Deryni Rising (Chronicles of the Deryni)
“Jehana” he said softly.
“Leave me alone!” she sobbed.
Morgan moved to her side and began speaking to her in a low voice. “Very well, I’m through coddling you. We’re going to have to get a few things straight right now, and there isn’t much time. Kelson is innocent of what you charge him with, and—”
“Save your Deryni lies for someone else,” she replied, wiping her eyes and fumbling for the door latch.
Morgan moved between her and the door and leaned back against the latch, looking her directly in the eyes.
“Deryni lies, Jehana?” he asked quietly. “You use the term rather freely, don’t you think? Especially for someone like yourself.”
Jehana stiffened, a look of frightened bewilderment on her face. “What do you mean?”
“You needn’t look so innocent. I only marvel that I didn’t think of it long ago. It would have explained so many things you’ve done through the years.”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jehana said haughtily, though she backed off a step in the face of Morgan’s confident demeanor.
“Why, your Deryni blood, of course,” he replied. “Tell me, is it on your mother’s side, or your father’s side, or both?”
“My Deryni bl—you’re mad!” she whispered, her eyes wide with fear, betraying the doubt in her own mind.
Morgan smiled slowly. “I don’t think so. Kelson has a strong Deryni background from somewhere, and we both know it wasn’t from Brion.”
Jehana forced a nervous laugh. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. Why, everyone knows how I feel about the Deryni.”
“Some of the most vociferous Deryni haters in history have been Deryni themselves, Jehana, or with some ‘taint’ of Deryni blood. Those who have studied these things say it comes from long-buried feelings of guilt. It’s what happens when a people bottle up their true nature for generations, perhaps; when they deny their true heritage.”
“No!” Jehana blurted. “It isn’t true. If it were, I would have known!”
“Perhaps you always have, in a way.”
“No! I never—”
“There’s an easy way to prove it, you know,” Morgan said mildly.
“No.” Jehana’s voice was a whisper, as she shrank away from him.
Morgan seized her arm, drew her closer. “Allow me to Mind-See for myself. Let us settle the matter once and for all.”
Her eyes widened with horror, and she tried to pull away. “No! No, please!”
Morgan did not release his grip. “Are you willing to make a bargain, then?”
“What kind of a bargain?” Jehana whispered.
“A very simple one,” Morgan continued conversationally. “I think we both know what I’d find, if I did Mind-See you. But to spare you that, I am willing to let you keep your illusion for a while longer—on one condition.”
“Which is?”
“You will come to the coronation and at least support Kelson outwardly. You also will not attempt to interfere in whatever must be done in the course of today’s events. Agreed?”
“Is this an ultimatum?” Jehana asked, some of her spirit returning.
“If you wish,” Morgan replied calmly. “Which is it to be? Do I Mind-See, or will you cooperate with us, at least for today?”
Jehana dropped her gaze from Morgan and glanced furtively at Kelson. Morgan’s threat was a powerful one. And because Jehana had suspected her origin, had considered the possibility of Deryni ancestry, the threat was all the more terrifying. She was not willing to accept it yet. Accordingly, the coronation seemed infinitely the lesser of the two evils.
She raised her head, but would not meet Morgan’s eyes.
“Very well,” she whispered, her voice small and subdued in the quiet room.
“Very well what?” Morgan insisted.
“Very well, I shall go to the coronation.”
“And you’ll behave yourself? You won’t make a scene and embarrass us? I promise you, Jehana, all will be resolved to your satisfaction. You won’t be disappointed. Trust us.”
“Trust you?” she murmured. “Yes, I suppose I have no choice at this point, have I?” She looked down. “I won’t make a scene.”
Morgan nodded and released her arm. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”
“Do not presume to thank me,” she murmured, opening the door. “Remember that I am acting under duress, against my better judgment. I have no stomach for what must be done. If I may go now . . .”
At a signal from Morgan, Nigel roused himself and followed after Jehana, closing the door softly behind them as he went through. After a short pause, Morgan turned back to Kelson and Duncan and sighed.
“Well, it appears that we must act on events as they occur, from now on. There are no further preparations to make, no further safeguards we can take. I’m sorry I had to be so rough with your mother, Kelson, but it was necessary.”
“Is there really a chance that I’m part Deryni, Morgan?” the boy asked. “Whatever gave you that idea? Or was it just a ruse to get Mother to cooperate?”
Morgan shrugged as he motioned the two to the door. “We don’t know for certain, my prince. There are strong indications that you may, indeed, be part Deryni—and under other circumstances, I could simply Mind-See you to verify. But I don’t think either of us can spare the energy drain at this late date, just to satisfy our curiosity. You are far better advised to rely on Brion’s powers for today.”
“I understand,” Kelson said.
“Good. Let us join the procession, then. Duncan?”
“Ready,” the priest replied.
“My prince?”
Kelson took a deep breath. “Let it begin.”
CHARISSA raised her head and took her eyes from the crystal into which she had been gazing.
“So, the little queen is part Deryni,” she murmured. “Ian, can you not cease that pacing? You’re making me nervous!”
Ian stopped almost in mid-stride and made a half bow in Charissa’s direction. “So sorry,” he replied good-naturedly. “But you know how I detest waiting. I have anticipated this day for many months, now.”
“I am aware of that,” Charissa said, adjusting the sapphire coronet on her pale hair. “If you will just be patient, though, you shall be amply rewarded.”
Ian nodded and raised a goblet in toast. “Thank you, my lady. And what of Jehana? Do you think she is Deryni?”
“If she is, I can handle her.” Charissa shrugged nonchalantly. “The least of my worries this morning is an untrained Deryni of unknown parentage who will not even acknowledge her ancestry.”
Ian stood up and buckled on his sword, then picked up his golden cloak and flung it over his arm.
“Well, I’d best be off, then. The procession will be forming. You’re certain you won’t let me reveal myself until the last possible minute?”
Charissa spared him a wry smile. “No, you may not make your entrance with me,” she said. “And if you are called upon to assist me openly, it will be to destroy Morgan at all costs. Is that clear?”
“Perfectly,” Ian said with a wink. He paused with his hand on the door latch. “I shall see you at the cathedral.”
When the doors had closed behind Ian, Charissa returned her attention to the crystal on the dresser before her. In it, she could see approximately what Morgan saw—all that lay within the scope of the large stone in the general’s badge of office. She caught a glimpse of Kelson in his state carriage to Morgan’s left, then the view straight ahead, beyond the ears of the black charger Morgan rode.
Soon, they would be at the cathedral. It was time she, too, was on her way.
AS Morgan drew rein before the Cathedral of Saint George, he glanced around suspiciously as he had done at least a hundred times during the slow procession down to the cathedral. Beside him and slightly ahead, Kelson’s open carriage had also come to a halt, and now three bishops and two archbishops were waiting to escort Kelson f
rom the carriage to his place in the new procession being formed.
Archbishops Corrigan and Loris were scowling darkly—Morgan guessed they must have heard about the desecration of the crypt by now—but at least Bishop Arilan was extending a warm smile to his young king. Duncan remained well back from the archbishops, trying both to be near Kelson to lend him moral support, and to stay well out of range of his superiors.
As Morgan swung down from the great warhorse, he nodded to Duncan. Then he signalled for Derry, scanned the crowds anxiously as Derry saw him and hurried to his side.
“Trouble?” Derry asked.
“It could be,” Morgan replied, jutting his chin in the direction of Kelson and the archbishops. “Have you seen anything out of the ordinary?”
“No sign of Charissa, if that’s what you mean,” Derry said. “The crowd is odd, though. Almost as if they know something is going to happen.”
“Well, they’re right about that,” Morgan retorted. “Something is.” He scanned the buildings ahead, then gestured for Derry. “Do you see the bell tower next to the cathedral? I want you to go up there and keep a lookout. She’ll be obliged to bring some troops with her, so she can’t just appear. Your warning should give us at least a few minutes before she arrives at the cathedral.”
“Understood,” Derry nodded. “When do you think she’ll make her move, sir?”
“Probably in about an hour,” Morgan said. “If I know Charissa, she’ll wait until the coronation is well under way before she interrupts. She knows that we know she’s coming, so she’ll be counting on our own anticipation to increase our dread.”
“She’s accomplishing that already,” Derry murmured.
As Derry slipped away to take up his watch, Morgan worked his way over to Duncan, dodging scurrying choir-boys and servers and also doing his best to stay out of sight of Loris and Corrigan.
“What’s happening?” he asked in a low voice, as he edged alongside his cousin.
Duncan raised an eyebrow. “Dear Coz, you will not believe what I’m about to tell you. Corrigan was so upset about what happened in the crypt, he threatened to call off the coronation. Kelson managed to soothe his ruffled feathers, and then Loris started in. He wanted to arrest you, suspend me, and was seriously considering taking Kelson before a heresy tribunal.”
“Good God, what next?” Morgan murmured under his breath, rolling his eyes.
“Don’t worry,” Duncan continued. “Kelson straightened him out. He threatened to banish him and strip away his temporal powers for even thinking such a thing. And then he hinted to Corrigan that any further dissent, and he might end up banished, too. You should have seen old Corrigan. Even the thought of Arilan or some other bishop taking over Rhemuth and its estates was enough to scare him speechless.”
Morgan let out a sigh of relief. “Do you think they’ll cause any more trouble? We don’t need a religious confrontation today, on top of everything else.”
Duncan shook his head. “I don’t think so. They backed off muttering indignantly about heresy and other bad things. And I can guarantee they’re not happy I’m still in the ceremony. But there isn’t much they can do, if they want to keep their own positions. Even Loris isn’t that much of a fanatic.”
“I do hope you’re right,” Morgan said. “I assume you were able to stay out of their way until we arrived.”
“Only by means of some judicious shuffling. I’m hoping to avoid that confrontation indefinitely.”
An altar boy in gleaming white surplice and red cassock scurried up beside Duncan and tugged at his sleeve urgently, and Duncan moved off to take his place in the procession. Even as he left, a page appeared at Morgan’s elbow with the sheathed Sword of State and indicated where Morgan should stand in the line.
As Kelson passed on his way to his appointed place, Morgan tried to flash him an encouraging smile, but the boy was evidently too shaken to notice. Loris and Corrigan were on either side of him, and they glared at Morgan as they passed. But Arilan, behind them, nodded pleasantly to Morgan with a little secret smile that seemed to tell him not to worry.
Damn those archbishops anyway! They had no right to upset the boy this way. He had a lot on his mind—more than any fourteen-year-old should be expected to contend with. And two dour and hostile archbishops were certainly not doing anything to ease the situation.
Someone evidently gave a signal then, for the boys’ choir at the head of the column suddenly began singing the processional. The line began to inch ahead: first the choir, then a bevy of altar boys with scrubbed faces and spotlessly clean white surplices over their crimson cassocks, all carrying tall candles in gleaming silver candle-sticks.
Behind them came a thurifer swinging pungent incense at the end of a long golden chain, followed by a deacon carrying the heavy gilded cross of the Archbishopric of Rhemuth. Following the cross came the archbishop himself, resplendent in vestments of white and gold, crozier in hand, jeweled miter adding several feet to his height, his face set and grim.
Kelson came next, walking under a golden canopy supported by four scarlet-liveried noblemen. He was flanked by Archbishop Loris and Bishop Arilan, both of them in vestments matching Corrigan’s, both wearing the miters of their offices. Four more bishops followed.
After the bishops came Duncan, in his honored place as King’s Confessor. He carried the Ring of Fire on a small tray of heavily engraved silver. Ring and tray cast brilliant reflections on the snowy lace surplice he wore over his cassock, flashed mirror brightness onto his face as he walked.
Morgan followed, carrying the sheathed Sword of State upright before him. And after him, a white-faced and solemn Prince Nigel, bearing the State Crown on its velvet cushion. Behind him, in ranks of two, came Jehana and Ewan, Duke Jared and Lord Kevin McLain, Lord Ian Howell, Lord Bran Coris, and a host of other high noblemen and -women who were being honored by their inclusion in the procession. Most, of course, had no idea of the turmoil brewing beneath the surface of this august occasion.
Kelson’s thoughts raced as the front of the procession approached the high altar inside the cathedral. He had put the quarrel with Archbishops Corrigan and Loris out of his mind as the least of his worries now, even though he realized that this would just give him more time to worry about the other thing. He had seen no sign of the terrible Charissa yet, but he had no doubt she would show up before the ceremony was over.
He knelt at his personal faldstool to the right of the altar, ostensibly to pray while the rest of the procession entered and took their places, but he realized it was useless at this point. He couldn’t concentrate on the prayers he should be saying, and he kept glancing to either side through the interlaced fingers covering his eyes.
Where was she?
He wondered briefly if he would have been this nervous even had there been no threat of the Shadowed One, examined his emotions on the subject, decided it would have been difficult to concentrate under the best of circumstances, and immediately felt a little less guilty. Once the ceremony actually started, he promised himself, he would do better.
As the choir finished the processional and the last of the participants took their places, Arilan and Loris came to either side and stood there expectantly. It was time for the recognition, Kelson knew. Taking a deep breath, he crossed himself, then raised his head and allowed the two prelates to assist him to his feet. As they turned him to face the people, Archbishop Corrigan stepped in front of him and took his right hand.
“My lords,” Corrigan’s voice rang out clear and sure, “I bring before you Kelson Cinhil Rhys Anthony, your undoubted king. Be ye willing to do homage and service in his behalf?”
“God save King Kelson!” came the affirmation.
With a slight bow toward the congregation, Corrigan gestured toward the altar, and Arilan and Loris escorted the now-recognized king up the altar steps. All bowed in unison, and then Corrigan and Kelson ascended the last three steps alone. Firmly Corrigan placed Kelson’s right hand on the Holy Sc
ripture, placed his own left hand on top of Kelson’s, then began to read the coronation oath from a document held by an acolyte.
“My Lord Kelson, are you now willing to take the coronation oath?”
“I am willing,” Kelson replied.
Corrigan drew himself up a little straighter. “Kelson Cinhil Rhys Anthony Haldane, here before God and men declared and affirmed to be the undisputed heir of our late, beloved King Brion, will you solemnly promise and swear to keep the peace in Gwynedd, and to govern its peoples according to our ancient laws and customs?”
“I solemnly promise to do so.”
“Will you, to the utmost of your power, cause law and justice, in mercy, to be executed in all your judgments?”
Kelson glanced out at the assembly. “I will.”
“And do you pledge that evil and wrong-doing shall be suppressed, and the laws of God maintained?”
“All this, I pledge,” Kelson replied.
As Corrigan placed the coronation oath on the altar, Kelson glanced around again, felt confidence flow back as he caught Morgan’s reassuring glance. With a flourish, he scrawled his new signature, Kelsonus Rex, then took the document in his left hand and held it aloft, placed his right hand once more on the Holy Scripture.
“That which I have here promised, I will perform and keep, so help me God.”
He gave the oath into the hands of one of the attending priests, then allowed himself to be led back to the faldstool. As he knelt there again, he caught a stealthy movement to his right, glanced aside, and saw Derry glide unobtrusively to Morgan’s side and begin conferring in low tones. As the archbishop’s voice echoed through the cathedral in the traditional prayers for the king, Kelson strained to hear what Derry told the Deryni lord, bit his lip in vexation because he could not discern what was being said.
However, the meaning was clear enough. Kelson caught the worried look shot across to Duncan, saw the priest’s lips tighten in anger as he realized what Derry had told. Charissa was coming. Derry had sighted her entourage from the bell tower. They had perhaps ten minutes before the ultimate confrontation.