaced. “But ditch the term slaves. We have no masters.”
“Who are you?” Galatia demanded.
“He is Raiden,” Charon replied. “Alpha werewolf, and in charge of this area.”
“You are not in charge of these slaves?” She looked at Charon in surprise.
“No,” Charon paused and sighed. “I am these ones’ mate.”