Nodding, Javan let himself be ushered into the Portal cubicle, his mind churning with a dozen unasked questions. He forced himself to still them as Tavis stepped into place behind him, though, for he knew he must clear his mind for the Healer to take him wherever they were going tonight.
“It’s the Michaeline sanctuary, this time,” Tavis whispered in his left ear, answering that question, at least. He set the end of his stump just beneath that ear as his other arm encircled Javan’s shoulders, the vee of his thumb and fingers lightly bracketing Javan’s throat over the pressure points at the carotid arteries. “Now, am I going to have to take control, or can you give it up this time?”
Closing his eyes, Javan took a long, deep breath and let it out softly, ignoring the sour stench of urine, feeling himself begin to center. He still had not learned to like Portal travel, especially from this Portal.
“I think I can do it, but I’m not proud. Help me out, if you need to.”
Tavis’ answering breath, in and out, helped Javan go deeper as well, and he felt his link with Tavis open even wider, faintly sensed the tingle of the Portal under their feet; but he knew he was still too slow for Tavis.
Just a little help, this time, came Tavis’ thought, softly flowing into his mind. We mustn’t be here too long.
Resigned, Javan gave up trying and bowed his head a little, welcoming the blacker darkness that rose behind his eyes as Tavis compressed the pressure points. A ghost of awareness still played at the edges of his mind as Tavis wrenched the energies, though, and Javan recovered almost immediately as the Healer released him in another Portal chamber that did not reek of the garderobe.
“Well done,” the other murmured, pushing open a panel that opened into a dimly lit corridor. “If you hadn’t still been a bit shaken up from tackling the good Norris, I think you could have done it on your own that time. What am I going to do with you?”
Javan grinned as he followed the Healer into the corridor.
“Keep teaching me how to do better, I hope,” he said. He sobered quickly, however, as he remembered the ill news he had brought. “I—don’t think I’ll be much use as a student tonight, though. Did you know that the regents—that they’ve killed Father Alister and Jebediah?”
Tavis stopped stock-still in the corridor and threw back his head to take a deep breath and let it out explosively.
“So, the news has finally reached Valoret, has it? I’ll bet the regents loved that!”
“Oh. You already knew.”
Sighing, Tavis nodded, not looking at the prince.
“We buried them with Rhys, a few days ago. Evaine and Joram brought the bodies through, after they got the Portal at Saint Mary’s working.” He glanced aside at Javan, still bitter in his own sense of loss. “Would you like to pay your respects?”
“Yes, I would,” Javan said in a small, quiet voice.
“All right. We’ll have to see if Queron’s finished in the chapel, first. He was working a ritual in there, earlier, but I don’t think he meant to be long.”
The chapel door was standing open when they reached it, however, and Queron nowhere to be seen, though the small table Tavis had noticed earlier was still there, empty now. A Presence Lamp above the altar and a rack of votives to the left were the only light.
Standing aside for Javan to enter, Tavis directed him across the Kheldish carpet to a row of three marble plaques set into the wall to the right of the altar. A strip of parchment had been wedged into the crack at the top joining of each, and Javan’s eyes blurred with tears for the second time that night as he laid a reverent finger under the nearest one and tilted it toward the light of silvery handfire that Tavis conjured.
Rhys Malachy Thuryn, Healer, 877–917. “For of the Most High Cometh Healing,” Javan read.
The second slip was Jebediah’s: Lord Jebediah of Alcara, Knight and Grand Master of the Order of Saint Michael, 861–918. “With the blessed Archangel, he shall stand at the right side of the altar of incense, defending the Light”.
“There hasn’t been time yet to have the markers carved,” Tavis said quietly, nudging his handfire to follow as Javan moved to the third strip of parchment. “Nor are the texts completely decided yet.”
Alister Kyriell Cullen, Archbishop of Valoret, Bishop of Grecotha, Chancellor of Gwynedd, Vicar General of the Order of Saint Michael, Priest and Knight, 838–918. “Nunc dimittis, Domine …”
“Nunc dimittis,” Javan read aloud, recognizing the quotation. “Lord, now lettest Thou Thy servant depart in peace.”
Tavis nodded. “Bishop Niallan suggested the texts. Evaine isn’t entirely happy with them, though, so she’s looking for some better ones.” He glanced at his feet. “I’ll—leave you with them for a few minutes, if you wish.”
He moved silently toward the door at Javan’s stricken nod, quenching the still-hovering handfire as an afterthought, but the prince paid it and him no further mind. Sinking heavily to his knees, Javan buried his face in his hands and began to weep, thin shoulders shaking silently. Tavis paused uneasily in the doorway and watched for a few seconds, debating whether he really ought to leave Javan totally alone, then turned to see Queron watching both him and Javan.
He’s only just learned, has he? Queron sent, laying a sympathetic hand on Tavis’ arm.
Aye, Tavis returned. A few hours ago, actually. He knew about Rhys, of course, but I gather that news of Alister and Jebediah has only just reached court.
Well, perhaps it’s best he goes ahead and works out his grief. The poor lad must have gone through hell, having to hear that news in open court and not react the way he really felt. He seems quite unsettled.
With an ironic little smile, despite his sympathy for Javan, Tavis moved himself and Queron farther into the hallway and turned to look squarely at the older Healer, though he left the door ajar.
I’ll tell you what’s probably got him at least as unsettled as his grief, he sent. Let me show you what he did to the poor, unwitting guard who happened to be lurking inconveniently where Javan was supposed to wait for me …
When the older Healer had assimilated the report of Javan’s work on the hapless Norris, he cocked his head and raised a half-disbelieving eyebrow.
But, that’s a Deryni ability. Where in God’s name did he learn to do that?
I’m not sure what role God had to play in it, Tavis replied, but shall we ask Javan?
I think we certainly should, came Queron’s reply.
They gave Javan a few more minutes, waiting until they saw him sit back on his heels and begin wiping at his eyes with his sleeve. When the snuffling sounds subsided, Tavis cleared his throat discreetly and pushed the door wider again, Queron at his side as he went back into the chapel. The boy looked up at their approach, awkwardly getting to his feet as he saw that Tavis was not alone.
“It’s—Dom Queron, isn’t it?” the prince murmured, eying the newcomer’s white robes uncertainly. “I believe we met—last year sometime, wasn’t it?” he finished lamely, apparently not wanting to call attention to the fact that it had been after Tavis’ injury, when both he and Tavis had been afraid of the elder Healer’s visit.
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 betray
ed. “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.”
CHAPTER FIVE
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?”
The Harrowing of Gwynedd Page 7
