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."