Peter cleared his throat. “This is”—he paused to take a deep breath—“promising news.” He fervently hoped he sounded like he believed it. “What, then, would you suggest we do to locate Freida? Because it sounds like, well, it may be difficult, or somewhat challenging, to find him. The gargoyle, I mean.”
“We can’t know exactly where the gargoyle parted to with Freida,” Kimar intoned. “He is a strong one.” He nodded to Danielle. He’d explained to her that especially powerful gargoyles could part without leaving a trace. “But he is not so strong that he didn’t leave us some clues…”
Unexpectedly and unmistakably, a smile emerged upon the great gargoyle’s face, like a long wished-for but unexpected thaw after an unforgiving, bitter winter.
“What?” Danielle cried. “Kimar, are you saying you can trace where the gargoyle parted with Freida? Honest and true?”
Slowly, he nodded. “Yes. He is very strong indeed. But I have tracked him. I know where he went with her.”
Johann jumped up, flailing his arms. “But how can you be certa—”
His question was interrupted when his wife leaped in front of him and threw her arms wide around the startled gargoyle’s neck, tears streaming down her face like drops running down a window pane in a rainstorm. Her feet dangled cheerfully off the ground.
“Please, please,” she cried, “help me save my baby, Kimar!”
“Jah!” Johann yelled, his eyes welling up. “Let me at them!”
Paign and Anders pulled out their swords, thumping their chests with the hilt, the blades aimed straight at the ceiling, right in front of their noses.
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