Deryni Rising

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Deryni Rising Page 11

by Katherine Kurtz


  No one moved or spoke as Kelson finished his speech. They simply watched, dumbstruck, as Kelson motioned Derry to approach him. As Derry reached his side, Kelson picked up Morgan's sword and held it in front of Derry, hilt uppermost.

  "Scan Lord Derry, do you swear by this cross that you will render true and loyal service in this Royal Council?"

  Derry dropped to one knee and placed his hand on the hilt of the sword. "I do solemnly swear it, my Liege."

  Kelson lowered the sword, and Deny got to his feet. "And how say you in the matter now at hard, my Lord Derry?" Kelson asked. "Is Morgan guilty, or no?"

  Derry glanced triumphantly at Morgan, then faced Kelson. His voice was clear and steady. "Lord Alaric is innocent, Your Majesty!"

  "Innocent," Kelson repeated, savoring the word. "Which brings us to a vote of six to six—another tie vote." He looked at his mother, who still had not moved from her huddled position in her chair. "I hereby declare Lord Alaric Anthony Morgan, Duke of

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  Corwyn and Lord General of the Royal Annies, innocent of the charges which have been set out against him. If after tomorrow anyone wishes to reopen proceedings, and can produce definite proof, I will entertain such action. In the meantime, this Council stands adjourned."

  With that, he whipped Morgan's dagger from his belt and cut the general's bonds. Then, after returning Morgan's sword, he bowed curtly to the stunned Council and swept out of the chamber, Morgan and Deny at his heels.

  Silence persisted only until the doors had closed le-hind Kelson and his colleagues. Then the room erupted into loud discussion and argument. There was no doubt that what Kelson had done was legal, but it had been a totally unexpected coup. To the assembled Council Lords and other noblemen, it had been a feat worthy of Brion at his very best and most cunning. There were mixed emotions as to whether that was a good thing or not, for there had been many who had chafed under Brion's rule.

  There was no ambivalence in Jehana, though. For her, what had started out as a certain victory against the impetuous Derynj had become a shambles, a resounding defeat of everything she had hoped for Kelson.

  Her nails punched little half-moon depressions in the palms of her hands as she clenched and unclenched her fists in dismay.

  Morgan was free.

  And worse, Kelson had stood before the Council and defied her—not with childish threats and impotent taunts, but with decisive, adult action. It was a development Jehana had not been prepared for, and it bothered her even more, perhaps, than Morgan's freedom. If only Kelson had shown some indecision, some sign of doubt in the proud Deryni he defended so avidly,

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  there might have been a chance she could still get through to him. But now that Kelson was King in fact as well as hi name—a development she hadn't even considered before—how could she possibly lure him away from Morgan's evil influence?

  From across the room, lan watched the confusion with interest. It was difficult to form any concrete conclusions in the chaos following Kelson's stormy exit, but lan had the distinct impression that the boy had scored points with more than one of the Lords who had opposed him earlier. Even Rogier and Bran Coris' outraged comments were tinged with a healthy portion of respect. And that would never do. Though lan had been forced to concede this particular encounter to Kelson and the proud Deryni half-breed, he had no intention of losing the entire war.

  In truth, lan had never really expected to win this round. He had suspected when Morgan entered the chamber in custody that the man had some plan in mind. Morgan would never have allowed himself to be taken if there had been the slightest doubt that he could escape where and when he chose.

  But he didn't think the encounter had gone precisely the way the general had expected. He was almost certain that Kelson's coup had been a spur of the moment affair. For surely, even this precocious boy-king could not have seriously expected to find so pat an escape clause, to have Morgan legally walk out a free man.

  Yes, there was no doubt about it. Kelson had not acted according to prediction, and that bore closer watching. It would never do to underestimate Brion's son at this late date. And in the meantime, there was much to be done. With Morgan once again a free agent, it would not hurt to continue blackening the already infamous name—a pursuit lan frankly relished. And Charissa must be informed of the afternoon's momentous turn of events.

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  Taking leave of Bran Coris and Rogier, lan slipped out of the noisy Council chamber and proceeded toward the barracks area of the palace compound. He had a pretty piece of work ahead of him this afternoon, and there was no sense hi delaying.

  Morgan clapped his hands together with glee as he, Kelson, and Derry hurried across the inner courtyard toward the royal apartments,

  "Kelson, you were magnificent!" he said, throwing an affectionate arm around the boy's shoulders. "Your performance hi there was worthy of Brion at his very best. I think you even took me by surprise."

  "Did I really?" Kelson asked delightedly. He was grinning from ear to ear as he glanced behind to see if they were being followed, and then he had to skip a few steps to catch up again. Several guards had been watching them rather curiously, but as far as he could tell, there was no one headed in their direction.

  "I don't know about you," the boy continued, **but I was terrified the entire time. I nearly had heart failure when the bells tolled four instead of three."

  Morgan snorted. "Be glad it wasn't the other way around. Think how foolish you would have looked if the bells had tolled only two."

  Kelson rolled his eyes. "I thought of that."

  "And another thing," Morgan continued. "Not to belittle Derry's new appointment, but once you declared yourself of age, you didn't have to go through all that hocus-pocus of appointing a new Council Lord and retallying the vote. You could simply have overruled them."

  "I know," Kelson replied. "But it's a bit of a face-saver for them, don't you think? I mean, at least they can't say I dictated an arbitrary decision in this case. We stayed within regular legislative channels."

  "A prudent move," Morgan agreed. "And all in all,

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  Td say there was enough excitement to suit even my tastes. Living dangerously is a very good thing, but—"

  "If you ask me," Derry interrupted, "I could've done with a lot less excitement, M'lord. I would've been perfectly happy to know in advance that everything was going to turn out all right."

  Kelson laughed as they started up the stairs to his apartments. "I'm afraid I have to agree with Derry. I wasn't exactly the most confident I've ever been." He glanced aside at Morgan. "By the way, don't you think we ought to get word to Father Duncan? You did promise to let him know what happened."

  "So I did," Morgan nodded. "Derry, would you mind going to Saint Hilary's and telling Duncan what's happened? Tell him we're all right, but that we're going to try to get some sleep the rest of the afternoon."

  "Aye, M'lord," Derry said. "Shall I come back here when I'm finished?"

  Morgan nodded. "But get some rest, too. Til want you to command the guard outside Kelson's apartments through the night, if you don't mind. I know I can trust you."

  "I hear and obey, M'lord," Derry replied with a grin. "And do try to stay alive until I can get back to guard you."

  Morgan could only smile and shake his head as Derry disappeared from view.

  lan had nearly reached his destination deep in the heart of the palace. Down several flights of stairs, through a wide subterranean vault used as a training area for swordplay, through the corridor skirting the armory and beyond to the storage area he sped, his catlike tread smooth and silent on the cold stone flooring. His eyes glittered dark and dangerous as he passed guard post after guard post, always unchallenged. lan was known here.

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  He finally came to a halt jus
t before the intersection of another minor corridor and rested his hand on the hilt of his sword to silence it, then inched his way forward until he could peek around the corner.

  Good. The guard was there, just as lan had hoped

  he would be.

  Smiling grimly to himself, he slipped around the corner and glided up to the guard. The man did not see him until he was already alongside, no more than two feet away, and he started. "M'lord! Is anything wrong?"

  "No, of course not," lan replied, raising one slim eyebrow in feigned innocence. "Should there be?"

  The guard relaxed slightly, then grinned. "No, M'lord," he replied rather sheepishly. "It's just that you startled me. People don't generally come down this far unless there is something wrong."

  lan smiled. "No, I don't suppose they do," he said, raising his right hand and extending a forefinger in front of the man's eyes. "What's your name, guard?"

  The man's eyes moved involuntarily to the finger,

  and he stammered slightly. "Michael DeForest, M'lord.'*

  "Michael DeForest," lan nodded, slowly moving his

  finger toward the man's face. "Do you see my finger,

  Michael?"

  "A—aye, M'lord," Michael stammered. His eyes followed the finger as it approached, unable to break their stare. "M'lord, I—what are you doing?"

  "Just follow my finger, Michael," lan murmured, his voice low and slightly menacing in the stillness, "and you will go—to—sleep."

  As he spoke the last word "sleep," his forefinger touched the man's forehead lightly between the eyes, and the eyes fluttered closed. A low muttered phrase deepened the trance, and then lan reached out calmly and removed the man's spear from his hand, resting it against the wall.

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  After glancing around to be sure no one had approached in the meantime, he backed the man a few paces so that he, too, stood against the wall. Then he placed his fingertips on the man's temples and closed his eyes.

  Presently, a pale blue aura began to crackle around lan, gradually extending itself from his head, down his body and legs, along his arms and into his hands. Nor did it stop there, but continued to engulf the head of the guard. As the sparkling net of light touched the man's head, he shuddered, as though to make one last effort to break away from the unholy bond which was being formed, then relaxed as the aura extended itself over the rest of his body. When both men were engulfed in the pale fire, lan spoke.

  "Charissa?"

  There was no sound but the breathing of the two men for a moment: lan's light and controlled; the guard's quick, shallow, labored. Then the man's lips began to tremble.

  "Charissa, do you hear me?"

  The man's voice whispered, "I hear."

  lan smiled slightly and he spoke again in a low, conversational tone, his eyes still closed. "Good. I'm afraid I have some disappointing news, my love. Our Council ploy failed, as expected. Kelson declared himself of age, appointed a new Council Lord to fill Ral-son's place, then broke the ensuing tie by royal prerogative. There was nothing I could do. And I'm sure you know the Stenrect attempt was unsuccessful."

  "I heard it die," the man's voice replied. "What of Morgan now?"

  lan pursed his lips wistfully. "I'm not sure. He and Kelson have gone off to Kelson's apartments for the night. Our young princeling appears to be taking no chances of anything else happening to his champion. But just so they don't get into any mischief, I've a few

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  diversionary tactics planned which should occupy some of their valuable time and energy between now and tomorrow morning. Agreed?"

  "Very well," the man's voice whispered.

  "Aren't you even going to ask what I have in mind?" lan persisted.

  For the first time, there was a trace of emotion in the man's voice as Charissa answered. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?" There was an edge of sarcasm to the question. "Another chance to boast of your cleverness, no doubt." There was a pause. "No matter. If you have things to do, you'd best end this communication before you tire yourself and drain your subject beyond recovery. He can't keep this up forever, you

  know."

  lan smiled once more, "As you wish, my pet," he said calmly, "though I don't really think your concern will help our medium, here. I have special plans for him. Good hunting, Charissa."

  "And you," the voice replied.

  With that, the light surrounding lan and the guard died, and lan dropped his hands to his sides, shook his head slightly as he opened his eyes. His subject slumped slightly against the wall as he was released, but still could not seem to force his eyes to stay open. lan still maintained control.

  lan glanced around again, then took the man's arm and guided him back to his post.

  "M'lord, I—," the man mumbled, shaking his head to try to clear it. "What's happened? What are you... ?"

  "Never mind, Michael," lan replied, reaching down to his boot top and withdrawing a slim dagger. "You'll hardly feel a thing."

  As the man saw the flash of steel, he mustered his last remaining strength, struggled weakly to pull away from lan's grip. But it was no use. His resistance was

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  gone. Dumbly, he stood where Tan placed him, watched helplessly as the gleaming blade approached.

  With clinical detachment, lan opened the front of the m^n's mail-lined leather jerkin and placed the point of his dagger against the man's chest, just left of center. Then he slipped the blade home with a lightning thrust, sliding the blade deftly between two ribs to pierce the heart.

  As lan withdrew the weapon, the man's eyes glazed and he sank to the floor with a stifled moan. Blood gushed crimson from the wound, running down his side to form an ever widening pool beside him. But still the heart continuted to beat, the tortured lungs pumped air to prolong the agony.

  lan frowned as he crouched down beside the dying man. It had not been a clean kill—a mistake Morgan would never have made. And worse, now he would have to finish the man on the ground.

  He chewed his lip thoughtfully as be studied the man, then quickly reinserted his dagger in the original wound and gave it a precise twist. This time when he withdrew the blade, the heart stopped. The lungs ceased their heaving. The man was dead.

  With a grunt of satisfaction, lan wiped his dagger clean on the edge of the man's cloak, then turned the body slightly on its side, being careful not to disturb the widening pool of blood. Then, taking the man's hand hi his, he dipped the dead fingers in the blood and smeared a rough outline on the clean stone by the man's head—the outline of a gryphon.

  He stood to survey his work and nodded approvingly, slipping his dagger back into its boot sheath as he checked his clothing for any telltale signs of the deed he had just done. Then he placed the dead guard's spear alongside the body, surveyed the scene a final time, and turned to make his way away from there.

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  Now, if some of Morgan's vassals should just happen to stumble onto the murder later that night, there was little doubt in lan's mind what they would think. A cold-blooded murder, on top of all the other accusations against the Deryni general, should be all that was necessary to trigger the men to rebel against their liege lord. And lan would be sure that the men found the

  corpse.

  And if Kelson should also fall in the ensuing scuffle? Jan shrugged contentedly. Ah, how very unfortunate.

  CHAPTER Six

  And a voice shall speak from legend.

  As THE VESPER chimes finished their pealing in the distance, Morgan awoke with a start, simultaneously aware of the place, the time—much later than he had planned—and the fact that he was cold. The fire before him had burned down to nothing but embers, and a glance to the left confirmed his suspicion both that the balcony doors were still open and that a storm was brewing. No wonder the room was freezing.

  With a low grunt, he heaved himself out of the over
-stuffed chair which had been his bed for the past three hours and half-staggered to the balcony doors. It was very quiet outside, and quite dark for so early in the evening, the air heavy, oppressive, charged with the energy of the coming storm. It would undoubtedly rain, and possibly snow, before midnight—which was just about what one might expect of a night in which he obviously had so much to do.

  Wearily, Morgan closed the glass-paned doors, 119

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  paused for a moment with his hands on the latch, his forehead against the doors, eyes closed.

  He was so tired—God! how tired he was! The bone-weariness of a week's hard ride, the afternoon's tension, had hardly been dented by the few hours' sleep he'd had. And there was still so much to be done, so little time. Even now, he should be downstairs in Brion's library, searching for some clue which might make tonight's task a little more bearable.

  It wasn't really that he expected to find anything. Brion had been much too cautious to leave anything of major import lying around where just anyone might stumble onto it. But there might be some small telltale sign. He had to look. And before he could do anything, he must see to Kelson's safety while he was gone.

  Straightening with an effort, he stared for a moment at the closed doors before him, as though gathering his strength, then rubbed his left hand lightly across his eyes, willing the weariness to vanish. The ploy worked, as usual, though Morgan realized he couldn't keep it up indefinitely. Sooner or later, he would have to get some sleep, or he'd be no good to anyone. Perhaps tonight, after they were finished.

  He pulled heavy blue satin drapes across the double doors, then crossed briskly back to the fireplace and added wood to the fire. After a few minutes, when it was blazing strongly again, he scanned the room in the dim firelight, finally spotting what he searched for.

  Over against the wall by the door, he saw his black saddlebags, brought up by Derry after the Council meeting. He dragged the saddlebags over by the fire and hastily unbuckled the clasp of the lighter side, felt the smooth whorls of intricately tooled leather beneath his finger as he opened the pouch.

 

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