Deryni Checkmate
The dresser was the place, he decided, as he crossed to it and withdrew the pouch. Surely a woman would go to her dresser first when she entered a room, especially when she'd been riding most of the day. And there were other glittering things already on the dresser top. They would help to camouflage what he would leave.
Placing the pouch gently on the dresser, he started
250 Deryni Checkmate
to untie the leather thongs, paused as he remembered he would have only a few seconds in which to get himself out of range. He crossed to the peg and took down the lute, slung it over his shoulder, then returned to the dresser and loosed the thongs of the pouch, slid the cold blue-red crystal out on the surface. Heart in throat, Rimmell snatched the leather bag and fled to the door, slowing to compose himself only as he reached the doorjamb. He hazarded a single look back at the dresser, but he could see no trace of blue amid all the other glitter there. Whistling a triumphant little marching tune, he walked casually back along the terrace walkway toward the garden, Bronwyn's lute slung over his shoulder. As he walked, he carefully withdrew the locket from his tunic, opened it and gazed fondly at the portrait inside, then closed it with a tiny click and replaced it in his tunic with a sigh. As he reentered the garden, he could hear Gwydion's song floating in the sunlight.
"Good Lady, hear the fervent prayer
I offer thee this day, As I beseech, so let thy heart be moved by what I say.
Let not thy glance convey thy scorn. If than denyst, I am forsworn. What man can live with heart forlorn, Without thy gracious love?"
An hour later, Bronwyn paused in the doorway to her chamber to smile as Kevin pressed his lips to her palm.
"Half an hour?" she whispered.
"Half an hour," he agreed solemnly. "And if you're late" he broke into a grin, "I'll come and dress you myself!"
Bronwyn wrinkled her nose mischievously and
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made a face. "Two more days, Kevin McLain," she taunted. "You'll survive until then."
"Will I?" he murmured, drawing her close and looking down at her with only partially feigned passion.
She giggled and hugged him briefly, then slipped out of his grasp and through the partially opened door.
"Half an hour," she admonished. "And see that you're not late, or I'll come and help you dressl"
"Do!" came Kevin's enthusiastic reply as she closed the door.
Bronwyn pirouetted gracefully and cradled her lute to her breast as she spun across the room, blissful in the sheer joy of being alive and loved. As she paused by her dresser, humming a few bars from Gwydion's last song, she bent to glance at herself in the mirror, smoothed a strand of dark golden hair off her forehead. Even as she tried to straighten, the treacherous spell began its work.
Bronwyn stumbled and clutched at the dresser edge for support, barely managing to keep her feet as she was engulfed a second time. In her desperate fight for consciousness, she let the lute slip from her numbed grasp and fall to the floor. The neck cracked in the fall, and one of the strings snapped with a taut ping.
The sound was sufficient to jar her Deryni senses into play, to set her analyzing the situation even as her outer mind spun. Eyes searching blankly, almost mindlessly, for a clue to the attack, she spotted the blue crystal pulsating amid the clutter of her dresser.
Magic/ her mind shrieked. O my God, who has done this thing?
"Kevin.' Kevin.'" she managed to scream.
Kevin had not had time to go far. Hearing Bronwyn's terrified scream, he raced back down the corridor and flung himself at the door. It gave without resistance and he staggered into the room—halted in horror at what he saw.
Bronwyn had sunk to her knees beside the dresser,
252 Deryni Checkmate
fingers white-knuckled against the edge of the dark-stained top. The object of her terrified gaze was a strange blue crystal that glowed and pulsated among the jewels and trinkets on the dresser. And as Kevin watched, she reached slowly toward the thing to touch it, her lips moving in a silent repetition of Kevin's name.
Kevin acted. With a wordless cry, and without further thought than the need to get the crystal away from his beloved, Kevin shoved her aside and scooped the thing off the dresser with both hands, intending to fling it through the open terrace doors and out of range.
It was not to be. The spell had been ill-set to start, and never for the likes of a human lord like Kevin— indeed, the more deadly for that. As Kevin lifted the crystal he froze in mid-motion, a terrible expression of fear and pain washing across his features. In that same instant Bronwyn realized what he had done and tried to wrest the crystal from him, hoping that her Deryni blood would at least afford partial immunity where Kevin had none. But she, too, was transfixed as she touched him, the crystal beginning to pulsate wildly with their dual heartbeats.
Then both were engulfed in a flash of harsh white light which illuminated the entire room. It seared the carpets and the very air with its brilliance, cutting off the screams which reverberated through the palace as the white light faded.
And then there was silence. Until the guards, streaming into the room in response to the screams, halted aghast at the sight which awaited, drew back in confusion as Kelson arrived at a dead run and jerked to a halt in the doorway, Deny right behind him.
"Get back, all of you!" Kelson commanded, staring wide-eyed through the open door and motioning them to withdraw. "Hurry! There's magic afoot!"
As the guards obeyed, Kelson stepped cautiously
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into the room and spread his arms to the sides, lips moving in a counterspell. As he finished the words, light flared faintly in the center of the room and died. Kelson bit his lip and closed his eyes briefly, controlling his growing apprehension, then forced himself to move slowly closer.
The couple lay sprawled near the open terrace doors, Kevin on his back, Bronwyn slumped face down across his chest, her golden hair spilling across his face in disarray. Kevin's arms outstretched to either side were black, the hands charred and burned with the terrible energy he had tried to quench. The McLain plaid fastened to his shoulder was singed at the edge where it lay partially across one slack hand. There was no sign of life.
Swallowing with difficulty, Kelson dropped to his knees beside the two and reached out to touch them, winced as his fingers brushed Kevin's arm, Bronwyn's silken hair. Then he sank back on his heels and bowed his head in sorrow, hands resting helplessly on his thighs. There was nothing he or anyone else could do for the two lovers now.
At Kelson's gesture of finality, Derry and the guards and Jared's Lord Deveril began to filter into the room, hushed and stunned in the wake of the unexpected tragedy. Lord Deveril's face went white as he saw the crumpled bodies; and then he was pushing his way back through the growing crowd to try to stop Duke jared. He was too late.
"What's happened, Dev?" Jared whispered, craning his neck to see past his seneschal. "Has something happened to Bronwyn?"
"Don't, m'lord, please!"
"Let me through, Dev. I want to see what's—Oh my God, it's my son! Sweet Lord in Heaven, it's both of them!"
As the guards parted to admit Jared, Rimmell arrived and eased his way to the back of the crowd,
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gasped and clenched a fist to his open mouffi as he saw what had happened. A violent fit of trembling overcame him as his fist tightened convulsively on the tiny filigree locket, and he was desperately afraid he was going to be sick.
O my God, what have I done? It wasn't supposed to end this way. Not like this. Dear God, it can't be true.' They're dead/ My Lady Bronwyn is dead/
As mqre guards and courtiers spilled into the chamber, Rimmell tried to shrink back against the wall and melt into the stonework, tried to force his eyes away from the awful sight, but could not. Then he crumpled to his knees and sobbed in bitter despair, not knowing or caring that the filigree locket cut his hands as he w
rung them in anguish.
Lady Margaret arrived with Gwydion. She paled as she saw the bodies and looked as though she might faint. But then she was moving toward her husband, who stood numb and motionless beside them. She put her arms around him and clung wordlessly for a long moment, then led him gently to the terrace doors and turned him so he would not have to see the thing which tore at his heart. She talked to him then, softly, in words no one else could hear.
Gwydion picked up Bronwyn's discarded lute and looked at it wordlessly, its neck cracked and belly smashed from its fall. Moving slowly to Kelson's side, the little troubadour watched without comment as the young king unfastened his scarlet cloak and draped it over the two bodies, then absently plucked at one of the remaining strings. The note echoed discordantly in the stillness, and Kelson looked up with a start.
"I fear the music is shattered forever, sire," Gwydion murmured sadly, kneeling beside Kelson to lay the lute gently by Bronwyn's hand. "Nor can it ever be mended."
Kelson averted his gaze, knowing it was not the lute Gwydion spoke of. Gwydion allowed his slender
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fingers to caress the lute a final time, then folded his hands before him.
"May one ask how this came to pass, Sire?"
Kelson shrugged dully. "Someone set a /erra'man crystal in the room, Gwydion. By itself that fact would not be terribly significant; jerra'mani can be used for many things, some of them quite beneficial. You may have heard mention of them in some of the old ballads you sing."
His voice faltered as he went on. "But this one was not beneficial—at least it wasn't once a human like Kevin entered the picture. Alone, Bronwyn might have been able to overcome the spell, whatever its intent. She had the power, if her training was sufficient. But she must have called out or screamed, and no doubt Kevin heard and came to her aid. She could not save herself and him; and hence in the end she saved neither."
"Could she not have—"
Kelson cut off further discussion with a warning look and got to his feet, for Jared and Margaret had been joined on the terrace by the white-robed Father Anselm, Castle Culdi's aging chaplain. The young king bowed respectfully as Anselm approached with the bereaved parents, then stepped back to let them kneel beside the bodies. He crossed himself as Anselm began to pray, then began backing off slowly, signaling Gwydion to accompany him.
"Gwydion, Deny, let's clear away the unnecessary spectators, shall we? The family wishes some privacy just now."
As the men followed Kelson's orders, gently shepherding soldiers and weeping ladies-in-waiting from the room, Deny came at last to Rimmell. The architect knelt moaning softly in a comer, his white hair shaking as he wept, a fine golden chain spilling through his clasped fingers as he rocked slowly back and forth. As Deny touched his shoulder, Rimmell
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looked up with a start, his eyes red and streaming. Deny, ill-accustomed to dealing with hysterical men, noticed the golden chain and seized on it as an excuse to distract the man.
"Eh, what's this? Rimmell, what have you got there?"
As Derry caught his wrist, Rimmell tried to pull away, eyes wide as saucers as he staggered to his feet. His resistance only heightened Derry's interest, and the young Marcher lord renewed his efforts to pry open the hand.
"Come, now, Rimmell, I want to see what it is," Derry said, becoming a little irritated as Rimmell resisted all efforts to distract him. "Why, it's a locket. Where did you get—"
As he spoke, the locket slipped from Rimmell's grasp and fell to the floor, springing open even as Derry scooped it up. He started to return it to Rimmell, giving it only a cursory glance, then gasped as the portrait registered.
"Khadasa, it's my lady!"
At Derry's oath, Kelson frowned and turned, intending to reprimand Deny for his unseemly outburst. When he saw the stunned look on Derr/s face, however, he crossed to the young lord and took the locket instead. Just as he realized who the portrait was intended to be, Lady Margaret saw the locket and dashed to his side, clutching his arm in horror.
"Where did you get that locket, Sire?"
"This?" Kelson looked confused. "Why, apparently Rimmell had it, my lady. Though how he came by it, I cannot imagine."
Margaret's hand quivered as she took the locket from Kelson, and she flinched as the metal touched her hands. She looked at the portrait inside for just an instant, then clutched it to her bosom with a moan.
"Where—," she swallowed with difficulty, "where did you get this, Rimmell?"
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"My lady,!-"
"Bronwyn gave this locket to Kevin on their betrothal day. Where did you get it?"
With a wail of despair, Rimmell flung himself to his knees and clutched at her skirts in supplication, his white head shaking as he poured out his misery.
"Oh, my dearest lady, please believe that I never meant for this to happen!" he sobbed. "I loved her so much! I only wanted her to love me in return. Surely you can understand what it is to lovel"
Margaret shrieked, drawing away in abhorrence as she realized the implication of Rimmell's words, and Deny and several guards grabbed the architect and forced him to release Margaret's skirts. Jared, who had watched the exchange uncomprehendingly, murmured his dead son's name once, but could not seem to make further sound or action.
"You!" Kelson gasped, hardly daring to believe what he had just heard. "You set the jerraman, Rim-mell?"
"Oh, Sire, you must believe me!" Rimmell babbled, shaking his head pleadingly. "It was only to have been a love charm. Dame Bethane said—"
"Dame Bethane?" Kelson snapped, grabbing Rimmell's hair and yanking his head up to look him in the eyes. "This was Deryni magic, Rimmell. I know, because I had to neutralize what was left after it had done its deed. Now, who is this Dame Bethane yoa speak of? A Deryni?"
"I—I know not if she be Deryni, Sire," Rimmell stammered. He winced as his head was pulled back by the hair. "Dame Bethane lives in the hills north of the city, in—in a cave. The villagers say she is a holy woman, that she has often worked love charms and other favors in return for food and—and gold." He swallowed and blinked his eyes tightly. "I only wanted Bronwyn to love me, Sire. Besides, it was but simple magic Bethane used."
258 Deryni Checkmate
"Simple magic does not kill/" Kelson fairly spat the words as he released Rimmell's hair abruptly and wiped his hand against his thigh. "You, too, bear responsibility for those deaths, Rimmell. Just as surely as if you yourself had set the magic and watched them bum!"
"I'll kill him!" Jared screamed, flinging himself at a guard and snatching out the man's sword. "As God is my witness, he shall die for this wretched deed!"
As he darted toward Rimmell with lightning speed, glassy-eyed and with sword upraised, Margaret screamed "No!" and threw herself between 'them. Der-ry and a guard captain grabbed Jared's sword arm and forced it down as Margaret clung sobbing to his chest, but Jared continued to struggle and shout: "Take your hands off me, you fools! I shall kill him! Margaret, he has murdered my son! Don't interfere!"
"Jared, no! Hasn't there been enough killing? At least wait until you're not so distraught. Sire, don't let him do this thing, I beg of you!"
"Stop it, all of you!"
Kelson's words cut through the shouting like a sword, bringing instant silence save for the forlorn sobbing of Rimmell. All eyes turned to the young king as he let his stern glance roam the waiting faces, and there was much of his father in him as he turned to Deny.
"Release Jared."
"Sire?" Deny looked incredulous, and Lady Margaret stared at the king in horror.
"I asked you to release him, Deny," Kelson repeated evenly. "I believe the order was plain enough."
With a puzzled nod Derry relinquished his grip on Jared's arm and stepped back, held Margaret gently by the shoulders to keep her from interfering. Margaret watched horrified as Jared raised his sword again and moved toward Rimmell.
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"Sire, I beseech you, do not let Jared kill him! He-"
"No, let him kill me, Sire!" Rimmell cried, shaking His head and closing his eyes in resignation. "I do not deserve mercy, wretched man that I am! I am unworthy to live. Kill me, Your Grace! I have destroyed the woman I love! Kill me horribly! I deserye to suffer!"
Jared froze, the glazed look leaving his eyes. He straightened up and lowered the sword in his hand, studied Rimmell's bowed head. He glanced at Kelson, at Margaret's taut, anxious face, then dropped the sword to the floor with a clatter and half-turned away in disgust.
"Lord Fergus?" he said, gazing calmly out the door to the garden beyond.
A heavy-set man wearing a baldric of minor command stepped from the throng and bowed. His expression was grim, determined, and he glanced down at the groveling Kimmell with a look of pure contempt
'Tour Grace?"
"This man is an admitted murderer. I want his head on Traitor's Gate within the hour. Do you understand?"
Fergus' eyes glittered triumphantly as he bowed. "Yes, Your Grace."
"Very well. I would see the evidence of your work before you leave the garden, Fergus."
Fergus nodded again. "I understand."
"Go then."
With a curt nod, Fergus signaled a pair of his men to take custody of the prisoner and began heading toward the terrace doors. As they walked Rimmell continued to whimper, "I deserve to die, I have killed her, I deserve to die." Fergus loosened his broadsword in its leather scabbard. Jared waited until they were gone, then staggered toward the two bodies, knelt to pull aside the scarlet cloak and touch Bronwyn's gold-
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Deryni Checkmate
en hair which still lay across Kevin's face. Margaret gazed after the departing soldiers and their prisoner disbelievingly, at her husband and Anselm kneeling beside the bodies, then moved to wring her hands before Kelson.
"Sire, you must not permit this! The man is guilty, of course. No one could deny that. But to sky him in cold Wood-"