Saving Thanehaven Read Free Page A

Noble. But there could be a flaw in what Rufus describes as the software. It’s possible that the giant mouths haven’t been programmed to recognize Noble with bare feet. “In other words,” Rufus says as they set off, “you may not trigger the usual subroutines if there’s something different about you.” It seems to have been good advice, because no holes have appeared since Noble threw his boots away.
    Rufus is still wearing shoes, though. “
I’m
not the target, so I don’t have to worry about being gobbled up,” he tells Noble. “I don’t even belong here.” It’s an argument that he uses again as he prepares to approach the gargoyles. “Chill out,” he says. “I’ll be fine. They won’t know what to do with me. I’m not a part of their program paradigm.”
    “Maybe I should come with you.”
    “Nah. Not yet. Just wait,” says Rufus. Then he stands up and lopes toward the nearest gargoyle, raising his voice to address it in a friendly, cheerful tone. “Hey! How’s it going?” he cries. “My name’s Rufus, and I’m here to set you free!”
    The gargoyles are all sitting like dogs, with their back legs neatly folded. Even from his sheltered vantage point, Noble can see a variety of tails and crests and ears and snouts. Some of the gargoyles resemble toads, with their wide mouths, bulging eyes, and wartyskin. Some have goatish horns and beards. Some are squat and thickly muscled; while others are so skinny that their scales cling like wet fabric to every rib and joint. Yet despite these differences, each gargoyle is exactly the same size and color. Each has four legs, two wings, one head, sharp claws, and many teeth.
    They also have yellow eyes. Noble sees this when dozens and dozens of eyelids flick open at the sound of Rufus’s greeting. Although there are no other movements, it’s as if the gargoyles have snapped to attention.
    “You sure look uncomfortable,” Rufus continues, gazing down the avenue of gargoyles. “How would you like to get rid of those chains and collars? You must be so sick of them. I bet you’d all be having a
much
better time if you could fly around and do whatever you want.”
    Noble gasps. He can’t believe what he just heard. Is Rufus seriously offering to
release the gargoyles?
    Even the gargoyles seem surprised. Every scaly head within earshot swings toward Rufus.
    “If I had a pair of bolt cutters, I’d snip through your chains right now,” Rufus adds. “The trouble is, I don’t have bolt cutters and I’m not very strong. So I was thinking I might ask Lord Harrowmage to release you. He’s probably got a key tucked away somewhere.”
    The nearest gargoyle opens its mouth and croaks, “Why do you want to set us free?”
    Rufus shrugs. “I won’t if you’d rather stay chainedup,” he says. “But I figure it must be hard having wings when you can’t even use them.”
    A kind of rustle disturbs the ranks of chained gargoyles. Noble senses that a message is quietly passing from plinth to plinth. Then another gargoyle speaks up.
    “Lord Harrowmage will never let us go,” it declares in a creaky voice. “We’re here to guard his fortress.”
    “Yeah, okay—but do you
want
to guard his fortress? Are you
happy
sitting here like this, day after day, staring at one another?” When there’s no reply, Rufus answers his own question. “Of course not. You wouldn’t be chained up if you were happy. You’d be off chasing pigeons around a castle roof, or something.”
    Some of the gargoyles sigh. One gurgles, “Not me. I’m a swamp gargoyle. I like mud, not roofs.”
    “Oh, yeah? I didn’t know there were different gargoyle habitats.” Rufus sounds genuinely interested. “So what’s your name, then?”
    “My name?” says the swamp gargoyle.
    “Yeah. You’ve got a name, haven’t you? Mine’s Rufus.”
    The swamp gargoyle looks mystified.
    “Come on,” Rufus presses. “You
must
have a name. What do your friends call you?” He glances