The Deryni Archives Part 7

Laran shrugged. "Well, aside from the obvious logistical problem of actually making the switch without getting caught, there's the question of whether anyone who shouldn't will be able to notice a difference in taste. Merasha doesn't have any taste per se, but it does have a distinctive aftertaste, as we all know- not as noticeable to humans, I'm told, but nonetheless it's there."

"And you're afraid de Nore will notice, if it isn't there," Jamyl guessed.

"Well, he is known for his discriminating palate," Laran pointed out. "Not only is that a convenient excuse for bringing along his own wine when he travels and for sending special shipments to the other bishops as a sign of episcopal favor, but he celebrates enough Ma.s.ses at enough ordinations to know quite precisely what his private stock should taste like. To keep a switch from being detected, I must find something that will give an aftertaste similar to merasha, that acts like a light sedative, but that also has no other side effects, for humans or Deryni-probably some combination of substances."

He sighed heavily, then went on. "Or maybe we'll have to go with pure wine and take our chances that de Nore won't notice something's missing. It's better than the alternative. We know what merasha will do."

"Maybe the pure wine isn't as risky as you think," Denis ventured. "I'll bet that's what he uses for daily Ma.s.ses. He wouldn't dare use the special vintage every day, if only because of the sedative effect."

"Hmmm, he might have built up a tolerance to that," Laran argued, "but your point is well taken. Knowing how de Nore feels about Deryni, and a.s.suming that even he knows just what makes the ordination wine different-"

Startled, Stefan turned to look at Laran, his intensity cutting off the physician's speculation in mid-phrase.

"Are you implying that he doesn't know there's merasha in the wine, or that someone else may be responsible for adding it?" he asked softly.

Laran fluttered ink-stained fingers in a gesture of impatience.

"Either could be true, Stefan, or neither. That doesn't really matter. It's been going on for many years, after all, and individual archbishops come and go. Think back to how it must have started, though!"

In the blink of an eye, Laran the physician gave way to Laran the professor, academic intensity displacing medical dispa.s.sion, his sharp features lighting with zeal as he slipped into the role of lecturer.

"The religious question of good and evil aside, barring Deryni from the clergy served the inheritors of the Council of Ramos very well," he said. "It concentrated all spiritual authority in human hands, and a great deal of temporal authority as well-an action totally justified in human minds, since everyone knew that Deryni abuses of power had triggered the Haldane Restoration and its aftermath. However we may deplore it, using merasha thereafter to screen candidates for the priesthood was only a logical extension of what had already begun. It was the perfect vehicle for ensuring that our people would never regain power, for the effects of merasha on Deryni, to those who did not know better, would appear to be the wrath of G.o.d striking down evil Deryni who would dare aspire to the holy office of priest. All that was wanted was to ensure that it was used consistently."

"A charge that was given to the bishops," Jamyl supplied.

"Probably-at least in part. But since, in the greater picture, no individual bishop lives forever, I think it's worth considering that the Ramos Fathers might have set up some separate, secret, on-going body to be their deputies, to see that only humans rose through the ranks of clergy. Perhaps a small, elite religious order. Perhaps one that makes wine. Sheerest speculation, I suppose, but it bears further thought."

Stefan snorted and folded his arms across his chest.

"I refuse to believe that de Nore doesn't know what he's doing."

"Oh, he may know exactly what he's doing," Laran agreed. "That doesn't necessarily rule out a group to back him, however. Perhaps the secret is imparted to each new archbishop by some designated representative, whose job it is to ensure that his bishops use 'specially blessed' wine at ordinations and that they know what to look for. However it's done, it works. We certainly have no Deryni priests or bishops."

Even Denis could find no quarrel with that conclusion, though it almost seemed to anger Stefan. After what seemed like an eternity, Stefan slammed the heel of one hand against the arm of his chair and let out an explosive sigh. Laran only sat back in his chair, once again the cool and a.n.a.lytical physician, and glanced back at the flask of wine on the table beside them.

"Well, then," Laran said amiably. "Whatever we may or may not have resolved while I played the professor at you-for which I apologize to all-young Arilan is probably right about de Nore declining to use his special wine on a regular basis. Even if it had no Deryni a.s.sociations, the sedative effect could cause problems over a period of time. So perhaps his experience with merasha is limited enough that he would not notice a subst.i.tution of pure wine for tainted."

"Perhaps isn't good enough," Jamyl muttered, getting up from his perch on Denis' chair arm to begin pacing restlessly. "We're talking about my brother's life." He paced a few more steps, thumbs hooked in the back of his belt, then paused to glance back at them.

"I don't suppose we dare just interfere directly with de Nore?" he asked. "It should be possible to induce him to switch the wine himself and then bury the memory."

"Not wise at all," Stefan said. "Any tampering with de Nore could conceivably invalidate Denis' ordination, if it were ever found out what we'd done."

"What about someone on de Nore's staff, then?" Denis asked. "You already said you'd infiltrated other bishops' staffs to get samples of their wine. Doesn't that const.i.tute tampering?"

"Of course," Laran conceded. "But they're not ordaining you."

"Well, here's another thought, then," Denis went on, seizing on sudden inspiration. "De Nore only has a sip of the wine before bringing it down for the new priests to communicate. It's his chaplain who finishes it off and performs the ablutions. Maybe you could tamper with him. He doesn't have anything to do with ordaining me."

Laran looked dubious, but Stefan slowly began nodding.

"The lad may have a point. What's the name of de Nore's chaplain? Gorony? It's Gorony's taste we have to fool, Laran-not de Nore's. And it's Gorony who's in the ideal position to make a switch. What would it take to keep him from noticing a slight difference in the wine?"

"For me, or for you?" Laran replied, giving Stefan an odd look.

Stefan snorted, a sly smile flashing across his face so quickly that Denis was never sure he really saw it.

"We'll work on it," Stefan said enigmatically. "Meanwhile, it's getting late, and we should be finishing up. I do think Denis should know what he's getting into if we don't succeed, however." He picked up the flask of drugged wine. "Have you got a cup and some water, Laran?"

As Denis stared in horror, Stefan began working the stopper loose from the neck of the flask, Laran rising to leave the room briefly. Denis hardly saw him go.

Surely they didn't really expect him to take merasha without a fight, after what had happened to Jorian? He'd had the drug before, of course, in training, but this was different. This was the wine that had betrayed Jorian to his death!

"You may have to take it this way, if something goes wrong," Stefan said, answering Denis' unasked questions as he took the empty goblet Laran brought and slowly poured wine into it. "At least if you know what to expect, you may have some chance of hiding your reaction. We'll give you something to counteract what we can, before you leave tonight. Is that about right?"

He held out the goblet, a quarter-filled with dark, potent-looking wine, and Denis tried to imagine it as de Nore's chalice, his heart hammering in his chest.

"You need to add water now," he managed to whisper.

Coolly Stefan took a second goblet from Laran, filled with water, and held it over the drugged wine, preparing to pour-then thought better of it and offered the water to Denis.

"You'd better do this. You know how much it should be."

Hands shaking, Denis took the goblet and poured- too much.

"You're going to have to add some more wine," he heard himself saying, as Laran took the water from him and began rummaging in his physician's satchel for a drug packet. "I added a little more than I meant to."

"How much would de Nore add?" Stefan asked, slowly pouring more wine until Denis signalled him to stop.

"I don't know," Denis admitted. "I've never served Ma.s.s for him-or for any bishop. I-think he'd deliberately go light on the water at an ordination, though, since-so much depends on the wine..."

His voice had trailed off as Stefan set the flask aside, and he had to clasp his hands tightly in his lap to keep them from shaking.

"I'm afraid I have to agree with your logic," Stefan said quietly, moving a little closer with the drugged cup. "Think before you drink this, now. How big a swallow would you normally take, and how small a swallow can you get away with, without arousing suspicion?"

Denis closed his eyes briefly, remembering de Nore's huge, jewelled chalice. It would have to be a noticeable swallow.

"Here it comes now," he heard Stefan say softly, far closer now, as the rim of the goblet touched his lips. "Remember what I asked you."

Almost without volition, Denis lifted his hands to steady the cup as Stefan tipped it for him to drink. He had never received communion by Cup as well as by Host, for that was reserved for priests and bishops. The wine was rich and fruity, and he was not sure whether he could detect any of the expected merasha aftertaste at all as Stefan took the cup away and he carefully swallowed. Laran had come around behind him while he drank and monitored his reaction with a cool hand laid along the side of his throat.

"Well," Stefan murmured, handing off the goblet to an anxious Jamyl, "I'll confess I've never made a study of the size swallow priests take when they drink communion wine, but that seemed plausible to me." His manner was casual as he sat back in his chair, but his eyes never left Denis' face. "Try to keep from showing any distress for as long as you can," he said. "I would estimate you'll have an hour or more before you can safely slip away, if you have to do this for real. With any luck at all, though, that won't be necessary. Tell me, could you taste the merashaT"

He was tasting it by then, faintly bitter at the back of his tongue. He did his best to describe it, aware that Laran was delving deeper to catch every nuance of memory about it, but he could feel the drug gradually extending its tendrils of disruption into every corner of his mind, insidious and terrifying, even though he knew he was safe here. He lasted a little longer than Jorian had, but not nearly long enough to have gotten through the rest of the Ma.s.s and subsequent celebrations safely. The dose was a little lighter than those he'd had in training exercises, but that only made it ease him into thrall instead of hitting him like a mountain falling on his head. He tried not to imagine what it had been like for Jorian, who had been given to drink from the chalice a second time-and then given more wine in the sacristy, almost certainly from de Nore's private stock.

His head was throbbing and he could hardly see by the time Laran took pity on him and gave him the second cup, to counteract some of the effect of the first. He never knew how Jamyl got him back through the Portal and into bed. He woke briefly at noon the next day, his head still pounding, but rose only long enough to relieve himself and take another dose of the sedative Laran had sent with Jamyl. He was mostly recovered by the second morning and had time for only a brief visit with Stefan and Laran before he must head back for Arx Fidei, his leave now exhausted. This time, the two came to Tre-Arilan, gathering conspiratorially in Jamyl's little ritual chamber.

"I wish I could offer you more encouragement," Stefan said, as Laran rummaged in his medical satchel and Denis watched apprehensively. "We have a plan that we think will work, but it's safer for everyone concerned if you don't know what it is."

He took an empty cup and a flagon of water from Jamyl and held the cup toward Laran, who half filled it with wine.

"What's that?" Denis whispered. "I have to go back to school in an hour or so."

"This is Laran's answer to Archbishop de Nore's nasty wine," Stefan said, pa.s.sing the cup to Denis. "We need you to check it for taste, because with any luck, you'll be drinking this at your ordination instead of de Nore's. Do you want to add the water, or shall I?"

"I'll do it," Denis murmured, nervously adding the necessary amount. "What's in it?"

"Oh, this and that," Laran said with a grin-the first time Denis could ever remember seeing him smile. "I think the effect is a fair approximation of what a human experiences after taking merasha, though. You shouldn't feel much."

Denis hoped he wouldn't feel much, as Laran slipped into rapport to monitor again and he raised the cup to drink. It tasted about the same to him, even to a faint, bitter after-tang a few seconds after it went down- but then, his palate was not yet as well trained as he would like. At twenty, he was not yet a connoisseur of wines.

"Suppose Gorony can taste a difference, though?" he asked, as he waited for whatever effect was going to manifest. "Or suppose you simply can't make the switch?"

"Do you want to bow out?" Stefan countered. "There's still time for that, you know-though it may mean that Jamyl and his family will have to leave Gwynedd, if anyone ever suspects that the reason you left is because you're Deryni."

Denis swallowed hard, knowing what Jamyl's loss in the king's council could cost the slim gains their people had made in the last decade.

"If I'm caught," he whispered, "that will happen anyway. Jamyl, are you going to be there?"

Jamyl laughed uproariously. "Oh, yes, little brother. I'd hardly dare miss it, would I?"

"You're part of the plan, then."

"Part of the problem, part of the solution, I'm afraid."

"We'll do the best we can for you, Denis," Stefan went on softly. "G.o.d knows, no one wants a repeat of Jorian's fate. But if you're determined to become a priest-and we do need you so badly in that function- I'm afraid this is your only option."

"Why can't I know what you're planning?" Denis asked. "It's my life. Don't I have a right to know?"

"It isn't a matter of 'right to know.' It's a matter of the danger to the rest of us, if it doesn't work and you're taken. So far as we know, Jorian didn't break- and no one is saying that you would-but do you want to have to worry about that, in addition to everything else? If everything goes as it should, there'll be no reason for you to expect anything odd or different is going on. And if it doesn't-well, you'll know that, too."

That was precisely what worried Denis, but he had to admit that their logic was sound. What he did not know, he could not betray-and Deryni senses fine-tuned to the possibilities of the situation should keep him somewhat apprised of how things were progressing. Jamyl would be there, after all. He hoped his brother had a plan to get away if it didn't work, though.

"All right," he murmured around a yawn. "I'm game if you are. Will I hear from you before Candlemas?"

Laran chuckled and finally dismantled rapport, shaking his head as Denis yawned again. "You may- but don't expect it. Incidentally, how do you like reacting like a human?"

"What do you mean?"

"I told you that what you drank simulated the effect of merasha on humans. Feeling a little sleepy?"

Denis laughed and shook his head as he yawned again.

"I'm not going to nod off on my horse, am I?"

"No. It shouldn't get any worse than this. You'll be fine by the time you ride into the abbey yard."

But riding into the abbey yard was the last thing Denis Arilan was worried about as he made hasty farewells and set out on the journey back to Arx Fidei. He wondered how he was going to survive the nearly three months until Candlemas-and whether three months would be enough time for the others to do what they needed to do.

III.

On the morning slated for his ordination, Denis Arilan found himself outwardly calm as Elgin de Torres helped him vest in a corner of the library. The calm had a numb edge to it, however, for he had heard nothing from his hoped-for saviors or even from his brother since leaving Tre-Arilan in late November. That visit home had cost him his Christmas leave, ostensibly because of his impending ordination and the gap the absence had left in his studies. Denis hoped those were the only reasons and had tried hard not to think about what his allies' silence might mean.

Suppose something had happened to prevent them from executing their plan-whatever the plan was. What if his fate was to be the same as Jorian's, betrayed unto death even in the midst of the joy he had yearned for all his life, in this culmination of his reach toward the priesthood?

He tried to pray as he settled the deacon's stole over his shoulder and let Elgin secure it at his waist, repeating the appropriate words by rote, but he could not get Jorian out of his mind. Nor, he suspected, could any of the other four priestly candidates vesting with him, each one more silent than the next. Jorian's fate haunted every seminarian at Arx Fidei, though no one but Denis knew that it had been men, not G.o.d, who had betrayed the unfortunate Deryni priest. In ethics cla.s.s, Charles FitzMichael, Denis' chief compet.i.tion for top academic honors, had even been bold enough to ask what would happen to someone who did not know he was Deryni, and sought ordination. Would a just but loving G.o.d strike down such an unwitting innocent?

Abbot Calbert could supply no ready answer to that one; and his inability had half the school walking on eggsh.e.l.ls for the next week-for it was perfectly possible not to know, given the persecutions of the last two hundred years and the fact that many Deryni had simply gone underground, hiding and denying their talents, never telling children or grandchildren who and what they really were. Why, anyone could be Deryni and not be aware of it!

That was the theory, in any case. Denis tended to think that anyone of Deryni blood would at least suspect, especially if trained in the meditation techniques and mental disciplines that clergy candidates were expected to master-but that did not alter the importance of the original question. Would a loving but just G.o.d strike down an unwitting transgressor, if man did not?

In whispered consultations s.n.a.t.c.hed between cla.s.ses, or enroute to chapel, or after everyone was supposed to be abed, most of Denis' cla.s.smates eventually agreed, albeit uncomfortably, that G.o.d's justice and His love might, indeed, be at odds in such a situation-and who could say which way He would tip the balance? After all, G.o.d's Church had forbidden Deryni to seek the priesthood; therefore, it would be just for Him to punish anyone arrogant enough to defy that ban.

But the opposite argument held equal weight. For if G.o.d was infinitely loving as well as infinitely just, would He-could He-punish a loving son who disobeyed out of ignorance rather than arrogance?

The logic did not help Denis, who knew full well what he was doing, but it gave some comfort to Charles, Benjamin, and the other two being ordained-Melwas and a heavy-set Llanneddi boy named Argostino. Denis could only pray that his own concept of justice matched G.o.d's, and that he and the other Deryni who tried to serve that justice would be able to circ.u.mvent the impediments put in their way by human fear and hatred.

A partial answer to that last prayer, at least, came most unexpectedly when Abbot Calbert came into the library for his customary final words with the priestly candidates, accompanied by school faculty and several unfamiliar priests. For one of the priests looked suspiciously like the Deryni Stefan-though he walked with a slight limp, and his hair was peppery brown instead of fair.

Denis tried to steal a closer look at the man as the juniors filed out and Calbert bade them all draw nearer, but he dared not be too obvious. Nor was he sure he dared attempt a psychic contact to test, for some humans could sense such a touch.

Calbert seemed to talk for hours, most of his words running into a senseless blur. Only when he had finished and was motioning the five of them to fall into line, did the stranger-priest finally meet Denis' eyes and confirm that he was Stefan.

There are lots of strange priests here today, came Stefan's clear thought as he brushed Denis' shoulder in pa.s.sing, as if helping shepherd the line of candidates out of the library to join the entrance procession. The archbishop thinks I'm one of Calbert's, and Calbert thinks I came with de Nore. Stay calm. The switch WILL be made.

Stefan was moving off with the other priests almost before Denis could register what had been said.

The switch will be made! Then, it had not yet been made What if they could not make it?

He could feel a trembling start in the pit of his stomach as he inched along in the entrance procession, second in line, and he thought his heart must be pounding loud enough to drown out the choir's "Confitebor tibi, Domine, in toto corde meo"-I will praise Thee, O Lord, with my whole heart. One of the juniors handed him a lighted candle as he pa.s.sed through the doors into the church, and he made himself use the warmth and flicker of the flame and the faint, honey-sweet scent of beeswax to help him steady his nerves. He must not let his own fear betray him.

He tried not to notice that the church was even more packed than last time. A bishop's visit to a local parish always brought a large turnout, but he suspected that some of the crowd, at least, had been drawn not by de Nore's presence, but by the stories of what had happened at the last Arx Fidei ordination. People were standing in the side aisles. Denis wondered desperately where Jamyl was.

He soon guessed Jamyl's part in the operation, however. For as the procession moved slowly down the aisle, heralded by processional crosses, candles, censers, and the voices of the choir continuing their hymn of praise, Denis noticed Malachi de Bruyn and another junior waiting to move a small, white-draped table into the center aisle after he and the other candidates had pa.s.sed. On the table, with extra ciboria containing bread to be consecrated during the Ma.s.s, were the cruets of wine and water that would be used.

Of course! After the ordination itself, members of the new priests' families traditionally brought forward the gifts of bread and wine for communion. Jamyl undoubtedly would be among them. Denis had no idea how his brother was going to do it, but it must be Jamyl who was going to make the switch.

He felt a little relieved at that-and even more relieved when he actually saw Jamyl standing near the altar rail, left of the aisle. Jamyl's wife and son were not with him, but Denis had not expected that they would be, given the danger to everyone of Arilan name if Denis were found out. Jamyl was to have sent them to safety at Christmastime, there to remain until all of this was resolved.

But, could that possibly be King Brion standing at Jamyl's left? Dear G.o.d, surely the king was not in on this, too?

It was Brion, he quickly realized, as he took his place with the others in a line across the foot of the chancel steps, just outside the altar rail, and knelt with his candle held reverently before him. Jamyl's friendship with the king must be even closer than Denis had dreamed, for it was a singular honor for the king to attend an ordination. Everyone seemed aware of the royal presence. Perhaps that was the reason for the heavy attendance this morning, and not the ghoulish hope of seeing another Deryni brought to light. Even the archbishop paused to bow in the king's direction before taking his seat to examine the candidates.

Denis went through the next half hour in a daze. He responded to the ritual questions with ritual answers when called upon. He prostrated himself with the others for what seemed like an interminable litany to more saints than he had ever heard of. And then, after the archbishop had set his hands on the head of each kneeling candidate for the first time, he remained bowed with his fellow ordinands while all the other priests present came forward to touch each new priest in additional blessing. He let himself read psychic impressions as each pair of hands rested briefly on his head and then moved on to the next man, both bewildered and heartened by what he sensed.