King Javan’s Year (17 page)

“Father Joram?”

“Aye.”

Javan had not realized he was holding his breath as Guiscard spoke, and he let it out with a soft sigh, moving out onto the balcony to rest both hands against the stone railing. He had to wonder how much Guiscard and his father knew about him—though if Joram had entrusted the de Courcys to infiltrate the court and Guiscard to bring him, then they must be trustworthy. At very least, they knew he could Truth-Read—and that he had shields and could detect pressure against them.

“How do you plan to arrange things for tonight?” he asked, looking out over the heat shimmer that lay across the city.

Guiscard came to stand closer beside him, leaving his father to block the doorway, in case anyone should come into the sleeping chamber.

“It's appropriate for you to go to the basilica tonight to pay your respects to your brother,” Guiscard said quietly. “I shall accompany you. I've arranged for my father to be part of the vigil guard at that hour. He'll be available to help create a diversion, if that's necessary. Do you agree?”

A thunderstorm broke the heatwave later that afternoon, darkening the sky several hours earlier than usual and splitting the heavens with thunder, lightning, and heavy rain. After so long a dry spell, it was respite of a sort, but the humidity soared in response to the downpour. The rain let up for a few hours after sunset, but started up again shortly before Javan made ready to go down to the basilica.

No breeze stirred the gently falling rain, and the air was very heavy and close, but at least the temperature seemed to have dropped a little. It was still too warm for the disguising cloaks Guiscard would have preferred they wear for the night's foray, but the black of their mourning attire would help to keep them unobtrusive.

Javan also had suggested that adding a second attendant would arouse less notice than if he went only with Guiscard, whom he barely knew, so Charlan accompanied them. The young knight's memory could be blurred later, if necessary. Javan had told Guiscard of the controls set in Charlan, but not of their origin. Let the Deryni assume that Joram or one of the others had set those controls; he did not know how much he was supposed to reveal, even to a Deryni apparently sent by Joram.

They made no secret of their trip to the basilica, for as Guiscard had pointed out, no one would think it odd if the king went late at night to pay his respects to his brother, after the crowds had gone and it was cooler. The three of them entered through the main door and passed quietly down the side aisle to kneel just back from the catafalque on the left. By the unsteady light of the tall funeral brands set three on each side of the bier, Javan could just make out the form of Etienne de Courcy among the four knights standing silent vigil there, their backs to the bier, bare heads bowed over greatswords, hands resting motionless on the quillons. The men wore surcoats of the Haldane livery over their black mourning attire, drabbed by wide black sashes swathed across their chests like baldrics.

Of Alroy himself, Javan preferred not to think too much. That was not his brother up there anyway. A sheer veil of black samite now draped the body from head to toe, spilling over the crimson pall and deepening the shadows cast by the candlelight. It made Alroy seem smaller. It also softened the very real visual signs of morbidity setting in, though even the lingering perfume of incense smoke could not wholly mask the faint whiff of decay.

Javan did not stay long, though he made himself go up to the bier and touch his hand to the folded ones under the veil in a final farewell. Alroy would be coffined tomorrow for his final journey down to the cathedral, and Javan would not look upon his twin again.

He was much subdued as they slipped back out the rear doors, but forced his thoughts from the past to the here and now as he and Guiscard and Charlan flattened themselves into the shadows outside and kept silent for several minutes, to be certain they had not been observed. He had resurrected Charlan's old controls as they knelt side by side in the basilica, so that the young knight did not question what they did now.

At Guiscard's eventual signal, Javan drew Charlan with him along the shadows masking the basilica's north side until they came to a slype passage leading around to the east end of the building. The little door there was unlocked, and they passed quietly inside, waiting as Guiscard glided on ahead past the sacristy to disappear through a familiar door. A few minutes later Guiscard poked his head out to beckon them inside.

The little study was much as Javan remembered it, except that Father Boniface's tilted scrivening table was gone and the man lying on the pallet that had taken its place was not Father Boniface. He wore the habit of the
Custodes Fidei
, and Guiscard, after closing and latching the door behind them, went and knelt down beside the man again, laying one hand across the eyes.

“His name is Father Ascelin,” Guiscard said. “He's one of the more bastardly of this
Custodes
lot—attached to the office of the Inquisitor General. I'd love to put him to sleep for good, but that might raise suspicion where there isn't any, so far.”

Javan swallowed and came closer. It had never occurred to him that a Deryni might actually be able to do that. The thought was sobering. Fortunately, Guiscard mistook his contemplation for squeamishness and gave him a reassuring smile as he rose from his now deeply sleeping subject.

“Don't worry,” he said. “It's only a temptation; I'd never do it—not to a helpless man while he slept.”

Without warning, his hand shot out to grasp Charlan's wrist, at the same time seizing control. It was not like when Javan had done it in the past. Charlan's knees buckled and he started to collapse, eyes rolling up until only the whites showed, fully conscious one second and profoundly unconscious the next. Between them, Javan and Guiscard caught him and eased him to a sitting position on a stool set close beside the darkened hearth, where he could not be seen easily from the door. Javan was surprised and a little resentful of the Deryni's rather high-handed treatment of Charlan, who hadn't a mean bone in his body, and chose his words carefully as they straightened from their task.

“Was that really necessary?” he murmured, looking Guiscard in the eyes.

“Was what necessary?”

“He was already set up. All it needed was a nudge.”

Guiscard raised a dark eyebrow in surprise. “How often have you seen that done?” he asked.

“Often enough,” Javan replied vaguely. “It doesn't matter. It's just that Charlan is a friend. There's no need to treat him the way—the way you treated the priest, Father—I'm afraid I've forgotten his name.”

“It's Ascelin,” Guiscard supplied automatically, then shook his head in disbelief. “I don't believe I'm letting a human tell me how to use my powers—even a king.”

Javan looked away. “I used to work with a Healer. He was subtle. I'm not afraid of you, but I'm not used to seeing power used quite so—forcefully.”

“Maybe if more of us were forceful, we Deryni wouldn't be in the dilemma we're in today,” Guiscard said sharply. “Maybe there wouldn't be any
Custodes Fidei
, to ferret out those of my race and destroy them because of what they are.”

“I don't like them any better than you do,” Javan whispered, “and I'm somewhat responsible for them, because my brother allowed the Order to be formed. I intend to do something about that, but it isn't going to happen if we stand here arguing all night. Now, will you please take me to Joram, if that's what we're here for?”

Obviously taken aback, Guiscard gave him a guarded nod. “I'm sorry, my prince. But I don't really know Sir Charlan, and I certainly didn't know the extent to which he'd been prepared. I thought it better to be safe than sorry.”

With that he moved quickly across the room to feel under the armrest of a
prie-dieu
in the corner. At a soft
snick
sound, a portion of the paneling to the right drew quietly back. As Guiscard moved to enter the tiny cubicle thus revealed, Javan went to join him, stepping in without prompting and turning to stand with his back to the other man, all too aware of their earlier friction.

“I'm told that you've been through this Portal before,” Guiscard murmured, setting a hand on Javan's shoulder as he closed them into darkness.

“Yes,” Javan whispered, preparing himself for what he did not expect to be a particularly pleasant Portal jump.

“I know that you somehow have shields, too,” Guiscard went on, close beside his ear, both hands now resting on Javan's shoulders. “Dom Queron said I wasn't to meddle—just put you under enough to bring you through. After our conversation about Charlan, however, it's clear you know more than I was led to believe—and that perhaps I
was
too forceful earlier. Any suggestions?”

The tone was utterly sincere and without resentment, an obvious peace offering, and Javan found himself warming slightly to this brusque young Deryni who obviously was risking a great deal to help him. It had been a while, but all at once he was confident he could let Guiscard far enough past his shields to blank him for the time it took to make the jump. He drew a deep breath and let it out, making a conscious effort to relax more heavily against Guiscard's chest.

“I'm sure this will be easier for both of us, once we get to know one another better,” he said quietly. “Try it the way you would do if I were trained. They've taught me a little. If it doesn't work, you can put me out whatever way you have to.”

“Fair enough,” Guiscard murmured. “Whenever you're ready.”

Breathing deeply again, Javan closed his eyes and let his head loll back against the other's shoulder. As he did, he rolled back his shields as well, inviting Guiscard's entry to those outer precincts needing access for successful control of a jump. He did not even try to guess their destination, though he had his suspicions.

The other's control was more rigid than what he was accustomed to, but his reaction apparently was enough to Guiscard's liking to make the attempt. The swooping, slightly disorienting instant of vertigo was quickly past, and he opened his eyes to a familiar, stone-faced chamber he knew lay within the Michaeline sanctuary.

C
HAPTER
T
EN

I will teach you by the hand of God: that which is with the Almighty will I not conceal
.

Job 27:11

There were two of them waiting for him: Joram and Bishop Niallan Trey. It gave Javan a jolt to see them both wearing Michaeline blue, so long absent from Court and from his sight. He could feel tears welling in his eyes as he stepped from the Portal, but Joram rescued him from the moment by drawing him into the embrace Javan had longed for but had never hoped to have from the formerly unbending Joram MacRorie.

“Javan, my liege, my dear, brave prince,” Joram murmured, enfolding him with mind as well as arms. “I was so sorry to hear about Alroy.”

Somehow the words drained away the sadness, made the relief a positive joy rather than a surrendering to grief and fear. Drawing back at last, Javan was able to meet the other's eyes as one man to another, king to loyal ally. He let his arms slip down Joram's to clasp both his hands, glorying in his great good fortune to have such a friend, as Joram, smiling, bent his golden head to kiss each royal hand in wordless homage.

“Father Joram, it's good to see you,” Javan murmured, looking into the grey eyes. “It's been too long.”

“Aye, my prince, far too long,” Joram replied. Remembering himself, he turned to beckon Niallan forward with a glance. “Here is Bishop Niallan to greet you as well,” he went on. “We thought to keep the welcoming party small, this first time.”

As Niallan, too, bent to kiss the royal hand, Joram cast his glance beyond Javan at the waiting Guiscard.

“How long is it safe to keep him here?” he asked.

“Perhaps half an hour?” Guiscard replied. “I've left Ascelin and Charlan asleep in the study. They're safe enough, unless someone should come—though that isn't likely, at this hour. If you'd rather, though, I can wait with them, just to make sure, and one of you can bring his Highness back through.”

“That's probably a wise idea,” Joram agreed. “But let Niallan Read you before you go, so we'll have as much background as possible.”

At Guiscard's nod of agreement, Joram took Javan's arm and led him out of the Portal chamber and across the corridor to the little octagonal chapel.

“How did you and Guiscard get on?” Joram asked as he closed the door behind them and turned to look at Javan.

Javan shrugged and managed a shy grin. “A little shaky at first, but we'll be fine. He doesn't have the subtlety of you or Tavis or—Evaine.” The speaking of her name drew his gaze irresistibly toward the front of the chapel, where several of those who had championed his family's cause had been laid to rest more than three years before. “Is she—”

Joram shook his head. “Not here. Elsewhere. Someday, perhaps, I'll take you there. We moved Rhys there, as well.”

“Oh.”

Joram glanced at the floor, obviously uncomfortable, then looked up at Javan again. “We daren't take much time tonight. I had—hoped to have this first reunion under less stress. It's been a very long time.”

“I know.” Javan paused. “And nothing happened when Alroy died, Joram. I was with him, I put on the Ring of Fire—” He held out his hand to display the ring. “But I don't feel any different. Evaine said something was supposed to happen.”

Joram drew a deep breath, suddenly solemn. “There are—things that need to be done, to properly trigger what was set,” he said. “Evaine had begun to reach that conclusion, while trying to discover why you began developing some of the Haldane powers but Alroy didn't. She left notes.”