Deryni Rising

  Jerome whispered, "Aye."

  "And you didn't see anyone here, either, did you, Jerome? There was no one else in the sacristy tonight

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  besides yourself. You talked to no one. Do you understand?"

  The old monk nodded, and Duncan dropped his hand.

  "You'd better go, then, Jerofbe. Everything is as it should be. You've done your duty. And you didn't see me here tonight. Go, now."

  Without a word, Jerome turned and opened the door, slipped out quietly, closed the door behind him. There was no chance now that he would ever speak of what had happened here tonight.

  Duncan nodded to himself and returned to the spot where he'd first materialized. He paused only long enough to collect his thoughts—and appeared back in his study.

  As Duncan appeared in the niche in his study, Kelson jerked his head around in amazement, then bounded from his chair to meet the young priest

  "Is everything all right, Father Duncan? You were gone so long, we were certain something terrible had happened."

  Morgan, too, joined Duncan by the Transfer Portal. "Kelson is exaggerating a little, Duncan, but you were gone quite a while. Anything wrong?"

  "Not now," Duncan said, shaking his head and smiling. "I just ran into an old acquaintance. Brother Jerome was in the sacristy checking up on things. I don't think he saw me appear, though. And he's too old and senile to figure out that I didn't enter through any of the normal channels. He had some rather interesting views on the current situation. Remind me to tell you about them sometime."

  Duncan stepped back into the transfer cubicle, then motioned Morgan and Kelson to join him. The compartment was small, but they managed to squeeze into

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  the space provided. Morgan and Duncan both put their

  hands on Kelson's shoulders.

  "Ready?" Duncan asked.

  Morgan nodded. "Kelson, I want you to just relax and let your mind go blank. You aren't able to operate one of these portals on your own, yet, so we're just going to carry you through between us like so many potatoes in a sack."

  "Very well," Kelson replied.

  The priest glanced at the boy sharply, made suddenly aware that, all unconsciously, the youth had spoken as a king giving'consent—where no consent had even been asked. He wondered if Alaric had noticed.

  Kelson closed his eyes, trying to think of nothing at all. He tried visualizing total blackness, letting his mind detach itself from its awareness. He was dimly aware of Morgan's hand tightening on his shoulder. Then there was a sickening wrench in the pit of his stomach, a fleeting impression of falling, a slight dizzy sensation.

  He opened his eyes to darkness. They were no longer in the study.

  Duncan glanced around carefully. The sacristry was just as he'd left it—dim, deserted. Signalling Morgan and Kelson to follow, he glided across the room to ease the door open and peer through. Outside, in the nave, the cathedral was likewise deserted.

  Morgan peered over his shoulder, then pointed toward the perimeter of the nave. "Circle around?" he whispered almost inaudibly.

  Duncan nodded and pointed toward the rear of the nave, where the doorway leading to the royal crypt made a lighter patch against the dimness of the deserted cathedral.

  "I'll take the right; you take the left."

  Morgan nodded agreement, and the three began 1o circle toward the doorway. When they had almost

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  reached their destination, Duncan slipped off to the right and melted into the shadows. Kelson took up a station in the darkness just outside the entrance to the crypt and positioned himself so he could watch Morgan approach one of the just-visible guards.

  Morgan glided ahead like a spectre, darting from shadow to shadow, back and forth, each step bringing him that much nearer to his quarry. At length, he was within a few yards of the unwitting guard.

  Carefully, so that he would make no noise to warn the unsuspecting man, Morgan eased his way closer, reaching gingerly toward the back of the man's neck. Then, gently, his fingers lightly touched the man.

  At Morgan's touch, the guard stiffened, then relaxed, his eyes slightly glazed, staring straight ahead— unaware, helpless, unremembering. Morgan studied the entranced guard carefully for several seconds. Then, satisfied that his control was complete, he motioned Kelson to join him. As Duncan also joined them, Kelson looked at both men admiringly.

  "All right?" Morgan queried hi a low voice.

  Duncan nodded. "He won't remember a thing."

  "Let's go," Morgan replied, moving toward the gate to the crypt.

  The gate was massive, designed both to keep intruders out and to form a decorative barrier between the world of the living and the dead. A full eight feet high, it was formed of hundreds of sturdy but delicately wrought bars of brass, gilded over with a thin wash of gold, for this was a Kings' crypt it guarded.

  Morgan ran his hands fleetingly over the grillwork, peering at the same time through the bars to the crypt beyond. At the end of the short corridor, a simple altar faced the gate, intended, perhaps, to comfort those royal mourners who came here to lay their dead to rest. To the left, the corridor made a sharp turn into the crypt itself, and from around that bend, a bank of

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  candles was casting its glow along the polished marble floor and over the altar. Also around that bend lay the royal sepulchers, the objects of tonight's expedition.

  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 fascinatedly over his shoulder.

  "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 intricate lock, his face taut with concentration as he visualized each part of the locking mechanism. As Kelson held his breath, there was a soft, metallic click, then another. Morgan's half-closed eyes opened and he pushed gently at the gate. It opened 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 froze, then placed 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 menacingly just within the outer entrance to the vault area, a look of outrage and disbelief on his face. His dark green velvet glowed around him like a malevolent aura, casting eerie highlights on his face and hair. Torchlight from the fiery brands in their wall sockets only added to the ghostly effect. And Rogier's indignation and disgust were almost a living thing.

  "You!" Rogier spat, his voice low and deadly in the chill silence. "What the Devil are you doing here?'*

  Morgan shrugged casually. "I couldn't sleep, Rogier. Neither could Kelson. So we thought we'd come and visit Brion. You know, I haven't seen him in over

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  three months. I thought I might even say a prayer or two. Will you join us?"

  Rogier's eyes narrowed and his hand moved toward his sword. "How dare you!" he murmured, 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—why, I could..."

  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 froze 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 t
he 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, eying 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?" Morgan 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 to the rear of the approach, past the family altar. Then they were among the tombs of the Haldanes.

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  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 bold-ing 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 lighted by the fire of many candles, ranged in banks of twinkling red and blue on either side. Kelson paused and looked 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. // 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,

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  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 square yard of interior was visible. Inside, the ghostly, 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!

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  are not what they seem.

  UNBELIEVINGLY, Morgan leaned down to inspect the face of the corpse more closely. But even without closer scrutinization, it was obvious that the body was not Brion's. The face he had uncovered was that of a very old man, bearded and grey. Some long-dead king or relative, perhaps, but not Brion.

  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 seal the body into this sepulcher. It is the right one."

  Duncan folded his arms across his chest in concentration and brought one hand up to rub his forehead

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  wearily. "Well, 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.

  "AH 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 overestimates my powers considerably."

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  "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 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 his 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.

  DERYNI RISING 153 And indications were that the other t
wo-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 weeks? 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 harrassment, 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 back to the original sep-ulcher 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's not—" Kelson started to protest.

  "Hush, Kelson," Duncan interrupted, skepticism draining away. "You think there's been a shape-changing, an illusion, Alaric?"

  Morgan nodded. "See for yourself. I think this is Brion."

  Duncaii frowned as he replaced his candle in the candelabrum, then wiped his palms on his thighs. Holding his hands, palms down, a scant half inch over the body, he proceeded to inspect the strange corpse, his eyes half-closed. After a moment, he removed bis 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. There's a weird aura about it: a definite impression of

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  evil." He shook his head lightly. "I'm fairly certain it's not insurmountable. Do you want to break 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.