Sword of Darkness (17 page)

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 the 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.

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 get 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.

Laughing gently at her, her mother had wrapped it back up in a piece of brown cloth. “Keep this put away, child. Always. Let no one know that you have it.”

“Why?”

“Because it, like you, is very special and dear, and I don’t want anyone to take either one of you away from me. One day you will know exactly what to do with your loom. Until then, keep it with you and hidden.”

No sooner had her mother packed away the loom than Seren had forgotten those words. Her
mother had arranged her apprenticeship only a few weeks later, and then her mother had died.

After that, Seren had hated the loom that reminded her of the mother she’d lost. She’d kept it hidden away, along with all the painful memories of her mother’s death. It was only after Mistress Maude had caught her last year using the store loom for her personal project, and punished her for it, that Seren had remembered her mother’s loom.

There in the faint moonlight of the room she shared with the other apprentices, after everyone else had gone to sleep, she’d carefully unwrap it and bring it out at night to weave. And as she worked, the loom had ceased to be such an eyesore. It’d become beautiful to her, and in time, it’d become a friend.

There were times when she could have even sworn that it talked to her. Madness surely, which was why she’d never mentioned it to others. But she knew in her heart that the loom had somehow helped her make her cloth. That it directed her stitches.

Could it really be magical?

Nay, her mother would have told her if it were. Her mother would never have kept such a secret from her. “I don’t believe you.”

Blaise gave a short, evil laugh. “Well, I’ll offer to stab Kerrigan to show you proof of it if he promises not to kill me for the affront.”

Kerrigan narrowed his eyes on the mandrake as he pulled his dagger from his belt, then handed it to Seren. He removed the black steel vambrace
from his forearm and exposed a portion of the red tunic sleeve. “Try and stab the fabric you created.”

Seren honestly thought the man was insane. Both of them. The last thing she wanted was to harm him, but still he insisted that she stab him with the weapon.

Taking the dagger, she stared at him. “This is ridiculous. I’ll only make you angry when I cut you.”

“Nay, I promise. Try and stab the cloth.”

Hesitant, she did as he asked. Sort of. She touched the dagger’s tip lightly to the cloth and tried to push it in just enough that she would do nothing more than prick his skin.

The cloth held it.

Frowning, Seren pressed it harder, and still the tip of the dagger refused to breach the scarlet cloth.

Nay…surely she was dreaming.

She tried even harder to stab it. And again nothing happened.

“This can’t be,” she whispered as she fingered the undamaged cloth. There wasn’t a single thread pricked by the dagger’s tip. “I cut it with shears and I stitched it together. Why won’t it part now?”

“Neither of those is a weapon of war,” Blaise said in a low tone. “You can’t be stabbed with a sword or dagger, but a pair of shears…deadly stuff.”

Kerrigan nodded. “The loophole.”

Seren scowled at the two men as they continued to talk about things that confused her. “What has the cloth to do with an archer’s window?”

Kerrigan looked confused an instant before he
appeared to understand her. “‘Loophole’ is another word for a way out of something, Seren. A small out. Such as, your cloth is impervious to weapons of war, but not to common everyday instruments such as shears or needles.”

“Beware a fence post or farmer’s hoe,” Blaise added dryly. “The tip of one would go right through it.”

Kerrigan nodded. “It would seem that that is why you were able to sew and shape the cloth, but when I tried to stab Blaise earlier with my dagger, the cloth protected him.”

Blaise gave her an impish grin. “Every one of the sacred objects has a secret that will render it useless. Usually the Merlin who was given the weapon knows the source of its weakness as well as its strengths. Your mother probably died before she could share the loom’s secrets with you.”

Seren still didn’t want to believe it, but how could she not? There was no denying that the dagger was no more effective against the cloth than it was against the armor.

“I’m a Merlin,” she breathed. “But why don’t I have powers?”

“You do.”

She looked up at Kerrigan as he took his dagger away from her and sheathed it. “How so?”

“When Brea was here—”

“Brea was
here
?” Blaise snapped, interrupting him. “When?”

Kerrigan held his hand up to silence him. “You
shot the lightning blast at him. I thought at first it was a holdover from your having taken Caliburn from me.”

“She took Caliburn, too? When the hell did all of this happen?”

Kerrigan gave him a peeved glare. “While you were sleeping. We were also attacked by three gargoyles.”

Blaise gaped. “And I slept through all that?”

“Apparently. I always said you were worthless. Now we have proof.”

Blaise made a face at him.

“Children,” Seren snapped, trying to keep them on topic, “could we please stop fighting?”

The men turned hostile glares toward her.

“Well, you were behaving as such, and if you persist, I shall make you go to separate corners.”

Blaise’s expression turned wicked. “I’d rather you give me a spanking.”

Kerrigan’s eyes flamed. “Try it and you’ll have a disembowelment instead.”

“Children!” But even though she said it harshly, she was totally enchanted by their playful air. It was such a welcome change from Kerrigan’s normal frightening demeanor. Who knew that he could tease in such a manner?

“Back to the point,” Kerrigan said. “Seren has manifested powers. To what other extent she has them, I don’t know.” His gaze turned dark as he faced her again. “We need to find that loom of yours before Morgen does. Whoever has it can use it.”

That was simple enough. “I left it in my room, tucked in my small chest where I keep all my personal items.”

Blaise gave a low whistle. “You go for that loom and Morgen will know it in a heartbeat.”

“Aye,” Kerrigan conceded as he turned toward Blaise. “You’ll have to do it.”

“Oh no,” Blaise said, his eyes wide. “I’m not suicidal. Skewered and basted dragon is not something I want to see on a menu.”

“It will be if you don’t go. Neither of us can afford for Morgen to find that loom. Imagine an army of Adoni swathed in cloth that no sword can pierce.”

Blaise looked sick to his stomach. “And imagine trying to convince an army to attack them with shears. It’s almost comical.” He sighed. “Very well. Get us out of here and I shall go for the loom.”

“They won’t let you.”

The men stared at her. “How so?” Kerrigan asked.

“It’s in our room where no man is allowed to venture. Not even Master Rufus is allowed there. Mistress Maude makes certain that we are safe from any male company.”

“Then what do we do?” Blaise asked.

“Teach me to use my powers.”

She could see the instant hesitancy in Kerrigan. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?” she and Blaise asked together.

He looked at the mandrake. “You know the reason. Once she begins to learn, the battle begins.”

Blaise rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “She was born of goodness. She should do fine.”

“What battle?”

The men ignored her once more. “Why hasn’t she felt her powers before now, Blaise? I’m thinking her mother must have bound them.”

“To hide her most likely.”

“Or to protect her.”

Seren whistled. The men looked at her with widened eyes.

“Good sirs,” she said between her clenched teeth, stressing each syllable carefully, “please notice that I am here in this room with you and would like to be included in this discussion since it is about me and my future.”

“Sorry,” Blaise said sheepishly.

Kerrigan made no such apology. “Inside of every being there is a constant war being raged. The part that tells us to do what is right and what is decent and the part of us that is self-serving. The part that wants what it wants regardless of who is hurt getting it. Think back to when you held my sword. You heard its voice. Felt its lure. Now imagine that call amplified to such a state that it becomes deafening to all else.”

She remembered that sound well. It had been frightening. Truly. “It was deafening, and I did return the sword to you.”

Blaise made a sound of disbelief. “You returned Caliburn? Are you mad?”

“Nay,” she said, looking at him. “Its power wasn’t meant for me.”

“And it scared you,” Kerrigan said.

“Aye, it scared me.”

His dark eyes caressed her with warning. “Now imagine that power belonging to you. Solely. That is the power of a Merlin. You can destroy or you can create, but you can never do both. The final decision of how you use your power is entirely up to you. But once chosen, it can’t be undone.”

Seren let her gaze drop to the floor as those words echoed in the quiet room. Now she understood Kerrigan and what had turned him into who and what he was. “You chose to destroy.”

He nodded.

“Why?”

“I had no knowledge of good or decency. When the Lords of Avalon showed up, wanting me to join them, I laughed in their faces. Why should I use my power to help those who had spat on me? To the devil with them all.”

Seren cocked her head as she stared at his handsome face. “And yet you are helping me.”

He looked away.

“There is no shame in doing something that is right, Kerrigan,” she said softly. “People lash out at what they don’t understand. And I am sorry that they lashed out against you. But it doesn’t mean that you can’t change.”

“She won’t turn,” Blaise said quietly. “It’s not in her nature.”

Kerrigan hesitated. He wasn’t so sure. He knew just how seductive that darker part of power was.
Seren had only come up against it briefly. It permeated everything until it consumed like a fire. She was a small woman who knew nothing of malice. Nothing of power.