Deryni Checkmate
"I apologize," he said, bowing his head. "I have been rash, as so often in the past. Am I to be permitted private confession, or must I speak before all of your
Warin snorted disdainfully. "Surely you jest, sir. Gorony, are you prepared to hear this man's confession?"
Gorony pulled a narrow purple stole from the sleeve of his robe and touched it to his lips, draped it behind his neck.
"Do you wish to confess, my son?" he murmured formally, averting his eyes and taking a step toward Morgan.
Morgan swallowed and nodded, and his captors dropped to their knees, bearing him down with them. The arm across his throat was removed, and Morgan swallowed again with relief as he bowed his head. He tried to flex his left wrist experimentally as he settled on his knees—which was difficult because of the vise-grip on all his limbs—and amazingly there was the reassuring pressure of cold steel along his forearm: his trusty stiletto, which he did not think the men could detect through his mail hauberk. Apparently they had not bothered to search him—Clumsy fools! he thought triumphantly as he prepared to speak—which might also mean that he hadn't been unconscious for very long. Perhaps, if it came to that, he could at least take a few of these fanatics with him in death when
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the time came. For it appeared that there was, indeed, to be no escape.
"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned," he murmured, turning his attention back to Gorony standing before him. "These are my sins."
Before Morgan could even draw breath to begin his enumeration, there was a sudden rumbling in the beamed ceiling overhead. Heads jerked backward to gape incredulously as a lean figure in brown hunting leathers came hurtling through a narrow opening to land with a thump in the straw where Morgan had lain.
It was Duncan!
As the priest sprang to his feet, blade whipping from its scabbard, he slashed out at the unprotected knee of one of Morgan's guards. The man screamed and went down, clutching his leg in agony; and at the same time Morgan flung his full weight to the left, carrying two more of his captors to the floor with him. A fourth man, fumbling and caught off balance by the double offensive, tried to draw sword to protect his fallen comrade before Duncan could strike again. But his indecision cost him his life. Duncan cut him down before he could even get his weapon clear. And then the room erupted in confusion as Warin's men overcame their immobility and attacked.
Duncan fought with gusto, sword and dagger responding in his hands as though they were extensions of his own arms. Morgan, on the floor and still in the grip of two of his original captors, kicked viciously as one of the men attempted to rise. The man's anguished collapse threw the second man off guard long enough for Morgan to free his stiletto and dispatch him. And then Morgan was shouting and slashing wildly at another attacker who had come flying out of nowhere to land squarely on top of him with a dagger poised.
As he wrestled for possession of the weapon, he was dimly aware of Duncan almost straddling his feet
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and fighting ferociously with half a dozen swordsmen, and that they could not possibly hope to hold their own against such odds.
And then Gorony's harsh voice cut through the chaos shouting: "Kill them! The Devil take you, you must kill them both!"
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
What is the supreme wisdom of man? l^ot to injure another when he has the power.
St. Teilo
DUNCAN LUNGED and parried, feinted and recovered, as he strove to keep the attackers at bay. Blocking one assailant with the long dagger in his left hand, he lashed out with his foot to kick away another man's weapon.
But there was no time to press the advantage with four other swordsmen to take the place of one disarmed. A chance sword-thrust penetrated his guard on the right and would have finished him had it not been for the mail which deflected the blow. And before he could recover from that, another swung a flaming torch at his face.
He dodged and slipped on blood—luckily. For as he went down, a broadsword whistled past where his head had been—a blow which surely would have decapitated him had it connected. He rolled with the fall and came to his feet with a short upward thrust that nearly disemboweled one man, then cut down the wielder of the torch with a desperate slash that also wounded another. A fountain of blood from the man's half-severed neck showered Duncan and his attackers in a rain of crimson. And then a torch was falling from lifeless fingers to ignite the bloody straw.
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The stench of burned blood was strong in Dtmcan's nostrils as he made an attempt to stamp out the flames, but it was impossible while he was under attack. As he retreated before fire and swords, he nearly tripped over Morgan and a struggling assailant. The two were grappling on the floor trying to choke one another, Warm's man on top. Morgan, in his drug-befuddled weakness, was getting the worst of it.
Duncan shoved an attacker onto the blade of one of his fellows and raised his sword to finish Morgan's opponent. As he did, his sword arm was grabbed from behind, and someone else flung an arm around his neck in an effort to pull him over backwards. Wrenching his right arm free, Duncan rammed it back in a short arc which caught Warm full in the stomach and sent him to the floor, sobbing for breath. He felt a dagger slide harmlessly off the mail covering his back, and then he was ducking to flip his second attacker over his head in a heap at his feet. It was Gorony.
Controlling a snarl of disgust, Duncan reached down and grabbed Gorony by the neck of his robe, stomped on the hand still holding the dagger until Gorony released it with an anguished cry. He jerked Gorony roughly to his feet to shield him from further attack, left arm across throat to force obedience. War-in's two remaining men fell back in confusion.
"Holdl" Duncan barked, raising his sword to Gor-ony's throat. "Come a step closer and I'll kill him!"
The men stopped, looked to Warm for guidance, but the rebel leader was still gasping for breath on the blood-drenched straw, in no condition to give orders. The man with the wounded leg had crawled to the side of a more seriously injured man and was trying to staunch his wounds. But there was no other movement in the chamber except for the growing flames behind them. Duncan, his reluctant captive in tow, edged his^way back to Morgan, glanced down to see his cousin straddling a dead or unconscious assailant,
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exhaustedly beating the man's bloody head against the wooden floor.
Had he gone mad?
"Aland" he hissed, not daring to take his eyes from Warm's men for more than a few seconds. "Alar-ic, stop itl That's enoughl Come, let's get out of here!"
Morgan froze and suddenly seemed to become aware of his surroundings again. He glanced at Duncan in surprise, then looked down at the battered form beneath him. Reason returned in a rush, and he wiped his hands against his legs in horror.
"Oh, my God," he murmured, staggering to his feet and steadying himself on Duncan's shoulder, shaking his head. "God, that wasn't necessary. What have I done?"
"No time for that now. I want to get out of here," Duncan said, eying the flames behind Warm's men and beginning to edge toward the doors with his human shield. "And these fine gentlemen aren't going to try to stop us, because killing a priest is very serious business. Almost as serious as killing two."
"You are no true priest!" Gorony rasped, clutching at Duncan's arm and trying to ease the pressure across his throat. "You are a traitor to Holy Church! When His Excellency hears of this—"
"Yes, I'm sure His Excellency will take appropriate action," Duncan said impatiently, watching Warin's men as he and Morgan reached the heavy barred doors. "Alaric, can you get this door open?"
The doors were heavy, ornate, grilled with iron at the top and barred with a stout oak beam across black iron clamps. Morgan struggled to lift the bar, grunting with the effort, then eased it free. But as he pushed against the door itself, then pushed harder, nothing happened. As Duncan glan
ced behind to see what was holding them up, Warin climbed shakily to his feet,
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assisted by his two surviving men-at-arms, and moved slowly toward them.
"It's no use," Warm said, his breathing still labored. "The door is locked."
"Then open it," Duncan said, "or he dies." His sword moved back to Gorony's throat and the priest whimpered.
Warin stopped about fifteen feet from Duncan and smiled as he spread his arms in a helpless gesture. "I can't open it. Brother Balmoric locked it from the outside, at my order. Gorony may have been your insurance, sir, but Balmoric is mine. I don't think you're going to escape after all."
He gestured behind him at the growing fire, and Duncan's heart sank. The flames were rising at an alarming rate, singeing the inlaid panels lining the chamber and licking at the ancient paint on the carved cornices and mouldings. Once the ceiling caught, which would be shortly, the flames would quickly eat their way up to the shrine itself. The place would be an inferno.
"Call Balmoric," Duncan said evenly, bringing his blade to rest lightly against Gorony's throat.
Warin shook his head and folded his arms across his chest.
"If we die, you die too."
Warin smiled. "It would be worth the price/'
Duncan glanced at Morgan. "How are you feeling?"
"Oh, splendid," Morgan whispered, swallowing hard and gripping the bars of the door to keep from losing consciousness. "Duncan, do you remember what I did to another locked door once?"
"Don't be ridiculous. You're in no condition to—"
Duncan broke off and lowered his eyes, realizing what Morgan meant. Their only chance now was for Duncan to use his Deryni powers to master the lock. And to do so in Gorony's presence would be to reveal
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himself as Deryni forever. As the being in the vision on the road had warned, the time would come when Duncan must make a choice. That time was now.
He glanced across at Morgan and nodded slowly. "Can you handle our friend here?" He jutted his chin toward Gorony, and Morgan nodded.
"All right."
Transfering Gorony to Morgan's grasp, Duncan gave him the long dagger and resheathed his bloody sword. He raised an eyebrow at Morgan in inquiry as his cousin adjusted his grip, but Morgan seemed to have things under control. Duncan could guess what the effort must be costing Alaric in his weakened condition, but there was no other way. With a sigh of resignation, Duncan turned his attention to the door.
The wood was warm and sleek beneath his fingers, and looking through the upper grating he could see where the lock mechanism must be. Placing his hands lightly over the lock, he closed his eyes and allowed his awareness to surround the mechanism, began feeling out the inner workings. Sweat poured from his brow, and his hands grew moist as he worked. But then there was a click from deep inside the door, followed by another, and then another. With a glance behind at Warin and his men, who had remained spellbound all the while, Duncan gave the door a strong push—and it opened.
"Oh, my God, he's one of them!" Gorony murmured, his face going white as he squeezed his eyes shut. "A Deryni serpent in the very bosom of the ChurchI"
"Shut up, Gorony, or I may just stick you," Morgan said softly.
Gorony's eyes popped open and he gasped as Morgan's dagger pressed against his neck, bat he did not say another word. Not so with Warin.
"Deryni? The Lord will smite thee for this,, thou
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spawn of Satan! His vengeance will seek thee out and-"
"Let's get out of here," Duncan muttered under his breath, taking Gorony and pushing his cousin through the door as Warin and his men pressed forward. "Get to the horses and ride. I'll catch up with you."
As Morgan began scrambling up a short slope toward the front of the shrine, Duncan dragged the protesting Gorony through the door and closed it behind him, giving the lock a mental nudge to set the pins again. Warin and his men immediately crowded to the door grating to peer out, Warin screaming maledictions as Duncan urged Gorony up the hill.
Almost at the top, Duncan found his kinsman collapsed, staring in horror at a tall stake set in the ground amid piles of kindling. Iron chains hung around the stake, ready to fetter an unwilling victim, and a torch smoked and guttered in the wind before Morgan's fascinated gaze. "Alaric, let's go!" "We must burn it, Duncan."
"Burn it? Are you mad? We haven't the time for— Alaric!"
At Duncan's protest, Morgan had begun to drag himself toward the torch, crawling painfully on hands and knees to reach the flame. With a grimace of indecision, Duncan glanced over his shoulder at the shrine, back at Alaric, then roughly jerked Gorony around to face him.
"I'm letting you go, Gorony. Not because you deserve to live, but because that man needs me more than I need vengeance for what you've done to him. Now, get out of here before I change my mind!"
With a shove, he sent Gorony sprawling down the incline, then scrambled the few remaining feet to Morgan's side. Morgan had reached the torch and was struggling to pull it from the ground, eyes glazed with the effort. With a cry Duncan wrenched the brand out
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of his cousin's grasp and flung it into the kindling around the stake, watched for just an instant as the wood caught and began to blaze. Then he set his shoulder under Morgan's arm and helped him to his feet, and the two began staggering the rest of the way up the slope.
Far to the right, the monk Balmoric and a handful of foot soldiers came running down the incline toward the barred door and Gorony. One made as though to break away and pursue the two escapees, but Balmoric gave a curt hand signal and snarled something Duncan could not catch. The man returned to the foot of the slope.
The shrine was burning. Through the confusion Duncan and Morgan finally made their way to the paddock area. As smoke billowed from the shrine, fed by the massive wooden foundations beneath the structure, Duncan boosted Morgan onto his horse and wrapped the reins around his hand, then vaulted into his own saddle. Guiding his horse only by the pressure of his knees, he led the way out of Saint Torin's yard, flying hooves throwing a shower of mud over travelers passing beneath the arms of the forest saint. Morgan galloped at his heels but a half-length behind, clinging to his horse's neck with a desperation born of the ordeal he had just undergone, eyes tightly closed. As Duncan glanced back, he could see Saint Torin's in flames, black smoke billowing up against the grey thunderheads; and the furious Warin and Gorony silhouetted against the blaze, shaking their fists at the retreating Deryni lords. There was no pursuit.
With a mirthless chuckle, Duncan leaned forward on his horse's neck to retrieve the dangling reins, then pulled up slightly so that Morgan's horse could draw even. His cousin was hardly in condition to even ride just now, much less to make critical decisions. But Duncan was sure he would agree that their best plan
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now lay in getting to Kelson as soon as possible. Once this morning's news reached the archbishops, Kelson would probably be the next target of ecclesiastical censure. And Duncan knew that Alaric would want to be at the boy's side when and if that happened.
Of course, any appeal to the Curia in Dhassa was out of the question after this morning's events. Both he and Alaric would probably be excommunicated and outlawed by nightfall. Nor could they return to Corwyn in safety. Once the Interdict fell—and there was little doubt now that it would—there was going to be civil war in Corwyn. And Alaric would be in no condition to cope with that for several days at least.
Duncan reached across and took Morgan's reins, touched spurs to his mount as thunder rumbled ominously. Alaric must rest before too long. Perhaps at Saint Neot's, where they had camped last night. In fact, if they were lucky, Duncan might even be able to locate a working Transfer Portal in the ruins. Alaric had mentioned an altar to Saint Camber. A Portal might not be far away. And it could save them more than a day
's ride to Rhemuth and Kelson, if they could find it.
Large raindrops began to fall, and lightning flared across the darkening skies. Resigning himself to traveling in the rain, Duncan settled into his saddle to ride hard and keep a watchful eye on his cousin.
They would be riding into the storm in more ways than one now. In a very short while, Gorony would be telling the archbishops of Morgan's capture and escape, and how one Duncaa Howard McLain had come to the rescue; and how that same Monsignor McLain, King^s Confessor and one-time promising star of the lower ecclesiastical hierarchy, was a Deryrri sorcerer.
He hated to even think of what Loris would say when he found out.
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"I'll excommunicate him! I'll excommunicate the pair of them!" Loris was shouting. "Of all the false, deceitful, reprehensible—I'll strip him of his orders! I'll-"-
Loris, Corrigan, several of their assistants and clerks, and a large number of the Gwynedd clergy had been informally assembled in the bishop of Dhassa's drawing room when the news came. Monsignor Gorony, his robes blood-stained and dripping with mud, had come staggering into the room at mid-afternoon and flung himself to the floor at Loris' feet. As the clergy listened with growing horror, Gorony had gasped out the story of the morning's ordeal: the thwarted capture, his personal peril, the perfidy of the two Deryni called Morgan and McLain.
Yes, he was sure Morgan's companion had been Duncan McLain. The suspended priest even knew he had been recognized, had known Gorony, called him by name, had actually threatened him with sacrilegious murder if he did not obey!
With that Loris had exploded, venting his spleen on Morgan, Duncan, the Deryni, and circumstances in general. Corrigan and the rest of the clergy had followed suit, indignation so heavy on the air that one could almost taste it. And now the dispute went on, in small, vehement groups. Though degrees might differ, there was little question that terrible tilings had happened at Saint Torin's, and that appropriate action must be taken.