High Deryni (41 page)

“Is that what you wanted?” he asked dully.

Arilan nodded carefully and motioned for Kelson and Duncan to help Morgan sit beside the circle.

“I shouldn't be gone for very long,” he said, stepping into the center of the figure. “In the meantime, the two of you might try to help Alaric replenish his strength, insofar as that is possible at this time. Try to be ready to move as soon as I return, though. The Council is not going to like this at all, and I don't want to give them time to think about it.”

“We'll be ready,” Kelson replied.

Arilan nodded, then crossed his arms across his chest and bowed his head—and abruptly was gone.

DARKNESS.
Even before his eyes had adjusted to the dim light, Arilan knew that he was standing near the great doors to the Camberian Council chamber, in the slight alcove that defined the Transfer Portal. The area was deserted, as he had expected that it would be at this hour; nonetheless, he cast about carefully for several seconds before moving on toward the great golden doors. He did not relish the idea of any interruption just now.

The doors swung away as he approached the chamber, but the room beyond was as deserted as the antechamber, the fading afternoon sunlight glowing only dimly through the high violet skylight. Without missing a stride, Arilan raised his arms and made a sweeping gesture as he passed between the golden doors, and the torches and the violet glass glowed to life at his command. Settling into his chair, the sorcerer-bishop rested his hands on the ivory table and leaned his head back against the high headrest to compose himself for just a moment. Then he fixed his gaze on the great silvery crystal suspended above the octagonal table and began to Call the other members of the Council.

Incalculable minutes; the Call continued. Several times Arilan shifted restlessly in his chair, trying to conserve energy yet keep his Call at maximum intensity, impatient with the delay. After a time he ceased his efforts and sat back to wait. It was not long before the golden doors swung back once again and the members of the Council began to arrive.

First Kyri of the Flame, splendid and enchanting in deepest green hunting attire; then Laran ap Pardyce in flowing scholar's robes. Thorne Hagen, barefooted and swathed in an orange dressing gown, hastily donned; Stefan Coram looking ruffled in dark blue riding leathers. Finally came the blind Barrett de Laney on the arm of Vivienne, with Tiercel de Claron trailing behind them and looking vaguely dissolute, his burgundy tunic open at the throat.

As the last of them entered, Arilan lifted his gaze to scan them, blue-violet eyes aglow as he searched their questioning faces. Not a word was spoken as the seven took their places, though they eyed Arilan speculatively—there could be no doubt who had sent out the Call. The Deryni bishop studied them unrelentingly, making a bridge of his fingers as he drew breath to speak.

“Who volunteered the services of the Council to mediate a Duel Arcane for Wencit of Torenth?”

Shocked silence. Uneasiness. Astonishment. The seven looked among themselves aghast, as though wondering if their colleague had lost his sanity.

“I asked a question and I expect an answer,” Arilan repeated, his hard eyes sweeping the seven. “Who authorized the mediation?”

All eyes turned to Stefan Coram, who slowly rose.

“No one has approached the Council about a mediation, Denis. You must be mistaken.”

“Mistaken?”

Arilan stared at Coram in surprise, shock quickly yielding to suspicion as Coram's bland expression did not change.

“Oh, come now, don't act so innocent. Wencit of Torenth has many faults, but stupidity is not one of them. Not even he would dare to make a claim like that unless he could back it up. Do you dare to tell me that you know nothing about it?”

Tiercel sat back in his chair and sighed, a scowl creasing his handsome features. “Stefan speaks for us all, Denis. There has been no communication from Wencit regarding any matter, much less a Duel Arcane. You know that I side with you and the king. I would not lie to you.”

Arilan forced himself to relax, willed his hands to be steady as he rested them on the edge of the table and sat back in his chair. If Wencit had not approached the Council, then…?

“I begin to see,” he murmured, his gaze softening as he continued to scan the Council. “My lords, ladies, you must forgive me. It appears that we—the king and I—have been the victims of an audacious hoax. Wencit tells us that there will be official Council arbitration of the duel, hoping to lull us into a feeling of false security. Then he appears at the duel with only his three—or, no. He and his chosen three appear at the duel with four additional men impersonating a Council arbitration team. He does not know that I am a member of the Council, or even that I am Deryni. And how could Kelson be expected to know the members of the Council by sight? Until a few hours ago, he didn't even know about us. Treachery, treachery!”

The Council was still in shock, ill-accustomed to dealing so quickly with matters so grave as this. It had been years since the authority of the Council had been openly defied. The older members still could not believe that such a thing was happening, though the younger ones were beginning to assess the implications. Tiercel, who had spoken before, glanced at his colleagues and then sat forward thoughtfully.

“Denis, who is named in Wencit's challenge?”

“Somewhat unusually, it is to be a four-way Duel Arcane,” Arilan replied. “Wencit, his kinsman Lionel, Rhydon, and Bran Coris, on Wencit's side. With Kelson would be Morgan and McLain and, presumably, myself. Wencit did not name us specifically, but there is no one else.” He paused. “But I do not intend to fight Wencit where there is treachery involved—not under
his
terms, at least. I claim Council protection for myself and my colleagues. The protection of the
real
Council.”

Barrett cleared his throat uneasily. “I fear that will be impossible, Denis, though I regret it for your sake. Not all of those whom you have named are Deryni.”

“They are not all
full
Deryni,” Arilan conceded. “However, all of them are being obliged to function as full Deryni. Do you object to Morgan and McLain still?”

“They are still half-breeds!” Vivienne snapped. “How could you expect that to change? We cannot alter our ways to suit your convenience.”

“Lord, give me patience!” Arilan struck the table with the flat of his hand and lurched to his feet. “Are we so blind, so fettered by rules, that we must perish because of them?”

He slipped from his place at the table and strode vigorously toward the golden doors, pausing in the archway as the doors swung back from him.

“I shall return momentarily, my lords. Since I am challenged, I claim your duty for myself and I claim it for my new allies—my
Deryni
allies. I think it's high time you met them!”

With that he turned on his heel and stalked from the chamber, leaving a stunned Council in his wake. Seconds later he was striding back through the giant double doors, three others following closely behind him. Gasps accompanied Arilan's arrival, along with murmured words of indignation. Laran started to come to his feet in protest, but then thought better of it as Arilan's gaze touched his and scanned the rest of the Council. Arilan stopped behind his chair and waited until Kelson, Morgan, and Duncan had ranged themselves uneasily behind him. Only then did he address the Council.

“My lords and ladies, I hope you will indulge my seeming unorthodoxy in bringing these men here, but you have forced me to it. If I am to be drawn into public combat, forever jeopardizing the standing I once enjoyed in the human community, I must claim the ancient protections. The same holds true for my colleagues here, since a chain is only as strong as its weakest link. All of us must be equally assured of the benefits of your protection.” He glanced behind him.

“My lords and ladies, I have the honor to present Kelson Cinhil Rhys Anthony Haldane, King of Gwynedd—your sovereign lord. Also the Duke of Corwyn, Sir Alaric Anthony Morgan, King's Champion. And lastly, Monsignor Duncan Howard McLain, His Majesty's Confessor and now, it appears, through the hideous treachery of Wencit of Torenth, Duke of Cassan and Earl of Kierney. His father, Duke Jared, was executed by Wencit today.”

“What?” someone murmured.

“Each of these gentlemen is at least half-Deryni by our standards,” Arilan went on, “to be counted full, since your declaration at our recent meeting.” He turned to glance at the three. “Sire, my lords, I have the somewhat dubious honor to present the lords and ladies of the Camberian Council. Whether they continue to live up to its glorious heritage remains to be seen.”

The three newcomers made cautious bows, and then Morgan inclined his head toward the bishop.

“Excellency, may I have leave to ask a few questions?”

“Surely—”

“
We
will ask the questions, sir,” Vivienne interrupted imperiously. “Who gavest thee leave to approach this Council?”

“Why, my Lord Arilan did, my lady. Am I to understand that this Council speaks for all Deryni?”

“It is the bastion of the old ways,” Vivienne replied coolly. “Dost thou, a half-breed, dispute our ancient customs?”

Morgan raised an eyebrow in surprise and turned wide, guileless eyes on the venerable lady. “My lady, I certainly do not. If I am not mistaken, your ancient customs were at work last fall when our Lord King fought the Lady Charissa. Without the tempering force that I am led to believe that this Council wields, His Majesty might not have gained the time to discover his talents. There is good reason to be proud of him.”

“Certainly there is,” Vivienne said irritably. “Young Haldane is a worthy descendant of our race. On his mother's side is pure Deryni ancestry, though hidden for many years. On his father's side, he descends from the great Haldanes whom the Blessed Camber chose to restore to glory, inheritor of the fruits of the Great Discoveries. By combination of his birth, we count him as one of us. He has always had the benefit of challenge protection, even if he did not know it. He shall have it again, as shall Lord Arilan. The Council stands by these two.”

“And myself? Duncan?”

Vivienne's reply was somewhat tempered by regret. “Thou art both born of Deryni mothers, of full sisters in the blood, and as such shouldst be dear to us. But thy fathers were human—which makes thee outcast.”

“But what of their powers?” Tiercel asked eagerly, breaking in on Vivienne without hesitation. “Morgan, is it true that you and McLain can heal?”

The question elicited immediate silence as every face turned toward Morgan. He looked long into the eyes of Tiercel de Claron, then let his gaze slip across the others of the Council. There was anticipation there, some eager and some dread, and Morgan suddenly became uncertain just how much he wished to disclose about his newly discovered talent just yet. He glanced to Arilan for guidance, but the bishop gave no sign.

Very well. He would take the initiative on his own, try to put the Council on the defensive, let them know that, half-breed or not, Alaric Morgan was a man to be reckoned with.

“Can we heal?” he repeated softly. “Perhaps later I shall tell you about that. For now, I would ask again of my and Duncan's status. If, as we have been led to believe, the two of us are subject to full challenge, by right of our maternal inheritance, may we not also claim the right to challenge protection? If I and my kinsman are liable only for the peril, and not the protection, of our blood heritage, where is the much-vaunted Deryni justice?”

“Do you presume to question our authority?” Coram asked carefully.

“I question your authority to place our lives in jeopardy because of circumstances which are outside our control, sir,” Morgan replied. Coram sat back and nodded slowly as Morgan continued. “I do not pretend to understand all the ramifications of my inheritance, but His Majesty will assure you, I think, that I have a fair idea what justice is all about. If you bar us from the protection of our birthright and force us to stand against full Deryni who are formally trained in the use of their powers, it may be that you decree our deaths. Surely we have done nothing to warrant that.”

Blind Barrett turned his head toward Arilan and nodded. “Please ask your friends to wait outside, Denis. This request bears discussion in plain language. I would not expose our inner bickerings to outsiders.”

Arilan bowed and then glanced at the three behind him. “Wait beside the Portal until I call you,” he said in a low voice. As soon as the doors had closed behind the three, Thorne Hagen was on his feet, pounding his plump hand against the inlaid table.

“This is preposterous! You cannot grant Council protection to a pair of half-breeds! You heard how belligerent Morgan was. Do you condone that?”

Barrett turned his head slowly toward Coram, ignoring Thorne's outburst.

“What think you, Stefan? I value your advice. Would it be worthwhile, do you think, to summon Wencit and Rhydon here and demand that they answer for what they allegedly have done?”

Coram's pale eyes darkened slightly, and his face took on a determined set. “I would be opposed to calling any outsider to this Council chamber, especially the two you have named. Three intruders are more than enough for one day.”

“Oh, come now, Stefan,” said the red-haired Kyri. “We all know how you feel about Rhydon, but that was years ago. This is an important matter. Surely you can set aside your petty quarrel with Rhydon for the sake of the safety of us all.”

“It is not a matter of our safety. It is a matter of two half-breed Deryni who now are to be exposed to mortal danger because of their loyalty to their king. If the Council wishes to call Wencit and that other one into its presence, it has that right, of course. But it shall do so without my sanction and without my presence.”