The Deryni Archives Part 15

"Colin did as he was bidden, and next morning, the Blue One slew Brion on the field of honour with a blast of magic which he never antic.i.p.ated-he was too groggy from the drug to catch her intention in time. And Colin, when he saw what he had done, fell on his sword, too proud to die a traitor's death, but too miserable to live."

Morgan sank wearily into his chair, head in hands. "So now we stand under the Blue One's truce," he smiled grimly, "her last token of respect for a most bitter enemy."

Sanil's low sob finally broke the stillness.

"I'm sorry, my lady. I did not mean to open old wounds, but I thought you should know." He stared at the floor.

"How is Prince Kelson?" he asked, striving to change the subject.

"He is well," answered Sanil, straining to regain her composure. "Tomorrow is his Coronation, you know." She looked at him beseechingly. "I had hoped that was why you came: to see him crowned."

"It is, my lady," he answered. "But to see him crowned a true king-like his father."

"No!" she whispered, horrified. "Brion's powers died with him, if, indeed, he had them. Kelson must reign as a mortal!" She turned wide, afraid eyes on him.

"Kelson cannot rule as a mortal, my lady. The Blue One would slay him even as she did his father; you know that."

"Brion's power did not save him. Besides, she surely would not strike down a defenseless boy!"

"You know better than that, my lady," answered Morgan. "But, G.o.d willing, Kelson will not have to face the Blue One powerless to stand against her. I have the key to Brion's power-and it must be Kelson's."

"No!" she hissed, half-rising to her feet. "I will not let you do it. Kelson is but a boy."

"Don't be a fool, my lady," he said, grasping her shoulders and forcing her back to her chair. "Think a moment. Tomorrow Kelson will be fourteen, of legal age as far as the monarchy is concerned, and he will be crowned king as such. Would the Blue Witch, who killed his father," he paused for emphasis, "spare the father's son merely because of his youth? She means to rule, lady. Will she let any mere mortal stand in her way?"

"No." She forced the word out in a hoa.r.s.e whisper, relaxing dully into the cushions of the chair.

Morgan released her and stepped back. "Then, you'll permit me to speak with him?"

"Yes," she whispered dazedly, "within the hour."

But her face clouded with resentment as her eyes followed him through the sunny garden door.

II.

"What did you tell my mother?"

Morgan's black silken cloak rustled crisply in the sunlight as he whirled to identify the unexpected voice.

"Kelson." Tension turned to pleasure as he recognized the speaker, and a smile flickered across his face. "How did you know I was here?"

The boy sprang lightly down the few stone steps of the summerhouse and walked briskly to the young general's side.

"I saw you leave my mother's chamber, so I followed you. Did I do wrong?" he asked, his grey eyes clouding with apprehension as he sensed his friend's surprise.

"Of course not, my prince," replied Morgan, clapping the boy on the shoulder. "I really came to see you, not your mother. I must admit, however, that she's not terribly fond of me at the moment," he continued. "I reminded her that you are a king."

Kelson snorted mischievously. "She still thinks of me as her 'little boy'. She just doesn't seem to realize that tomorrow I'll be king." He glanced up wistfully. "I wonder what else she thinks the son of Brion could do besides rule? Tell me, Morgan. You knew my father well. Do you think that I shall ever be able to fill his place? Answer truly, now, for I shall know if you're only flattering me."

Morgan, hands clasped behind him, walked thoughtfully around the young man, noting the apparent frailness of the slim, young body, yet recalling the tensile steel strength and catlike grace with which he moved. Looking at Kelson, he saw Brion staring back at him, the wide, grey gaze under a thick shock of glossy black hair, the regal carriage of the proud head, the ease with which he wore the royal blue. It was Brion of the Laughing Eyes, Brion of the Flashing Sword, of the Gentle Moods, teaching a young boy to fence and ride; holding court in all the splendor of the monarchy, the boy spellbound at his feet; Brion, asking a friend dearer than life to swear that the boy would always have a protector, should his father die untimely; Brion, on the eve of his death, entrusting the key to his divine power to the man who stood now before his son.

Morgan snapped out of his reverie and motioned the boy to be seated.

"You are the image of Brion, my prince," said the young general, taking a seat on the stone steps. "And he left you well prepared for the task you will undertake tomorrow. I think he knew full well that you might come to the throne at an early age-in fact, he probably expected it, for he gave you the very finest training he knew how. '

"From the time you could sit unaided, he had you on horseback daily. Your fencing masters were the finest to be had on the continent, and when they had taught you what they knew, he supplemented them and soon had you out-fencing your former instructors. You studied the old annals of military history and strategy, languages, mathematics-he even let you touch on astronomy and alchemy.

"There was a practical side to your education, too, though. For there was wisdom in the seeming unor-thodoxy of allowing a young and sometimes fidgeting crown-prince to sit at his father's side in the council chambers. From the beginning, though you were doubtless unaware of it at first, you acquired the rudiments of the impeccable rhetoric and logic that were Brion's trademark as much as his swordsmanship or his valor. You learned to counsel, and to receive counsel, wisely and unpretentiously. And through it all, you were made to understand that a wise king does not speak in anger, nor judge until all the facts are before him."

Morgan fell silent for a moment, then continued thoughtfully. "I think that in some ways you will be even more a king than Brion was, my prince. You have a sensitivity, an appreciation of the arts, literature, music, that he never quite grasped, though I don't suppose it made him any less a king. Oh, he listened dutifully to the philosopher as well as the warrior, but I was never sure he really understood them. You do understand."

Kelson turned his face to lock the eyes of the general. "You forget one thing, Morgan," he said quietly. "I do not have my father's power, and without it, I fall." He rose impatiently. "Did he give you no clue as to how I am to remain king? What of his a.s.sa.s.sin? Am I, a mortal, to stand against the Blue Witch without armor? Morgan," he asked his father's friend beseechingly, "what am I to do?"

"You have come to the crux of the matter, my prince," smiled Morgan. "Come. We have been here too long already. It would never do for your mother to find us here at this stage of the game."

Taking the young prince's arm, he began to guide him through the garden, away from the vicinity of the queen's chambers.

Just then, a plump and very out-of-breath lady-in-waiting came scurrying into the garden.

"Your Highness," she squealed, coming to a rather undignified stop. "We have been searching for you everywhere. Your mother, the queen, was extremely worried, and you know she doesn't approve of your wandering off alone. It's very dangerous." Her speech slowly ground to a halt as she realized that the prince was, by no means, alone.

"Do you hear that, Morgan?" said Kelson, turning to his friend. "'It's very dangerous.' Lady Bolliston," he continued dryly, "would you please inform my lady mother that I have been quite safe here in the garden with General Morgan?"

Lady Bolliston's eyes grew round as she realized Morgan's ident.i.ty, and a plump hand flew to her lips to mask the scarcely breathed "Oh." She bobbled a hurried curtsey and stammered, "I did not recognize Your Grace."

"That is understandable, Lady Bolliston," he nodded, "for I have not been here in some time. However, I would hope that in the future you would show a bit more respect for your king." He smiled kindly. "Your entrance was not a model of decorum."

Lady Bolliston smiled in spite of herself, thinking that perhaps the late king's general was not such an ogre as the queen pictured him at all, and she murmured an apology.

"But your lady mother does wish to see you immediately, Your Highness," she added.

"Is it about General Morgan?" Kelson querried. When she did not answer, he continued. "I thought as much. Well, tell my lady mother that I am already in council with Sir Alaric and do not wish to be disturbed. You might add that I will be quite safe," he concluded dryly.

"Yes, Your Highness," she curtsied, and fled across the gra.s.s to deliver the message. When she was out of sight, Morgan and the prince dissolved into peals of laughter.

"You know, I don't think she meant to let me see you after all, my prince," said Morgan, clasping a black-gloved hand to the younger's shoulder. "We'd best leave before your 'lady mother' comes looking for us herself."

Kelson nodded in agreement, and the two made a rapid exit.

III.

Looking up casually from the stoup he was filling, Father Duncan McLain inspected the two young men making their way across the courtyard. He straightened quickly to shade his eyes against the intense glare of the mid-day sun. The younger would be Prince Kelson, the gold-embroidered edge of his velvet cloak glistening in the sunlight. But the older-the young priest's eyes lit with pleasure and surprise-why, it was Alaric!

Placing the now-empty bottle on the floor, he smoothed his rumpled ca.s.sock and walked briskly to the portico.

"Alaric," he cried, clasping the other's hand. "This is a pleasant surprise. And Kelson." He flung an arm about the shoulders of the grinning young prince to include him in the greeting.

"I really don't believe this," he said, guiding them into the coolness and quiet of the narthex. "My two favorite people, both in the same day. Ah, but Kelson, I see by the look on Alaric's face that this is not purely a social call, is it?"

"You're too perceptive, Duncan," smiled the young general. "I never could fool you, even when we were children. I wondered, though, whether Kelson and I might borrow you and your study for an hour or so of counsel."

Duncan grinned wryly, but nodded a.s.sent. "I might have known it would take business to drag you out here, Alaric," he said, scooping up the empty bottle and leading them down the nave. "You know, perhaps I should be your confessor-at least I'd see you once a year that way. But, on second thought, I don't suppose that would be a good idea at all-I know you too well."

The three paused at the transept to bow before the High Altar.

"Oh, come now, Duncan," said Morgan, chuckling softly as he followed the priest out the side door, Kelson close at his heels. "I see you more than that; and besides, it's fifty miles from my castle to the capital."

"No, Alaric, I shall tolerate no more excuses. Either you promise to come visit me more often, or I shall turn you out of my study, and you can find someplace else to discuss your business." He closed the door securely behind him and walked to a small, round table near the center of the room.

"Very well, Duncan," laughed Morgan, as he motioned the two to be seated. "You have my word."

Morgan took a small leather pouch from his belt and began fumbling absorbedly with the cords.

"Now, have you a cloth I can put down, Duncan?" he asked, opening the bag.

Before the priest could answer, Kelson produced a soft, white silk handkerchief from his sleeve and spread it out before the general. "Will this do, Morgan?"

"Very well, my prince," he answered, reaching into the bag and gingerly extracting a bit of gold and brilliance which he laid on the silk. "Do you recognize this, Kelson?"

Kelson exhaled softly, his grey eyes wide with awe and wonderment. "It is the Ring of Fire, my father's seal of power."

"May I see that?" asked Duncan, anxiety written in his eyes.

Morgan nodded a.s.sent.

Gathering the silk carefully around his fingers, the young priest picked up the ring, turning it in the dim light. The scarlet stones cast scintillating rays on the damasked walls, and the burnished metal shone warmly. Duncan examined it minutely, then replaced it on the table, smoothing the rumpled silk.

"So far, so good," he breathed, a trace of hopefulness crossing his face. "There is more?"

For answer, Morgan reached once more into the leather bag and brought forth a heavy enamelled brooch the size of a man's fist. A rampant golden lion shone on the crimson background, and gold-etched scrollwork traced the deeply carved edges.

"What-?" began Kelson, brows knitting in bewilderment.

"The key, my prince," murmured Morgan, leaning back in his chair. "The key to your father's power."

He pa.s.sed the brooch to Duncan, who scrutinized it briefly, then handed it on to Kelson.

"Brion told me of it the last time I saw him alive. He must have sensed impending danger, for he made me swear that if he fell, the brooch and ring should somehow get to you, Kelson. There is a verse which accompanies the brooch."

"What verse, Alaric?" questioned the priest, leaning forward expectantly. "You have it?"

"Aye," he answered wearily. "But it makes little sense. Listen."

His face a.s.sumed a far-away expression as he began to recite: "The eve of Coronation Day Must power increased to you convey. A holy man shall be your guide; A champion bold kneels by your side. The sinister hand held bravely so: The Lion's tooth through flesh must go. The ringing of the sinister hand Gives all the power you demand."

"Well," said Duncan, leaning back in his chair and raising an eyebrow. "He didn't give us much to go on, did he?"

"Now, wait, Father," began Kelson agitatedly. "The first part is clear enough: 'The eve of Coronation Day I Must power increased to you convey''-this merely says that whatever happens must happen tonight.

" 'A holy man,' you, Father, 'shall be your guide,/ A champion bold kneels by your side.'" He looked to Morgan for advice.

"Correct, my prince," he nodded. "This clearly shows the roles that Duncan and I are to play, but what of yours? Now, I don't understand the third stanza at all yet, but the fourth is evidently a reference to the portion of the Coronation ritual when the archbishop places the ring on the king's-the sinister hand! Why didn't I think of that before?"

"Yes, of course," chimed in Kelson. "Father often spoke of such things in heraldic terms. This would be just like him."

"Picking up the brooch, Kelson extended his left hand. " 'The sinister hand held bravely so:/The Lion's tooth through flesh must go.'"

He looked at the brooch, then at his friends, a quizzical expression on his face. "Morgan, I don't understand. This lion has no tooth. How can...?"

"Wait." Duncan sprang to his feet, reaching for the enamelled ornament. "Let me see that."

Taking it in his hands, he began to inspect it closely, then turned it over to finger the clasp.

"Yes, of course," he whispered, his eyes focused on something beyond. "There is always the obstacle, the barrier, the need for bravery."

Morgan rose slowly, his full attention on Duncan.

"The clasp," he whispered icily, "is the Lion's tooth?"

Duncan's gaze flickered to the present. "Yes."

Kelson stood and reached across the table to run his finger along the three inches of slim golden clasp. He swallowed.

"The Lion's tooth must pierce my hand?"

Duncan nodded impa.s.sively.

"It-it will be very painful, won't it?" Kelson asked, his voice very small in the stillness.

Again, Duncan nodded.

"But there is no other way, is there?"

"None, my prince," replied the priest, his face pale against the dark ca.s.sock.

Kelson lowered his eyes. "Then, it must be done. Will you make the proper arrangements, Father?"

"Yes, my prince," he replied. "You and Alaric should be back here no later than the hour after Compline." He bowed low.

Kelson inclined his head in thanks. "I will go, then, Father. Between now and Compline, I must learn to be a true king."

He spun on his heel and went out, Morgan close behind, and the weight of kingship rested already heavy on his shoulders.

"G.o.d bless you, my prince," breathed the priest, as he raised his hand in benediction.

IV.

Morgan followed his young lord silently across the courtyard, sensing the boy's need to be alone with his thoughts. Not until they had nearly reached the entrance to the royal apartments did Kelson speak.