The Deryni Archives Part 16

"Morgan," he asked suddenly, "do you really think we know what we're doing?"

"Well," Morgan countered wistfully, "if we don't, and Brion's magic is lost forever, at least we will have tried. That's all men can do, is try, isn't it, my prince?"

"You're right, of course, Morgan," he answered. "But suppose I'm not ready?"

"You are better prepared than you know, my prince," replied Morgan, reaching for the door.

But before he could touch it, the heavy oak door swung slowly open to reveal a startled and angry queen and her retinue.

"Where have you been, Kelson?" she demanded.

"With General Morgan, Mother. Didn't you get my message?"

Sanil turned her glare on Morgan. "What did you tell him?"

Morgan regarded her thoughtfully, his hands clasped behind him. "I told him about his father, my lady. Beyond that, you will have to ask him."

"Well, Kelson?" she snapped. "What lies has he been filling your head with?"

"Please don't make a scene, Mother," replied Kelson, moving quietly toward his suite. "I scarcely think I need tell you what he said; you know what I must do."

When she did not respond, he turned his attention to the officer in charge of his guard.

"Lieutenant, I am retiring for the day, and I do not wish to be disturbed by anyone until morning. Is that clear? General Morgan will spend the night in my quarters."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"Very well, then," he said, and turned to his mother. "Good night, Mother. I shall see you before the procession tomorrow. I must get some rest."

Pivoting precisely, he entered the apartment, Morgan close behind him, and the bolt shot home with a note of finality. The queen, after a moment's hesitation, retired resignedly down the corridor.

But in the shadows of the columns, there lurked one who was not at all dismayed to see the prince seek seclusion for the remainder of the day. Smiling grimly at the show of royal discord, he waited until the last footsteps of the queen and her retinue had receded down the long pa.s.sageway, then slipped out the main door, gathering his squire's cloak around him. Going immediately to the royal stables, where a fast horse lay saddled and waiting, he exchanged royal livery for a somber-hued traveling cloak, pulling the voluminous hood well over his face before he set out.

Soon, he was riding away from the city, and within an hour he reined in and left the main road to follow a winding, little-ridden track into the foothills. As he descended the torturous slopes of a steep gorge, he glanced casually around him, and when he reached the bottom, he was not at all surprised to find himself surrounded by fierce, blue-clad warriors.

"Who goes there?" challenged the commanding officer, hand on sword hilt.

"Lord lan to see the countess," answered the lone rider, throwing back his hood and dismounting as he spoke.

Bowing unctuously, the officer took the horse's reins from lan and immediately changed his tone of voice to a more servile one.

"My apologies, m'lord. We did not recognize you."

"That is not at all surprising to me," remarked the young lord dryly, "since I did not wish to be recognized. Open the portal."

He gestured imperiously and the men moved to comply with his order. A lieutenant pressed his fingers fleetingly over a series of small depressions in the rock, and a large stone slab withdrew to reveal a pa.s.sageway into the side of the gorge. lan stepped inside, followed by the men, and the opening was walled off once more. The men dispersed to their various duties, and the newcomer swung down the hallway.

Boots echoing on the marble flagstones, lan strode resolutely, reflecting on the strange company one was often obliged to keep in order to further one's goals. The Blue One trusted him almost completely now, and there would be time enough after the young prince was deposed to seize the power of the Blue One for himself.

Silver spurs jangled as he clattered confidently down the granite staircase, and the torches in their wrought-iron holders cast russet highlights on his chestnut hair, reflecting, perhaps, the even more russet thoughts beneath it.

He pa.s.sed the guardpost and took the precise salute nonchalantly, then approached a pair of golden doors and slipped through. Leaning back against the ornate handles, he fixed his gaze intently upon the woman who sat brushing her long, blued silver hair, all thoughts of malice gone for the present, at least from his face.

"Well, lan?" she querried, her full red lips curving upward with more than a trace of ire.

"The Son of the Lion is caged for the night, my pet," he said silkily, sauntering toward her with a careless intensity. "And there is discord in the royal household. The son is cool toward the mother who is so protective, and the mother quarrels with the general, who has fired the son with tales of the father's valor."

He unclasped the heavy cloak and flung it across a low bench, then sank onto a wide, satin-draped couch, unbuckling his sword as he did.

"And the young prince?" she inquired. "Does he seem ill-at-ease over his imminent coronation?" Her voice was edged with mockery as she laid the silver-backed brush on the dresser top and stood, gathering the gossamer folds of her gown about her in a soft azure cloud.

"I think he is well discomfited," smiled the young lord, reclining on one elbow. "He retires to rest, and has given orders that he's not to be disturbed until morning. If he leaves, we will be informed immediately." His green eyes followed her every move hungrily.

"It is good, lan," she whispered, her voice lilting into low, bell-like tones as she glided toward him. "You have done well." She rested delicate fingertips on his shoulder and smiled. "The Blue One is pleased to give the same orders for the night."

As the Vesper chimes finished their pealing in the distance, Morgan rose cat-like and stretched. Strolling to the window, he drew the drapery slightly to survey the mounting darkness, then let the drape fall heavily into place. He suppressed a yawn as he crossed to an ornate candelabra and struck a light, then carried it to a place near the royal couch.

Kelson opened his eyes abruptly and looked around.

"I must have fallen asleep," he said, raising to one elbow. "Is it time?"

"Not yet, my prince," replied Morgan, going to the wardrobe and casually surveying the garments. "It is yet a while before Compline is rung."

He selected a deep grey silken tunic, the edges worked in gold and pearls, and tossed it on a nearby chair. "This will be suitable, I think."

Sinking wearily into a chair by the fireplace, he contemplated the flames for a few moments as he ran idle fingers through his burnished hair.

"Nay, on second thought, perhaps you'd best get ready."

"You are a strange man, Morgan," declared Kelson as he c.o.c.ked his head at the young general. "When you told me that I should rest, I was certain I should not sleep a wink, but with a calm voice and low word you stilled my fears, and sleep came."

Morgan replied absently, "You were very tired, my prince." He resumed his air of contemplation, so Kelson, sensing that he would get no further explanation for the moment, slipped quietly to his dressing rooms.

After sitting motionless for some moments, Morgan snapped abruptly out of his melancholy and rose to his feet. Stripping off leather and mail, he washed perfunctorily at a small basin in the valet's quarters, and was pulling on light chain mail over his silken jerkin when Kelson reentered the room.

"You expect trouble?" he asked, eying the steel mesh with nervous distaste.

Morgan chuckled softly. "No, my prince, but 'tis best to be prepared," he said, lacing up the sides. "And I wish to apologize if I was somewhat boorish earlier. I spoke shortly to you when I should have been rea.s.suring. It was thoughtless of me."

Kelson smiled weakly as Morgan buffeted his shoulder in pa.s.sing, and he gave a deprecating shrug.

"Not so serious, my lad," said Morgan, as he rummaged in his saddlebags to produce a gilt-edged black velvet doublet, which he tugged on over the mail. "Your father would not have used magic to harm his own son-the veiled threats are meant to discourage usurpers, not the rightful heir."

Buckling on sword and cloak, he moved to the wardrobe and took out a wine velvet cloak and held it toward the young prince. Kelson settled the black fox collar of the garment firmly around his shoulders and turned toward the door.

"Not that way," said Morgan, grasping his arm and guiding him to a spot near the balcony window. "Now watch," he commanded.

Pacing off a distance from the wall, Morgan surveyed his position closely, then stood with feet planted firmly on the flagstone floor. He traced an intricate design in the air before him with an outstretched forefinger, and with a sigh, a portion of the wall recessed to reveal a dark stairwell.

Kelson gaped incredulously at Morgan. "How did that get there?" he asked, pointing unbelievingly.

"I imagine someone built it, my prince," remarked the general as he entered the pa.s.sageway. "There are many like it in the palace. Come."

He held out a hand to the prince as the distant bells rang Compline, and Kelson clambered after him. Ten minutes later, the two stood at the edge of the dark courtyard, the ma.s.sive presence of the church looming dark against the night sky. m.u.f.fled in darkness, they made their way to the portico and stood in the narthex un.o.btrusively.

The deserted church was silent now, and the darkness was broken only by the low blaze of votive candles, which splashed their ruby glow over the stone floors and dark stained gla.s.s. In the sanctuary, a lone, black-clad figure bowed before the High Altar, his features obscured in the pale crimson aura of the vigil lamp. He turned at the sound of Morgan and Kelson's footsteps in the side aisle and came to meet them in the transept.

"All is ready," whispered Duncan, drawing them toward his study. They were seated around the small table before he spoke again. The Lion brooch winked ominously from its crimson cushion before them.

"Kelson," began the priest softly, his hands folded before him, "what I am about to say concerns mainly you."

Kelson nodded gravely, his face pale in the candlelight, and Duncan continued.

"The ritual we will use is a very simple one: we will enter the church. You will both kneel at the rail. I will give you my blessing, Kelson; and then you, of your own action and volition, must thrust the Lion's tooth through the palm of your left hand. If G.o.d is with us, you will feel the surge of power almost immediately. There will be a spinning sensation. You may lose consciousness. This last, I am not sure of. Only time and the deed will tell."

Kelson exhaled softly, his face ashen. "Is there anything more that I am required to know, Father?"

"No, my son," answered Duncan gently.

"Then," the prince continued in a shaken voice, "if there is time, I should like to be alone for a while before it begins."

"Of course, my prince," replied the priest, rising and catching Mofgan's eye. "Alaric will help me to vest."

In the sacristy, Morgan broke the silence.

"What if something goes wrong, Duncan?" he asked, holding out the snowy surplice which the priest took carefully. "Suppose it kills him?"

"This is the chance we must take," Duncan answered. "You and I both know what would happen were he to face the Blue One without power-that is a certainty."

He touched a brocaded stole to his lips and settled it around his shoulders. "At least the boy has a chance this way. Brion knew his own son. I do not think we can be far wrong. Come," he said, laying a hand on Morgan's shoulder. "We had best get on with it."

They made their way back to the study where a young prince awaited his destiny.

Kelson sat thoughtfully in the study, his eyes focused through the flame of the single candle. Soon, he would either know his father's power, or he would know nothing, and his heart went out to the two loyal friends who were now so totally involved in the awesome drama: Morgan, his father's comrade, who had been almost a second, though younger, father to him; and Duncan, the young priest who had been his tutor almost since he could remember, even before his ordination.

He chided himself briefly for ever having doubted the wisdom of these loyal two, and was comforted by the knowledge that they would stand by him no matter what happened tonight. He rose, smiling, to his feet as the door swung softly open, and Morgan returned the smile rea.s.suringly as he caught Kelson's note of confidence.

"Are you ready, my prince?" asked Duncan, as he picked up the brooch on its cushion and handed it to Morgan.

"Yes, Father," came the reply, and the three filed into the church.

Prince and champion knelt at the altar rail, ungirding their swords and placing them on the floor before them, as the priest stood at the foot of the altar in prayer. Signing himself, Duncan mounted the steps and kissed the altarstone, then turned to the two, his arms outstretched.

"Dominus vobisc.u.m."

"Et c.u.m spiritu tuo," came their reply.

"Oremus."

The priest turned back to the altar and bowed again in prayer, ending it with a solemn, "Per omnia saecula saeculorum."

Morgan and Kelson responded with a low "Amen."

Descending the steps, Duncan stood before the kneeling Kelson and placed his hands firmly on the head of the young prince.

"May Almighty G.o.d, the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, bless you, Kelson. Amen."

He signed the prince in blessing, then reached down and plucked the Lion brooch from its velvet cushion and placed it firmly in Kelson's hands.

"Courage, my prince," he whispered, and returned to the altar, his hands outstretched.

"Domine,fiat voluntas tua!"

Kelson's hands trembled slightly as he poised the golden clasp over his left palm. Then, steeling himself, he plunged the slender shaft through his hand. A gasp of anguish escaped his lips as the point, darker now, protruded on the other side, and he doubled over, moaning softly, as waves of pain throbbed from the wounded hand.

Morgan half-rose to steady his young lord, but Dun-can whispered, "No!" as he whirled to face them. "Wait!"

He stared at the agonized prince intently, and Morgan, not daring to interfere, sank back to his knees.

A heavy silence replaced the prince's moans, and he straightened dazedly, bewilderment and confusion evident in his look.

"Father," he whispered, "everything is spinning." He swayed drunkenly, a look of fear coming upon his face. "Father, the darkness...." He crumpled softly to the floor.

"Kelson!" cried the general, leaping to his aid.

Duncan joined him, and kneeling beside him, gently pried open the boy's left hand, a look of wonderment in his eyes.

"We were right," he said, withdrawing the slim shaft and wrapping the hand in a handkerchief. "He has the power now. There can be no mistaking the signs. Come," he continued, stripping off his vestments, "we must get him back to his room. He should sleep until morning, but I'll come with you to see that he's settled for the rest of the night."

Morgan nodded and picked up the unconscious boy, wrapping the red velvet cloak closer around him against the cold. Duncan gathered up the swords, and the two made their way back to the warmth of the royal apartment with their burdens.

Morgan laid Kelson gently on his couch and cleaned the boy's hand with a few deft wipes of clear, pungent fluid on a silk gauze, then bound up the hand while Duncan unlaced the prince's boots. He was removing the velvet cloak when the boy's eyes fluttered open weakly.

"Father? Morgan?" he questioned weakly.

"We are here, my prince," replied Duncan, moving to the boy's right to clasp his hand and kneel attentively.

"Morgan," the boy continued softly, "I heard my father's voice, and then the strangest sensation came over me. It was like being wrapped in woven sunlight or silk. At first I was frightened, but then...."

"Hush now, my prince," said Morgan gently, placing his hand on the boy's forehead. "You must go to sleep now and rest. Sleep now, my prince. I will not be far away."

As he spoke, Kelson's eyelids fluttered briefly, then closed, and his breathing slowed to that of deep slumber. Morgan smiled and smoothed the touseled hair, then arranged the blanket snugly around his young lord. Dousing the light, he beckoned Duncan to join him on the terrace, and the two slipped outside, their silhouettes dark against the midnight sky.

"He trusts you very much, Alaric," said the young priest admiringly.

Morgan leaned against the railing, trying to discern Duncan's face in the darkness. "And you, my friend."

"True," he replied, his hands on the railing before him as he looked out over the city. "I only hope that we may always remain worthy of his trust. He is very young for a burden such as we have placed upon him tonight. G.o.d knows, our task as his champions will not be easier for his power."