The Deryni Archives Part 10

Morgan certainly did not look like a powerful and sinister Deryni sorcerer to Derry-though the ducal image was there, if more subtle than that of most other men of equivalent rank. Morgan wore a coronet, but it was only a simple band of hammered gold circling his brow. And his attire- Well, Derry had heard before that Morgan nearly always affected stark black, as he had at Rh.e.l.ledd, but Derry had expected something more-well, sumptuous, for as important a court function as a ma.s.s knighting, especially since Morgan apparently was, indeed, standing sponsor to the Sieur de Vali.

Sable silk with a rich, nubbly texture swathed the duke from throat to gold-spurred heels, formally high-collared and severe yet somehow relaxed as well, subtly enhanced by an intricate bordure of double tressure flory-counter flory worked in gold bullion around collar, sleeves, hem, and down the long slits fore and aft. The white belt of Morgan's knighthood also relieved the blackness, but the leather-wrapped hilt of his sword pa.s.sed almost unnoticed in the shadow of his left sleeve, its plain black scabbard all but invisible against the folds of the long court robe. It was Morgan's only apparent weapon, but Berry would not even allow himself to consider what other defenses the Deryni lord might have at his disposal. He probably wore mail under his robe, too, as he had under the riding leathers at Rh.e.l.ledd.

Once Derry's name was called to come forward, though, he did not think about Morgan during his own knighting. He was too busy making the proper responses, kneeling for Uncle Trevor to buckle on his sword and spurs, bowing his head for the royal accolade at King Brion's hands. He shivered as the blade of the king's sacred sword touched his shoulders and head, awed to be kneeling at last before his sovereign, whom he had only even seen a few times in his life, and then at a distance. And the ancient vows he recited as he set his hands between those of the king and swore his oath of fealty were the first words he and Brion Haldane had ever exchanged.

"I, Sean Seamus O'Flynn, Earl Derry, do become your liege man of life and limb, and of earthly worship. Faith and truth will I bear unto you, to live and to die, against all manner of folk, so help me, G.o.d!"

He kissed the royal hands before the king raised him up, flushing with pride as the court cheered his new estate and Queen Jehana girded him with the white belt of his knightly rank. After she had kissed him on both cheeks in congratulation, he bent over her hand in courtly salute, bowed to the king and to the eight-year-old Prince Kelson, seated at his father's right, then moved to the side with a beaming Uncle Trevor to witness the other knightings. As an earl of however modest means, Derry had been among the first to receive the accolade. Hence, he was able to stare with relative impunity when Duke Alaric finally came forward to sponsor the Sieur de Vali, who was only of baronial rank.

Morgan did his best to remain un.o.btrusive as his young va.s.sal knelt to beg knighthood of the king, himself kneeling with bowed head to affix the golden spurs to de Vali's heels, but even Derry, relatively unsophisticated as he was, could sense the heightened interest of the court in this particular dubbing-or at least in the candidate's sponsor. The sword with which Morgan invested his charge at the king's command was well made but of no particularly lavish embellishment, but from the court's attention, as the weapon changed hands, Derry wondered whether they expected it to burst into flames.

It did not. Nor did Morgan. Like any ordinary man, the Deryni duke remained kneeling quietly to one side as de Vali received the accolade, made his vows, and rose to receive his white belt from the queen. Then Morgan melted into the crowd as the court cheered the newmade knight. Derry did not see him again until much later in the day, well after the feast, when he found the Deryni duke sitting alone in a window embrasure that opened off the rear of the great hall. The high collar of the black court robe was unfastened at the throat, the coronet of earlier in the day set aside on the cushion beside him, but the sunlight made of the duke's golden hair its own crown of fire as he hunched over the stiletto he was using to pare his fingernails.

Derry paused at the entrance to the embrasure, uncertain whether to intrude-or even why he wanted to-but Morgan looked up almost immediately and rose.

"Ah, young Lord Derry," the duke said, the stiletto disappearing so quickly that for an instant Derry considered whether Morgan might have used magic. "Or, should I say, Sir Sean, since you are so newly knighted?" Morgan went on, making him a courtly little bow with both empty palms extended. "In any case, my heartiest congratulations to you, Sir Knight. You are well deserving of the honor bestowed upon you today."

Derry flushed and returned the bow, thinking he probably should be uneasy at being singled out for a Deryni's attention, but only feeling a little self-conscious to be receiving any duke's notice.

"I wouldn't know about that, Your Grace, but I thank you for the compliment, nonetheless. And you can call me Derry, if you like," he added recklessly. "I was only nine when I became an earl, so the t.i.tle has become almost like a given name, over the years."

"Ah, that can happen," Morgan agreed. "I remember your father. You carry his name as one of your own, do you not?"

"Aye, m'lord. He was Seamus Michael O'Flynn. I am Sean Seamus."

"So I recall, from your oath." Morgan c.o.c.ked his head and tendered a hesitant little smile as he continued. "I was the king's squire on the campaign when your father received his wounds. I remember he fought very bravely. I was sorry to hear he had later succ.u.mbed to his injuries-for your sake, as well as his own. I, too, was only nine when my father died."

Derry blinked in surprise. He had not realized Morgan knew so much about him.

"Then, we-have something in common, Your Grace-besides a love of fine horses. May-may I sit down?" he blurted.

Morgan raised a fine blond eyebrow and crossed his arms casually on his chest. "Are you certain you want to risk being seen with me by choice? You know what I am."

"I do, my lord."

Derry managed not to flinch as Morgan's pale, silvery gaze flitted across his face, down to his toes and back up again. When Morgan turned half-away and sat down again, gesturing vaguely toward the opposite bench in the window with one graceful hand, Derry felt almost physically relieved.

"Please join me, then," Morgan murmured, "and tell me how fares the stallion we saved from the knackers."

Derry swallowed his trepidation and obeyed, making himself move farther into the embrasure before sitting gingerly opposite the Deryni duke.

"The stallion fares well, my lord," he said. "I thought you might like to know; that's why I sought you out. I also wanted to thank you for helping me drive the bargain that bought him. My smithy's fitted him with a special shoe to keep the injury immobilized while it heals, and I'm told he flourishes-though he's restive, confined to a stall this past week."

"And will grow more restive yet, before he's mended enough to be turned out," Morgan observed. "Still, it's better than putting him down. A pity, even so. I'd hoped to buy him for the king. His Majesty usually favors greys, but that fellow was a mount almost worthy of my lord."

Derry nodded, remembering his own reaction to the stallion and appreciating Morgan's confirming judgment.

"Aye, he was, Your Grace. But if he recovers, could the king not breed to him still? If all goes well, I hope to have him standing at stud by the spring."

Chuckling pleasantly, Morgan raised a droll eyebrow.

"I would venture to guess that the king would be most interested in that prospect," he said. "You must promise me, however, that you will extract a suitable stud fee from the royal purse."

"Charge the king?" Derry gasped.

"Well, if you're to build yourself a reputation as a judge of fine horseflesh, you must put a fitting value on your expertise," Morgan replied. "Besides, you can't tell me that your estate coffers couldn't use the extra income."

"But, the king-"

"Derry, did the king have anything to do with your getting that stallion?"

"No, sir."

"Well, then." Morgan grinned impishly. "On the other hand, if it were I, and not the king, who wished to engage the services of your stallion, and I were to suggest certain, ah, concessions..."

He shrugged eloquently, adopting an expression of innocence quite at variance with his prosperous if sober appearance, and Derry suddenly realized Morgan was testing him, albeit gently.

"I think I understand, Your Grace," he said carefully. "But might I not also be well advised, if I wish to establish my reputation as a judge of fine horseflesh, not to diminish the value of my expertise, even to a fellow expert?"

Morgan only shrugged again, rather more casually than the first time, but the mirth Derry sensed in the grey eyes was well worth any momentary anxiety he might have experienced.

"Well said, my young friend," Morgan said with a nod. "We'll teach you yet to drive a hard bargain. Incidentally, how did that white-legged bay turn out? Other than those outlandish legs, he looked quite the goer."

Derry allowed himself to smile, relaxing a little in the easy, horsey banter.

"He's the bargain of the lot, sir: smooth-gaited, even tempered. If I use him for breeding one day, I'll hope to avoid the odd markings, but I have no complaints."

"No, nor have I."

As Morgan turned the pale grey eyes directly on Derry again, Derry suddenly felt himself the subject of intense scrutiny-and more than just visual inspection. He nearly stopped breathing. He was not sure he could have broken away from that compelling gaze, but he felt no particular urge to try. He was not afraid, but he grew more curious by the second. And when Morgan did not speak, Derry decided to be bold.

"Are-you reading my mind, my lord?" he whispered.

Morgan smiled and blinked, but did not break his steady gaze.

"No. Do you want me to?"

Derry managed an audible swallow and tried fleetingly to glance away, just to see whether he could, but found himself only shaking his head slightly.

"Why not?" Morgan asked softly. "Are you afraid?"

"No."

"Good."

With that, Morgan deliberately looked away, breaking the contact, and Derry could breathe again.

Derry was not afraid, though. Respectful, yes-as he would have been of any clever man who was the king's friend and a duke-but he didn't think that had anything to do with Morgan's magic. Perhaps Derry was naive, but Morgan seemed to be a man of honor, for all that he was Deryni and supposedly to be suspected and shunned by G.o.d-fearing men.

Derry was curious as to whether Morgan had used his powers that first day they met, however. He had had little time to think about it before, but it now seemed rather odd that he had managed to drift off to sleep while Master Randolph sewed up his arm.

"Did you read my mind before?" he found himself asking timidly, recoiling a little as Morgan turned to look at him again.

Morgan c.o.c.ked his head in question.

"When?"

"In Rh.e.l.ledd, when your Master Randolph was st.i.tching up my arm."

"Ah." Morgan smiled fleetingly. "Not really. I did- ah-help you a little with the pain, however."

"How-help?" Derry persisted. "Did you use your powers on me?"

Morgan lowered his eyes briefly, then met Derry's again, though not with the previous compulsion.

"Yes. There seemed no point to making you endure more pain, when I could ease it for you. I-hoped I'd been subtle enough that you didn't notice."

"I wouldn't have, if we'd never talked this afternoon," Derry replied. "Why do the priests say that what you do is evil?"

Morgan intertwined his fingers and stretched his arms out in front of him, turning the palms away until the knuckles cracked, apparently using the movement as an excuse not to look at Derry.

"They speak out of ignorance," the duke said after a moment, glancing out the window as he let his hands drop to his lap. "They are slaves to old prejudices, to old grievances done by misguided individuals. The Church did not always view our talents thus."

Derry thought about that for a moment, then shook his head.

"Well, it makes no sense to me, Your Grace. I don't see why everyone can't just live and let live."

"Would that it were that simple."

"Yes. Well." Derry sighed and glanced back into the hall, knowing he should rejoin his uncle soon, but he really did not want to leave.

"I won't be offended if you go now," Morgan said quietly, again studying him with those incredible grey eyes. "And no, I'm not reading your mind. It's only logical to wonder whether you've been missed, though, and to wonder whether anyone has noticed with whom you've been conversing."

"Well, your logic is correct," Derry conceded, shrugging sheepishly. "Do you do that often?"

"Do what?"

"Simply guess what people are thinking, as any ordinary mortal would do, and then let them think you did it with magic?"

As Morgan raised both eyebrows in surprise, Deny sensed he was on to something. Throwing all caution to the winds, he went on.

"You do do that, don't you, Your Grace?" he ventured. "I'd heard stories before, but until I saw you today, all in black, deliberately cultivating that faintly sinister air-"

All at once, Morgan burst out laughing, slapping a black-clad thigh with one hand and shaking his head as he looked at Derry with mirth and a little wonder.

"You, sir, are far more perceptive than I dreamed. Perhaps I should have read your mind-though I'll swear, all I ever did was block your pain that other time and Truth-Read you today, which hardly even counts. Where do you come by all this wisdom?"

Derry gaped, not comprehending what he had said to cause such a reaction.

"My lord?" he whispered.

"Never mind," Morgan said with a wave of his hand, still chuckling. "I'll tell you this, though, Sean Lord Derry, new-made knight. I like your style. Honesty such as yours is rare enough in this world, and especially toward men like myself-and I don't refer entirely to my more unusual functionings. I suspect you'll find, now that you've been confirmed in your knightly rank, that earls have the same kinds of problems as dukes, in knowing when people are dealing honestly with them."

"Well, I'm only a very minor earl, Your Grace," Derry protested weakly.

"All the more reason you may be just the man I've been looking for," Morgan replied, almost to himself. "Tell me, would you find it of interest to consider entering my service as an aide?"

"Y-Your aide, sir?" Derry managed to murmur.

"Well, unless I've read you totally wrong, and you don't want to work for me. Any prestige normally attached to the position of a duke's aide is dubious, in my case, as I'm sure you're smart enough to have figured out; but it's essential that I have someone I can trust. I think you could be that man."

"But, you hardly know me, Your Grace."

Morgan smiled. "What makes you think I didn't check you out thoroughly before we had this little talk?"

"You did?" Derry said in a very small voice.

"I did."

"But-I came to you! How could you have known-?"

"Well, I didn't know, of course," Morgan replied. "Not that you'd approach me in precisely this way. And I certainly didn't know you'd prove to be so- perceptive was the word I used before, I believe, wasn't it?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, then. Do you think you might be interested in the post? You don't have to tell me whether you accept or not-just whether you'd like to consider it. The financial benefits are only moderate, and the hours are long; but I think you'd find me a fair and honorable lord. And it would never be dull."

Derry was sure of that-and just as sure, without having to think about it any further, that he wanted the position. Lifting his eyes to Morgan's, he let himself be snared in the pale, silvery gaze, allowing himself the most tentative of smiles as he held out his right hand to the Deryni duke.

"Here's my answer and my hand on it, my lord," he said softly. "I don't need to consider it any further. I am your man, if you'll have me."

Grinning, Morgan clasped the offered hand and held it.

"You're sure? I can be very demanding, you know. And I can't guarantee that I'll always be able to explain my actions to your satisfaction; only that I'll always try to act in honor, and for Light rather than Darkness."

"What man could ask for more, my lord?" Derry breathed.

"How do you feel about the Church?" Morgan asked, releasing Derry's hand. "They don't much approve of me, you know. That's why I stayed away from the basilica last night, even though young Arnaud would love to have had me present. Fortunately, I have an indulgent bishop and a very flexible confessor, and the king's chaplain looks out for me at court, but there are those who would stop at nothing to find an excuse to excommunicate me. It's very fortunate, for example, that the new Archbishop of Valoret was not present today. Edmund Loris does not like me at all. You could be d.a.m.ned by a.s.sociation."

Derry shrugged. "It seems to me I'd be in good company, my lord."

"That depends upon one's point of view," Morgan muttered. "On the positive side, however, you'd have the king's protection for yourself and your family- after my own protection, of course. And I think it safe to say that His Majesty would look kindly on the Earldom of Derry and its dependents."

"Then, what have I to fear, my lord?"

Morgan sighed happily. "Why, nothing, I suppose. G.o.d, I never dreamed it would be this easy to convince you. Shall we go and ask the king's blessing, before you change your mind? Our oaths should be witnessed."

"By the king?" Derry breathed, his eyes going wide.