The Bastard Prince (30 page)

“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 …?”

As he felt her chin come to rest on the top of his head, he let the link form fully and himself took control of the working, apologetically sending forth his own probe, deeper than he had in the chapel, to confirm what he had read before—that Sudrey had long ago turned her back on her Torenthi kin and offered him her unqualified loyalty and service.

Forgive me
, he set in her mind,
but Miklos wishes to parley, and has suggested that I bring you along to Truth-Read for me. I had to be absolutely certain you had no hidden agenda
.

More gently then, and all in the space of a few heartbeats, he sent her the essence of what Miklos proposed and the arguments Rhun and the others had raised against it. Acknowledging, she pulled back a little, again massaging at the tight muscles in his neck and shoulders.

“Well done, Sire,” she breathed. “You can stretch now. You're perfectly fine—and so far as I can tell, this Dimitri did naught but Truth-Read you.”

As Rhys Michael blinked and sighed, flexing his fingers and stretching his neck, flicking his gaze around the tent to reorient, Lior and Magan exchanged whispered counsel. Sighere and Graham looked noncommittal. Rhun was nodding reluctantly in response to something Manfred had muttered to him.

“You're sure,” Lior said, “that Dimitri didn't tamper with him?”

She shook her head and came around to kneel before the king, taking one of his hands in hers to kiss it.

“He did not, Father. Nor shall his lord tamper with mine. Sire, I beg you, let me come with you to treat with Miklos. I have not much power compared to him, but he does not know that. Perhaps my mere presence will keep him on his best behavior. And if not, perhaps I can protect you at least well enough to get out of any trap.”

To Rhys Michael's surprise, Manfred was nodding, and Lior, though he was scowling, offered no word of protest.

“Well, at least it appears Dimitri did no damage in this particular instance,” Rhun said grudgingly. “I confess, I like not the idea of letting you treat directly with Miklos, Sire, but if you are willing to take the risk, it may well be our best option. Shall I send the messenger back to arrange the meeting?”

Raising Sudrey to her feet, Rhys Michael tucked her hand in the curve of his arm.

“Please do so, my lord marshal,” he said. “My vassal and I are eager to end this confrontation, to ensure that no more good men fall to a folly that need not be. I shall treat with Miklos of Torenth and a single human companion at midafternoon, accompanied by this brave lady.”

C
HAPTER
S
EVENTEEN

Blessed be the Lord my strength, which teacheth my hands to war, and my fingers to fight.

—Psalms 144:1

“Tell me about the Haldane,” Miklos said to the man sitting before him and Marek in a guardroom off the gate tower of Culliecairn. “I wish your frank impressions.”

Hombard of Tarkent contained a yawn and made himself sit up a little straighter. The soporific effect of the
merasha
they had given him in the Gwynedd camp had abated somewhat, but he still would rather have been left alone to sleep it off.

“He is comely, fit, apparently competent,” Hombard said, delving back into memory. “He conveys an air of authority, yet seems somewhat reluctantly dependent upon his lords—in particular, a man who, I believe, is his earl marshal. I would guess there is some friction between the two, or at least an irritation.”

“Most perceptive,” Miklos murmured. “Who else was present?”

“Earl Sighere and the young Duke of Claibourne, as was expected; another senior military officer—by the device on his brigandine, the Earl of Culdi, I believe. Also several men of the
Custodes Fidei
—a knight, a battle surgeon, a priest—no names were ever mentioned. And two aides.”

“I see.” Miklos glanced thoughtfully at the document Hombard had brought back, then returned his attention to its bearer. “Please continue. Perhaps you would summarize their reaction to the proposal you presented, point by point.”

“Aye, my lord. They doubt your promise to observe a truce while you parley, knowing of Lord Hrorik's fate, and they question your possible motives for seeking this parley. Knowing you are Deryni, they naturally fear your power. They resent that you have given aid to Prince Marek and seem aware that you act on your own in this matter—that the king your brother has not sanctioned your actions.”

“Succinct and perceptive,” Miklos murmured, nodding. “Anything else?”

“Very little, my lord. I was treated with civility and even kindness by the Haldane, who bade me sit when he observed that the
merasha
had made me unsteady on my feet. Incidentally, the drug was administered with one of their Deryni prickers, not by mouth; this made the onset much faster and more profound. When I had presented your proposals, I was taken to another place where, I confess, I dozed.”

As he yawned again, Miklos glanced at Marek, who had been lounging against the sill of a window overlooking the yard below, wrapped in a dark cloak. Marek's most senior captain was with him, a seasoned veteran named Valentin who had taught both young men swordplay as boys. Also present was Miklos' personal physician, Cosim, a striking-looking man with piercing eyes and silver at his temples, wearing the high-collared dark green tunic of a military Healer.

“Do you still wish to try it?” Miklos asked quietly.

Marek nodded toward Hombard. “I think we ought to Read him first, despite the
merasha.
”

Hombard looked neither surprised nor dismayed as Miklos bestirred himself to come and lay a hand across the man's forehead. The drooping eyelids closed and he exhaled with a sigh, his head lolling more heavily against Miklos' hand. After a few seconds, Miklos flicked a glance of summons in the direction of the Healer, who moved in behind Hombard to take control as his master stepped away.

“They did not permit him to see a great deal,” Miklos said quietly, as he joined Marek. “He did gain a glimpse of our dear cousin, just before they released him to return, but it does not seem to have occurred to them that they could enlist her assistance. They even failed to use her to Truth-Read while they interviewed him.”

“But they've apparently decided that she's sufficient balance to keep
you
honest,” Marek said with a smirk. “Well, let's see what can be done. Cosim, is he ready?”

The Healer looked up, dark eyes veiled by his power. “Ready, my lord. Valentin, bring another chair for his Highness.”

As the captain brought the requested chair, setting it beside Hombard's, Marek threw off his cloak and came to sit. Underneath, he was wearing leathers and harness identical to Hombard's. In common with all the other men in the room, his long, dark hair was pulled back and braided and clouted in a soldier's knot. He grinned as he handed Miklos his signet ring.

“I'll ask you to take care of that for me,” he said. “Have we candles?”

“Here, my lord,” Valentin said, putting a slender, honey-colored taper into Marek's hands. “Blessed by the Patriarch.”

“You don't approve, do you, Valentin?” Marek replied. “It isn't black magic, my old friend; just a simple deception. I have to be able to get to the Haldane if I'm going to kill him.”

“It's too soon,” Valentin muttered, handing a second candle to the Healer. “You should wait a few years, until you have more heirs.”

“But the longer I wait, the more heirs
he'll
have,” Marek pointed out. “Don't worry; if it isn't safe, I won't do anything.”