"Stige," said Baldr, Lord of Grayreach, "you come of age on the morrow. You are too old to be playing in the currents."

Young Stigandr, shamed by the reubke, coasted to the balcony. Grayreach, castle of the gargoyles of Tara'hin, stood high in the Collerin Mountains, far from their wards, where the young hatchlings could grow up unmolested. On the edge of three cliff faces, there was a two thousand foot drop in most directions. The updrafts cultivated by the steep mountainsides & sharp towers of Grayreach were a perfect playing ground for the more mischievious 'goyles.

"It is time you went to meditate. You've but six hours before the ceremony," Baldr grumbled. He picked up his charge by the scruff & tossed him down the hall. The resultant crash meant nothing to the young 'goyle--though Baldr was a good 12 feet tall & 2000 lbs of rocky muscle, Stige was, at 10 feet & 1200 lbs, a ball of dense stone that could resist the worst collisions.

Rubbing his bald pate, Stige knuckled his way to the Grand Hall, where the Great Gargs & the Lord of the 'Reach had gathered the candidates. Stige found his friends Mjoldaar & Hovik amongst those meditating. He sat beside them, affecting the stance of a gargoyle at rest. Quietly, he began to chant the Epic of Ygraad, most famed of all gargoyles. Within moments, he was in a meditative trance, listening now to the Great Gargs' chanting.

---

Stige awoke in the gray mists of the 'Reach morning. He was gone from the Grand Hall. The mountains visible from his vantage included Mt. Hospherus & Mt. Baeldun, meaning he was but a few hundred yards from the castle in a strictly horizontal sense, but vertically, he was almost 4000 feet below. He glanced up into the great gray sky. A speck of sunlight broke through the wall of clouds & stone, but he knew there was little help there. Besides, he didn't need it.

The Ceremony of Warding, where a young 'goyle discovers his purpose, changed with the candidate. Few factors remained the same each time, but amongst them was that the longer it took the candidate to discover the symbol of his Ward, the longer he or she would wait to meet them. Most finished in ten minutes, meeting their Ward within a year or two after that.

Stige took flight, eyes scanning the grounds below & the sky above. Somewhere in this stretch of mountainside, he would find it. Swooping low, arching high, no sign appeared in the gray morning. Hours passed as he scanned the nearby caves & valleys, through the misty grounds, up on the high peaks, down in the low canyons. Nothing but dim gray mist & stone met his keen eyes. As the sun reached its noon zenith, Stigandr landed on the peak of Mt. Hospherus & surveyed the countryside.

In the gleaming mountain sun, a spot of color reached his eye, hanging loosely from the side of a cliff, a touch of purple. A leap, a glide, & a grab later, Stigandr held in his hands a small bit of a lilac vine, with a single flower on it.

---

Back in the 'Reach, Stigandr, glistening with condensed mist on his stony body, landed heavily on the balcony. Great Garg Norvast frowned at him.

"Six hours, Stige. That's the longest any has ever taken in all the history of the 'Reach."

The young 'goyle shrugged. The grave tone of the Garg failed to register. He was just glad to have found his symbol.

"Well, come along, boy. You'll be a man soon enough," he said, patting Stige on the back, muttering quietly, "And then may the gods have mercy."

---

The Grand Hall was now lit by the white torches that warmed the egg chambers far below. Today, the hatchlings, the 'goyles, would become Gargs.

Mjoldaar, huge & tan, stood with a clenched fist. Hovik, beside him, short & stout & green, held a gray burning torch. Stige hopped over to them & looked curiously at them, but they kept their attention to the long table in front. Lord Baldr had stood to speak.

"Candidates, come forward, & the Master Warder will interpret your symbols."

The 'goyles queued up & began approaching the table as they were called, in the order of their hatching. Of the three friends, Hovik went first.

"Hovik, son of Hovskar & Ushist, you bring before us the Silver Torch, sign of the family Argent. On our rolls, only one such has called for a Garg, one Bernard Argent, a servant of the Messiah in the wars. Your return was one of the swiftest in our history, Hove. You should find him easily in Madziar, where the forces of Hope are gathering."

Hovik bowed deeply, &, now a full & true Garg, he leaped to the great window behind the Master Warder & flew off to find his charge, his heart beating now in synch with him.

Soon, Mjoldaar was called up.

"Mjoldaar, son of Mjomgir & Ulshay, you bring before us an ill aspected sign. Though rare, it is not unheard of. If you wish to cast aside your chosen Ward, you may take up service here as a Franklin of the Reach."

Mjoldaar, head bowed, declined with a shake. To be a Franklin of the Reach was to live a life of menial service to the Reach itself, a footsoldier & a floorscrubber, a 'goyle forever. Even in face of serving the Spider itself, most guardian gargoyles would not choose that life.

"Then you bring before us the Broken Cross, symbol of the Prophetess of Destruction. Her abode is in Abaddon itself. It may take you time to find the proper defenses to abide there, so leave now & seek the best way to serve your new master."

And with that Mjoldaar took flight. Stige stared in horror, knowing that whoever he served, ti was likely they woul be opposed to his friend's Ward. The thought that at the very least, Hovik might one day face Mjoldaar was enough to horrify him. The idea that he might have to fight his own friend was unbearable. With these thougths weighing down his mind, he did not hear his name when called.

"Stigandr!"

He looked up. The Maste Warder was glaring. "bad enough we had to wait five hours more for you to return, now you hold us up again. Come forward."

His mottled gray skin turned a deep slate as he blushed & ambled to the long table.

"Stigandr, son of Stigaard & Ushvast, you bring before us the Lilac, sign of the ancient family Lilac. None are currently on our rolls, & indeed, they were thought to be wiped out some 50,000 years ago. We have no choice but to give you over to Franklinship until such time as you feel the beat of your Ward's heart."

---

Two thousand years passed. The first few hundred, Stigandr hoped, but no beat of the heart came. The next thousand or so, he moped. The last few hundred, as Master Franklin, he learned.

Then, the horror of the Final Wars came to an end. The forces of Hope & Terror clashed in one last epic stand, but Stige stood aloof, Wardless. He watched as the world crumbled around him, & he escaped with the hatchlings & women to the Hearthhome of the Mother Ush (known to lesser beings as the Mother of Homes). And there, he settled in. As a gargoyle in repose, he became stone.

---

A beat.

He awoke.

Alarmed, he looked first for the hatchlings, but they were long gone. He was in a dark room, in a dank hall. The stench of rotting wood reached him.

An old Garg stared at him.

"Y-you're awake?"

"Where am I?"

"C-Castle Grayreach, sir. Y-you're awake!"

"What year is it?"

"By our calendar, we are in the hundred & twentieth cycle, in the year 7736."

Stige shook his head. "That's impossible. I haven't been asleep for that long... have I?"

"Y-yes, sir. We thought... I mean, over a billion years, not counting the time with the Mother Ush..."

Stige stood, suddenly. "I feel my Ward."

And with that, he took flight.

---

Hovik watched silently as his old friend flew from the 'Reach. As Master Warder now for over 200,000 years, he was the oldest living Garg ever. His old master, Prince Argent, had released him from service when the world ended, granting him unheard of longevity as a reward for his loyalty. Curiously, the family had somehow returned on this world, through similar circumstances to the way it began on the first. As the Lore said, "time is a circle, not a line."

Hovik sighed. His old friend was his only tie to First Shem, an unwitting confidant for thousands of years now. The 'Reach had changed much over the Ages. What was once a house of honor & tradition was now a house of scheming & conservatism. Hovik, though older than any other, sought to move forward. The others, for their part, sought to remain in the past.

"Here's hoping you find him, my old friend."

---

Mjoldaar roared as the lava poured off his bulging body. His lower six wings ached with the exertion, but he wouldn't stop. He was undefeated, & he would remains so.

His opponent, who had no name, was one of the troll-type morags that had freshly landed. Standing at 20 feet in height, with twelve arms & three heads, it was a monstrosity to be feared. Its crystal-studded black stone body was indestructible by normal means, but Mjoldaar had long ago foregone normal means.

Once, he was an affable lad with tan skin & a large, bulking body. Now, he was a black-skinned monstrosity, much like his opponent. But he had an edge: he was much, much smarter.

The morag lunged wildly with his massive clawed arms, but Mjoldaar leaped over the beast & landed on its back. Bringing down his blade-arm, he shattered one of the blue, glowing crystals there, causing the destroyer acid to leak into the molten lava beneath them. Immediately, a bubblin hiss alerted all near that a reaction was immanent. Mjoldaar took flight.

---

Stige landed on the roofs of the golden temple of the Sun in Ienova. Below, he saw a boy holding a golden scimitar in his hands, staring at it.

"Corwin," a kindly knight said, "We retrieved this for you from the lost temples of the Caliphate."

The sword burts into brilliant fire. The knight looked to his companion, a priest of some sort. "Is he the one?"

"I am not," said the boy. "He is long in coming. But this blade is needed. I will bear it, for now."

---

Corwin reflected. Aged 14, he was something of a child prodigy. Already, he could see more than most twice his age or more. For instance, earlier, in the courtyard, he had noticed the great stone beast on the roof when none other had seen him. He had noticed, too, the words in the flames of the blade, that none other could see.

Now, he noticed that his left leg was cramped. This would not normally bother him so much, but currently, he was trying to scale the roof of the golden temple. Below him was a drop of a few hundred feet. Instinct told him to hold on, but he overrode it. If he couldn't trust what the sword said, he was lost.

He let go.

And then he jerked to a sudden halt. Something large held onto his legs.

"You are my Ward."

---

Corwin stretched his leg. "Stigandr, huh? That sounds Jorgendish."

The gargoyle shrugged, this meaning little to him. Jorgendheim had long vanished befor ehe was born on First Shem.

"And you're my protector. But you say I don't feel right."

The gargoyle, again, shrugged. He had just slept for over two billion years. What did he know of how a Ward should feel?

"It's because I am not the one. I am just a step in the right direction. But I think I have to show you something, & you need to help me with something..."

---

Ages passed. Stigandr slept, Stigandr woke, Stigandr slept...

Seven Lilac men in more thousands of years than he could count had woken him. Corwin, who taught him the prophecies. Aurelius, who thought he was the one. Dannis, who founded the stewardship. Cambien, who sought the Lady in the Lake, but never found her. Balleus, who went mad. Toran, who left Shem on a boat of gold. Hardin, who knew magic.

And four Lilac women had woken him. Moira, Corwin's greatgranddaughter, who had been an Echo. Marian, who was a priestess. Gaia, who thought she was the one. And Aldren, who thought she loved Stige...

Each had given him something new, a new part of him. From Corwin, he gained the ability to read the flames of the sword. From Aurelius, he learned the ways of human warfare. From Dannis, he learned the ways of human statecraft. From Cambien, he learned to care for sick humans. From Balleus, he learned to wield the maul. From Toran, he learned seacraft. From Hardin, he learned little, but was given golden skin, which gave him much power. From Moira, he learned the history of the family. From Marian, he gained faith. From Gaia, he learned of the world. From Aldren...

Aldren taught him not to love his Ward.

---

A heartbeat.

Close.

Somewhere.

Hidden.

Obscured.

There?

No, there.

Two heartbeats?

One cold, one hot. One dark, one light. One powerful, one weak.

The powerful one needed no guardian...