“You will bring the sword to me, Archbishop,” Kelson said steadily. “General Morgan is my prisoner.”
Kelson’s voice had taken on that crack of command that had been so much his father’s trademark, and just for an instant, Loris started to obey. Then he recovered and cleared his throat nervously.
“Your Majesty?” he questioned, turning to Jehana for support.
Jehana looked sharply at her son. “Kelson, if you think—”
“His Excellency will bring the sword to me, Mother,” Kelson interrupted. “By law and custom, it is my right. I am still head of this Council, if only in name.”
“Very well,” Jehana said, her eyes flashing angrily, “but that won’t save him, you know.”
“We shall see,” Kelson said neutrally, taking his seat.
Loris took the sword to Kelson and placed it on the table with a curt bow. As he returned to his chair between Jehana and Archbishop Corrigan, Kelson glanced aside at Morgan.
Morgan had said nothing since entering the chamber, but he had watched the exchange with approval. He kept his features impassive as the councilors settled back to await Kelson’s next move, for the men sitting here in judgment would not be easy to sway. There would be no quick victory by lawful means, and right now those were the only means they dared use.
He gave a mental shrug as he eased the leather thong binding his wrists behind him. It would be interesting to see if Kelson could salvage anything from the situation.
Kelson looked around the room with only half-concealed disgust, making a steeple of his fingers the way Brion had done when he was particularly vexed. His eyes swept each face searchingly, then returned to that of his mother at the opposite end of the table.
“Uncle Nigel,” he said, not taking his eyes from those of his mother, “I believe you were given strict instructions to delay the Council meeting until I could arrive. Perhaps you can explain?”
Nigel, too, stared down the table at Jehana. He was certain Kelson knew he had tried. What he said would be solely for the benefit of the men seated around this Council table.
“Indeed, I can, Your Majesty,” he replied coolly. “I did try to inform the Council that you had asked for a postponement, but there were certain others who ignored that request. Her Majesty the queen informed us that you were engaged in more important matters. She insisted we begin without you.”
Jehana lowered her eyes as Kelson frowned.
“Is this true, Mother?”
“Of course, it’s true!” Jehana retorted, green eyes flashing. “There were things to be done, Kelson—things that should have been done a long time ago. At least your Council shows some common sense. Your precious traitor Morgan was convicted by a vote of five to four!”
Kelson started to reply hotly, then thought better of it and rechose his next words. Beside him, he was aware of Morgan shifting his weight from one foot to the other, felt the edge of the general’s cloak brush against his knee. He forced himself to relax and scan the tense Council again.
“Very well, my lords,” Kelson said evenly. “I see that nothing I can say will change your minds at this point.” Out of the corner of his eye, he was aware of Jehana’s triumphant nod as he continued. “I would ask one indulgence before I pass judgment on this case, however. I shall require each of you to re-cast your vote as you did before.” His gaze continued to sweep the Council, slightly challenging. “As I understand it, you are questioning General Morgan’s fidelity to Crown and Church. I should like to know who believes this patent lie.”
Lord Rogier rose uneasily and turned to Kelson. “Are you challenging the findings of your lawful Council, Your Highness?”
“Not at all,” Kelson answered promptly. “I merely wish to reassure myself that your verdict was, indeed, secured through lawful means. Come, gentlemen, we waste precious time. How say you? Is Morgan, indeed, a traitor and a heretic? Uncle?”
Nigel stood. “Lord Alaric is innocent of the charges, Your Majesty.”
“Thank you.” Kelson nodded as Nigel took his seat. “And you, my Lord Bran?”
“Guilty, Your Highness.”
“Lord Ian?”
“Guilty, Your Highness.”
“And Rogier?”
“Guilty, Highness.”
Kelson frowned. “My Lord Bishop Arilan, how say you?”
“He is innocent, Your Majesty,” Arilan replied confidently. He ignored the glares coming across the table from Corrigan and Loris.
“Thank you, Excellency.” Kelson nodded. “And Lord Ewan?”
Ewan could not look at his prince. He had never particularly disliked Morgan, but he had seen Brion die. If the rumors were true . . .
“Well, Ewan?”
“He is guilty, Your Majesty,” Ewan whispered.
Kelson nodded sympathetically and then skipped over his mother to confront Archbishop Corrigan with the fatal question. There was no doubt in his mind how this prelate would react, though.
“My lord Archbishop?”
Corrigan met Kelson’s gaze levelly. “Guilty, Your Majesty. We have not yet even begun to catalogue the sins of the Deryni!”
“A simple ‘guilty’ is sufficient, Archbishop,” Kelson snapped. “The entire race is not on trial here. One man is. A man, I might add, who has done much for Gwynedd.”
“Who has done much to Gwynedd!” Corrigan interjected.
“Enough, Archbishop!” Kelson retorted. He fixed the prelate with an icy stare, then moved on to the McLains, grateful for a few friendly faces. “Duke Jared?”
“Not guilty, Sire,” the old duke replied.
“And Lord Kevin?”
“Innocent, Your Majesty.”
Kelson nodded, mentally tallying the votes. “I know that Lord Derry also voted for acquittal, so that makes—five to five.” He looked down the table at his mother. “I hardly think that constitutes a conviction, Mother.”
Jehana flushed. “Lord Derry was not permitted to vote. He is not a member of this Council.”
Kelson’s eyes narrowed dangerously, and several of the Council lords mentally cringed. It was the old Haldane glare they had learned to fear and respect in the boy’s father. Was it possible that the boy would be able to continue in his father’s footsteps? That look had meant trouble in the old days.
Kelson nodded slowly. “Very well. I had intended Derry to vote in Morgan’s place in his absence, but since Morgan is here now, he can vote for himself. I think there will be no question how his vote goes.”
“Morgan cannot vote!” Jehana said. “He is on trial.”
“But he is still a member of the Council until convicted, Mother. Until and unless his powers and prerogatives are stripped away by lawful action, you cannot deny him his vote—especially since he was not even allowed to speak in his own behalf.”
Jehana leaped to her feet, her face red with fury. “And if you cannot deny him his right to vote, neither can you deny me mine! Since you decided to join us and assume leadership of the Council, I am no longer so bound. And I say Morgan is guilty as charged, which brings your vote to six to five against him. Your precious Morgan is doomed, Kelson! What do you say to that?”
Stunned, Kelson sank back in his chair, his face going pale as the import of his mother’s words overwhelmed him. He could not look at the tall figure standing so statue-like to his right. He could not force himself to meet those gray eyes and admit defeat. Dejectedly, he let his gaze sweep the Council once more. And as his glance flicked from Derry to the empty seat beside him—Lord Ralson’s empty seat—a ghost of a plan began to take shape in his mind.
He forced himself to continue his visual circuit of the room, forbidding any indication of growing hope to show on his features. He must not let them guess that he now had a plan. He had not heard the bells toll three yet, and until they did, he must stall for time whatever way he could.
He sat up and folded his hands wearily, allowing an expression of resignation to shape his features.
“My
lords,” he began, letting a trace of real weariness tinge his speech, “it seems that we have lost.” He gestured vaguely to include Morgan and Nigel in his “we.” “I—I would beg your indulgence in one more matter before I pronounce sentence, however. I would request that the full charges against General Morgan be read out first. Are there any objections?”
Jehana controlled a victorious smile and sat down again. “Of course not.” She picked up the writ and handed it across to Ewan. “Lord Ewan, would you read the charges in their entirety?”
Ewan swallowed and nodded, then stood and cleared his throat apologetically. “To His Grace, Lord Alaric Anthony Morgan, Duke of Corwyn, and Lord General of the Royal Armies. From the queen and the lords in Regency Council in session this twelfth day of the reign of Kelson Cinhil Rhys Anthony Haldane, King of Gwynedd, Prince of Meara, and Lord of the Purple March.
“Your Grace: You have been summoned before the Royal Council of Gwynedd to answer to certain charges pertinent to your behavior toward the Crown. Namely . . .”
As Ewan began reading the charges, Kelson at last risked a glance at Morgan. He had wondered all through the proceedings why Morgan had not even attempted to clear himself, but he saw now that any defense, no matter how clever or true, would have been useless with the mood of the Council as it was today. In all the world, there was nothing a Deryni could have done or said to convince them of his innocence.
Now, the golden head was bowed, the gray eyes veiled by the long, thick lashes, and Kelson could see at a glance that the general recognized his plight. Even now, he was probably formulating some fantastic escape tactic, marshalling that awesome Deryni power to regain his freedom—that freedom which must be maintained at all costs, if he was to be of any help to his young king. Of course, he could not know that Kelson had a plan.
Kelson realized he now had a double deadline to work against. For if Morgan made his move before Kelson could make his—and Kelson could not, until the bells tolled out the hour—then all hope for a lawful settlement of the matter was lost.
Gingerly, Kelson eased his booted toe to the side, managed to bring it to within a hand-span of Morgan’s near foot. Then, as Ewan began the closing of the writ, Kelson shifted in his chair, at the same time nudging Morgan’s boot with his.
Morgan glanced at the boy, saw an almost imperceptible shake of the head, and nodded. The boy had a plan. He would let him try.
“. . . set before me this day, Jehana Regina et Domini Consilium.” Ewan’s voice rumbled to a halt, and he sat down expectantly. But even as he sat, basilica and cathedral bells began tolling out the hour.
One . . . two . . . three . . . four . . .
Kelson listened as the bells tolled and mentally kicked himself when he heard the fourth hour struck. Four in the afternoon. He had been waiting for three, and that was already long past. He could have been acting long ago.
Silently, he stood at his place, still allowing no inkling of what he was about to do to show on his face.
“My lords, Your Majesty,” he began formally, bowing slightly toward his mother, “we have heard the charges against our general.” He saw Jehana’s sudden suspicious expression as she caught the royal we.
He gestured toward Morgan with his right hand as he continued. “We have also heard the wishes—indeed, the demands—of the Council in this matter. However, it pleases us to consider one further item of business before pronouncing judgment on the accused.”
There was a murmur of question that rippled through the assembly, and Kelson caught his mother’s ill-masked look of surprise and fearful anticipation.
“It has occurred to us,” Kelson continued in the same conversational tone, “that our ranks have recently been saddened by the loss of our good and loyal servant, Lord Ralson of Evering.” He gestured toward Ralson’s empty chair, then crossed himself piously. The rest of the assembly followed suit, wondering curiously what he was about.
“Therefore,” Kelson continued, “we have decided to appoint a new Council lord to fill his place.”
“You cannot do that!” Jehana stated, coming to her feet.
“We are aware, of course,” Kelson went on, his voice cutting through Jehana’s opposition, “that Lord Derry can never replace Lord Ralson, but we are certain he will bring his own measure of devotion to that honored post. Sean Lord Derry.”
As the Council erupted with dissension, Kelson signalled Derry to rise. The young man glanced aside at Morgan for reassurance, but even Morgan looked a bit startled.
Kelson held up his hands for silence, then pounded the table with the hilt of Morgan’s sword as the din continued. Jehana stood defiantly at the other end of the table, trying to make herself heard above the discord.
“Kelson, you cannot do this!” she shouted, finally able to top the volume of the dying discussion around her. “You have no right! You know you cannot appoint a new councilor without the approval of the Regents. You are not of age!”
Kelson’s eyes went cold and steely gray as he glared down the table, and the room suddenly grew hushed.
“Lords of the Council, my esteemed mother has apparently forgotten that it was precisely fourteen years and one hour ago, in another room of this very palace, that she brought into this world a son: Kelson Cinhil Rhys Anthony Haldane; that, as her labor ended, the royal physicians placed me in her arms—and the bells tolled three in the afternoon!”
Jehana’s face went ashen, and she sank back in her chair, nodding slowly to herself, her eyes glazed, stunned.
“And you, my lords: The reason for our coronation tomorrow instead of today has apparently slipped your minds, also. As you are well aware, royal writ decrees that no king of Gwynedd shall be crowned in his own right until he has fully reached legal age. Since I was not due to reach that legal age until three this afternoon—too late for a coronation, you must admit—the ceremony was scheduled for tomorrow. But I rule today!”
No one moved or spoke as Kelson finished his speech. They simply watched, dumbstruck, as Kelson motioned Derry to approach him. As Derry reached his side, Kelson picked up Morgan’s sword and held it in front of Derry, hilt uppermost.
“Sean Lord Derry, do you swear by this cross that you will render true and loyal service in this Royal Council?”
Derry dropped to one knee and placed his hand on the hilt of the sword. “I do solemnly swear it, my liege.”
Kelson lowered the sword, and Derry got to his feet. “And how say you in the matter now at hand, my Lord Derry?” Kelson asked. “Is Morgan guilty, or no?”
Derry glanced triumphantly at Morgan, then faced Kelson. His voice was clear and steady. “Lord Alaric is innocent, Your Majesty!”
“Innocent,” Kelson repeated, savoring the word. “Which brings us to a vote of six to six—another tie vote.” He looked at his mother, who still had not moved from her huddled position in her chair. “I hereby declare Lord Alaric Anthony Morgan, Duke of Corwyn and Lord General of the Royal Armies, innocent of the charges which have been set out against him. If, after tomorrow, anyone wishes to reopen proceedings, and can produce definite proof, I will entertain such action. In the meantime, this Council stands adjourned.”
With that, he whipped Morgan’s dagger from his belt and cut the general’s bonds. Then, after returning Morgan’s sword, he bowed curtly to the stunned Council and swept out of the chamber, Morgan and Derry at his heels.
Silence persisted only until the doors had closed behind Kelson and his colleagues. Then the room erupted into loud discussion and argument. There was no doubt that what Kelson had done was legal, but it had been a totally unexpected coup. To the assembled Council lords and other noblemen, it had been a feat worthy of Brion at his very best and most cunning. There were mixed emotions as to whether that was a good thing or not, for there were many who had chafed under Brion’s rule.
There was no ambivalence in Jehana, though. For her, what had started out as a certain victory against the impetuous Deryni had become a shambles, a resou
nding defeat of everything she had hoped for Kelson.
Her nails punched little half-moon depressions in the palms of her hands as she clenched and unclenched her fists in dismay.
Morgan was free.
And worse, Kelson had stood before the Council and defied her—not with childish threats and impotent taunts, but with decisive, adult action. It was a development Jehana had not been prepared for, and it bothered her even more, perhaps, than Morgan’s freedom. If only Kelson had shown some uncertainty, some sign of doubt in the proud Deryni he defended so avidly, there might have been a chance she could still get through to him. But now that Kelson was king in fact as well as in name—a development she hadn’t even considered before—how could she possibly lure him away from Morgan’s evil influence?
From across the room, Ian watched the confusion with interest. It was difficult to form any concrete conclusions in the chaos following Kelson’s stormy exit, but Ian had the distinct impression that the boy had scored points with more than one of the lords who had opposed him earlier. Even Rogier’s and Bran Coris’s outraged comments were tinged with a healthy leavening of respect. And that would never do. Though Ian had been forced to concede this particular encounter to Kelson and the proud Deryni half-breed, he had no intention of losing the entire war.
In truth, Ian had never really expected to win this round. He had suspected, when Morgan entered the chamber in custody, that the man had some plan in mind. Morgan would never have allowed himself to be taken if there had been the slightest doubt that he could escape where and when he chose.
But he didn’t think the encounter had gone precisely the way the general had expected. He was almost certain that Kelson’s coup had been a spur-of-the-moment affair. For surely, even this precocious boy-king could not have seriously expected to find so pat an escape clause, to have Morgan legally walk out a free man.
Yes, there was no doubt about it. Kelson had not acted according to prediction, and that bore closer watching. It would never do to underestimate Brion’s son at this late date. And in the meantime, there was much to be done. With Morgan once again a free agent, it would not hurt to continue blackening the already infamous name—a pursuit Ian frankly relished. And Charissa must be informed of the afternoon’s momentous turn of events.