And then it happened. For just an instant, he had the fleeting impression of another pair of hands on top of his, of another presence pouring through him, giving life and strength to the still form beneath his hands.
His eyes flicked open in astonishment. Derry had given a deep sigh. And now, his eyelids trembled and his breathing changed to that of deep sleep.
Fascinated, Morgan removed his hands from the young man's forehead and reached for the handkerchief covering the wound. He paused for just an instant, half-fearing to break the spell, then gingerly removed the handkerchief from the wound.
And die wound was gone, healed, vanished—without a scar or mark to show where it had been! Morgan stared at his hands in disbelief, then hastily checked Derry's bandaged wrist—that, too, healed! He rocked back on his heels, unable to accept what had just occurred.
And then a voice came from behind which turned his blood to ice, raised all the tiny hairs on the back of his neck.
"Well done, Morgan!" the voice said.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Even as father, so the Son.
MORGAN WHIRLED defensively on his haunches, half expecting to see the face of his vision again.
But it was no blond apparition of the long-dead Saint Camber who approached, but the smugly self-satisfied form of Bran Coris. With him, Ewan, Nigel, lan, and a score or more royal courtiers and noblemen strode hurriedly toward the scene of recent carnage. And behind them all came a thoroughly angry Jehana with a pair of her ladies. Bran Coris was the first to arrive.
"Ah, yes. Well done, indeed!" Bran continued. "You've finally finished the job, haven't you? Now you're the only man alive who knows what really happened on that long ride to Rhemuth!"
Morgan stood carefully as the others arrived and gathered in a knot behind Bran, forcing himself to relax and give a civil answer.
"Sorry to disappoint you, Lord Bran," he retorted, 189
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signalling one of the surgeons to come and care for Derry. "But he isn't dead. He has been knocked unconscious but not injured. No doubt an oversight of whoever masterminded this little spectacle tonight." Morgan had no intention of admitting to his new-found talent. It could only serve to arouse further fear and animosity.
Jehana pushed her way through the murmuring onlookers and came to a stop between Lord Ewan and the ever elegant lan. Morgan had never seen her look lovelier than she did at that moment, her long auburn. hair streaming down her back, and he regretted more than ever that he had never been able to make peace with Brion's proud Queen. She had thrown a pale mauve dressing gown over her sleeping garments, and that was clutched to her neck by a pale, slim hand which glittered with the jewels of Brion's ring.
"Your Majesty," Morgan bowed, trying to avoid further friction, "I regret the commotion, especially at this late hour. It was none of my doing."
Jehana's face went hard, and her eyes gleamed like green ice. "None of your doing? Morgan, do you take me for an idiot? Don't you think I know about that guard you murdered in my very house? I think you owe me an explanation before I have you arrested and executed for murder!"
. At that moment, Kelson appeared at the door, looking haggard and worn, but very determined.
"Morgan has given sufficient explanation for me, Mother," he said quietly, stepping out of his chambers to stand at Morgan's side. "And there will be no arrests or executions here without my direct order. Is that clear?"
All but Jehana bowed deferentially as Kelson approached, and the boy returned their questioning stares unflinchingly.
"Gentlemen, you wonder at this night's attempt on
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my life. So do I," he continued evenly. "And no doubt we shall all be satisfied as to the details in due time." His eyes swept his audience confidently. "But I warn you. Any further attempt to interfere with me in the next hours before my coronation will be considered treasonous, I shall tolerate no further questioning of either Morgan's loyalty or my judgement. Is that clear? Disobey me, and you shall learn just how well my father taught me to be King of Gwynedd."
The onlookers bowed in acknowledgment except for Jehana, who stood her ground and glared at Kelson.
"Would you defy me in something this important, Kelson?" she whispered. "Something I so strongly believe to be wrong?"
Kelson stood firm. "Go back to your chambers, Mother, please. I don't wish to argue with you in front of my court."
When she did not answer immediately, Kelson turned his attention to the guard captain, who had finished his search of the royal apartment and now assembled his men outside the door.
"Captain, I am retiring for the night—again. Will you please see that I am not disturbed? General Morgan will stay with me."
"Yes, Your Majesty," the captain said, snapping to attention.
"And to you, gentlemen, Mother," Kelson continued, "I shall see you all in the morning. In the meantime, I suggest we ah" get some rest. Tomorrow will be no ordinary day."
Pivoting precisely, he entered the apartment, Morgan close behind him, and the door bolt shot home with a note of finality.
The Queen, after a moment's hesitation, retired resignedly in the direction of her own apartments. And lan, following the departing group of courtiers and
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lords, motioned a guard to follow him as he headed down a side corridor.
As the door closed and bolted, Kelson finally collapsed under the strain, clutching at Morgan's elf ak as he crumpled in a limp heap at the general's feet. Morgan picked him up, scowling grimly as he carried the boy to the royal bed, and Duncan at last emerged from his hiding place on the balcony.
"Hmmm, it's cold out there," Duncan commented. Wowing on his hands as he approached the other side of the bed. "Is he all right?"
"He will be," Morgan said, loosening the boy's collar and beginning to unlace the red velvet doublet. "It cost him a lot to force himself back like that, though. I thought you said he'd sleep until morning."
Duncan felt the boy's forehead, then began unwrapping the wounded hand. "It's a good thing he didn't. You'd have had a hard time explaining things to those guards. It wasn't easy as it was."
He grunted approval, then rebandaged Kelson's hand. Morgan unfastened the boy's cloak and pulled it out from under him, then lifted his shoulders so Dun-can could remove the doublet. As he did, Kelson opened his eyes.
"Morgan? Father Duncan?" he questioned weakly.
"We're here, my prince," Morgan replied, laying the boy back on his pillows.
Kelson turned his head right and found Morgan.
"Morgan, did I do all right?" he asked, his voice almost a whisper. "I'm afraid I sounded rather pompous.**
"You did just fine,*' Morgan smiled. "Brion would have been proud of you."
Kelson smiled weakly and turned his eyes toward the ceiling. "I saw him, Morgan. And I heard his voice —before, I mean. He called my name, and then—" he
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turned his head toward Duncan. "It was like being wrapped in silk, or woven sunlight—no, moonlight. And there was someone else, too, Father Duncan. A man with a shining face and golden hair—but it wasn't you, Morgan. I remember, I was frightened, but then—"
"Hush, now, my prince," Morgan said, reaching across and placing his hand on the boy's forehead. "You must sleep now and rest. Sleep now, my prince. I won't be far away."
As he spoke, Kelson's eyelids fluttered briefly, then closed, and his breathing once again slowed to that of deep slumber. Morgan smiled and smoothed the tousled hair, then helped Duncan pull off the boy's boots. When they had covered him against the night's cold, Duncan blew out all but one of the lights in the sleeping area, then followed Morgan to the fireplace.
Morgan leaned his arms and forehead against the mantel and stared into the flames at his feet.
"Something strange is happening," Morgan whispered as Duncan ca
me up behind him. "I would be willing to bet that I know what other face Kelson saw during the ritual."
"Saint Camber?" Duncan replied. He stepped back and stood with hands clasped behind his back as Morgan raised his head to run a weary hand across his eyes.
"Yes," Morgan said. "And here's another thing that'll chill you to the soul. Derry was wounded out there in the corridor. He was near death when I reached him, with a hole in his side big enough to put your fist into. And I healed him!"
"You what?"
"I know, it sounds ridiculous," Morgan continued. "But I had this vague recollection about an ancient healing power that some Deryni were supposed to have had in the nether times. And some—wild hope, or something—I don't know—anyway, I had to try it. I
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didn't think it would work. How could it after so many years, in a Deryni half-breed who has never even been free to use the powers he has to the proper degree, much less...
"At any rate, I tried. I used my gryphon seal as a point of concentration, the same way I did when I was searching for clues in the library. I had my hands on his forehead, my eyes closed. And then, suddenly, I could feel another Presence with me, another pair of hands resting on mine, power surging through me, yet not really coming from me."
He paused and took a deep breath. "Duncan, I swear by all I hold sacred, I've never seen anything like it. As I opened my eyes—startled out of my wits, believe me—Deny started breathing normally, as though he were just asleep! I uncovered the wound, and it was gone! Vanished with a trace!"
Duncan was staring at his companion open-mouthed.
"I swear it, Duncan," he continued, almost to himself, "he was healed, completely, without a mark to show for it. Even his wrist was healed. I—" His voice faltered. "You're the expert on miracles, Father. Suppose you tell me what happened."
Duncan recovered his presence of mind sufficiently to close his mouth, then shook his head in disbelief. "I can't explain it, Alaric. You—you think it was the same Presence as hi your vision?"
Morgan rubbed his hand across his chin and shook his head. "I don't know. But it's as though someone's putting ideas in my head, ideas over which I have no real control. So far, they've been good ideas, but—hell, Duncan. Maybe we do have Camber of Culdi working for us. At this point, I'm ready to believe almost anything, no matter how farfetched." He crossed to the balcony doors and pulled aside the drapes, stood there looking out across the darkened city. "After all, what
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do a couple of half-breed Deryni know about anything?"
Duncan crossed to the doors and followed Morgan's gaze. "There's got to be some rational explanation, Alaric. Maybe it will all be clear once the power struggle is over."
Morgan nodded. "All right. Dismiss it that way if you like. I have another problem. Did anything else bother you about tonight?"
"You mean Lord Edgar's attack, or his turnabout accusations?"
"Neither," Morgan replied. "That Kelson was able to Truth-Read. I wish you'd told me you taught him to do that. It would have saved me a lot of worrying."
"Me?" Duncan answered, mystified. "You mean, you didn't teach him?"
Morgan let the drape fall back in place and turned to face Duncan aghast. "Surely you jest. I never—" he paused to think. "Is it possible that Brion taught him?"
"Out of the question," Duncan replied. "Brion wasn't Deryni, and only another Deryni could have taught him that."
"Has he ever seen you do it?" Morgan insisted.
"Never! I hadn't made any practical demonstrations to Kelson before today. Remember, he didn't even know what I was. Could he have seen you do it?"
"Of course he could have. Dozens of times. But without his father's powers, which he shouldn't be able to use yet. . . . Duncan, I've just had a harrowing thought. Is it possible the boy has Deryni blood?"
Duncan reflected. "I don't see how. Brion was full human. There's absolutely no doubt about that, so— you're not implying that Brion's not his father, are you? That's absurd."
Morgan shook his head distractedly. "No, Brion is his father, all right. You have only to look at him to see that. You don't suppose that Jehana . . ."
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His eyes narrowed suspiciously as his voice trailed off. He looked across at Duncan and was heartened to see that his cousin's reaction mirrored his own.
Duncan let out a long sigh of disbelief and shook his head. "The Queen a Deryni? It would certainly explain a lot, if true: her hypersensitivity about Brion's powers, her adamant stand against you, outwardly based on religious fervor.... Do you suppose she realizes?"
"Maybe not," Morgan said thoughtfully. "You know as well as I how dangerous it can be to be Deryni. I'm sure there have been many Deryni in the past five or six generations who decided it was safest not to tell their children what they were. And in a world where civil and ecclesiastical law forbid dabbling in the arcane, how are you going to find out? If you've got the Deryni capability and know it, that's one thing. You can always find someone to guide you in its development if you look hard enough.
"But if you don't know what you are, and such queries are highly frowned upon, to say the least, there's not much you can do, is there? I'm not saying that was the case with Jehana, but you can see how easily we could have missed it all these years. There are probably thousands of Deryni who don't know what they are."
"I can't argue with that," Duncan agreed. "Anyway, if Jehana is Deryni, that might give us just the edge we need for tomorrow. At least if we've somehow ruined the ritual sequence, there's no telling what Kelson may have on tap from his own resources. Tonight was a splendid example."
Morgan shook his head. "I still don't like it Kelson's totally untrained. His proficiency was supposed to come with the acquisition of Brion's powers." He paused. "I wonder if even Brion suspected what he was leaving in our laps. At this point, I'm not sure whether to look on it as a curse or a blessing."
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Duncan smiled and crossed back to the fireplace. "Did we accept Brion's charge because we thought it -would be easy? Or because we loved Brion, love his son—and because it's right?"
Morgan chuckled softly. "All right, Father. No sermons, please. I think you know that my motives match yours rather precisely." He clenched his hands together, unconsciously rubbing the gryphon signet with his thumb. "But you must admit, there's suddenly a whole new flock of variables. Kelson's own possible powers; Jehana—can she stand idly by and watch her son die? And now, a traitor in our very midst, it seems."
"A traitor—?"
"In the palace, at least. And evidently fairly highly placed. You don't think Charissa set up that Edgar episode herself, do you? She's got someone else working with her, all right."
"Well, since you're itemizing, here's something else to worry about," Duncan said. "Suppose Charissa beats Kelson tomorrow?—and it could happen if all our parameters go against us. What happens to Kelson? What happens to the kingdom? And what bap-pens to all those who supported Kelson and Brion, like you?"
"And you, Cousin," Morgan countered, raising an eyebrow. "If Charissa wins, that collar of yours won't be much protection. As Kelson's confessor and my kinsman, you were doubly damned from the start. And your necessary part in tomorrow's festivities will only seal your fate."
"Afraid?" Duncan smiled.
"Hell, yes!" Morgan snorted. "I'd be a fool not to be—and I hope I haven't reached that stage yet. Anyway, we won't solve anything else by further speculation tonight. I don't know about you, but I'm asleep on my feet."
"Amen to that!" Duncan agreed. "Not only that, but
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I'm not even supposed to be here. If I hurry, I might be able to get back before I'm missed. Somehow, I don't think my esteemed Archbishop would approve of what I've been up to tonight." He glanced across at the sleeping Kelson, then
moved toward the hidden door. "I think I've used more power today than I have in the past ten years!"
"It's good for you. You should do it more often," Morgan grinned, opening the passage and handing Duncan a lighted candle from the mantel.
Duncan's priestly half told him he should ignore the remark, but he could not restrain a small smile as he stepped into the passageway.
"Is there anything you need?" he asked, pausing in the opening. "Kelson should sleep until dawn, but . . ."
"That's what you said the last tune!" Morgan snorted softly.
"Now, Alaric, you know that wasn't my fault," Duncan whispered in a mock-serious tone. "Besides, I would think you've entertained enough guests for tonight. I'm too tired for any more parties!"
Before Morgan could frame a suitable reply, Dun-can had turned and disappeared down the dark stairway. Morgan shook his head and chuckled in appreciation, then closed the hidden door securely. He stared at it absently for a long moment, then turned back to the fireplace.
It had been a long day—a long two weeks. And though the end was now in sight, he knew that the most difficult time was still to come.
He rubbed a weary hand across his eyes and tried to make himself put the worries from his mind. If he was going to be any help to Kelson in the morning, he would have to get some sleep.
He pulled the overstuffed chair from in front of the fireplace to a spot by Kelson's bed, then unclasped his
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cloak and sank down wearily in the soft cushions. As he touched the chair, a wave of lethargy surrounded him, urging sleep and rest. It was all he could do to " make himself pull off his boots and drag the sable-lined cloak over him as a makeshift blanket before sleep claimed him at last.
As consciousness faded, he was dimly aware that Kelson still slept soundly, that all was as it should be in the still, dark chamber, that he would reawaken instantly if anything in that situation should change.
That settled, he slept.
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