King Javan’s Year (71 page)

“Sitric, no!” Javan shouted.

Charlan and Guiscard were already launching themselves across the landing, skidding in Gavin's blood, swords ready to strike. Javan was following right behind, the Haldane sword in his gloved fist, desperate to get to Oriel. Snarling, Sitric broke off his attack and loosed a fiery ball of energy at Charlan.

Not even thinking of the consequences, Guiscard struck Charlan aside with the flat of his blade and launched a counterspell, white light swelling from his hand like a silvery morning glory to deflect the ball and engulf it. In the confusion, with Javan moving in right behind Guiscard, Sitric became convinced that the defense had come from the king.

“You!” he screamed, pointing at Javan with the dagger in his hand and loosing another attack.

C
HAPTER
F
ORTY

A proud look, a lying tongue, and hands that shed innocent blood
.

—Proverbs 6:17

Instinctively Javan ducked, his free hand upflung and the Haldane sword raised in defense, projecting a protective veil between the two that swallowed up the ball of fire in a crimson flash. Not waiting to find out what else Javan could do, Sitric spun on his heel and bolted for the corridor beyond. In the same moment, Guiscard bowled over both men still fighting over the fallen Gavin and shifted his psychic focus from defense to offense, gathering his powers to stop the fleeing Sitric. In that instant, Javan realized what he intended and reached out to meld his powers with those of Guiscard.

The form of the spell came unbidden, and its power caught Sitric before he had gone a dozen steps. He screamed as he fell, engulfed in a sheet of flames that left of him only a scorched, twitching corpse. In the sudden silence that followed, Javan could hear footsteps pounding up the stairs from the other end of the corridor, and gestured with his sword toward the men sprawled around Gavin, the one leaning against the wall. And Oriel—

Make certain nobody remembers anything!
Javan sent to Guiscard, at the same time scrambling over to Oriel to check his condition.

The Healer was doubled over on his knees, his slashed palms cupped and crossed on his breast. Another thin cut on one cheek trickled a thin line of blood down his neck, but otherwise he seemed untouched—except for the chaos emanating from his mind.

“
Merasha!
” Javan warned, glancing around wildly. “It must be on the swords. Charlan, come and get Oriel on his feet. Make him walk. Don't let him pass out on us. I don't know how much he's got in him.
Guards!
” he shouted at the approaching Haldane men. “Somebody get a couple of battle surgeons! And, dear God,
Gavin
!”

As he moved quickly back to the fallen knight's side, he dropped to his knees in the pool of Gavin's blood and laid down his sword, turning the young knight to raise up his shoulders and hold him in his arms. Others were crowding onto the landing now—more of his men, several taking charge of Oriel—but Javan paid them only vague notice, though he was aware of Charlan moving in to guard his back.

“Gavin, they're fetching a surgeon. Just hang on. How did this happen?” he whispered, clamping a gloved hand across one particularly ragged gash in the young knight's chest and trying to hold the life in—though there were at least three other wounds equally serious.

Gavin rallied a little at the familiar voice and opened his eyes, seeming to draw a little strength from the royal presence.

“I don't understand,” he managed to whisper. “They were our own men. We were coming back from your brother's apartments, and they just—attacked us.” He coughed weakly and brought up blood, and Javan glanced around futilely. Even were Oriel not incapacitated—and even
he
might die, if there was too much
merasha
in his system—Javan doubted that even a Healer could save the man in his arms.

“I—tried to defend him, my prince,” Gavin whispered, though the voice was weaker. “I think I—took out two before they got me.”

“Three,” Javan whispered. “And you did all any man could ask.”

Gavin shuddered and closed his eyes briefly, then looked up at Javan again. “Is it—getting darker in here, Sire? I—can't seem to see very well …”

“Oh, God, Gavin, I am so sorry,” Javan breathed, bowing his head briefly to hug his face to the dying man's shoulder.

“I am—proud to have served my king,” Gavin whispered. He winced and drew a deep, bubbling breath. “A sword, my liege. Give me a cross to hold.”

Tears streaming down his face, Javan groped blindly for the sword he had cast down as he knelt. It was slippery with Gavin's blood, and he tried to wipe off the hilt on the side of his tunic before giving it into Gavin's hands.

“A Haldane sword for a Haldane champion,” he whispered, helping him bring the cross-hilt to his lips to kiss the sacred relic enclosed within. “And a cross of glory for one who goes faithful and true to stand before the throne of the King we both serve. May He gather you to His bosom, Gavin. May you find peace in the service of a higher Lord.”

Gavin found strength to breathe a final “Amen,” but in that moment Javan felt the soul slip past. He held the dead man tightly for a moment, shaking his bowed head and rocking back and forth.

Gradually the sounds around him intruded on his grief, and he looked up to see black mantles and crimson, surrounding him in a sea of booted feet. Charlan was still standing over him, Guiscard at his other side, leaning wearily on his sword. A battle surgeon in Sir Robear's livery was crouched beside a moaning and groggy-looking Oriel, examining his hands. Another in
Custodes
habit was standing at Gavin's feet, a medical satchel clutched in both hands, looking genuinely helpless.

“Somebody tell that other surgeon to get Oriel on his feet and make him walk,” Javan said, laying Gavin's body down and letting Charlan help him to his feet. “Don't let him pass out. He's probably got a
merasha
overdose. There was
merasha
on Sitric's blade. And everybody be careful of the swords; they may have been treated, too.”

He was nearly as covered with blood as Gavin, and he let his gaze drift numbly over the scene. Rhun was out in the corridor with several of his men, inspecting Sitric's body, and the two remaining Haldane men from the fracas were both standing dazedly under guard of Albertus and several
Custodes
knights, hands bound. A
Custodes
priest was giving the Last Rites to the other man, slumped against the wall, who had expired.

“Well, that's very convenient,” Rhun said, coming back into the landing to confront the king, glaring at Oriel. “He's killed the only other Deryni at Court.
My
Deryni. Leaves you in an enviable position, doesn't it, Sire?”

Javan looked sharply at Rhun, though he was immensely relieved that Rhun apparently accepted that Oriel had done it.

“Actually,” he said, “it rather appears that your Deryni was trying to kill
my
Deryni. Did you put him up to this?”

“Certainly not!” Rhun replied. And he was telling the truth.

That put an interesting slant on the incident. Javan could understand why the opposition would want Oriel dead—and that clearly had been Sitric's objective. But who would dare to give Sitric such orders without asking Rhun first?

“Well, I intend to hear Master Oriel's story before I make any judgments,” Javan said, glancing back at the Healer, who was having something poured down his throat by Robear's battle surgeon. “What is that, Master Surgeon?”

“Stimulant, Sire, to counter the sedative effect of the
merasha
. It means he's going to have to weather the disruption part of it pretty much unabated, but it's better than the alternative.”

“Well, he obviously isn't going to be in any shape to tell us much until tomorrow or the next day, so we'll have to continue this discussion at that time, my Lord Rhun.” He glanced down at Gavin's body.

“Someone had better see about notifying Sir Gavin's family, too,” he said wearily. “I want him laid out in the Chapel Royal, with burial in the vaults of Rhemuth Cathedral. And those men—” He gestured toward the two bewildered-looking prisoners. “Robear, take a detail to guard them. I'll want Oriel to question them as soon as he's up to it. I rather suspect we'll find that Sitric had them controlled—though one of them was fighting the other, so maybe Oriel managed to take back control of him. The real question is, who ordered Sitric to do it? Why would he try to kill another Deryni?”

He left them mulling that question while he went on to his quarters with Guiscard and Charlan to change out of his bloody clothes.

Afterward Albertus accompanied Rhun back to his quarters, one of his knights and a battle surgeon in tow. Paulin and Hubert met them just outside.

“Were you responsible for that?” Rhun demanded, when he had admitted them and closed the door. The
Custodes
knight remained outside to guard, but the surgeon stood at Albertus' elbow, eyes downcast and leather-clad arms clasped easily behind his back, beneath his black mantle.

“Please sit down, my lord,” Paulin said quietly. “I'm sorry for the loss of your Deryni. Fortunately, we have another.”

Rhun froze and stared at Paulin, then flicked his gaze over the others, pausing to look more closely at the battle surgeon, whose face was the only one he did not know. Hubert also was staring at the man, who now was clean-shaven, the brown hair close-barbered after the fashion of a man-at-arms of the
Custodes
, with a token tonsure shaved at the crown.

“Who is this man?” Rhun whispered.

“Rhun, Earl of Sheele, permit me to present Master Dimitri,” Paulin said easily, smiling as Rhun recoiled from the dark gaze Dimitri raised to his. “While not a Healer, he does have rudimentary training as a battle surgeon. However, his more valuable skills have to do with interrogation. He has formerly passed as a scribe in my household, but we recently agreed that a change of image might be appropriate. I might add that Master Dimitri came to my employment of his own accord and willingly serves our cause. Had circumstances evolved otherwise today, your Sitric might still be alive, with Master Oriel awaiting burial as well as the unfortunate Sir Gavin.”

“You mean, you set Sitric up to murder Oriel?” Rhun muttered. “Why was I not told?”

“It seemed wiser that only those directly involved know of the plan, my lord,” Albertus replied. “As it was, your outrage was genuine and the king cannot suspect that you had any part in it. As you yourself suggested, without prompting, Oriel's action in killing Sitric can be seen as an act of jealousy against the only other Deryni at Court. It now places Oriel more in doubt than ever. The king will not be able to keep him long at Court; and when he is gone, whether alive or dead, Master Dimitri leaves us in a position of strength.”

Rhun exhaled audibly, obviously keeping his resentment in check, then pulled out a chair and sat.

“I believe I'm owed some explanations,” he said, “without
him
present. Master Dimitri, if you will excuse us?”

When Dimitri had gone outside to wait with the guarding knight, Paulin briefly reviewed their suspicions about the king and the recent developments concerning the captive Deryni still held hostage at the castle.

“And Javan wants Ursin and his family out of here?” Rhun asked, when he had heard the background from several different perspectives.

Hubert nodded. “It came out of the question of whether Ursin is still Deryni, and the status of his son, and then it became more an ecclesiastical matter. That's one reason we didn't tell you. And of course there was the added feature that you couldn't reveal what you didn't know. Now that it's cost you your Deryni, you have a right to know. He'll probably want to send Sitric's family as well.”

“I should just have them quietly strangled,” Rhun muttered.

“There's a better way,” Paulin said. “I think we
should
send them with Ursin's wife and child. Maybe by then we can send Oriel's as well.”

“If you're thinking to go after Oriel again, you'd better think twice,” Rhun said. “If he survives, what's he going to discover when he questions those two men who survived?”

Oriel did survive, but it was two days before he was sufficiently recovered to question the two Haldane men-at-arms. At the insistence of Paulin, he was made to perform in front of the entire Council, who had gathered in the withdrawing room at the rear of the great hall to witness the interrogation. Before that, he had declared himself innocent of any plot to eliminate Sitric as a rival and stated that he had no recollection of lashing out at Sitric with his magic.

“Though I suppose I must have, in self-defense,” he concluded, spreading his bandaged hands in a gesture of apology. “Healers are conditioned not to take life, but survival instincts can be more powerful. I swear to you, he and the men-at-arms attacked us without warning, there in the stairwell. They clearly meant to kill both of us, and they did kill Sir Gavin.”

He had healed his hands on recovering the use of his powers, and the cut on his cheek as well, but he retained light bandages wrapped around his palms to protect the tenderness of newly healed wounds—and also to avoid reminding his listeners that he could work such magic.

Dimitri noted this from his vantage point against the wall behind Albertus, for he and all the others who had witnessed the aftermath on the landing had been ordered to be present. He had not yet caught any hint of falsehood in Oriel's statements, but something did not quite ring true. He bent to whisper in Albertus' ear as Udaut was ordered to bring the first man in. Albertus nodded and passed the message on to Paulin.

Lord Jerowen was designated to interview each man first, as a representative of the king's justice, while Oriel merely Truth-Read. The first man-at-arms, whose name was Baldwin, related a confused story: of being told—he could not remember by whom—that Sir Gavin was plotting to kill Oriel. He and his fellows had gone to intercept Oriel in the stairwell, where the killing was to take place—no, he did not remember seeing Sitric—but Gavin had proven more powerful a swordsman than expected.