Sword of Darkness

by Kinley MacGregor

  "Do you think Morgen knows?" he asked Blaise.

  "I don't know. But the bigger question is, if Morgen does know, does she know where the loom is? That combined with your sword, her table, and one more object and Merlin would give her enough juice to raise Mordred back from his nearly dead state."

  Letting out a deep breath, Kerrigan was beginning to understand some of Seren's fears about one person ruling the entire earth. If that person wasn't you, and if they were particularly angry at you, it was bad indeed.

  Morgen would kill them all before this was over.

  Unwilling to think about that, he growled before he stabbed the dagger into Blaise's stomach with all his strength.

  "Pardon?" Blaise said when the dagger did nothing more than become lodged in the weave of the scarlet cloth. "What was that about?"

  "I was just making sure the cloth was impervious."

  "Well, the next time you wish to test it, I suggest we put it on you first and then I wield the dagger."

  Kerrigan gave him a dry stare. "Give it over now."

  Grumbling, Blaise complied as he whisked the tunic off.

  "So what brought you here?" Kerrigan asked as he took his tunic back.

  "We have a gargoyle at the gate."

  Kerrigan rolled his eyes at the absurd comment. "A gargoyle? You disturbed me for this? God's blood, have you been by the window lately? I think you need to go count again."

  He jerked at the next buckle in his armor as he mumbled under his breath. "Interrupt me for something so incredibly absurd. A gargoyle at the gate. There's an entire army of them flying over our heads, and he's just now noticed. Where have you been anyway that you've missed all the action up until now?"

  "I was trying to rest, if you must know. But that has nothing to do with the little summoning you missed." Blaise made an irritated noise in the back of his throat. "I said a gargoyle is at the gate, not eight hundred."

  Kerrigan paused. "What do you mean?"

  "Garafyn is outside, wanting a parley."

  He straightened as those words went over him like a cold shower. "Garafyn? Morgen sent Garafyn to talk to me? Does he even have a tongue?"

  "Apparently so. But I'm with you. Who knew? I thought he was mute. Turns out he's a really crusty bastard who wants you to come out and chat with him for a bit."

  "Why?"

  Blaise shrugged. "I'm just the servant. He wouldn't talk to me, which is why I've come to fetch you. But since it is the gargoyle king wanting an audience, I thought it might be important."

  Kerrigan was still baffled. Garafyn had been one of the original knights of the Round Table. Cursed into his gargoyle state by Morgen, he wasn't exactly friendly to anyone except his fellow cursed beings.

  He couldn't imagine what Garafyn wanted with him. The gargoyle never interacted with anyone he didn't have to.

  Wasting power he knew he shouldn't, Kerrigan flashed himself back into his armor, including the red tunic.

  "Hey!" Blaise snapped. "Give us the shirt, mate. I might need it since I don't have a magical sword to protect me."

  Kerrigan gave him a droll stare. "The tunic wouldn't help you anyway in dragon form. You'd tear it the instant you shifted and then I would be obligated to kill you for it."

  Blaise considered that for a minute before he nodded. "Good point. You keep it."

  Shaking his head at the incorrigible beast, Kerrigan walked past Blaise, through the castle, then out to the bailey.

  He saw Garafyn standing off to the side of the shield with his hands on his hips, looking greatly peeved. Then again, most gargoyles looked that way even when they were happy. Not that they were happy often. The bad part about being cursed was that very few things happened that were good or fun.

  Garafyn stood at an even six feet. His face was contorted, with large, overgrown fangs that had to make talking painful. More than any of the others, he was hideously formed. It was as if Morgen had taken special care to mutilate the man's appearance. Even Garafyn's wings were strangely shaped. They were sharp like a bat's, with spikes protruding from each bend.

  His eyes were a deep bloodred that seemed to glow, and he watched Kerrigan carefully as he approached.

  Once he stood before the gargoyle, Kerrigan arched a taunting brow. "Well?"

  Garafyn spoke in a low, bored tone that was filled with mockery. "I am here at the behest of the queen of Camelot. I—"

  Kerrigan frowned. "What?"

  Garafyn let out an exasperated breath. "You know, the bitch on the throne? The one who thinks she's the greater evil, which ironically is true since no one else is a bigger bitch, but that's beside the point. She wanted me to talk to you so here I am roasting in the sun and praying that one of those damned dragons doesn't lob a glob of shit on my shoulder. God knows I get enough of that from the pigeons."

  Blaise had been right, Garafyn was a crusty bastard, and he bore an accent that was reminiscent of some New York cabdriver. But Kerrigan wasn't in the mood for it. "There's nothing either of you could possibly say that I would ever care to hear."

  Garafyn cleared his throat before he made an odd clicking noise with his mouth. "Fine. But tomorrow when they strip that sword from you and drag your carcass off in chains, club the woman in the head and slice her open in a few months' time, remember that the gargoyle schmuck tried to talk to you, but you had better things to do like go plan a funeral. G'head. Have a nice death." He turned to leave.

  Kerrigan curled his lip. "Garafyn?"

  The gargoyle paused to look back.

  "What say you?"

  Garafyn glanced to the army that was waiting at the bottom of the hill before he met Kerrigan's gaze with a glint in his red eyes. "You ready to parley?"

  "Depends on what you have to say."

  Garafyn moved back to the shield. He wiped his hand over his chin before he grimaced at the sight of his own stony skin. It was obvious he hated being a gargoyle.

  "Look, we both know that I hate you and I hate the bitch below. But I've been thinking. You've no way out of this whole debacle. You can't feed with the shield up and you're too weak to safely transport the three of you out of here with your magic. And even if you do, there's not many places you can go that old bitch hound can't find you while the little peasant carries that baby."

  Garafyn scratched his cheek as he continued his rant. "So where does that leave you? I'll tell you where that leaves you. Screwed. Completely, utterly, and with relish. But you know, screwing men has never been to my taste. So I'm thinking of something a little more to both our tastes."

  "And that is?"

  Garafyn let out another sound of disgust. "You know, she's not that stupid. Stop looking so damned agreeable. Throw your arms up over your head and act indignant."

  Kerrigan frowned. "What?"

  "Look pissed so the bitch thinks I'm here giving you her terms of surrender."

  He grimaced at the gargoyle. "You've got to be kidding me."

  "Do I look like I'm kidding?"

  Nay, he looked quite serious. Kerrigan let out a disgusted breath of his own before he did as the gargoyle suggested.

  Garafyn rolled his eyes. "Acting isn't your forte. Put your arms down."

  Kerrigan snarled at him. "I don't like to play games."

  "Trust me, this isn't a game. We screw this up and the bitch of the damned is going to turn me into a countertop."

  "We don't have countertops yet."

  "Yeah, look around, we're not supposed to have gargoyles and dragons, either, but they seem to be here, huh? Trust me, countertop is in my future, and with my luck, the bitch will use me to prepare some nasty-smelling shit on top of me. But I guess it's better than being stuck in the twentieth century as a damned lawn ornament for a dog to piss on."

  "Would you stay on the topic? And what is your point anyway?"

  "Fine," Garafyn growled. "The point is this. All of us down there around Morgen's camp know that you're about to fall. Come tomorrow, I can lead my Stone Legion up here and run t
he risk of your chiseling off a vital piece of my anatomy, or I and a couple of my friends can hold the angry horde back long enough for you to recharge your magic and get all of us out of here."

  Kerrigan realized that Garafyn was staring at his star medallion. It was one of the symbols of a Merlin's power. A conductor, the medallion allowed a Merlin to use natural powers to boost his own. In the hands of a mundane being, it could be used to give him magic. Their amulets could allow creatures such as Garafyn to escape Camelot and live in peace.

  Garafyn, like the rest of his Stone Legion, was a slave to Morgen…and to him. If Garafyn or any of his crew left Camelot, Morgen could pull them back without effort.

  But with the amulet, that would change.

  "Is that all you want?" Kerrigan asked him.

  "No," he snapped in that thick, oddly New York accent. "I'd like to a be human again. And throw in some world peace, just because. But since that's never going to happen, I just want to be out of this hellhole and out from under the scrutiny of a woman whose head I'd like to crush." There was no missing the sincere hatred on Garafyn's face as he mentioned Morgen.

  The gargoyle paused as if some painful memory tugged at him. "My consolation is that you weren't here in the glory days of Camelot. I have no real beef with you except for the fact that you've been known to blow a few of us into dust for no particular reason. That, I have to say, has pissed me off in the past, but then again, you did mostly blast the natural-born gargoyles more than my cursed legion."

  He paused as he thought about that. "Then again, I've been known to do the same myself when they piss me off. So, believe it or not, I can live with your temper tantrums. What I can't live with is another day of watching the queen bitch dance around in her red dress to crap-ass music. I've had it with her and those mewling lips of hers. That face and her friggin' requests for me to go to the twenty-first century to bring her back some Starbucks. Have you any idea how hard it is to fetch a cup of Starbucks when you look like this?" He scowled in distaste. "There's only so many people who will buy the lie that I'm making a Spielberg film, you know?"

  And again the gargoyle had sidetracked himself onto another topic.

  "How can I trust you?" Kerrigan asked, bringing him back to the current subject.

  Garafyn shrugged. "Basically you can't. But I'm the best shot you got."

  That wasn't true. He was the only shot Kerrigan had, and they both knew it. "All right. How do I know who to take with me? I assume you want only your men saved and not the other gargoyles."

  "Yeah, I don't give two shits about the other gargoyles. As for my men…oh, we'll be obvious. We'll be the ones with our backs to you, fighting the others off."

  That made sense. But Kerrigan knew that where they would have to go to escape Morgen wasn't exactly conducive to Garafyn's form. "Don't you care where I'm going to take you?"

  "As long as it's out of Morgen's reach, no. If you can make it so I never see another of these pricks, hell, no."

  Kerrigan looked down the hill at the others. He couldn't see Morgen, but he knew she was down there. He could feel it. "What are you going to tell her about our conversation?"

  "That you're a dickhead who wouldn't listen to reason." He looked over his shoulder at a large tree. "I'll make sure they're all down there by the oak at ten tomorrow. None of them will be near you so that you'll have time to feed. You stay in the castle, bring down the shield, and feed on the girl. The mandrakes will have to take human form to enter the castle, and since they prefer to not fight that way, Morgen will send us in first. I'll come running in with my guard."

  How strange that Garafyn would do that. He was taking one hell of a chance. "You trust me to not leave you behind?"

  Garafyn sobered as he narrowed those eerie red eyes on him. "Three days ago, I wouldn't have trusted you with shit. But I've seen you with that woman. She trusts you, so I'm thinking maybe she knows something I don't."

  Kerrigan snorted. "You're either brave or a complete idiot."

  "I try to avoid being either of those since both will get you killed…and usually painfully. Now look pissed for the bitch."

  Kerrigan made a face.

  "Oh forget it. You need some acting lessons." He stepped back from the shield. "I'll go tell Morgen that you refused her offer."

  "What was her offer anyway?"

  "You know the spiel. Hand over the woman and your sword and she'd let you live. Blah, blah, blah."

  Aye, that was the spiel all right. All these centuries later, and Morgen wasn't a bit more original. No wonder he was bored with her. "Tell her I refuse."

  "Don't worry. Even if you hadn't, I'd say it just so that I could get the whole Linda Blair head-spinning routine going. It's the only time I find Morgen funny." Garafyn inclined his head to him. "See you tomorrow."

  Kerrigan watched as the gargoyle made his way down the hill toward the others. It was incredible that such a beast would ally himself to him. But then the old saying went through his mind: My enemy's enemy is my friend.

  He didn't know if he could really trust Garafyn and his guard or not. This could all be an elaborate plan to get him to lower his defenses.

  Then again, if they were deceiving him, there was one flaw to their plan. One he doubted Morgen had thought about. There was only one person in the castle he could feed from.

  Seren.

  And she carried his child. If he bungled this, he would kill Seren and the baby, and Morgen would lose her best shot at raising Mordred from the dead. Neither proposition boded well for him.

  But at least the latter wouldn't kill him. No matter what he might argue verbally, he was beginning to suspect the truth. Seren was starting to mean a lot more to him than just a nameless pawn to be used.

  Now he just needed to teach his little mouse to roar.

  Chapter 11

  Kerrigan let out his breath slowly as he entered the great hall to find Seren and Blaise sitting off to the side of the hearth in carved chairs, talking.

  Talking.

  That thought drew him up short as he watched them. They sat like two old friends who were laughing together while making small talk over nothing.

  It seemed somehow incongruous that a small peasant maid and a powerful mandrake would chat in such a manner. Graylings, sharocs, Adoni, all that he could accept. But this…

  This screwed with his head.

  "Well?" Blaise asked as soon as he sensed Kerrigan's presence.

  Kerrigan moved to stand beside Seren's chair, where he draped his arm over the back of it. She watched him expectantly as if she thought he had some great plan to get them out of this. How he wished it were so. The truth was, he'd be lucky not to get them all killed on the morrow.

  "I'm going to drop the shield tomorrow before I'm completely out of power."

  Suspicion darkened Blaise's eyes. "And do what?"

  "Regain my strength and get us out of here."

  Even though he knew Blaise couldn't really see Seren, the mandrake looked at her before he returned to Kerrigan's gaze. "And how are you going to recharge your powers?"

  Kerrigan glanced down to Seren, whose face went instantly pale.

  She placed her hand over her stomach. "You'll kill me."

  "Nay," Kerrigan said slowly. "Like Morgen, you're a Merlin. You should be strong enough for me to—"

  "What new madness is this?" Seren asked as she shot to her feet. "Me? A Merlin? Are you insane?"

  "It's true," Blaise said quietly as he continued to sit. "You are the same as Kerrigan and Morgen…well, I take that back. Unlike them, you're not evil."

  She shook her head in denial. "The both of you are mad."

  Kerrigan placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. He could well understand her fear at finding this out, especially like this. But it changed nothing. "Tell me something, Seren. The loom you used to make my tunic…where did you get it?"

  "It was my mother's."

  Blaise asked the next question from his chair. "And where did she g
et it?"

  "It belonged to her mother before her."

  "Aye," Kerrigan said, "because they were both Merlins sent out into the world to protect your loom. Just as the nameless man who fathered me must have carried the blood of Caliburn's Merlin. I doubt my father, whoever he was, ever knew of his heritage. But given the actions of your mother, I think she may have known exactly who and what you were. What she was."

  Seren couldn't breathe as he spoke. In a way, it all made sense. Her mother's gift of foresight. Her ability to heal and to care. She'd had what the local priests called unholy powers. But there had been nothing evil about her mother. She'd been a good and decent woman who only wanted to help others.

  And now that Seren thought about it, her mother had always been skittish, as if looking for someone who might be after them. As a girl, she'd thought nothing of it. But now that she considered it, she remembered how many times her mother would stay up into the wee hours of the night as if afraid to sleep. How she would always make their beds someplace where they could quickly flee if they needed to.

  Her mother must have known about Morgen and her servants.

  But most of all, she remembered the day her mother had gifted her with the loom for her birthday. Seren had wrinkled her nose in distaste of the old, scuffed-up piece. It'd been small, no more than three of her mother's hand spans in width.

  Still, her mother's face had beamed with pride as she set it on the table before Seren. "This has been in our family for generations, little Seren. It belonged to my mother and to hers before her. Now I'm gifting it to you."

  "But I don't want it," she'd whined. "Can I not have a new one?"

  Her mother had shaken her head as she lovingly brushed the hair back from her child's face. "This is a very special loom, my Seren. One that will come to mean the world to you one day. And with it, you will make a destiny all your own."

  Even so, Seren had poked her finger at it in distaste. She'd wanted a new doll, not some silly old loom. Even if it had been in her family, what did that matter? All her mother ever thought of was work.