Deryni Rising (Chronicles of the Deryni)

  “So it appears,” Duncan replied, smoothing the creased parchment and holding it closer to the light. “Let’s see:

  When shall the Son deflect the running tide?

  A Spokesman of the Infinite must guide

  The Dark Protector’s hand to shed the blood

  Which lights the Eye of Rom at Eventide.

  Same blood must swiftly feed the Ring of Fire.

  But, careful, lest ye rouse the Demon’s Ire:

  If soon thy hand despoil the virgin band,

  Just retribution damns what ye desire.

  Now that the Eye of Rom can see the light,

  Release the Crimson Lion in the night.

  With sinister hand unflinching, Lion’s Tooth

  Must pierce the flesh and make the Power right.

  Thus Eye and Fire and Lion drink their fill.

  Ye have assuaged the warring might of Ill.

  New morn, ring hand. Defender’s Sign shall seal

  Thy Force. No Power Below shall thwart thy will!

  Morgan sat back in his chair with a low whistle. “Did Brion write that?”

  “It’s in his hand,” Duncan replied, dropping the parchment to the table and tapping it with a well-manicured forefinger. “See for yourself.”

  Morgan leaned forward and gave the verse a cursory inspection, committing the lines to memory, then leaned back again with a sigh. “And we thought Brion’s power ritual was obscure. . . . If he’d given it a little thought, I think he could have made this difficult.”

  Kelson, who had been following the exchange with wide-eyed awe, could no longer contain himself. “You mean, this isn’t the same ritual?”

  Duncan shook his head. “The ritual is changed with each inheritance, Kelson. It’s a safeguard to keep the power from falling into the wrong hands. Otherwise, someone could theoretically learn the technique, gather the elements of the ritual, and assume the power for himself. Strictly speaking, the power is only supposed to pass to the legitimate heir, but there are sometimes ways to get around such technicalities.”

  “Oh,” Kelson said, his voice small and uncertain. “Then, where does one start with something like this?” He picked up the parchment as though it were a small, not-quite-dead creature that might bite, regarded it suspiciously, then dropped it to the table again.

  “Alaric?” Duncan queried.

  “You go ahead. You know more about these things than I do.”

  Clearing his throat nervously, Duncan moved the parchment in front of him again and glanced at it, then looked across at Kelson.

  “All right. With a verse like this, the first thing to do is to break it down into its component parts: the basic elements of the ritual. In this case, we have two trios and a quarto. Three people: the Son, the Spokesman of the Infinite, and the Dark Protector—you, myself, and Alaric, one must assume. These are named in the first stanza, and they comprise our human element.”

  “Well, not quite, Cousin,” Morgan murmured, placing his fingertips together and gazing across at Duncan with a sly grin.

  Duncan raised one eyebrow meaningfully.

  “Three people,” Kelson said, nudging Duncan impatiently. “Go on, Father Duncan.”

  Duncan nodded. “We also have three objects: the Eye of Rom, the Ring of Fire, and the Crimson Lion. These are our—”

  “Wait,” Morgan said, sitting up abruptly. “I am just reminded of an appalling possibility. Kelson, where is the Eye of Rom?”

  Kelson looked blank. “I don’t know. Tell me what it is, and maybe I can tell you where it is.”

  Duncan glanced at Morgan. “It’s a dark, cabochon-cut ruby, about the size of my little fingernail. Brion always wore it in his right earlobe. You must have seen it before.”

  Kelson’s eyes widened in sudden realization, and a look of apprehension came over his face. “Oh, no. Father, if that’s what I think it is, it was buried with him. I didn’t know it was important.”

  Morgan pursed his lips in concentration as he traced the golden lion on the box lid with a fingernail. Then he looked up resignedly at Duncan. “Open the crypt?”

  “We have no choice.”

  “Open the crypt?” Kelson echoed. “But, you can’t! Morgan, you just can’t!”

  “I’m afraid it’s necessary,” Duncan replied quietly. “The ritual requires the Eye of Rom, or it won’t work.” He lowered his eyes. “It’s—a good idea, anyway. If Charissa really did have a hand in Brion’s death—and there’s every indication that she did—then, there’s a—well, a possibility that he isn’t entirely free.”

  Kelson’s eyes widened even farther, and the remaining color drained from his face. “You mean, his soul is—”

  “Where, exactly, is he buried?” Morgan asked sharply, changing the direction of conversation before the boy’s horror could get entirely out of hand. “We’re going to need a plan of action, if we’re to get anywhere.”

  “He’s in the royal crypt below the cathedral,” Duncan replied. “So far as I’ve been able to tell, there are at least four guards on duty at all times. They have orders not to let anyone inside the gate. And you can’t see the tomb from outside.”

  Morgan’s eyes narrowed as he toyed with his ring. “Four guards, eh? There’re probably fewer at night, don’t you think? Once the cathedral doors are closed after Compline, there’d be no need for that strong a force. We can handle them, I think.”

  Kelson stared at Morgan in disbelief, the color gradually returning to his face.

  “Morgan, are we really to open his coffin?” he breathed.

  Morgan’s answer was cut off by the sound of many horses arriving in the courtyard outside. Duncan jumped to his feet and dashed to the window, then began hastily drawing the drapes. Morgan was instantly at his side, peering through a crack in the curtains.

  “Who is it? Can you tell?”

  “Archbishop Loris himself,” Duncan said. “From the size of his entourage, though, it’s difficult to tell if he’s only arriving in the city or if he’s come to get you.”

  “He’s after me. Look at the way he’s deployed his men. He knows we’re in here. We’ll be surrounded in a matter of seconds.”

  Kelson joined them at the window, a look of consternation on his face. “What are we going to do?”

  “I’ll just have to give myself up,” Morgan said mildly.

  “Give yourself—Morgan, no!” Kelson cried.

  “Morgan, yes!” Duncan contradicted, guiding the boy firmly back to the table. “If Alaric flees the just summons of the Council, your Council, he flouts the very laws he swore to uphold as a Council lord.” He sat the boy down. “And if you neglect your duty as head of that Council, you do the same thing.”

  “It isn’t my Council right now, though,” Kelson argued. “It’s Mother’s Council—and she wants to kill Morgan.”

  Duncan picked up the Ring of Fire, the parchment, and the red velvet box and carried them to the prie-dieu. “No, it’s still your Council, Kelson. But you’re going to have to remind them of that.” He touched a hidden stud in the prie-dieu, and a small compartment opened in the wall beside it.

  “Besides, there’s little more we can do until tonight, anyway. And the longer you can stall in Council, the less chance there is for other treachery afoot. I suspect that some of your most formidable enemies are sitting on that Council right now, but at least you’ll know where they are and what they’re doing if everyone’s in Council.” He put the ritual items in the compartment and closed it. “These will be safe here until tonight.”

  Kelson was not impressed. “Suppose they find him guilty, though. Suppose they already have. I can’t stand by and condone his death sentence.”

  “If it comes to that, you must,” Morgan said, squeezing the boy’s shoulder reassuringly. “But remember, I’m not convicted yet. And even unarmed, a Deryni still has some formidable defenses to fall back on.”

  “But, Morgan—”

  “No arguments, my prince,” Morgan admonished,
guiding the boy to the door. “You must trust that I know what I’m doing.”

  Kelson hung his head. “I suppose so.”

  Duncan slipped the bolt and eased the door open. “Here, after Compline, Alaric?”

  Morgan nodded. “I’ll send you word of the outcome.”

  “I’ll know anyway.” Duncan smiled. “Godspeed, Cousin.”

  Morgan nodded thanks and herded the reluctant Kelson through the door. As they walked along the short passage to the outer court, he heard the study door close behind him and felt the reassuring blessing Duncan murmured. It was comforting to know he could always count on Duncan.

  Morgan and Kelson stepped into the outer sunlight and were immediately surrounded by soldiers with their weapons drawn. Kelson glared at the men, and they turned their swords away from him when they saw his identity. But Morgan was careful to keep his hands in full view, well away from his own weapons. An ill-timed sword thrust by some well-meaning but nervous guard could end Kelson’s chances for survival once and for all—not to mention Morgan’s own life. He noticed that Kelson stuck very close to his side, pale but determined, as Archbishop Loris strode toward them.

  The Archbishop of Valoret was still in his riding clothes, his black travel cloak stained and rumpled from his long ride. But even after such a journey, and in such garb, he was not a man to be taken lightly. Though Morgan was well aware what the man had done to some of his Deryni colleagues in the north, he had to admit that Loris was one of those rare individuals who seemed to radiate that traditional aura of power and dignity that was supposed to go hand in hand with high ecclesiastical office.

  The bright blue eyes glittered with the fire of the religious fanatic, the fine gray hair a wispy halo behind the proud head. His left hand clutched a roll of milky parchment affixed with several pendant seals of red and green wax. On his right hand gleamed the amethyst signet of an ecclesiastical lord.

  He bowed slightly as he approached Kelson, and made a move as though to extend his ring, but the prince pointedly ignored it. Loris withdrew his hand vexedly and glanced at Morgan, but made no effort to extend the ring to him.

  “Your Royal Highness,” he said, still watching the general, “I trust you are well.”

  “I was quite well until you arrived, Archbishop,” Kelson said tersely. “What is it you want?”

  Loris bowed again and returned his full attention to Kelson. “If you had been at the Council meeting as your duty demands, you would not need to ask that question,” he said pointedly. “However, there is little to be gained by talking around the issue. I have here a warrant for the arrest of His Grace the Duke of Corwyn. I believe that is he in your company.”

  Morgan smiled enigmatically and folded his arms across his chest. “I believe that is more than obvious, my lord Archbishop. If you have some business with me, I suggest you say it to my face. Don’t pretend I’m not really here, just because you wish I weren’t.”

  Loris turned back to Morgan, anger in the bright blue eyes. “General Morgan, I have here a warrant from the queen and her lords in Council, commanding you to present yourself immediately and answer to certain charges.”

  “I see,” Morgan said quietly. “And what might those charges be, my lord?”

  “Heresy and high treason against the king,” Loris replied emphatically. “Do you contest them?”

  “Of course I do,” Morgan replied. He reached for the parchment, then froze as a dozen swords were leveled at his throat. He smiled patronizingly. “May I see the warrant, my lord?”

  Loris gave a curt signal, and the soldiers lowered their weapons. Morgan took the warrant Loris extended and glanced over it briefly, holding it so that Kelson could read over his shoulder. Then he rolled it up and returned it to Loris.

  “I find your warrant in order as far as format and letter of the law,” Morgan said calmly. “However, there is some dispute regarding the facts as they have been set out. I shall, of course, contest the charges.” He reached to his belt and removed his sword from its hangers. “As the summons to appear is valid, however, I do lawfully comply, surrendering myself voluntarily to the jurisdiction of the Council.”

  He handed his sheathed sword to the surprised archbishop, then extended his wrists. “Do you wish to bind me, too, my lord Archbishop? Or will my word be sufficient?”

  Loris drew back suspiciously, half afraid, and his left hand clutched the pectoral cross on his chest. “Morgan, if this is some Deryni trick,” he muttered, crossing himself, “I warn you. . . .”

  “No tricks, my lord,” Morgan stated mildly, holding his hands palm up. “I’ll even surrender my backup weapon as further evidence of my good faith.”

  His left wrist twitched, and there was suddenly a stiletto in his hand. Before Loris or his guards could react, he offered it to Kelson across his forearm, hilt first. “My prince?”

  Without a word, Kelson took the slim dagger and thrust it grimly through his belt. Loris finally reacted.

  “Now, see here, Morgan! This is not a jest or a game. If you think you can—”

  “Archbishop,” Kelson interrupted, “I will not hear threats, either from you or from him. General Morgan has demonstrated his good faith, and I think it’s about time you started demonstrating yours. Might I remind you that this dagger could just as easily have found its way into your chest as it did to my hand?”

  Loris drew himself up to full height. “He wouldn’t have dared!”

  Kelson shrugged. “If you say so, Archbishop. Now, let’s get on with this farce. I have more important things to do.”

  “Such as consorting with this disciple of evil, Your Highness?” Loris hissed.

  “Your definition of terms leaves much to be desired, Archbishop,” Kelson said evenly.

  Loris forced himself to regain control, taking a deep breath. “Legal procedures have been followed to the letter, Your Highness. I do not think there is much chance of him escaping his just punishment this time.”

  “Words, Archbishop,” Morgan said.

  Loris clenched and unclenched his fists several times, then gestured to a pair of his guards. “Bind him.” As the two moved to obey, pinning Morgan’s arms behind him, Loris returned his attention to Kelson.

  “Your Highness, I realize that you have been under considerable stress during these past weeks, and I am willing to forget the words that passed between us earlier. And if you should wish to return to your quarters and rest now, I am certain that the Council would understand, under the circumstances.”

  Kelson fumed. “Under what circumstances, Archbishop? Do you really think I would abandon Morgan to your mercy—or my mother’s? And regardless of my personal feelings in the matter, I think it’s rather important that the next King of Gwynedd be present at any session this important. Don’t you agree?”

  Anger flared again in Loris’s eyes, but he had finally realized the folly of continuing his argument. The fact had finally sunk home that this boy before him was, indeed, the next King of Gwynedd, however unorthodox his ideas might be at present.

  Loris bowed low, but there was challenge and defiance in his eyes.

  “As you wish, Your Highness,” was all he could be heard to murmur.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “O God, with your judgement endow the King, and with your justice, the King’s son.” PSALMS 72:1

  THE Council was in turmoil when Kelson and Morgan finally arrived.

  There were several dozen men besides the Council lords in the chamber now, for Jehana had given permission for certain other of Brion’s retainers and advisors to join the Council for this final confrontation with Morgan. Extra chairs, mostly unoccupied at present, had been set up behind the regular seats on either side of the Council table. But their would-be occupants milled about in seeming confusion, arguing and discussing at the tops of their voices. Though unable to vote, the newcomers nonetheless had explicit ideas on what should be done with the powerful Deryni lord who was the topic of their conversation. Whatever feeling
s Lord Alaric Morgan inspired in humans, apathy was not one of them.

  At the head of the table, Jehana sat very quietly, trying to appear more composed than she felt. From time to time, she glanced down at the pale hands folded in her lap and fingered a wide, ornate gold band on her left hand.

  Mostly, though, she was trying to ignore the entreaties of Bishop Arilan, to her right. She knew, from long experience, that the young prelate could be extremely persuasive, especially when he had a favorite cause to espouse. And he had made it pointedly clear where his loyalties lay during the voting earlier. Indeed, there had been few Morgan supporters more enthusiastic or vehement.

  As Kelson entered the room, followed by Loris and his guards, all discussion came to an abrupt halt. Those who were not already on their feet rose respectfully and bowed as Kelson passed, and all others hurriedly found their places. Kelson took his place at the foot of the table beside his uncle Nigel, while Loris crossed slowly toward Jehana.

  But neither Kelson nor Loris was to receive the major share of the attention today. For as Morgan entered, flanked by four of Loris’s guardsmen, all eyes shifted immediately to follow his progress across the chamber. There were whispers and low-voiced discussions as they realized he was bound, and they exchanged suspicious glances as Morgan was placed to the right of and slightly behind Kelson’s chair. The young king’s face was grim as he sat down.

  As the assembly took their seats, Loris bowed before Jehana, then placed the queen’s writ on the table before her. Its pendant seals tapped hollowly against the tabletop—the only sound in the still room.

  “Your Majesty, I have served the Council’s writ and procured the prisoner as you commanded,” Loris said. He turned to an aide and took Morgan’s sword. “I now present the prisoner’s sword, as proof of his surrender to the just summons of the—”

  “Archbishop!” Kelson’s voice rang out in the hushed chamber.

  Loris froze, then turned slowly toward Kelson, and all eyes followed. Kelson had risen to his feet.

  “Your Highness?” Loris replied warily.