The Harrowing of Gwynedd (10 page)

Queron gave him a kindly smile, tactfully avoiding the issue as well.

“Yes, I believe we did, your Highness. And I believe that many things have changed since that time—at least some of them for the better.”

Javan glanced at the floor, obviously grateful for the change of tack, but his mood was still somber as he looked up again.

“This was not for the better,” he murmured, gesturing vaguely toward the three tomb slabs. “I only just found out, tonight. You must pardon me if I seem a little distracted.”

“Distraction in such a cause is certainly forgivable, your Highness,” Queron murmured. “And I understand that it was very little distraction earlier this evening, when you had to deal with what could have been a—an unfortunate encounter.”

Stunned, Javan looked at Tavis in question, obviously feeling betrayed. “You told him, didn't you?” he said accusingly.

“I felt I had to, Javan,” Tavis replied. “He's—part of the team, now that Rhys and the others are gone. I want you to trust him.
I
do.”

And
do
you
? Queron sent, with a hint of gentle laughter, though his expression did not change.

“But—”

“You need to learn to work with others, my prince,” Tavis said, laying an arm around the boy's shoulders in comfort as he continued his mental conversation with Queron.
And I haven't any choice, after the trust
you
displayed, earlier tonight
—
though now that I have Rhys' rather dubious talent, I don't suppose you could hurt me, even if you wanted to. Does it bother you that that's the basis of our trust?

Queron shook his head gently, for the benefit of both his audiences. “Let's leave the dead in peace, shall we?” he said, gesturing toward the door. “There may be others who wish to pay their respects, and we can work as well elsewhere—perhaps in your quarters, Tavis, since I have none assigned as yet. Javan, I've trained many a young Deryni. Perhaps I can be of help to you as well.”

And Tavis
, he continued, for the other Healer's benefit alone,
it has just occurred to me to wonder whether Rhys' rather dubious talent would work on Javan's powers. Don't answer now, but think about it as we go
.

Think about what?
Tavis retorted, as they left the chapel.
I've been working my heart out, trying to help him
develop
his powers, and you want me to take them away?

Just think about it
, Queron repeated.
I only want you to consider the implications
.

Tavis hardly could have avoided considering Queron's implications as they made their way to the former Michaeline cell that was now his room. He was only amazed he had not thought of it before, and wondered whether any of the others had. He wished he knew more about what Joram and the others had done to Javan and his brothers, the night King Cinhil died. Whatever it was, it seemed to be the source of what was manifesting now in Cinhil's second son.

But why in Javan and not in Alroy or Rhys Michael? Especially, why not in Alroy, who was now the king? He wondered whether there was any way he might get to Alroy and find out. And meanwhile, what if Javan's burgeoning powers
could
be blocked?

“I think the first thing we ought to do is to let Queron read you, Javan,” Tavis said, gesturing for the boy to sit on the bed as he closed the door and conjured fire for the rushlight set in the little niche at the bed's head.

Javan sat gingerly, sinking into the saggy mattress, uneasy at Queron's presence, so still and ghostlike as he stood near the foot of the bed. He clearly was uncertain whether to regard Tavis' behavior as a betrayal.

“I—don't know if I'm ready for this yet,” he whispered. “Dom Queron, I mean you no insult or disrespect, but I—Tavis,
must
I?”

“I think it could be very useful, if you did,” Tavis said, leaning against the closed door. “Obviously, he isn't going to force a reading, but I think you ought to allow it. In some respects, he's far better qualified than I to teach you some of the things I think you'll need to know.”

He regretted having to appear to turn on Javan, but Queron's question had sobered him, for it underlined the need for others to know of Javan's abilities—such as they were, or were becoming—so that the boy could be guided more productively.

“But, I—I've never let my shields down for anyone but you,” Javan whispered.

“No, but you've let them down for me and then let Alister and Joram and Jebediah read a little
through
me,” Tavis replied. “Queron has worked with all three of them, and he's a Healer and a Gabrilite, to boot. Do you think he'd harm you and violate his vows? And do you think I'd
let
him?”

“I—suppose not.”

“Lie back, then, and let's get on with it,” Tavis said a little impatiently. “Really, Javan, you're not usually this unreasonable.”

“No, I don't think he's being unreasonable,” Queron interjected, crouching down at the foot of the bed so he did not tower so over Javan. “There's a difference between unreasonable and apprehensive. And despite his undoubted maturity for his age, he's still just a boy of twelve, and very new to what's been happening to him in the past few months. May I make a suggestion?”

“Certainly.”

“Why don't you work with him a little first, just as you usually do, and then I'll join in? We'll take it slowly. There's no reason to frighten him any more than he is already—is there, Javan? And knowing the way you feel, I wouldn't press for this tonight if I didn't fear it might be some time before we get another chance. It isn't going to get any easier for you to make these nocturnal visits—and if you can make the most of the time you have, when you do come, it will be safer for all concerned.”

“That—sounds reasonable,” Javan murmured hesitantly.

“There, you see?” Queron glanced at Tavis for confirmation, immediately given. “Why don't you lie back, then, as Tavis suggested, and just do whatever it is you usually do when you and he meet to exchange information? I'll tell you right now that I'm already prepared to be impressed, after what Tavis has told me, so don't worry that you think you might not measure up.”

Javan actually managed a faint smile as he swung his feet up on the bed a little self-consciously and lay back, shifting a belt pouch and dagger to more comfortable positions as Tavis moved in to kneel by his head. Tavis knew exactly how Javan must feel, having been put on the spot himself to perform in front of Queron, a Deryni mage of almost legendary reputation. He knew that Rhys must have experienced similar misgivings, the first time he demonstrated his new-found talent in front of Queron and Emrys.

“Well, I think you know the drill by now,” Tavis murmured, chancing a quick grin as he brushed the sable hair from Javan's forehead before settling to the usual contact points of hand at Javan's left temple and stump set under the right ear. “Take a couple of deep breaths to relax. Close your eyes. That's it. I'm right with you. Relax and center. Start lowering your shields now. That's right … good … excellent!”

He drew the rapport close, soothing the last vestiges of Javan's nervousness before quickly taking the report Javan had always intended to give him of the past five days' events at court—and imparting the briefing he would have passed on to Javan in turn, whether or not Queron had been present. They had done that before, so Javan weathered it very well—so well that he hardly even noticed when Tavis deftly brought Queron into the link and then pulled back to observe just from the edge of Javan's consciousness, leaving Queron in passive but flexible control. Javan started a little when he realized what had happened, but Tavis was still there and had not abandoned him; and when Queron did not try to insist that the link be held open, Javan quickly managed to settle enough for the elder Healer to get a fairly good reading.

Queron let Tavis bring Javan back, though, merely sitting back from the edge of the bed a little and watching quietly until the prince finally opened his eyes.

“Impressive,” Queron murmured, smiling as Javan blinked. “I see that I shall have to consult with Joram and Evaine to find out how all of this began—that is, if they'll tell me. I see that they haven't decided to tell you, yet.”

“It—all has something to do with the succession,” Javan said hesitantly. “But I don't need to explain to you now, do I? You already know everything I know about it.”

Solemnly Queron nodded. “A distinct advantage, don't you agree? It saves so much time over merely telling. I shall look forward to the opportunity to work with you again.”

“Truly?”

“Truly. But for now, I think you must let Tavis take you back to Valoret, before you are missed.” He touched his hands palm to palm and held them out to Javan. “My hands in your service, my prince.”

Shyly, almost reverently, Javan took the clasped hands briefly between his own in the age-old gesture of fealty accepted, then released them and tried to sit up in the sagging mattress, laughing a little self-consciously as both Tavis and Queron had to assist him.

“You're right. I'd better get back. Ah—have I been gone very long? I always lose track of time, when Tavis and I work together.”

Chuckling even as he admired the boy's resilience, Tavis shook his head.

“Not very long, my prince. And your good guard Norris will be keeping the way clear for your return. But next time we meet, I'll try to show you how to do it right, in case you must deal with Norris or one of his brethren again. Queron, we'll speak more on this.”

“Oh, we shall, indeed,” Queron agreed, as the two left him sitting in the rushlight. “We shall, indeed.”

C
HAPTER
F
IVE

For thou bringest strange things to our ears: we would know therefore what these things mean
.

—Acts 17:20

Queron did not appear in the Council chambers the next morning, for Joram had advised him to spend the day sequestered, in preparation for his own induction into the Council that night. Still, when the newly augmented Camberian Council met to hear Tavis' report of his meeting with Prince Javan, Queron instantly became a subject of interested if passing speculation—for Queron was the first of them besides Tavis to be permitted direct access to Javan's mind.

But it was neither Queron nor Javan whose discussion caused their planned morning meeting to extend well into the afternoon. The contents of Javan's report were themselves sufficiently disturbing to warrant additional consideration, never mind the implications of the prince's gradually increasing abilities. The regents' treatment of the captive Declan Carmody underlined the increasingly untenable position of
any
Deryni so interned, and the return of Ansel's mother and her family to court made the question even more immediate.

“Well, collaborators are no new thing,” Joram said, when Tavis had reiterated his assessment of the Carmody situation. “We've known for months that the regents were doing some forcible recruiting. Rhun had several Deryni with him at Saint Neot's. Didn't Dom Juris tell us he thought one of them was Carmody?”

“Carmody
was
one of them,” Tavis replied. “Also a man called Sitric, though he isn't nearly as well trained. They both came back with Rhun's troops, after the Saint Neot's massacre, but I never actually got to talk to either of them. Javan says that Carmody's put up more resistance than most—which is why he's still in chains. He hasn't knuckled under easily, the way Oriel did. And the regents are pushing him really hard. I don't want even to think about what might happen if he breaks.”

Jesse, a look of consternation on his tanned, beardless face, cocked his head in question.

“But, a simple Truth-Reading of a cooperative human subject isn't that much of a strain, Tavis,” he said. “It isn't as if they made him force another Deryni, or—or read past a death block or something.”

“Humph!” Gregory gave a derisive snort, fidgeting between Joram and Evaine. “It's only a matter of degree, son. Only a matter of degree.”

“Precisely,” Tavis agreed. “From a purely objective vantage point—which I doubt very much that any of us can manage—I suppose it does seem innocuous enough, as such things go. Javan certainly didn't see it that way, though—maybe, in part, because of what the working had to confirm. That was the first he'd heard about Father Alister and Jebediah, after all.”

That reminder silenced them all for several seconds, but then Ansel sat forward uneasily.

“Certainly, that could have been a factor,” he murmured. “But he's seen Oriel work, for God's sake—and kill with his powers, even though that wasn't intended. For that matter, Tavis,
you
were in Oriel's and Carmody's position, not so very long ago.”

“I had good reasons!” Tavis began hotly.

“Ultimately, of course you did,” Joram returned, a little impatiently. “I think, however, that even you will admit that your original motives were not entirely altruistic—something about wreaking vengeance on the men who cost you your hand, as I recall.”

Tavis closed his hand over his stump and bowed his head. “I am not proud of those days,” he said quietly.

“No one said you were, son,” Gregory said with a sigh, shooting Joram a glance of forbearance. “Nor, I'm sure, are Oriel and Carmody and the other fellow proud of what they are doing. But just as your ultimate reason for staying was to help Javan, so are these other men doing what they must do to protect the ones they love.”

Tavis nodded miserably, not looking up. “I cannot fault them for that. But Javan said that Carmody seemed so—so cowed. God, to have to live under such conditions!”