Valor
A Greystone Novel
Book One
by Taylor Longford
ISBN 9780983707820
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Valor Copyright 2011 © Taylor Longford
www.taylorlongford.com
Electronic Book Publication June 2011
This book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Taylor Longford.
Warning: Any unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission.
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is entirely coincidental. The names, characters, places and incidents are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.
Books in the Greystone Series:
Valor
Dare
Reason
Defiance
Chaos
Victor
VALOR
A GREYSTONE NOVEL
Book One
by
Taylor Longford
Dedication
For Star
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Epilogue
About the Author
Valor's Prologue
The first thing you should know about gargoyles is that we're incredibly patient. But you might have already guessed that.
Perhaps less obvious is the fact that our hearing is exceptional. Which is probably a good thing when you consider how long we were stuck between those walls in York. Because, even though we couldn't see anything except for the pile of gray stones we were facing, at least we could hear. So we were able to keep up with the times by listening to the various occupants who came and went over the hundreds of years we were trapped in the house built against the old Roman walls.
Finally, you might like to know that gargoyles are territorial by nature. We look after our own and are driven by instinct to protect the home and hearth and the people we consider to be our family and friends. So, it's hardly surprising that when I found myself face-to-face with a girl of approximately my own age for the first time in eight hundred years, my first instinct was to protect her.
Of course, my senses told me a lot about the girl who needed my help since gargoyles can tell if someone is good or bad just by getting close to them. Don't ask me to explain how it works; I can't. But we can sense good and evil just like we can sense cold and heat. As a result, we're quick to make friends and don't waste any time making enemies.
But let me go back to the beginning and explain how we were trapped in the first place. And let me make it clear that it was all Havoc's fault.
It all started on a rare sunny day in thirteenth century England. Due to unfortunate circumstances beyond our control, we were trying to avoid a particularly nasty gang of harpies.
Harpies are as ugly as sin, which is probably being unkind to sin. What could I possibly say about harpies that wouldn't make you hate them the way I do? Okay. They make adequate mothers, tending their young until they fly at the age of five. But it's a wonder they ever have any young, when you take their looks into consideration.
Anyhow, it was late afternoon and they'd run us to ground in front of the old Roman wall. I wanted to take our chances and fight. So did Dare and most of the pack. But Havoc convinced us to make the change—to take on our stone forms—arguing that the harpies couldn't harm us as long as we were solid stone. So with the monsters right on our heels, we ducked inside a small deserted croft so no humans would witness our transformation. And as the afternoon sunlight slanted through the hut's small windows, we used its energy to make the change.
Havoc thought it would be funny as hell to see the harpies' faces when they realized they couldn't have us and couldn't hurt us. He's always had a warped sense of humor.
Unfortunately, harpies have a sense of humor as well.
And when they found us in our stone forms, they thought it would be equally hilarious to imprison us far from the sun's rays. So using large blocks of gray rock, they walled us in while chuckling the whole time, as if it was the best time they'd ever had in their lives. Then the wicked creatures left us there to rot. At least I think that's the term they used. 'Course we weren't going to rot or even erode. Instead we were going to wait for as long as it took the sun to find us again.
We realized we were probably going to be trapped in our stone forms until the walls crumbled down around us but, as I mentioned, gargoyles are patient. We knew one day those walls would crumble. And when the sunlight finally speared through a weathered crack and fell on us, we'd come to life ready to start up where we'd left off. The waiting would suck but, on the upside, we figured there was a good chance the harpy race would die out while we were waiting…and we'd be free to live out our lives in peace.
Needless to say, the croft changed hands many times as the centuries passed. And although we couldn't see anything while we were trapped between the walls, it was clear the original hut experienced many additions and renovations.
While that was going on, the printing press was invented and started churning out books and newspapers. Reading aloud became a relatively common pastime and helped to keep us informed. Eventually, the radio came along, which hugely expanded our knowledge of the world as well as sports. And it didn't seem too long after that that the television moved in to our house, although I think we all preferred the radio. The radio just seemed more articulate.
But by the time the twenty-first century rolled around, we rarely heard mention of harpies anymore, or gargoyles for that matter. We'd occasionally hear vague references to them on the television but they no longer seemed to be a part of everyday life. Instead, they seemed to have been assigned to some hazy past that smacked of myth and legend.
Then the quiet man came. He was probably only quiet because he was alone and had no one to talk to. But it was clear he was doing something to our house. We could hear him stripping away parts of the building. The creaks and cracks echoed through the walls and we assumed the house was going through another renovation.
Fortunately, he left the television on whenever he was home and he was home most of the time, so we were glad to have him. And eventually, he worked his way to the back of the house where he did something none of the previous residents had ever done. He tapped on the stone wall that stood between us and the sun's light.
MacKenzie
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