High Deryni (39 page)

“No! You mustn't make me sleep! You
mustn't
!” Derry caught a handful of Morgan's cloak and struggled to rise as Duncan scrambled in to grab his arms and Warin backed away.

“No! Let me go! You don't understand. Oh, God help me, what am I going to do?”

“It's all right—”

“No, it isn't all right! You don't understand! Wencit—”

Derry's expression became even more stricken, and he lifted his head to stare wildly into Morgan's eyes, his right hand still twined desperately in the edge of Morgan's cloak, despite Duncan's efforts to free it.

“Morgan, listen! They say there's no Devil, but they're wrong! I saw him! He has red hair and calls himself Wencit of Torenth, but he lies. He's the Devil himself! He made me—he made me—”

“Not now….” Morgan shook his head and forced Derry's shoulders back against the pallet. “No more for now. We'll talk about it later. Right now, you're weak from your wounds and captivity. You must rest. When you wake, you'll feel better. I promise nothing will happen to you. Trust me, Sean.”

As Morgan spoke, imposing more and more control against Derry's weakening will, the younger man suddenly went limp, eyes closing and muscles going slack as he sank back against the pallet. Morgan disengaged his cloak from Derry's grasp, then laid the young lord's hands loosely across his chest and straightened the angle of his head. Conall, still watching from nearby, brought a sleeping-fur, which Morgan tucked loosely around the still form. Warin had retreated to stand against one of the walls of the tent. Morgan studied the sleeping Derry for several seconds, as though assuring himself that the sleep was deep enough, then exchanged a worried glance with Duncan before looking up at Kelson and the circle of anxious faces.

“I think he'll be all right when he's rested, Sire. But right now, I'd rather not think about what he must have gone through.” His eyes darkened and took on a far-away look, and under his breath he murmured, “God help Wencit, when I find out, though.”

He shuddered as the mood passed, then swept a strand of pale hair out of his eyes and got to his feet with a sigh. Duncan, after another look at the sleeping Derry, kept his eyes averted as he stood. Kelson, too, was much subdued and shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other as his gaze wavered between the two of them.

“What do you think Wencit did do to him?” he finally asked in a small voice.

Morgan shook his head. “It's difficult to say at this point, my prince. Later I'll probe him more deeply, if it's indicated, but he's too weak now. He really fought me.”

“I see.”

Kelson studied the toes of his boots for several seconds, then looked up again. All eyes were now upon him, waiting for his next instructions, and he remembered abruptly what must be the next topic of discussion.

“Very well, gentlemen. There is nothing further we can do for Derry at this time, so I suggest that we get back to the business at hand.” He glanced at Arilan and cocked his head. “Bishop Arilan, could you tell us about this Cam—”

Arilan cleared his throat and shook his head meaningfully, glancing at Warin's retainers, at young Conall, at the few guards, and Kelson stopped in mid-word. Nodding slightly, the king moved to Conall's side and laid a hand on his shoulder, for he understood that Arilan did not wish to discuss the matter before comparative outsiders.

“Thanks for your aid, Cousin. Would you please send your father and Bishop Cardiel to me before returning to your duties? And gentlemen,” he included Warin's men and the guards in his gesture, “I must ask that you likewise return to your posts. Thank you for your concern.”

Conall and the others bowed and made their way out of the tent, and Warin watched them go, straightening and moving slightly as though to follow them.

“I sense that this is something not for the ears of outsiders, so I'll leave if you wish. I am not offended,” Warin added hastily.

Kelson glanced at Arilan, but the bishop shook his head.

“No, you have a right to be present, just as we have called for Bishop Cardiel, who is perhaps less Deryni than any of us. Kelson, if you don't mind, I shall wait until Thomas and Nigel arrive before answering your questions. It will save me having to repeat myself.”

“Of course.”

The king made his way to his chair and sat, unclasping his cloak and letting it fall over the back of his chair. Then he sat back and stretched out his long legs on the fine Kheldish carpeting. Morgan and Duncan took seats on a pair of folding camp stools to Kelson's right, and Morgan unslung his sword from its hangers and laid it on the carpet between his feet. After a moment's thought, Duncan did the same, shifting his stool slightly to the left to accommodate Warin, who was propping a cushion so that he could lean against the tent's center pole. Arilan remained standing in the center of the carpet, pretending to be absorbed in the intricate design woven beneath his feet. He scarcely looked up as Cardiel and then Nigel entered the tent, and it was Kelson who had to direct the newcomers to take seats. When they were settled, the king looked up at Arilan expectantly. The bishop's blue-violet eyes were hooded as he met Kelson's gray gaze.

“Do you wish me to review what has happened, Sire, for the sake of Thomas and your uncle?”

“Please do.”

“Very well.” Arilan folded his hands and stared hard at his thumbnails for several seconds, then looked up.

“My lords, Wencit of Torenth has presented us with an ultimatum. His Majesty wished to consult with all of us before replying. If he does not respond by sunset, Wencit will begin slaying more hostages.”

“Name of God, the man is a monster!” Nigel exclaimed, stiffening in anger.

“Agreed,” Arilan replied. “But his ultimatum was quite specific and quite adamant. He has issued Kelson a challenge to the Duel Arcane: himself and his three henchmen, Rhydon, Lionel, and Bran Coris, against Kelson and any three Kelson chooses to name. I think I need not tell you that two of Kelson's three will be Morgan and Duncan; what may surprise some of you is that I am to be the third.”

Warin looked up with a start

“That is correct, Warin. I am Deryni.”

Warin swallowed hard, but Nigel only nodded his head slowly and raised an eyebrow.

“You speak as though my nephew's acceptance is an accomplished fact,” he said.

“I believe that this can be his
only
decision,” Arilan said quietly. “If he does not accept the challenge by nightfall, two hundred hostages will be drawn and quartered on the plain before our army. Any further delay, and two hundred more will be impaled and left to die at the rising of the moon. Tonight that occurs about four hours after sunset. This appears inescapable if Kelson refuses the challenge.”

He scanned the chamber slowly, but no one made a move to speak. “If, on the other hand, Kelson accepts, the battle will be to the death, the survivor or survivors to take all. Wencit obviously believes he will win, or he would not have proposed this sort of contest.”

Warin had paled at the mention of drawing and quartering, but Nigel, better accustomed to the horrors of war, only repeated his knowing nod. After a few seconds' pause, he raised his hand slightly to speak.

“This Duel Arcane—would it be similar to the challenge issued to Kelson at his coronation?”

“Well, it would be governed by the same ancient laws of challenge,” Arilan said with a nod, “except, of course, that it would be four against four instead of the single combat fought by Kelson and Charissa. There are fairly rigid rules governing the arbitration of a Duel Arcane, and Wencit has—ah—apparently received official sanction to hold the duel according to the ancient laws.”

“Official sanction from whom?” Kelson interrupted eagerly. “This Camberian Council he mentioned? Why do you evade the issue when I…”

His voice trailed off as he saw Arilan had stiffened at the mention of the name, and he glanced at Morgan in surprise. Morgan was gazing at the bishop with rapt attention, apparently no more informed than Kelson, yet suddenly keenly interested in what the bishop would say. Duncan, too, had started at the sound of the name and now watched Arilan intently. Abruptly, Kelson wondered what he had stumbled onto.

“Arilan,” he whispered softly, “what
is
the Camberian Council? Is it…Deryni?”

Arilan glanced at his feet, then raised his head to stare past Kelson as though in a daze. “Forgive me, my prince. It is difficult to break a lifetime of conditioning, but Wencit has left me no alternative. It was he who first mentioned the Council. It is only fair, since you must meet him in battle, that I tell you what I can.” He glanced down at his hands, which were clasped tightly together, and forced himself to relax.

“There exists a secret organization of full Deryni called the Camberian Council. Its origins lie in the times immediately after the Haldane Restoration, when those of high Deryni blood were called to somehow regulate and protect those who remained after the great persecutions. Only past and present members know the composition of the Council, and they are sworn by an oath of blood and power never to divulge the identity of their fellows.

“As you may be aware, very few Deryni have had the opportunity to fully develop their powers in recent times,” he went on. “Many of our talents were lost in the persecutions—or at least our knowledge of how to use those powers was lost. Morgan's gift of healing may be a rediscovery of one of those lost talents.

“But there are some of us who are loosely organized and in regular communication with one another. The Council acts as a regulating body for those known Deryni, keeping the old laws and arbitrating in disputes of magic such as may arise from time to time. A Duel Arcane such as Wencit proposes would fall under the Council's jurisdiction.”

“The Council determines the validity of duels?” Morgan asked suspiciously.

Arilan turned to look at Morgan rather strangely. “Yes. Why do you ask?”

“How about those not of full Deryni blood, like myself and Duncan?” Morgan persisted. “Are they also under the jurisdiction of the Council?”

Arilan's face blanched slightly. “Why do you ask?” he repeated in a strained voice.

Morgan glanced at Duncan and Duncan nodded.

“Tell him.”

“Bishop Arilan, I think that Duncan and I may have had contact with one of your Camberian Council. In fact, I think it may have happened several times. At least the implication of our last encounter was similar to what you have just outlined.”

“What happened?” Arilan whispered. His face was expressionless above his purple cassock.

“Well, we had a—a visitation is the best way to describe it, I suppose, when we were on our way to you at Dhassa. When we stopped at Saint Neot's to rest our horses, he appeared.”

“He?”

Morgan nodded carefully. “We still don't know who he was. But each of us had seen him before in separate situations, which I haven't the time to enumerate just now. He looks like—well, let us simply say that he bears a striking resemblance to the portraits and written descriptions of Camber of Culdi.”

“Saint Camber?” Arilan murmured, unable to believe what he was hearing.

Duncan shifted in his chair uneasily. “Please don't misunderstand, Excellency. We are not claiming that he
was
Saint Camber. He never said he was. In fact, this last time when Alaric and I finally saw him at the same time, he said that he
wasn't
Saint Camber—‘only one of his faithful servants,' I believe he put it. From what you have just told us of the Camberian Council, perhaps it was one of them.”

“That is impossible,” Arilan murmured, shaking his head in disbelief. “What did he say to you?”

Morgan raised an eyebrow. “Well, he implied that we had Deryni enemies that we didn't know about. He said that ‘those whose business it was to know such things' believed that Duncan and I might have more powers than we think, and that we might be challenged to a Duel Arcane to discover our strength. He seemed concerned that this not happen, though.”

Arilan's face had gone white, and he had to reach out to the center pole to support himself. “It's impossible,” he whispered, not listening anymore. “And yet, it almost has to be one of the Council.” He groped his way to an empty stool and sat heavily.

“This puts an entirely different light on matters. Alaric, you and Duncan
were
made liable for challenge by any full Deryni—and for the reasons your visitant stated. I sit on the Council; I was there when it happened, though I could not prevent it. But who could have come to you in that guise? Who would even have a motive? It simply does not make sense.”

Arilan looked up at them, at all of them in the room, and realized he had been rambling on. Warin and Cardiel were staring at him with wide, faintly frightened eyes, unable in their humanness to comprehend; and even Nigel was regarding him in stunned confusion, only partially understanding the implications of the Deryni bishop's words. Morgan and Duncan measured him carefully, trying to reconcile what he was saying with all they could remember of their encounters with the stranger in Camber's guise. Kelson alone remained aloof, the sudden uncertainty of the situation seeming to isolate him, to infuse him with a cold sobriety, a logical detachment that enabled him to assess the growing crisis with a semblance of objectivity.