The Bastard Prince
“Sire, this is Hombard of Tarkent,” Rhun said.
Hombard inclined his head—a careful movement not intended to give offense, Rhys Michael sensed, but also indicative that he did not entirely trust his balance for a proper bow. Gesturing for a stool to be set behind the Torenthi messenger, the king returned the nod.
“Please be seated, my lord.”
Hombard fought back a yawn as he settled on the stool, bracing his feet wide for better stability. The eyes that he turned to the king were all pupil.
“My lord, I bring certain propositions from my lord Prince Miklos of Torenth, under terms specified by yourself. Will you hear these propositions?”
“That’s why you’re here,” Rhun said impatiently, coming to stand beside Manfred. “Out with it, man. We didn’t bring you here to play games.”
“Indeed not,” the man agreed, setting his hands on his knees and drawing a steadying breath. “I am quite aware that this is no game. Sir, my lord desires you to know that he is graciously minded to reconsider his earlier plans for the castle and town of Culliecairn. Given certain assurances, he is minded to quit Culliecairn without further danger to lives—those of his men or yours. However, he requires that you treat with him directly, face-to-face, to resolve the terms.”
“Prince Miklos expects me to agree to this?” Rhys Michael said, before Rhun could reply.
“Prince Miklos expects that you will wish to prevent further loss of life, my lord,” Hombard said. “He deeply regrets the death of Lord Hrorik, for he was husband to the Lady Sudrey, who is distant kin to my lord. He suggests that the two of you approach a central, agreed meeting place under a flag of truce, within sight of both armies, each of you unarmed and accompanied by only one attendant. If you wish, he will stipulate that I shall be his, since you already have verified that I am but human.”
As he paused to stifle another yawn, giving his head a slight shake, Sighere said stiffly, “Hrorik agreed tae parley under a flag o’ truce, an’ it cost him his life an’ the lives o’ many other braw men. An’ the takin’ o’ Culliecairn was entirely unprovoked.”
“An error was made,” Hombard conceded. “Lord Hrorik was not to be touched, for the sake of the Lady Sudrey. My lord therefore proposes to quit Culliecairn.”
“He was not proposing to quit Culliecairn when his herald delivered his demands in Rhemuth, a fortnight ago,” Rhys Michael said. “Nor did he express any particular remorse over the death of the Earl Hrorik. Then, his talk was all bluster over the christening of his nephew, the son of a man who makes claim to my throne.”
“It had the desired effect, did it not?” Hombard said.
“And what was that?” Rhun demanded.
“Why, attaining the homage of the Haldane, by his attendance at Culliecairn in honor of Prince Marek’s son,” Hombard replied, to a rumble of indignation from Rhys Michael’s officers. “No further tribute is required at this time.”
“No tribute has been given, nor shall be,” Manfred said through clenched teeth. “Nor do I think Miklos ever intended that the King of Gwynedd should attend the christening of the Bastard’s heir.”
Hombard shrugged, not batting an eye at the insult. “It is not for me to speculate on my lord’s intentions, sir. I can only tell you that my lord bade me say that his plans have changed. The young prince his nephew has taken ill. He was privately christened last night. He and his parents have already left to take him back to Tolan.”
Rhys Michael sat back at that, wondering if it could be true. Hombard believed it to be true, but so would any messenger, repeating what he had been told to say.
“Why should we believe this?” Manfred demanded. “The fact remains that Prince Miklos is Deryni and has long and openly supported a pretender to the throne of Gwynedd. I do not think he would submit to merasha the way you have done, to ensure that we can treat with him without fear of treachery.”
“I cannot refute that last, my lord,” Hombard conceded. “I would point out, however, that even my lord Miklos can be Truth-Read. My lord suggests that the Lady Sudrey might provide this service to your king, by accompanying him to the parley my lord requests. My lord reminds you that, as kin to the Torenthi Royal House, the lady bears Deryni blood—not sufficient to pose you any threat, but certainly sufficient to verify the truth of my lord’s proposals from his own lips, as Gwynedd and Torenth discuss terms of a withdrawal.”
“As Gwynedd and Miklos discuss such terms,” Rhun said pointedly. “Unless, of course, it’s King Arion who authorized this bit of mischief.”
Hombard shrugged and yawned again. “I speak for Prince Miklos, my lord. I can tell you nothing more. I am sent only to treat for terms of a meeting.”
After an instant’s taut consideration, Rhun jerked his chin at Stevanus.
“Take the messenger somewhere and let him lie down while we sort this out,” he said. “And stay with him.”
When the two had gone out, Gallard accompanying them, Rhun came to sink down on the stool the messenger had vacated. Lior also approached, to stand with Manfred. Sighere looked uneasy, Graham dismayed. As Rhys Michael handed his sword back to Cathan to hold, he found himself wondering whether he could have misjudged Sudrey.
“This makes no sense,” Rhun muttered. “Why this sudden change? Why would Miklos offer to withdraw? Unless, of course, he is aware of what happened to Dimitri.”
As he cast an appraising look at those who had been present, Manfred glanced uneasily at the king.
“You think he was counting on Dimitri to shift the balance once he had lured the king here?” he asked.
As both he and Rhun looked at Lior, the Custodes priest shrugged. “’Tis possible, my lord. With Deryni, anything is possible.”
Rhun drummed his fingers on his knee, then turned his attention back to the king.
“Meeting Miklos under his terms is still out of the question, Sire. I can’t allow you to see Miklos alone.”
“I wouldn’t be alone if Lady Sudrey accompanies me,” Rhys Michael pointed out.
Manfred snorted. “That’s hardly any more reassuring. If she’s as little endowed with Deryni power as everyone has always insisted, then she’d be of little use to you against any tricks Miklos might try to pull. And if she’s powerful enough to protect you against him, then she’s powerful enough to be dangerous in her own right—especially if she should turn her ultimate loyalties back to her own blood.”
Sighere folded his burly arms across his chest, anger smouldering in the dark eyes.
“If, by that, ye mean her Torenthi kin—have ye forgotten that those he calls her ‘kin’ are responsible for Hrorik’s death? I assure ye, she hasnae forgotten.”
“And I have not forgotten Hrorik’s loyalty,” Rhys Michael said, “or that of his kin. I certainly have no reason to doubt the Lady Sudrey’s loyalty. It was Miklos who stirred this pot seven years ago, when he first inquired of my brother Javan concerning her fate. Her Torenthi kin don’t seem to have cared much about her before that. She declined contact with them then, and I do not believe that recent events are likely to have produced a change of heart.”
Manfred scowled. “Perhaps he hopes to change her mind, if he can contrive to meet her in person.”
“I have no doubts about Lady Sudrey’s loyalty,” Rhys Michael repeated, hoping his faith was not misplaced.
“It still could be a trick,” Rhun muttered.
“Well, if it is, it’s one that’s been hatching for about twenty years, which I doubt,” the king replied. “Look. I’m not keen on the idea either. It’s possible Miklos will try something, but he’ll do more than try, if we have to fight it out in the field. Granted, we’d win eventually—but at what cost? And you can bet that Miklos and Marek will slip through our fingers before we can reach them. Marek already has, if you can believe what the messenger said. That only postpones the day of reckoning.”
“If we simply let Miklos withdraw, it still postpones the day of reckoning,” Rhun said. “And if he
plans treachery, and you fall, it brings another day of reckoning immediately. Are you that eager for another regency?”
“Of course not. I’m no more eager to die than the next man. But we’d be gambling possible treachery against the certainty of many lives being lost, if we have to fight this out.” Sighere was nodding as the king went on.
“I’ve been asking myself why Miklos would even offer to parley, much less withdraw,” Rhys Michael said. “Up until this morning, he’d given no indication that he planned to make this anything other than a mortal insult, by taking my fortress and giving it to the heir of my chief rival—and a bloody confrontation, if I tried to make him back down.”
“But now he’s offerin’ tae back down,” Graham said. “Why?”
“A good question,” Rhys Michael replied. “I can only suppose it’s come of what happened the other night. Marek’s son may well be ill, but I doubt it; I wonder if he was ever even in Culliecairn. No, I think that having Dimitri unmasked took Miklos totally by surprise—as it certainly did us. I don’t delude myself by supposing that we came out of it as well as we did by anything other than blind luck—but he doesn’t know that. And until he figures out what happened to Dimitri, he doesn’t dare push us too far.
“That means at least talking about withdrawing from Culliecairn—and offering to let us bring the only other Deryni we’ve got is the best he can do to reassure us that he intends to operate in good faith.”
“Sire, these are all well-reasoned arguments,” Lior said thoughtfully, studying a thumbnail, “but has it occurred to you that we might not have come out of the Dimitri affair as well as we thought, and that’s why Miklos wants this meeting?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, we’ve been worrying about whether Lady Sudrey might betray you, if we allowed her to go with you to parley with Miklos. But another, even more insidious possibility is that Dimitri could have gotten to you after all—in which case, you could betray yourself into Miklos’ hands.”
While consternation whispered among them, Rhys Michael reflected that the possibility of betraying himself was not altogether farfetched—though not at all in the way Lior imagined. It occurred to him, however, that he might confirm that he had not misjudged Sudrey while simultaneously reassuring the great lords that Dimitri had not tampered with his mind.
“There is a way we could find out about that,” he said tentatively.
“Find out about what?” Rhun said.
“The prospect is not personally reassuring,” Rhys Michael went on, “and I don’t even know whether she’s capable of doing it, but you could ask Lady Sudrey to probe me, to find out whether or not Dimitri did any tampering.”
“You suggest we let a Deryni touch you?” Rhun whispered.
“She isn’t just any Deryni,” Rhys Michael said carefully, “and I think we could stipulate safeguards to ensure that she didn’t go beyond what was asked. Not that she would,” he added, with a pleading glance at Sighere and Graham. “She has good reasons for remaining loyal to the House of Haldane, which has upheld her husband’s family for many years—and even better reasons for hating Miklos, who killed her husband and whose line abandoned her when she was a young, frightened, forgotten hostage in a suddenly hostile land. Why should she turn against me, when Miklos is the enemy?”
Lior was nodding slowly as Rhys Michael finished. “If she is of such meager power as everyone insists, I would question whether she is capable of what is needed, but the idea does have merits,” he said. “Father Magan could help me monitor the procedure. He’s familiar with the outward characteristics of different kinds of workings.”
Rhun snorted. “Both of you are familiar with what Dimitri wanted you to think were the usual characteristics, over the years.”
“I fancy I do have some expertise in this area, my lord,” Lior murmured, his pride now affronted. “If she tried anything, a Deryni pricker would put a stop to it very quickly.”
“She wouldn’t try anything,” Rhys Michael said. “And don’t drug her, or she can’t go along to Truth-Read Miklos for me.”
After some further discussion, Rhun sent Lior to fetch Sudrey, instructing him to bring Father Magan as well. Rhys Michael paced and fretted while they waited, sitting back down a little uncertainly as Lior and Magan brought Sudrey in. Both priests had Deryni prickers in their hands, though the instruments were not uncapped. Sudrey looked frightened, pale, almost betrayed.
“I apologize if these trappings cause you alarm, my lady,” Rhys Michael said quietly. “I believe you are able to Truth-Read. Please do so, if you wish, and be assured that I bear you nothing but goodwill. You have been brought before me, but it is I who should be kneeling at your feet as a supplicant.”
“Sire, I do not understand,” she said carefully.
He nodded. “I hope to make everything plain. What was not revealed last night, when we told you of apprehending Prince Miklos’ agent in our midst the night before, is that there is some chance he may have—interfered with me in some way. I have no memory of this—and, indeed, would have none, if he was as skilled as we believe. Nor does there seem to have been time for extensive tampering to have occurred—but again, his adjustments could account for my perception of the time involved. He could have had the opportunity for some degree of tampering, whether or not he used it.”
Comprehension gradually had lit Sudrey’s face as the story unfolded, and now she nodded, speaking up before the king could continue.
“Are you proposing that I probe you, Sire, to ascertain whether tampering occurred?”
“I am,” he said. “If it did, it could affect my ability to treat with Miklos, if I agree to this parley he proposes. Father Lior and his colleagues are cognizant that, as a good daughter of the Church, you will have put aside your Deryni powers many years ago, but circumstances are such that we must know whether I have been compromised. Will you help me?”
She glanced aside at Lior, who was making no attempt to conceal the Deryni pricker in his hands.
“The law forbids me to use my powers, Sire, and the Church condemns them. These good fathers seem ready to intervene, in ways not at all pleasant to my kind. I have but little power, but either you wish me to try my meager abilities in your behalf, or you do not. If you do, I cannot help you with the threat of merasha hanging over my head.”
“We are here to protect the king,” Lior said under his breath. “There has been enough treachery from Deryni, over the years, that you cannot expect total trust on our part, while you lay the king helpless with your powers.”
“What would reassure you that I act only in his interests. Father?” she said quietly. “I will swear on any holy relic you like, I will comply with any reasonable condition you wish to impose—but I cannot work with you hovering over me, threatening to stick me with merasha the first time your nervousness gets the better of you. What is it you fear? I have not much power, as such is reckoned among my people. With his consent, I can probe the king to look for alien traces, as you request, but subtle or powerful workings of my own, without my subject’s knowledge, are quite beyond me.”
“How can we believe that?” Magan asked.
She shrugged and allowed herself a wry smile. “It is for you to discover how you may believe anything, Father. Some folk call it faith. I can only give you my most solemn and sacred word—on the life of my daughter, on the soul of my beloved husband, who is dead because of Miklos of Torenth, on my hopes for my own salvation—that I am the king’s loyal vassal and would do nothing to cause him harm, though it cost me mine own life.”
She raised her right hand, touched her fingertips to her lips, then crossed herself slowly. Rhys Michael, glancing at the others, signed for her to come closer.
“I take you at your word, my lady,” he said. “What must I do? How can I best aid you in your task?”
“He must not lose consciousness!” Lior said, seizing her shoulder and turning her before she could move from between him and Magan.
“We must retain that control, to judge what you are doing.”
Sudrey turned her gaze back to the king. “Can you rest easy under my touch, Sire?” she asked. “Conscious, you could be aware of my probe, which is apt to be clumsy, and your natural instinct will be to pull back, to deny me access. If I am to help you, you must not do that.”
“I can only promise to try,” Rhys Michael replied, watching her. “We had a Healer when I was a boy. I had learned to endure his touch.”
“We shall do the best we can, then,” she said, smiling slightly as she came around to stand behind him. “I shall work from here, so that the good fathers can see your face and reassure themselves that you are coming to no harm.”
As she set her hands on his shoulders, drawing him back to lean against her waist, her thought flicked into his mind.
What is it you wish me to do, besides pretend to probe you?
Breathing out with a sigh, he made himself relax against her.
Set up this scenario first. I’ll pretend to resist a little at first. Once we’ve convinced them Dimitri didn’t tamper, I hope they’ll let you go with me to treat with Miklos.
“That’s fine,” she murmured, thumbs moving up to massage at the base of his skull. “Try to relax. Look up at that spot on the ceiling, just above your head. Keep looking at it and let yourself float. Look only at that spot and let everything else drift out of focus … and drift …”
Making a show of compliance, he flexed his hands and consciously made them relax against the chair arms, allowing himself a heavy sigh then, as he let himself drift into trance of his own controlling. It was hard to keep his eyes open, but he knew it would alarm Lior and Magan if he appeared to lose consciousness, so he let his eyelids flutter but only close partway.
“That’s very good,” she murmured. “Just keep floating. You needn’t be afraid … Now, let yourself return to the night before last. It was frightening, I know, but the fear cannot touch you now. Picture the man called Dimitri. He Truth-Read you while questions were asked … Did he do anything else …?”