Morgan ran his fingers briefly over the locking mechanism, then knelt to inspect the lock in earnest. As Duncan slipped off to check once more on the guards, Kelson crowded closer to Morgan to peer over his shoulder in fascination.
“Can you open it?” the boy whispered, glancing around nervously.
Morgan held a finger to his lips for silence, then let his sensitive fingertips hover over the lock, his face taut with concentration as he visualized each part of the mechanism. As Kelson held his breath, he heard a soft, metallic click, then another. Morgan’s half-closed eyes opened, and he pushed gently at the gate. It swung back easily.
Morgan stood and opened the gate the rest of the way in a single, continuous motion. As he turned to see if Duncan had returned, he checked momentarily, then set a warning hand on Kelson’s shoulder.
“Good evening, Rogier,” he said quietly, his fingers tightening on Kelson’s shoulder as the boy spun in alarm.
Rogier stood poised just at the edge of the torchlight, a look of outrage and disbelief on his face. His dark green velvet looked black against the shadows behind him, and the torchlight cast eerie highlights on his face and hair. Rogier’s indignation and disgust seemed almost a living thing.
“You!” Rogier murmured, his voice low and deadly in the chill silence. “What the Devil are you doing here?”
Morgan shrugged casually. “I couldn’t sleep; neither could Kelson. So we thought we’d come and visit Brion. You know, I haven’t seen him in over three months. I thought I might even say a prayer or two. Will you join us?”
Rogier’s eyes narrowed, his hand moving toward his sword. “How dare you!” he said, each word clipped between thin, tight lips. “How dare you! After the mockery of justice in Council today, after spreading your cursed Deryni lies over all the realm, you have the gall to bring His Highness here, of all places, for what purpose only the Devil knows—”
As Rogier began to unsheath his weapon, Morgan’s eyes flicked behind to where a flash of movement had caught his eye. He stepped back a pace to keep the timing right. And as Rogier’s sword cleared its scabbard, Duncan’s fingertips touched Rogier’s neck lightly on either side.
At that touch, Rogier stiffened for just an instant, then relaxed and started to slump to the floor. As he crumpled, Morgan reached out to catch the sword before it could clatter onto the flagstones, and Duncan eased the unconscious man to a half-sitting position against the wall.
Duncan dusted his hands together ceremoniously as he straightened.
“What was he doing here?” Kelson breathed, eyeing the unconscious Rogier with suspicion and growing distaste. “Do you think she sent him?”
Morgan stepped through the gate to the royal crypt and motioned the other two to follow him. “Do you mean Charissa or your mother?” he asked, pulling the gate closed behind them. “I would say that Rogier just happened to be in charge of the guard detail tonight. There won’t be any trouble. He won’t remember a thing, and neither will the guards. Come on.”
A few steps carried them down into the crypt, past the family altar. Then they were among the tombs of the Haldanes.
The vault was enormous, higher than the height of two men, its insides hewn from the solid rock of the cathedral’s foundations. All along the walls, carved out of the living rock, were coffin-sized niches, each holding the bones of one of Kelson’s distant ancestors, each bedecked in rotting garments of fine materials, the empty eye sockets staring unseeing at the rock above. In the rest of the chamber, the tombs of the kings and queens of Gwynedd for the last four hundred years were placed in ordered rows, each one more magnificently carved than the next, each inscribed with the name and reign of the royal son or daughter who lay within.
Over to the left, a newer sepulcher was illuminated by the light of many candles, ranged in banks of twinkling red and blue on either side. Kelson paused and gazed in that direction for a long moment, then led Morgan and Duncan toward the place where his father lay.
When they had nearly reached the tomb, Morgan put out a restraining arm across Duncan’s chest, then continued alone as Duncan and Kelson looked on in silence.
Morgan stood silently by the sepulcher for several heartbeats, then reached out and placed a gentle hand on the cover of the sarcophagus. That the good and gentle Brion should end this way was not fitting. Life had been too short; the good done well, but not enough done, for lack of time. Why? Why had it been necessary for him to end this way?
You were father and brother to me, Morgan thought dully. If only I had been at your side that day, I might have spared you this indignity, this useless gasping out of your life’s breath! Now, with you gone . . .
He took himself in hand, removed his hand from the sarcophagus, gestured for Duncan and Kelson to join him. Once, there had been joy, comradeship, and—yes—love. Perhaps there would be again. But now, he must only get on with the task at hand.
Carefully, he and Duncan lifted the cover of the sarcophagus, rocking it gently to break the seal, then slid it toward the foot until perhaps a third of its interior was visible. Inside, the shrouded body lay cold and still.
Morgan waited until Kelson had moved a candelabrum closer, then reached down with steady fingers to withdraw the silken shroud that covered the face.
What he saw was enough to shake his universe, to clench an icy hand round his heart, to send a frigid chill over his entire body. As he stared into the coffin in shocked disbelief, Kelson leaned closer and finally got a good look. The boy swallowed with difficulty and murmured, “Oh, my God!” and the stunned Duncan finally regained enough power of movement to cross himself with a shudder.
For the body in the sarcophagus was not Brion’s!
CHAPTER SEVEN
“Things are not what they seem.”
UNBELIEVINGLY, Morgan leaned down to inspect the face of the corpse more closely. But even without closer scrutiny, it was obvious that it was not Brion. The face he had uncovered was that of a very old man, bearded and gray. Some long-dead king or relative, perhaps, but not Brion Haldane.
Considerably shaken, Morgan straightened and pulled the silk back into place, then leaned both hands against the edge of the sepulcher and shook his head uncomprehendingly. He still could not believe what he had seen.
“Well,” he finally said in a flat, dull tone, “what we’ve just seen is impossible, but there it is. Kelson, are you certain this is where your father was interred?”
Kelson nodded slowly. “I watched them lay him in this sepulcher and seal it. How can this be? And where is my father?”
Duncan folded his arms across his chest in concentration and brought one hand up to rub his forehead wearily. “I don’t know. But it looks as if we’re going to have to accept the fact that we now have the wrong body. Does anyone recognize this man?”
His companions both shook their heads.
“All right, then,” he continued, half thinking out loud. “Let’s try to approach this from a slightly different angle. Given: Kelson saw Brion’s body being sealed into this sepulcher, but now that body is not Brion’s. Given: Guards have been posted outside the crypt around the clock since before the interment. Hypothesis: It would be very difficult, given those circumstances, to have taken the body out of the crypt without someone noticing. Does that suggest anything to you?”
Morgan nodded. “I see what you’re driving at. Possible conclusion: Brion’s body is quite conceivably still within the crypt somewhere, but hidden—in another sepulcher, one of the wall niches, perhaps. We just have to find it.”
Kelson had been following the exchange with rapt attention, but now he shifted uneasily. “I don’t mean to be pessimistic, but suppose someone did take him out. I mean, if we got in and no one will know we were here, maybe someone else has already done it.”
“He’s right, you know.” Duncan sighed, leaning dejectedly against the next sarcophagus. “If Charissa’s responsible, for example, she could have done it. And if she did, you know where that leaves
us.”
Morgan pursed his lips in concentration, then shook his head. “No, I don’t think Charissa had anything to do with it. She’d have no reason to suspect the body was important to us. We didn’t even know until this afternoon. But, Jehana—now, there’s another story altogether. She’s so worried over my alleged hold on Brion, she might have had the body moved, just on the chance I might try to influence him after death. I must say, she vastly overestimates my powers.”
“Then you think the body is still here, in the crypt somewhere?” Duncan asked.
“I think we’ll have to operate on that premise,” Morgan replied. “Other than that, we haven’t got any alternatives. So I suggest we get to work.”
At Duncan’s nod of agreement, Morgan took a lighted taper from the candelabrum Kelson had brought and handed it to the boy. Duncan took another and headed across the chamber to begin searching other sepulchers, and Kelson made his way to the wall niches to inspect their occupants. Morgan glanced again at the silk-shrouded form in Brion’s sarcophagus, then took a light with him to search the sepulchers on his side of the crypt.
It was not a pleasant task. As Morgan slid back the covers of casket after casket, only to find mouldering bones and rotted cloth, he was aware of Duncan’s progress in a similar manner. And around the periphery of the chamber, at the edge of the candlelight, he knew Kelson was finding his own search equally distasteful, as well.
A glance at the boy confirmed his belief. For Kelson, though he inspected each open niche conscientiously, was moving nervously, clutching his candle tightly in a moist hand, his eyes darting apprehensively around him with each flickering movement of candle-sprung shadow.
Morgan slid back another cover. He felt badly that the boy was having to do the most grisly task—that of peering into the open niches. But there had been no other choice. Kelson simply lacked the physical strength to master the heavy sarcophagus covers. Indeed, it was all Morgan could do to budge some of them.
A glance inside his latest possibility was enough to assure him that it was not Brion who lay within, and he eased the cover closed once more. They had opened nearly a third of the sarcophagi now, all without result. And indications were that the other two-thirds would prove no more fruitful than the first.
Could it be that someone had, indeed, managed to spirit the body away in the past week or so? Where else in this den of decay could one hide a body, if not in the obvious places? Perhaps Charissa had, in fact, been here. Yet, how could she have known of the importance of finding the body? Mere harassment, perhaps? And if so, perhaps the answer was more obvious than he’d thought. Indeed, what if Brion’s body had never been moved at all?
Suspicion dawning, he raced aside to the original sepulcher and pulled back the silken shroud.
“Duncan! Kelson!” he called urgently, peering shrewdly at the face of the stranger in the coffin. “Come here. I think I know where Brion is!”
Duncan and the boy joined him immediately.
“What are you talking about?” Duncan queried.
“I think he’s been under our noses all the time,” Morgan said, never taking his eyes from the body before him. “No one moved him. I think he’s right here.”
“But, that isn’t—” Kelson began.
“Hush, Kelson,” Duncan interrupted, skepticism draining away. “Alaric, do you think there’s been a shape-changing, an illusion?”
Morgan nodded. “See for yourself. I think this is Brion.”
Duncan frowned as he replaced his candle in the candelabrum, then wiped his palms on his thighs. Holding his hands palms down, a scant finger-span over the body, he proceeded to inspect the strange corpse with his Deryni senses, eyes half-closed. After a moment, he removed his hands, opened his eyes, sighed deeply.
“Well?” Morgan questioned. “What do you think?”
Duncan nodded. “You’re right about the illusion. It is Brion. The shape-changing was done by a master. It has an odd aura about it: a definite impression of evil.” He shook his head slightly. “I’m fairly certain it isn’t insurmountable. Do you want to disperse the spell, or shall I?”
Morgan glanced at the body again, then shook his head. “You do it. I think this one is better suited to priestly hands.”
Duncan took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, then gingerly placed his hands on the forehead of the corpse. After a few seconds, his eyes closed and his breathing became more shallow, strangely harsh in the gloom.
Kelson, who had listened to the exchange of the two Deryni with awe and only partial comprehension, cast a sidelong look at Morgan, then shuddered as he returned his attention to the priest. He wasn’t sure he liked what was happening here. He would be glad when it was over.
Duncan’s breathing came more rapidly now, and cold perspiration sheened his brow and the backs of his hands, even in the icy chill of the crypt. As the boy and Morgan watched, the features of the body beneath Duncan’s hands began to waver, flicker, blur before their eyes. Duncan finally gasped and stiffened slightly—but in that same instant, the features of the corpse stabilized into Brion’s familiar face. Abruptly, Duncan removed his hands and staggered back from the casket, his face drawn and pale.
“Are you all right?” Morgan asked, reaching across the coffin to steady his kinsman.
Duncan nodded weakly and forced his breathing to regularize. “It was—far worse than I expected,” the priest murmured. “He—wasn’t entirely free, and the bond was powerful. As I released him, I felt him die. It was—unspeakable.”
A shudder rippled through Duncan’s form, and Morgan gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze, dropped his hand, blinked rapidly as his own vision blurred.
Between them, the body of Brion slept peacefully now, the gentle gray eyes closed forever, the lips relaxed, the lines of tension that had been a part of Brion’s appearance for as long as Morgan could remember erased now in death.
Gently Morgan reached down and moved aside the hair over Brion’s right earlobe, carefully removing the Eye of Rom. He gazed into the darkling depths of the stone for a long moment, then placed it securely away in his belt pouch.
The movement roused the stunned Kelson, who had watched dumbstruck, awed, horrified, throughout the shape-changing. A muffled sob escaped his lips as he reached down and touched his sire’s hand one last time, but then he swallowed hard and looked up at Duncan beseechingly.
“Is he truly free now, Father Duncan?” he whispered, searching for some reassurance. “She won’t be able to harm him anymore, will she?”
Duncan shook his head. “I think not, my prince. He is free now. You have my word on that. And no one can ever harm him again.”
Kelson glanced down at his father again, then said in a small voice, “Somehow, it doesn’t seem right to take the Eye of Rom and leave nothing in return. Could we . . . ?”
His voice trailed off uncertainly, and Duncan nodded.
“How about this?” the priest asked, reaching deep into the pocket of his cassock and producing a small, gilded silver crucifix.
Kelson smiled wanly and took the crucifix, kissed it, then placed it gently in his father’s hands. “Thank you,” he whispered, his eyes filling with unbidden tears. “I think he would have liked that.”
As the boy turned away, shoulders convulsing silently, Morgan looked across at his cousin and raised an eyebrow in question. Duncan nodded, then sketched the sign of the cross over the body. Then he and Morgan eased the cover of the sarcophagus back into place. Duncan snuffed out the additional candles they had lit and returned the candelabrum to its proper place. Then he and Morgan guided Kelson back out of the crypt and through the gate.
As the gate clicked shut behind them, Duncan stepped carefully over to where Rogier still slumped against the wall, and touched his forehead. Immediately, Rogier stood up, still under control, and Duncan replaced the man’s sword in its sheath. Another light touch sent the man on his way, and Duncan rejoined his companions. It was time to return to the study.
/> DUNCAN opened the compartment where he had hidden the Ring of Fire and other elements of the power ritual and transferred them to the table in the center of the study. As he took his seat beside Kelson, Morgan went to Duncan’s desk and rummaged in several shallow drawers until he found what he was looking for—a small surgical kit in a leather case. Returning to the table, he opened the kit and spread its contents on the tabletop, then dug in his belt pouch until he found the Eye of Rom.
Kelson eyed Morgan apprehensively, then gestured toward the surgical instruments with his chin. “What’re you going to do with those?”
“Why, I’m going to pierce your ear,” Morgan replied good-naturedly. He opened a small bottle of pale-greenish liquid and dampened a scrap of cotton wool. Then he took the Eye of Rom and wiped it carefully on all surfaces, being especially careful to cleanse the gold wire that would go through Kelson’s earlobe.
“Duncan, would you read me the first two stanzas of the ritual verse? I want to be sure I’m doing this right.” He took a silver needle from the kit and began wiping it as Duncan read.
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.
Morgan nodded and put the needle down on the table, wrapped in its piece of protective cotton. “Clear enough, I think. You and I are the Spokesman and the Protector. With you looking on, I pierce Kelson’s ear and let the blood touch the Eye of Rom, which activates that. Then we touch the same blood to the Ring of Fire, being careful not to touch the Ring with our bare hands. That should be simple enough.”