"You see, you brute?" Nock called back over his shoulder, his voice triumphant. "The little avatar prefers to be rescued! He melts in my arms!"
"I will tear those arms off and beat you with them!" Skarg roared back, his voice echoing up and down the chasm.
Ahead, a massive iron gate, studded with skulls, loomed, blocking their path. Nock, seeing it, began to rein in his steed, pulling back with a curse. Skarg, seeing his chance, put on a final burst of speed, launching himself from the wall to intercept them. Both Knight and Beast were forced to scramble to a halt, their momentum screeching against the stone, as they came face to face with a gate, and its silent, waiting guardian.
A single torch, jammed into an iron sconce, sputtered and spat, casting long, dancing shadows. Its light did little to pierce the oppressive gloom, but it did illuminate the figure standing before the gate.
An owlman.
He was tall and lean, his posture a study in relaxed lethality. His feathers were the muted colors of a predator, driftwood and dried blood, and a tattered greatcoat that had once been Royal Navy blue hung from his shoulders. A tricorn hat was perched between his prominent ear-tufts, one lens of his spectacles cracked. He held a cutlass with the casual ease of a man who used it for everything from prying open treasure chests to slitting throats. His huge, golden eyes, unblinking and ancient, fixed on Zac, sizing him up with unnerving intelligence.
"Well, well," the owlman said, his voice a low baritone like rum and smoke. "Look what the cat and the deer dragged in. Causing a hell of a scene, aren't we?"
Nock dismounted smoothly. "Andras. The gate is sealed. Explain yourself."
"Orders from the Captain," Andras replied, his tone deceptively light. He took a half-step forward, into the flickering torchlight, and Zac could see the scars that cross-hatched his chest feathers where his coat hung open. "He was very specific. He said, 'Andras, my most trusted and handsome lieutenant, the moment the President's chosen avatar arrives, you are to personally escort him to me. Do not let the bickering children get their grubby paws on him.'" He gave a theatrical sigh. "A heavy burden, to be so trusted, but one I must bear."
Skarg snorted, a plume of frost steaming in the hot air. "You've never followed an order in your life, you feathered liar."
"Details, details," Andras waved a dismissive, taloned hand. "The point is, the avatar comes with me. You two can go back to comparing cock sizes or polishing each other's codpieces." He winked at Zac. "Come along, little avatar. I'll keep you safe from the simpletons."
This was a blatant power play, and everyone knew it. Nock's hand went to the hilt of his longsword. "You are a skilled duelist, Andras, but you cannot take both of us."
Andras's smile never faltered, but it lost all its warmth. "Then I suppose you'll have to make me"
What followed was not a brawl, but a deadly dance. Andras moved first, his cutlass a blur of silver. He didn't lunge; he flowed, his movements economical and precise. Nock met him with the rigid, perfect form of a master swordsman, their blades ringing in the cavernous space. Skarg, seeing them occupied, tried to circle around to get behind the owl, but Andras was always aware, a quick feint and a sidestep forcing the wendigo back. The owlman was magnificent, using his wings for balance and sudden bursts of movement, his cutlass weaving a web of steel that held both behemoths at bay.
But Nock was right. He was outnumbered. Slowly, inexorably, they forced him back. His back was to the gate now, the sputtering torch just inches from his shoulder. He was trapped.
"It seems I am outmatched," Andras said, though he didn't sound the least bit concerned. He parried a heavy blow from Nock, his blade groaning under the force. "It has been a pleasure dancing with you both."
With a final, almost lazy-looking flourish, he reached back, plucked the torch from its sconce, and crushed the flame in his taloned fist.
The world plunged into absolute, suffocating darkness.
Before Zac could even gasp, he felt a rush of air, silent as a grave. A powerful, firm grip closed around his waist, lifting him effortlessly from the horse's back. He felt a dizzying sensation of weightless, upward movement. By the time he remembered to try and act scared, his feet were already back on solid ground.
A familiar, acrid smell of burning pitch filled the air. Light flared. Nock had managed to reignite the torch. He and Skarg stood staring, bewildered, at the now-empty saddle.
Zac was on the other side of the gate. Andras stood beside him, calmly using the relit torch, now held by a bewildered Nock on the other side of the bars, to light a fresh cigarillo.
The owlman took a puff and then draped a wing over Zac's shoulders, guiding him away from the enraged sputtering at the gate. "Apologies for the dramatics," he said smoothly, his voice a low conspiratorial murmur. "Those two can be so frightfully loud. Terribly childish." He leaned in, his golden eyes glinting with mischief. "Andras, Great Marquis, at your service. Don't mind them. Their barks are far, far worse than their bites."
Behind them, the sounds of two apex predators roaring in pure, impotent fury echoed off the chasm walls as they began scrambling to find a way to open the massive, sealed gate. Andras didn't even look back.
Andras led Zac away from the gate at a leisurely pace. They strolled down a wide, black stone causeway that led to the central keep, and Andras's wing remained a casual, possessive weight on Zac's shoulders. The roguish demon seemed completely unbothered by the fact he had just cheated and enraged two of the most powerful beings Zac had ever met.
"Don't you worry about them catching up?" Zac asked, glancing back at the gate.
"Oh, they'll catch up," Andras said with a smoky chuckle. "It's the principle of the thing. But it'll take them a few minutes to bully the gate controls, and that gives us time for a civilized conversation. A rare treat in these parts." He slowed his pace, his golden eyes scanning Zac with genuine curiosity. "So, the President's new Avatar. Tell me, what great sin did you commit to earn such a prestigious transfer? Defile a temple? Assassinate a king?"
"I, uh, jaywalked with poor situational awareness," Zac admitted.
Andras stopped and stared at him for a long moment. Then he threw his head back and let out a hooting laugh that was surprisingly warm. "Magnificent! Ose has a sense of humor after all. I like you, kid."
As they walked, Zac's attention was drawn to the keep. It was different from the garish, chaotic architecture of the Pit city. The Captain's castle was a masterpiece of brutalist austerity. It wasn't adorned with lewd gargoyles or carved with scenes of torment. Instead, its towers were clean, sharp spires of obsidian that clawed at the chasm's gloom, more like the lances of a fallen army than a fortress. The windows were tall and arched, reminiscent of a cathedral, but paned with smoked, unbreakable glass that reflected the red light from below, making it look like the entire structure was filled with blood. It was a place of order, of discipline, and of a profound, lonely majesty.
"Impressive, isn't it?" Andras murmured, taking a puff of his cigarillo. "The Captain has a very… specific aesthetic. All straight lines and quiet judgment. A bit boring, if you ask me, but it keeps the riff-raff out."
Zac found himself nodding absent mindedly as he daydreamed about the owlman beside him. The easy confidence, the sharp wit, the hidden lethality… it was an intoxicating combination. He imagined the owl winking at him from across a smokey bar… pulling him into a dark alleyway because they were too eager to make it back to his luxury criminal hideout.