The King's Deryni (61 page)

After briefly displaying the gold signet to the watching crowd, the king slid the ring onto Alaric's left forefinger. “Wear this ring as a token of the fidelity you have pledged to me, and a symbol of your authority. Arise, Earl of Lendour.”

After the excitement had abated a little, Alaric took his place at the head of the hall, his liege lord at his side, and formally received the fealty of his vassals in Lendour. He then confirmed his new councilors of state, formerly his regents. He knew little would change in the immediate future, as he prepared to return to Rhemuth with the king, but it was heartening to have received this recognition of his growing maturity.

•   •   •

T
HEY
left two days later, and were back in Rhemuth by the end of July, having taken their time on the return journey. They sent no riders ahead on the day they approached Rhemuth's eastern gate, but entered unchallenged to wind their way past the cathedral square and up the processional road that led to the castle.

The guards at the gatehouse scrambled to attention as they realized it was the king, one of them sending a man running ahead to alert those at the hall. A hastily assembled guard of honor was waiting as they rode into the yard, and anxious squires came running to take their horses, Saer de Traherne among them. Duke Richard and Prince Nigel were waiting on the stairs, Richard with his hands on his hips.

“I hope,” said the duke to his royal nephew, “that you are very satisfied with yourself. We expected you several weeks ago.”

“As a matter of fact, I
am
satisfied,” Brion retorted, as he swung down from his horse. “Come inside, Uncle, and I'll tell you all about it.”

As Alaric, too, dismounted, he found himself wondering whether the king intended to tell his uncle
all
about what had happened during his absence from the capital. But as he and Llion followed the three Haldanes up the great hall steps and into the hall, and the royal pair headed on into the withdrawing room, it became clear that this was to be a private conversation.

But apparently not a bitter one, for the three men seemed amiable and content when they appeared at table that night in the great hall. Jehana, happily reunited with her handsome young husband, was glowing. Princess Silke, attended by a petite, dark-haired girl Alaric did not recognize, likewise looked contented enough, as did the queen dowager. Alaric, for his part, was not summoned to table service that evening, and was glad to be excused early to go to bed.

But the usual routine resumed the next morning, with weapons drill in the practice yard, and sparring with blunted steel, then a ride-out at midday. After the rigors of the field, and the miles they had covered in the preceding two months, Alaric easily performed as he was asked. Duke Richard observed him closely for several days, then drew him aside after himself putting Alaric through a live steel drill.

“You've changed,” he said, removing his practice helm and accepting a towel from the page assigned to attend the squires and instructors. “Walk with me.”

Alaric took a towel of his own and mopped at his sweaty face as he fell in beside the duke.

“I understand that you killed a man or two at Rustan,” Richard said, glancing at him sidelong.

“I did, sir,” Alaric said. “They were trying to kill me.”

“As good a reason as I've ever heard,” Richard replied. “No qualms, then?”

“No, sir.”

“Good. And I must say that I was happy to hear that my nephew went ahead and declared you of age. Your performance of late entirely merits it. And it was the right thing to do it in front of your people. Though I must confess, I was somewhat concerned that he just went haring off without telling anyone where he was going.”

“We did tell Sir Jiri and Sir Jamyl and Prince Nigel, sir. They knew we were returning by way of Lendour.”

“But to go with just Llion and the two lancers,” Richard replied. “Anything might have happened. It will be your job to help him keep out of trouble, lad.”

Alaric managed to suppress most of a dubious snort. “Do you think I could stop him, sir, if he really wanted to do something?”

“Probably not,” Richard conceded. “At least not yet. But you will have to try. And you
are
Deryni.”

“I—don't think that either of us would be happy if I used my powers to do that, sir.”

“No, probably not.” He grimaced. “Well, just do your best.”

“And every man that strives for the mastery is temperate in all things . . .”

—I CORINTHIANS 9:25

T
HE
king's order not to speak of the events at Rustan was not universally obeyed. Jamyl continued to ferret out the truth, by questioning several eyewitnesses; and it can be assumed that at least a few others present had enough ability, from long-suppressed Deryni bloodlines, to resist the order and begin speculating.

The real trouble began when rumors regarding the magical nature of the king's confrontation with the Marluk began to reach the new queen. Queen Jehana's confrontation with the king, behind closed doors, would reverberate throughout the royal household and, indeed, the court.

“Stay in your quarters,” Llion told Alaric, when the row first began.

“But—”

“The queen has learned of the magic the king used to defeat the Marluk,” Llion said. “She knows that you were involved.”

“But, no one was supposed to—”

“
Someone
has been talking,” Llion said sharply. “Did he really think that no one would speak? There were scores of men who saw what went on.”

Alaric swallowed hard and averted his gaze. “I had nothing to do with that part. I only helped the king awaken his power.”

“That isn't the way the queen sees it.”

“Is she—terribly angry with me?”

“
Livid
would be a better description. I heard things being thrown.”

And matters got worse the next morning. Alaric slept but little that night, but was awakened early by the sound of horsemen assembling in the castle yard: most of Queen Jehana's Bremagni guards, mounted and armed, ready to ride.

And then, the spectacle of the queen herself, hurrying through the great hall in the midst of additional guards, dressed for travel all in black, with three of her ladies, her chaplain, her two religious sisters, and even Princess Silke among them. They halted for nothing as they made their way to the yard, even though the king and his uncle came hurrying after, much under-slept, to remonstrate with the still distraught Jehana.

“And where do you think you're going?” Brion demanded, though he did not try to lay hands on her. Her guards were well armed and armored, and looked to be in no mood to allow any interference with their royal mistress. “Jehana, you are a queen! You have duties and responsibilities. You cannot just go riding off into the countryside!”

“I need time to think!” she retorted. “I intend to seek sanctuary in a house of religion. Do not try to stop me! I will send word when I am ready to talk to you!”

“Let her go,” Duke Richard said quietly, laying a staying hand on his nephew's shoulder. “She has ample men. She will be safe enough in a convent, and will come to her senses soon enough.”

“Jehana!” the king cried after her. “Would you rather the Marluk had killed me? Try to understand!”

But the queen would not listen, and let herself be mounted on a swift palfrey and swept away in the midst of her men and household. Brion watched them go, then summoned Jamyl and Jiri with a stormy glance.

“Go after her. Take a squadron of lancers. Do not try to stop her, but report back to me as to where she has gone. My uncle is right. Perhaps she needs time to consider her anger.”

•   •   •

T
HE
king bided his time in the days and weeks that followed, moody and short-tempered. The old queen had taken to her chambers, emerging most nights to preside at table with the king, but disinclined to discuss the new queen's absence. From time to time, one of the lancers sent to follow Jehana returned to report her progress, heading east and then north, but thus far she had not taken refuge with any known religious house.

For his part, Alaric kept his head down and tried to avoid private converse with the king, for he felt responsible for the queen's absence. He kept to himself, save for required training, said little even to Llion, and took his frustrations out on his opponents at weapons practice. This behavior soon caught the notice of Prince Nigel.

“It isn't your fault, you know,” the prince said after a particularly aggressive match in which Alaric had actually disarmed him.

“That I'm Deryni? No, it isn't. But I helped him to magic.”

“And saved his life!” Nigel retorted. “I was there! Can you imagine what the Marluk would have done to him, if he'd had no magic?”

“So he saved his kingdom and lost his queen!” Alaric returned. “Do you think he's thanking me for that?”

“Well, let's see if he is,” Nigel said, seizing his upper arm and marching him toward the withdrawing room. “Do
not
fight me on this, or you shall see what the wrath of an angry Haldane is all about. If
he
doesn't thrash you, I shall!”

The prince's outburst shocked Alaric to silence, and he meekly let himself be chivvied along, half stumbling as Nigel drew him up the steps behind the dais and right through the door to the withdrawing room. The king was within, conferring with Jiri Redfearn, who must have returned unbeknownst to Alaric. Sir Tiarnán and Llion were also present.

“Can't this wait?” the king snapped.

“No, I don't think it can,” Nigel replied. “You have news?”

Brion shook his head. “Mostly more of the same.” He glanced at the others. “Jiri and Tiarnán, out! Llion, you stay. And you”—he pointed to Alaric—“sit.”

His gesture at a stool beside the map table left no doubt as to his wishes. As Alaric sat, the king hooked another stool closer with a booted foot and also sat, gesturing for Nigel to do the same. Llion came to stand near Alaric, looking very solemn, indeed.

“Now. What is the problem?” the king demanded.

“Alaric feels responsible for the queen's absence,” Nigel said. “He believes that the magic he awakened in you has driven her off.”

“Well, he isn't responsible. Magic
has
driven her off, but it was
my
magic.” Brion paused to draw a deep breath and shifted his gaze to Alaric. “Do you really think I blame you?”

Alaric averted his gaze, nervously intertwining his fingers. “She's gone, isn't she? And it's because of my magic.”

“No, it's because of
my
magic, and what I did with my magic.” Brion shook his head. “I blame that blasted priest of hers, and those sisters. I should never have allowed them to come with her household.”

“Sire, that is hardly realistic,” Llion ventured. “The queen is a pious young woman. You cannot have forgotten the sisters who were present at your betrothal.”

Brion snorted. “Busy old crows!”

“But you must have known she would bring some of them,” Nigel said. “As I understand it, she was convent educated by those ‘old crows.' I would have been surprised if she did
not
bring some of them along as part of her household. And a queen needs her own chaplain; it's logical that she should have brought her own.”

“Well, the timing could hardly have been worse,” Brion muttered. “First the de Courcy affair, then the expedition into Eastmarch. Perhaps it was all too much, coming from the background she did.”

“Sire, may I ask what news Sir Jiri brought?” Llion asked.

Brion let out his breath in a huff. “She seems to have taken refuge in an abbey up by Shannis Meer, in the Rheljan Mountains. Saint Giles, it's called. Jamyl has set up a camp nearby, to wait her out.”

“You won't go get her?” Nigel asked.

Brion shook his head. “No. Not yet, at any rate. She said that she needs time to think. I must allow her to do that. Within reason. But meanwhile, Alaric, it is nothing to do with you.”

“Pardon, Sire, but it has
everything
to do with me.”

“But nothing that you can do anything about,” the king replied. “Just leave it for now, lad. I mean that.”

•   •   •

T
HE
king waited well into autumn, but received only monthly letters reiterating Jehana's revulsion at the magic given Brion by his Deryni squire. By October, following a cheerless celebration of Alaric's fourteenth birthday, it had become clear that serious changes would be required at court, if Brion's queen was to return.

“So far as I can tell, she wants Alaric out of my life, and certainly out of the capital,” the king said, at a meeting that included his uncle, his brother, his mother, and also the bone of contention himself: the fourteen-year-old Alaric Morgan. Llion was also present, in the role of Alaric's personal knight.

“Will you allow her to hold you to ransom, then?” Nigel asked. “Brion, he is your Duke of Corwyn, your Earl of Lendour. Whether she likes it or not, he is a part of your life, part of the defense of your kingdom. It appears that, if she had her way, Alaric would simply cease to exist!”

“I've been thinking about that,” the king replied. “And I've explored at least a temporary solution with Uncle Richard.” He glanced at Richard, who inclined his head in encouragement. “How, if Alaric were to withdraw to Cynfyn for the next few years, to take up his full-time duties as Earl of Lendour? He could also travel to Coroth periodically, to interact with his regents there. Once he reaches the age of eighteen, I would come to Coroth and knight him, confirm him in the duchy. And by then, God willing, Jehana would have come to her senses.”

Alaric had listened to the proposal in silence, and now looked to Llion for direction. The young knight sighed.

“I understand your reasoning, Sire,” Llion said. “But, what of the rest of his training? He is still only fourteen.”

“The bulk of his formal training is largely finished,” Richard said. “From this point, he should be given practical experience to harden and temper him, as he continues to gain strength and ability. I'm told that riding border patrol provides excellent tempering—and I dare say, Corwyn has some of the more spectacular borders with our Torenthi neighbors. Both Cynfyn and Coroth have an abundance of highly competent knights, who could guide him from this point.”

As Llion allowed that this might provide a reasonable solution in the short term, Brion pointed out another consideration.

“Your own position becomes somewhat more problematical,” the king said, “for I know that you had agreed to take on the stewardship of Morganhall during Alaric's minority—and your wife and child are there. Perhaps you could move them to Cynfyn for the first year, until Alaric is settled there. And, it is entirely possible that, with time, the queen may soften her attitude, so that he could return to court, at least a few times a year. After all, the time will come eventually when he must take up the full-time governance of his own lands.”

Alaric had listened in silence as his elders discussed his future, and allowed himself a long sigh, which drew all eyes to him.

“Your thoughts?” the king said quietly.

Alaric nodded. “I understand the delicate balances you are trying to maintain, sir, and I appreciate your efforts. While it would never be my wish to go into exile—and what you describe
is
exile, of a sort—this seems a reasonable solution for the moment.” Llion started to speak, but Alaric held up a staying hand.

“No, let me speak. The king must have his wife back, and she has no use for me. This I understand. But it will not be forever, and I will not be a child forever. If I can serve the king in this way, at least for now, then I will.”

•   •   •

W
ITHIN
a week they were on their way: Alaric, Llion, and a troop of Haldane lancers as escort, traveling along that now-familiar route eastward along the River Molling. They arrived early in November, his Lendour men alerted by a courier who had gone before, and most welcome.

“We had not expected you again so soon,” Zoë told him, as she led him and Llion into the hall at Cynfyn.

“Things have become more complicated,” Alaric replied. “Could you please ask Jovett and Sir Pedur to join me in the council chamber? There is aught all of you should know.”

Half an hour later, he had told them of the events at Rhemuth after his and the king's return, and of the queen's flight to Shannis Meer, and the king's difficult decision to send him from court.

“He still has no guarantee that the queen will return,” he said in summary, “but he has hopes. He has hinted that he may move his Twelfth Night court here, as it puts him that much nearer the queen. If she declines to join him here—which is likely, since
I
am here—I suspect he will feel obliged to go to her in the spring and bring her out, by force, if necessary.”

It was not a happy proposition, but one that must be considered.

•   •   •

D
URING
the next several months, Alaric continued learning about the operation of his county council and working with the men who had been running his affairs. Sir Xander of Torrylin and Sir Yves de Tremelan, men knighted by his father, returned to Cynfyn from their family holdings to assist him, and to take on the task of ensuring that his military training continued. Shortly before Christmas, he received word that the king would, indeed, be joining him for Twelfth Night court.