Deryni Rising

  But, Camber of Culdi—the very name chilled the part of him that was priest. For though the Deryni Lord had, indeed, earned sainthood following his death (or disappearance, at any rate), that sainthood had been recalled long ago by a fearful Church—that same Church which had declared all Deryni powers to be forbidden, inherently evil.

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  He resisted a sudden impulse to cross himself in defense against the infamous name, then mentally shook himself back to sanity.

  Saint or demon, Camber of Culdi had evidently been well revered by Brion Haldane. And if Brion, who had done so much good for his people, had invoked the name of Camber—no, Saint Camber, by God!—then it was unthinkable to suspect there could be evil attached to that name.

  As for Alaric's vision, he would have to reserve judgement on that question until later. Quite candidly, he was not much more inclined to believe in visions than Alaric was. And yet, stranger things than that had surely happened. ...

  He turned back to Morgan with a sheepish expression on his face,

  "Well?" Morgan ventured tentatively. He did not pretend to fathom what had just occurred in his kinsman's mind.

  Duncan shrugged apologetically. "I'm all right. It was the priest warring with the Deryni in me again." He smiled faintly and sent the compressed images of his reverie towards his cousin in the same instant

  Morgan gave a wry grin. "I see," he nodded. "I just wish we had a little better idea what we were doing. I feel as though I'm walking in the dark."

  "So do I," Duncan agreed. "But we really don't have any choice but to continue. If Kelson has to face Charissa without Brion's powers, whatever their origin, he'll die. That fact is inescapable. On the other hand, the power transfer itself could kill him. If we've made a mistake—or if we shouM make one in the next minutes—he'll be just as dead as if we'd handed him to Charissa and said, 'Here you are, M'lady. Take him with our blessings. We wanted you to rule Gwynedd all along.' "

  He turned and took a heavily brocaded stole from

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  the storage cabinet and touched it to his lips, settled it around his shoulders.

  "Of course," he added, turning back to Morgan, "we'll never know until we try, will we?" He stepped to the candle and cupped his hand behind the flame. "Are you ready?"

  Morgan shrugged resignedly.

  "Let's get on with it, then," Duncan said, blowing out the candle and ushering Morgan through the sacristy door. "You know, this is really ludicrous. Here I am, priest and Deryni sorcerer—hgresy to begin with •—about to help a Deryni warrior-lord give forbidden powers to a mortal King of Gwynedd. I must be out of my mind!"

  Kelson sat in the study with his hands folded, his grey eyes focused dreamily through the candle flame flickering before him. Beside the candle, the Crimson Lion winked palely from its cushion of black velvet, throwing dancing flecks of pale fire on the boy's face and hands.

  But the candle and the Lion were not Kelson's chief concern just now. For he was welt aware that a cusp had been reached, that all his future, indeed, his very survival through the night, depended upon his conduct in the next half-hour.

  The thought was not a comforting one, but he was loath to let it slip past and vanish in the night stillness. Fear was a thing that must be faced. Brion had drummed that into his head from the first time he could remember. He dared not shrink from what would be required of him.

  He unfolded his hands, then twined his fingers together as he allowed the image of Morgan to take shape in the candle flame.

  Morgan would not be afraid, were he in this situation. No matter what the danger, Kelson was certain

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  that the wise and powerful Deryni Lord had never allowed even a trace of fear to show. Those of the Deryni born were not subject to the hopes and fears of mortal men.

  And Father Duncan—he would not be afraid, either. For besides being Deryni, he was also a man of God, a priest of the cloth. With the power of the Deryni and the might of the Lord behind him, what evil would dare to rear its head in his presence? Indeed, under the protection of two such men, how could he possibly come to harm? Only if he allowed his fear to overpower him ...

  He lowered his head to rest his chin on his folded hands and study the Lion brooch more closely. There was nothing so difficult about what he had to do, really. He reached out and flipped the brooch over on its back so that he could see the clasp, then rested his chin on his hands again.

  No, what he had to do would not realty be so painful, either. He had had training injuries, hunting accidents, much more painful than fee wound of three slim inches of gold was likely to be.

  Of course, he wasn't sure just what to expect once he'd accomplished the deed. According to what he'd read, almost anything could happen. But if his father had devised the ritual, had wanted him to have the powers, he was certain he could come to no harm. Brion had cared about him—no, loved him—there was no doubt in his mind about that.

  He was mentally congratulating himself for having reached so logical a conclusion when the study door opened softly and Duncan and Morgan reentered. Both men wore confident expressions, for his benefit, he was sure, but he could detect the tension beneath their calm exteriors even as they sought to reassure him. They knew he'd been nervous.

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  He straightened up and smiled slightly, to show them he wasn't afraid any more.

  Duncan took the candlestick from the table, smiled and brushed Kelson's shoulder reassuringly as he continued across the room. Morgan watched as Duncan knelt at the prie-dieu, then picked up the Lion brooch and the vial of pale green liquid. He looked down at Kelson.

  "Duncan is preparing a place, my prince," he said quietly. "Are you ready?"

  Kelson nodded and got calmly to his feet. "I'm ready."

  At the prie-dieu, Duncan reached carefully under the armrest and pressed a series of hidden indentations. As he did, a portion of wall behind the adjacent tapestry suddenly withdrew, sucking the tapestry briefly against the opening. Then the pressure released and the hanging was still once more. Duncan rose and pulled it aside, motioning Kelson and Morgan to enter.

  The chapel was very small, perhaps half the size of the room they had just left. As the opening closed behind them and Duncan moved to the other end with the light, they were able to see that the side walls and ceiling were painted with frescoes depicting the lives of various saints. Gold paint had been used to highlight the paintings, and it caught and reflected what little light there was, making the scenes stand out as though illuminated from within.

  Behind the tiny altar, the wall had been painted a dark blue, sprinkled with small gilded stars. An ornate ebony crucifix hung from the ceiling above the altar, suspended from fine wires so that it seemed to float against the starry sky. As Duncan lit the candles on the altar, the added illumination was reflected from the highly polished surfaces. And a single vigil light hung from a long chain to the left of the altar, casting crimson highlights on the ebony cross.

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  There were two small prie-dieus in the center of the room, and Kelson and Morgan took their places there as Duncan inclined his head toward the altar, then bowed his head in silent meditation.

  Morgan put the Lion brooch and vial on the floor between them, then unbuckled his sword and laid it quietly on the floor, motioning Kelson to do the same. Morgan doubted that the action was really necessary, but there was no sense taking unnecessary chances. The tradition of coming into the House of God unarmed was an old and strong one. Somewhere, some-tune, there had been a good reason.

  As Kelson laid his sword on the stone floor, Duncan finished his meditation and joined them.

  "I think we're ready to begin," he said in a low voice, dropping to one knee hi front of Morgan and the boy. "Alaric, if you'll prepare the brooch . . ." he gestured toward the vial.

/>   "Now, then, Kelson. I'll start by reciting a short series of prayers, with you and Alaric giving the proper responses. Then I'll come back here and give you a special blessing. After that, I'll return to the altar and say, 'Lord, let it be done according to Thy will.' That will be your signal."

  Morgan wiped the clasp of the brooch with liquid and covered it with a piece of protective linen. "What about me?" he asked, taking Kelson's left hand and wiping it, front and back. "Is there anything I'm supposed to do besides watch?"

  Duncan shook his head. "No. And whatever happens, you mustn't touch him or attempt to aid him hi any way until the reaction has run its course. We're dealing with fantastic amounts of power here, and if you interfere, it could kill him."

  "I understand," Morgan replied.

  "Good. Any questions, Kelson?"

  "No, Father."

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  "All right."

  Duncan rose and looked down at Kelson for an instant, then smiled and made obeisance. Then he turned away and mounted the three short steps to the altar.

  Kelson watched wide-eyed as Duncan genuflected, kissed the altar stone, then extended his arms to either side with the practised ease of much experience.

  "Dominus vobiscum."

  "Et cum spiritu tuo."

  "Oremus."

  As Duncan's lips moved in prayer, Morgan stole a glance at Kelson to his left. The boy seemed calm as he knelt there, and terribly young and vulnerable. Morgan was not afraid for himself. He and Duncan could protect themselves, he was sure, from any evil which might be summoned up by what they were about to do. But Kelson, a human boy, with no defenses as yet.,.

  Of course, it was possible that there was no need for alarm, even possible that the Eye of Rom glittering there in the boy's right earlobe might offer some protection if there was need, but still—Kelson was so young, so trusting, Morgan was glad the boy didn't know of the doubts he and Duncan had raised in the past hour. What the boy must do now required the utmost of confidence and trust. There could be no room for doubt.

  Morgan returned his attention to the altar and found that Duncan was just finishing the prayers prerequisite to what must follow. The priest bowed once more before the altar, then turned to face them.

  "Per omnia saecula saeculorum," he intoned. Morgan and Kelson responded with a solemn "Amen."

  At that, Duncan stepped back down the three steps and stood before the kneeling Kelson. Then, placing

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  power,'" Duncan whispered, crossing himself. " 'He shall not die, but live.' "

  He reached for the boy's left hand and gently removed the Lion brooch, then wrapped the hand in a handkerchief of white silk.

  "Do you think it worked?" Morgan asked, raising the boy's head and shoulders and wrapping the crimson cloak more closely around him.

  Duncan nodded as he stood and removed his stole. "I think so. It's too soon to tell for sure, but he's showing all the proper signs." He touched the stole to his lips, then tossed it easily to the altar as he headed for the secret door. "One thing is fairly evident, though. More happened to him than just a hole in his hand. We'll have to ask him when he comes to."

  As Duncan activated the door, Morgan picked up the unconscious Kelson in his arms, again pulling the crimson cloak more closely around his young charge. Duncan picked up the swords from the floor, scanning the chapel once more, then held aside the tapestry to reenter the study.

  Soon, he and Morgan were making their way back through the secret passage toward Kelson's apartments.

  "I still dinnae see how they could've got past wi'out us seein' 'em!"

  The speaker struck a light and touched it to the candelabrum beside Kelson's bed, then turned to his two companions. "I thought ye were watching, Lawrence."

  Lawrence sheathed his sword with a gesture of finality, then threw the dark cloak back off his shoulders, let his hood fall back.

  "I cannae explain it, M'lord. I did nae see any man come in or out since late this afternoon when the prince and His Grace entered." He paced to the fire-

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  place and stirred the embers with the toe of his boot, then pulled several logs into the dying fire.

  "Well, if ye ask me," the third man said, also lowering his sword, "I'm glad they're not here. I'm not sure it's a good idea to strike at Lord Alaric. After all, he is our sworn Lord." He sat gingerly on the edge of the royal bed and tested it with a slight bounce, then hastily stood again at the sharp glance of Lawrence.

  "Do ye think there could be another way out o' this place?" Lawrence said, looking suspiciously around the room from his vantage point by the fire. "Methinks I've heard rumors o' secret passages an' the like. Do ye think they could ha' gotten out that way?"

  Edgar, the first speaker, frowned and considered the idea. Though he was of the nobility, and one of Morgan's vassals, he was not known for his mental agility. He functioned adequately in his role as border lord, and was widely touted as a fine fighter, but it took him longer to function when matters requiring thought were involved. At length, he cocked his head and nodded, drawing his sword.

  "Aye, 'tis possible. And if 'tis true, they might come back any minute."

  As he began roaming suspiciously around the room, poking into corners with his blade, the third man moved cautiously to the fireplace.

  "Do ye really think Lord Alaric has enslaved the young master like they say? 'Tis bad enough he must murder the King's own men, but when he threatens the life of the King himself, that's another matter entirely."

  "Both deeds are from the same wickedness!" Edgar retorted, striding darkly around the room like a caged animal. "He cannae—"

  "Hsst!" Lawrence suddenly said, holding up his left hand for silence. "I think I hear somethinV

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  both hands lightly on the boy's head, he spoke again, his voice low but strong in the stillness.

  "Kelson Cinhil Rhys Anthony Haldane. Though the cords of the nether world enmesh thee, though the snares of death surge about thee, thou shalt fear no evil. With His pinions the Lord will cover thee, and under His wings thou shalt take refuge." He made the sign of the cross over the boy's head. "In Nomine Pa-tris et Fils et Spiritus Sancti, Amen."

  As the boy lifted his head, Duncan reached down and took the Lion brooch from Morgan, removed the protective linen covering the clasp, placed the brooch in Kelson's right hand.

  "Courage, my prince," he whispered; then turned back toward the altar and spread his arms once again.

  "Domine fiat vohtntas tua!"

  It was time.

  Kelson's hands trembled slightly as he poised the golden clasp over his left palm, rested the point of the slender shaft against the skin. He hesitated for just an instant, mentally steeling himself for the pain he knew must follow.

  Then he plunged the clasp into his hand.

  Pain! Searing fire! Anguish!

  Suddenly, the tortured hand was like a thing alive and apart, transmitting its anguish to explode in his brain like sparks from a fiery forge, like the searing white light of sunlight on unprotected eyes. He felt pain lance through the hand like the thrust of a blade, hot, cold, was aware of the shaft taking what seemed an interminable time to pass through fascia, tendons, muscles—felt it glide between the small bones of his hand, saw the tip of the shaft, darker now, emerge at last on the other side.

  An involuntary gasp escaped his lips as the brooch itself came to rest against the palm of his hand, seemed to sear into his flesh. He doubled over, moaning softly,

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  as the hand began to throb with a rhythm of its own, closed his eyes tightly as lights began to explode inside his head, in his eyeballs.

  It was all Morgan could do to keep from reaching out to steady his young lord. Anguish was etched across the boy's face, pain screamingly obvious in every taut'line of the small body. Never had he seeme
d so helpless.

  But Duncan, too, had turned to watch. And his sharp glance reminded Morgan that he dared not try to assist.

  As Kelson sank back on his heels, cradling the wounded hand against his chest, he began to glow with a pale, ghostly golden light. The glow increased, and then the boy suddenly froze and ceased moaning. As his companions watched breathlessly, the young King's eyes flickered open, glassy, staring, following things only he could see.

  Brightness . . . pain . . . swirling colors . . . pain throbbing ... a cool shiver of—what? . , . Pain subsiding . . . better now ... a cool weight in the hand . . . Look! . . . Colors . . . swirling . . . faces: . . . light, dark . . . light fading . . . faces . . . growing darker . . . spinning . . . darkness . . . Father! . . . the darkness!.. . Father... darkness ... "Father, the darkness ..."

  Suddenly, the slender body crumpled softly to the floor. The light around him died.

  "Kelson!" Morgan cried, frantically turning the boy's face to the light and feeling for a carotid pulse. "Kelson, are you all right?"

  As Duncan, too, knelt beside the still form, Morgan's fingers found what they sought; and even as he relaxed the pulse grew stronger. He lifted one of the boy's eyelids, saw the pupil react to light. The pulse became stronger.

  " 'The right hand of the Lord has struck him with .

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  "Harold, over there," Edgar ordered, motioning the third man to the left of the fireplace by the wall.

  From the wall beside the fireplace, the three men could hear faint scraping sounds, as though of cautious footsteps. Immediately, they doused their light and stood back in the shadows, weapons at the ready.

  As they watched, a portion of the wall sighed and indented slightly, then slid back. From the opening, dim candlelight poured into the room, revealing Morgan carrying the unconscious prince, and Duncan behind him. Even as the two stepped through the doorway, they were aware of the fire burning brightly, felt the presence of others in the shadows.