Saint Camber

by Katherine Kurtz

  “Amen to that,” Joram said.

  The rest of the afternoon went more or less uneventfully, at least for Rhys and Evaine. Faithful to their part in the deception, the two went to pay their respects to the dead man under the MacRorie pall in the cathedral. There they even caught a glimpse of Camber, in his other guise, kneeling with some of his Michaeline brethren in the choir stalls to either side of the catafalque. The archbishop’s choristers chanted the traditional psalms and prayers, and the air was heavy with incense and with grief, which was all too tangible to Deryni as sensitive as Evaine and Rhys.

  Camber watched them enter the choir and kneel beside the bier, and from Evaine’s expression he almost wondered whether she really knew that he still lived. She walked slowly, leaning on Rhys’s arm with far more than the weight of her twenty-three years, eyes dark-circled with grief and fatigue. Rhys looked resigned, but even the fire of his rumpled red hair seemed somehow subdued in the candlelight of the choir, as if it dared not shine too gloriously amid such grief.

  Camber watched his daughter through slitted fingers for several minutes, yearning to reach out with his mind and touch her tension yet knowing that he dared not. Nor could he go to her as Alister Cullen and offer even that old friend’s comfort, for Joram, kneeling at his side, had cautioned him not to strain Evaine’s composure with a reunion both secret and public. Far better to wait until the night, when they need not play their roles before the watchful eyes of humans and Deryni alike. He must not let an impulse rule his better judgment.

  But neither could Camber bear to stay and watch her thus, though he knew her grief to be but feigned. Leaning toward Joram, he whispered that he was returning to his quarters, feeling somewhat faint, while his hand on the other’s arm reassured that the faintness was but an excuse to leave. As Camber made his way out of the cathedral, leaning on the arm of one of his knights, Joram went to kneel beside his sister.

  Camber allowed himself to relax a little as he and Lord Dualta made their way back to his quarters. He was safe enough with the young Michaeline, for Dualta was fairly new to the Order and a human as well. Nothing in Camber’s adopted manner was likely to betray him to one such as this—though even as a human, Dualta was more than normally observant, having had the benefit of Michaeline military training.

  No, it was not Dualta whom Camber feared to meet. The king, perhaps. Or Anscom. Or—

  Jebediah. Just when he thought he had gained the comparative security of his quarters, he saw the grand master rounding the corner at the opposite end of the corridor. Dualta was reaching for the door latch, but it was already clear that Camber could not graciously escape before Jebediah had reached him. Though they had met numerous times in council in the past week, he had not spoken alone with him since assuming Alister’s identity. And Jebediah was Deryni.

  “Good afternoon, Jeb,” Camber said, in a tone he hoped was sufficiently weak to discourage lengthy conversation.

  Jebediah bent to kiss the vicar general’s ring, more for Dualta’s benefit, Camber thought, than out of any real sense of formality on Jebediah’s part.

  “Good afternoon, Vicar General. I expected you to be in the cathedral for the rest of the afternoon. I trust nothing is wrong?”

  As Dualta stood aside and bowed, Camber moved into his room.

  “It’s nothing. I felt a little faint—that’s all. The heat, the incense … I’ll be all right when I’ve rested.”

  “Are you sure that’s all?” Jebediah replied. There was a look of genuine concern on his face as he followed Camber and Dualta into the room. “Dualta, you can go,” he continued, moving to take the younger man’s place as Camber was helped to a seat before the darkened hearth. “I’ll take care of the vicar general.”

  The young knight glanced at Camber for approval, and Camber nodded, wishing he dared send both of them away. When Dualta had gone, Jebediah moved closer to the fireplace and knelt by the hearth. He did not look back at Camber as he began rearranging the dead embers with a piece of kindling.

  “Something is wrong, Alister. Why won’t you let me help you? You’ve been … distant since the battle.”

  Camber twined his fingers and glanced down at the ring on his finger, one thumb absently rubbing the engraved silver in a gesture which was patently Alister’s. He was not yet willing to reveal his true identity to anyone else, and certainly not until he had assimilated Alister’s memories and discovered the extent of his relationship with the grand master. If only this meeting could have been postponed for a few more hours, a few more days …

  He looked up, very much aware that Jebediah was watching him in his peripheral vision, wondering why the man seemed so uneasy. He sensed no real suspicion. More like … watchfulness? Concern? Empathy?

  “I’m sorry, Jeb. There has been much on my mind. And my health, as you know, has been less than I would have wished since the battle.”

  Jebediah’s answer was so low that Camber nearly had to lean closer to hear him.

  “You’re still a comparatively young man, Alister—only five years older than I. Can the Healers do nothing?”

  Camber shrugged. “Rhys says that I show steady improvement. However, there is more to heal than body.”

  “What, grief at Camber’s death?” Jebediah snorted in faint derision. “Come now, I know that the two of you became fairly close, but you have lost friends before. Jasper died, too, and others sadly too numerous to mention. Besides, ’tis not so long ago that you and Camber were adversaries, if not enemies.”

  “We were never enemies,” Camber whispered. “Never that. Besides, it is not the deaths which continue to disturb me.”

  “No?” Jebediah looked up, hand and stick poised over the designs he had been tracing in the hearth ashes. “’Tis nothing I’ve done, I hope.”

  Camber shook his head and smiled. “Nothing you have done, my friend. You have ever been a strength and comfort to me. Nor is it Camber’s shade, though a little of his presence will be always with me, I think. No, the things which trouble me are more personal demons, I fear.”

  “Demons?” Jebediah started, then tossed his stick into the fireplace and stood. His handsome face was troubled as he moved to crouch at Camber’s knees. “What demons, Alister? What superstitious nonsense is this? A legacy of Ariella? But tell me, share this haunting with me, and I will help you overcome it!”

  Camber averted his eyes, wondering whether he had already said too much. Unwittingly, Jebediah had stumbled on the very excuse they had agreed to use in explaining any discrepancies in Alister’s behavior, but which they had hoped not to have to use. Now Jebediah would have to be told more, and yet not so much that more dangerous suspicions were aroused than he already entertained. At least the suggestion of an ongoing struggle against Ariella’s influence might be one which Jebediah could accept without feeling shut out—a feeling which Camber sensed was almost as strong as his very real concern for Alister’s well-being. But how to strike the proper balance?

  “Nay, I cannot ask that of you.” Camber touched Jebediah’s shoulder lightly as he stood and went to stare into the dark fireplace. “More happened on that day of battle than even you may know. It was not without cost that Ariella was slain, and I do not refer to mere physical deaths. Now payment is mine, and mine alone, to be resolved between myself and Him who made us all.”

  “But, I could help, if you would only let—”

  “I cannot share these things with you, Jeb, even if I wished to subject you to my own peril. I can share them with no man.”

  Jebediah sat back on his heels, his gaze following Camber’s every move, and Camber forced himself to continue staring at the blackened hearth, aware of Jebediah’s intense scrutiny. For a moment he feared that Jebediah would fight him, that he would refuse to accept what had been said; but Jebediah did not. At length, Camber turned to smile brightly at the younger man and sigh, as though in resignation.

  “I’m sorry, but that’s the way it has to be, at least for now. For the p
resent, until I have either escaped my experience or paid for it, my words must be only for my confessor—and even he may not know the whole of it.”

  Jebediah lowered his eyes, his throat working painfully. “I was once a confessor of sorts to you.”

  “And shall be again someday, perhaps,” Camber said softly. He wondered more than ever just what the relationship had been between the two men. “But for now, that cannot be. Please, let us not speak of it again.”

  “As … you wish,” Jebediah replied in a low voice.

  There was a silence which seemed interminable, and then Jebediah lurched to his feet and managed a feeble smile. “You should rest now, Father General, and I have duties which require my attention. If you have need of anything, you know you have but to call and I shall come.”

  “That I have always known,” Camber said kindly, wishing he might say more. “God bless you, my friend.”

  Jebediah nodded, somewhat jerkily, then turned on his heel and left the room, head bowed in dejection. When he had gone, Camber sighed and returned to his chair, swinging his feet up on a broad, padded bench. At least he would know more after tonight, he thought as he let himself drift into sleep.

  He woke several hours later to the sound of the draperies being drawn across the wide window embrasure to his left. A fire had been laid and started on the hearth, and candles lit in a floor sconce at his left elbow; he had to peer around the candles to see who was in the room. The silhouette against the darkening sky seemed familiar, but his mind was still too fogged by sleep for him to be certain.

  “Rhys?” he called. He smiled as the figure finished its task and turned to chuckle.

  “Now, who else could enter without waking you?” The Healer gave the draperies a final pat and crossed into the circle of candlelight. “I can personally think of two others, but they’re not expected for nearly an hour. So for now, you’ll have to settle for me. How are you feeling?”

  As he sat down beside Camber, he laid a cool hand on the other’s wrist. Camber smiled, knowing exactly what the young Healer was about.

  “I feel fine—or as well as can be expected, under the circumstances. My headache has greatly diminished, and I feel considerably rested after my nap. Does that report agree with your diagnosis, O mighty Healer?”

  Rhys released Camber’s wrist and sat back in his chair. “You’ll do. I’d like to see you stronger, of course, but that isn’t reasonable to expect until we’ve taken care of tonight’s business. Tomorrow I want to see a more definite improvement.”

  “I shall be perfect tomorrow. I promise you. Incidentally, by way of a non sequitur, who’s on watch at the end of the corridor tonight?”

  “That young Michaeline who escorted you from the cathedral this afternoon. I think his name is Dualta. Why?”

  Camber sighed. “That’s a relief. I was afraid it might be Jebediah.”

  “Why afraid?”

  “Oh, he cornered me in a private conversation when I got back from the cathedral. Apparently I’ve been acting a little out of character, at least in his eyes. I have the growing impression that he and Alister were closer than we realized. He could turn out to be as big a problem as Cinhil, if we’re not careful.”

  “He’s Deryni, too,” Rhys replied.

  “Believe me, that thought never left my mind. I think I finally satisfied him. I blamed my present weakness on the battle with Ariella, hinting that I’d had to pay some mysterious price for victory—and all of that is true, of course, though not in the way he understands it. But just at the end I got a hint of hurt feelings, that I’d seemed to reject a former closeness. God knows how I should have reacted. Perhaps Joram knows. Or maybe there’s something in these elusive memories.”

  As Camber tapped his forehead, Rhys cocked his head thoughtfully.

  “What are you going to do if neither source sheds light on the relationship?”

  “Operate on intuition, I suppose, and do the best I can. Becoming a bishop will help to keep us apart, other than in official contacts. If his unhappiness eventually turns to real suspicion, despite all our efforts, we’ll have to consider taking him into our confidence. On the other hand, if he and Alister were as close as I begin to suspect, I don’t know if he could ever forgive me for taking his friend’s place and deceiving him.”

  Rhys pursed his lips. “Tread warily on that one, Camber,” he said in a low voice. “And I want you to promise that you’ll make no such disclosure until you’ve consulted with all three of us. This entire thing is going to be too precarious, as it is.”

  “Insofar as that’s possible, you have my word.” Camber smiled. “But on to more immediate considerations. I assume that you and Evaine located the proper scroll?”

  “We read it last night. It appears to be fairly straightforward.”

  “However?” Camber urged, sensing hesitation in the other’s words.

  “However what?” Rhys said lightly. “My part is easy enough. I simply have to make certain that you remember to breathe, and that your heart keeps beating. You and Evaine have the hard part.”

  “Then what’s bothering you? Surely you don’t doubt your clever wife’s ability after this long?”

  Rhys chuckled mirthlessly. “Am I that transparent? No, I’m not worried about Evaine—or about myself or Joram.”

  “But you’re worried about me.”

  “Not exactly that, either. It’s the whole procedure, and the delicate coordination required of all four of us. Singularly, we’ve all done more difficult things before. God knows, some of the healings I’ve worked have been … awesome. But somehow, this is different. And you’re not as strong as you should be. I wish we could have done this sooner.”

  “Well, there’s no help for that,” Camber murmured. “But come. I haven’t looked at that scroll in months. Refresh my memory, in as much detail as you can. We’ll both be far less anxious if we occupy our minds while we wait.”

  With a little sigh of resignation, Rhys reached his nearer hand across the space between his chair and Camber’s, laying his fingers on the other’s bare wrist. Camber closed his eyes and took a deep breath, let it out slowly. He could hear Rhys’s shallow breathing at his side.

  As they had done so many times before, they forged the master link between them—a deep, peaceful stillness rippled only faintly by the disorder locked away in a corner of Camber’s mind. The bond was maintained for some little while, as Rhys opened the channels of memory and let his information flow into the consciousness of his friend and mentor. When it was done, and the two had blinked back to the present, Rhys looked a little sheepish. Camber tried a reassuring smile, but it did not quite succeed.

  “That was fine,” he said, patting Rhys’s hand before rising to move restlessly to the fireplace. “It’s always good to confirm that at least one’s own memories aren’t slipping.”

  “And his memories?”

  Camber rested his hands on the mantel ridge and laid his forehead against the cool stone between them. “Is it that obvious?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “There’s no need to be. Your head hurts again, doesn’t it?”

  “A little. No, a lot. How long before Evaine and Joram …?”

  “Soon. Is there anything I can do to ease—”

  A slight knock sounded on the heavy outer door, and both men froze and glanced at each other. The knock was repeated. Instantly, Camber sat down and pulled a blanket over his lap, laying his head against the back of the chair and closing his eyes. Rhys, when he was certain that Camber was settled convincingly, crossed to the door.

  “Who’s there?”

  “Father Joram,” came the reply. “On official business.”

  Rhys shot the bolt and yanked the door open. Joram stood directly before the opening, his cowl pulled close about his golden head and shrouding his face in shadow. At his elbow and a pace behind stood what appeared to be another, younger monk, cowled head bowed and hands tucked piously inside t
he voluminous sleeves of a Michaeline habit. Had Rhys not known better, he would never have guessed that the monk was, in fact, his wife.

  He looked at Joram, very much aware, since Camber had pointed it out, that Dualta was on guard at the end of the corridor. As much for his own mind’s calming as to set the stage for Dualta’s belief, he spoke a little louder than was necessary, and with a little more formality than he might otherwise have used.

  “Father Joram, I wasn’t expecting you. The vicar general is resting.”

  Joram did not even blink. “I hope we won’t disturb him too much, Rhys. The father general asked to see this monk. It’s a minor matter of discipline, which should not tax him unduly.”

  Rhys glanced inside, as though confirming that the vicar general was, indeed, expecting the visitors, then stood aside to let them pass. As he closed the door, he saw that Dualta had turned his back and resumed a normal guard stance. That detail, at least, seemed to be taken care of.

  But there decorum ended. No sooner had Rhys slipped the bolt back in place than he was treated to the sight of his wife, cowl slipping back from tightly bound hair, dashing to embrace a white-faced man who nearly staggered with the exuberance of her greeting. Husband and brother watched indulgently for several seconds and then, as if by mutual assent, turned back to the door to determine how it might best be warded for the coming work. Father and daughter held each other wordlessly for several heartbeats, until her arms had confirmed what her heart had never doubted.

  “I knew you could not be dead!” she whispered fiercely, when at length they parted far enough to gaze into eyes made blurry by tears of joy. “I would have known! I surely would have known!”

  “I would have spared you if I could,” Camber murmured, holding her head close against his breast and touching her hair with his lips. “O my dearest child, how much I longed to spare you—but there seemed no other way. Rhys has told you something of what it was like.”

  “Aye, and that we can help you, Father,” she said, drawing away to look at him from head to toe again, though she still did not release his hands. “We are ready to do what must be done—all of us.”