Morgan had no particular qualms about the duel. He was a superb swordsman and knew it. He had never lost a battle in his adult life, and he didn't intend to start now. Still, the uncertainty of lan's skill and finesse warranted a cautious approach until he knew better what kind of swordsman he was up against. He must win this battle for Kelson, no matter what Whatever the price, he would pay it
They had circled long enough. With a savage lunge, lan sought to penetrate Morgan's defenses in the crucial first seconds of the duel But Morgan was not fooled. Parrying nimbly, he avoided lan's blade with ease, tried an attack of his own, then withdrew slightly as he realized it would not, indeed, be an easy fight. Patiently, he threw up a singing net of steel around himself, easily parrying each of lan's renewed attacks as he studied the Earl's technique.
Suddenly, he saw what he had been looking for and switched immediately to a special offensive maneuver he had been saving for just such a moment His stroke cut lan's fine velvet doublet and pinked his opponent in the right shoulder, and the Earl jumped back for
just an instant.
lan was furious at being touched. Though he had always concealed the fact, he considered himself an excellent swordsman. That his maiden battle in public should be marked by a wound, however slight, was Something he had not bargained for. He didn't like it
at an.
Flinging himself headlong into the foray, lan returned to the duel, battling now with emotions rather
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than reason, as Morgan had hoped he would. Finally, he took too long a chance, left himself wider open than he should have. Even as he parried Morgan's first thrust, the general's riposte left him open on the right, find Morgan's blade found a deep sheath in his side.
As the sword drooped in lan's hand and his face drained of color, Morgan withdrew his blade and stepped back. lan tottered for a moment, surprise and fear flashing from his eyes, then sank to the floor, sword clattering from paralyzed fingers. As his eyes closed, Morgan tossed his head contemptuously and wiped his blade on lan's golden cloak, then turned to stroll calmly toward Charissa, sword still in hand.
Charissa's eyes flashed angrily as Morgan approached, but she knew he could not detect what she had seen—a slight movement of the man on the floor behind him.
"Who now is ruler of Gwynedd?" Morgan taunted, levelling his sword at her throat.
Behind him, Charissa saw a hand move, saw the flash of lan's favorite dagger as it sailed from lan's cocked fist. Her fingers were already moving in a rapid spell as someone yelled, "Morgan!"
As Morgan whirled, the dagger was already in the air, and he squirmed to avoid its shining blade. But even as he tried to dodge, the chain of office around his neck suddenly seemed to move slightly, to coil itself around his neck and choke him, to throw him off balance.
Then the blade was deep in his shoulder and he was stumbling, sword falling from fire-laced fingers to clang on the marble floor with a discordant sound.
As he sank to one knee, Duncan and a pair of other priests rushed to his side. Morgan wrenched the chain of office from his neck with his good hand and flung it across the floor at Charissa, then grimaced against the pain as Duncan and the priests helped him back to the
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sanctuary and eased him down on the steps. Charissa began to laugh.
"Yes, who now is ruler of Gwynedd, my proud friend?" she taunted, as she strolled easily to where lan still writhed on the floor. "I had thought you better trained than to turn your back on a wounded enemy."
As Kelson, Nigel, and other of Morgan's friends gathered around the wounded general, Charissa glanced down at lan and prodded him with her toe. When he gave a low moan, she stooped over to look him in the eye.
"Well done, lan," she whispered. "What a pity you won't be here to see the outcome of our little conspiracy. Your hurt is too great, and I have neither the time nor the spare power to save you."
lan grimaced with the pain, tried to protest. "Charissa, you promised! You said I would rule Corwyn, that we would—"
"I am sorry, my dear, but you didn't quite succeed, did you? A pity, too. You were good at so many other things."
"Charissa, please—M
Charissa put her fingers across his lips. "Now, you know I detest pleading. I can't help you, and that's that. And you can't help yourself either, can you, poor little mortal? I shall miss you, lan—even though you did think to defeat me eventually."
As lan tried to speak again, his eyes wide with horror that she knew what he had thought secret, Charis-sa's other hand moved in another spell. For a few seconds, lan struggled to breathe, his hand clutching at her cloak in desperation. Then he relaxed, the life gone. Casually, Charissa stood up again.
"Well, Kelson?" she said, the edge of mockery in her voice. "It appears our little duel has decided nothing. My Champion is dead—granted—but yours is so
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sorely wounded, his fate too is doubtful. It appears I must rechallenge you if I'm to gain satisfaction."
Morgan glanced up sharply at those words, winced as the movement caused him considerable pain. Beads of perspiration dotted his upper lip as Duncan probed the wound with gentle fingers, and Morgan motioned Kelson to lean down closer. Kelson gathered his resplendent crimson cloak over his left arm and knelt by Morgan's side, his eyes grave with concern for the wounded man.
"Kelson," Morgan murmured through clenched teeth, gasping again as Duncan withdrew the dagger and began to bind up the wound. "Kelson, be careful. She'll try to trick you. Your only hope now is to play for time, try to find the key to your own powers. I'm convinced it's got to be here somewhere. We've simply overlooked it."
'Til try, Alaric," Kelson said.
"I wish we could have helped you more, my prince," Morgan continued. He sank back weakly, half-fainting, and Kelson reached across to touch his hand reassuringly.
"Don't worry."
Kelson stood up, let the crimson velvet of the state cloak fall properly from where it had been gathered over his arm. He felt all eyes on him as he walked the few steps back to the center of the chancel stairs, sensed rather than saw the archbishops and bishops move out of the way behind him, clearing a space around him for the battle they expected to follow next.
He glanced around the nave, noting the tense faces in the congregation, the menace of the armed men still standing in the aisle behind Charissa, caught the wave of quiet confidence coming from Nigel, standing there beside his mother—and Jehana, pale and taut in the awful silence, her hands clenched stiffly at her sides, her eyes feverish, pleading.
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"Well, Kelson?" Charissa's low voice echoed through the nave, reverberated in the hushed sanctuary. "You seem to be hesitating, my precocious princeling. What can the matter be?" Her full lips curved in a sneer.
Kelson returned her gaze levelly. "It would be best you left now, Charissa," he said quietly. "Our Champion lives, and has defeated yours. Your claim has not been upheld."
Cbarissa laughed mirthlessly, then shook her head. "I'm afraid it isn't that easy, Kelson. If it wasn't clear, I am rechallenging you to mortal combat here and now —a trial by magic, which is what I wanted from the start, as you're well aware." There was an awed mujr-muring from the assembly behind her. "You can't avoid it that easily. Your father would have known what I'm talking about."
Kelson flushed slightly, but managed to keep his face impassive. "Our father, through necessity, was more accustomed to killing, Charissa. In that, we will admit, we are not experienced. But there has been enough of killing in the past weeks. We would not willingly add you to that list of the dead."
"Ah," Charissa nodded approvingly, "the Son of the Lion is full of bluster, like his father." She smiled slowly. "But I think the resemblance ends there, perhaps; that our young prince speaks bolder words than he means. One might almost believe he had the power to back
up his boldness." Her icy gaze swept him from head to toe and back again. "But of course, we all know that Brion's power died with him on the field of Candor Rhea."
Kelson held his ground. "Did it, Charissa? Did it die?"
Charissa shrugged noncdrnmittally. "Did it? You tell me."
"Are you willing to take the gamble that it did?"
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Kelson continued shrewdly. "Our father defeated yours and stripped him of his power. It is reasonable to assume that if we hold King Brion's power, we hold also the secret of yours. And in that case, you would meet the fate of your infamous sire."
"// you hold that power," Charissa agreed. "But 7 killed Brion. I think that might just alter the odds, don't you?"
Jehana could no longer restrain herself.
"No!" she cried, running out into the open space between her son and the Deryni sorceress. "No, you can't! Not Kelson! Not Kelson too!
She stood protectively between the two and glared at Charissa, and the sorceress stared back at her for a moment and then laughed.
"Ah, my poor Jehana," she cooed. "It's too late for that now, my dear. It became too late many years ago when you renounced the better part of yourself and settled for being only human. The matter is out of your hands now. Stand aside."
Jehana drew herself up to her full height, and her smoky green eyes grew darker, glittered with a strange light.
"You shall not destroy my son, Charissa!" she whispered icily. "Though I journey even to the gates of Hell, you shall not have him, as God is my witness!"
As Charissa broke into a derisive laugh, Jehana suddenly seemed to blur slightly. The stunned Kelson had been about to seize his mother's arm and remove her from the path of danger, but now he found himself unable to approach closer. As Jehana raised her hands and pointed toward Charissa, long sparks of golden light streamed from her fingertips toward the fearful woman in grey. Suddenly, all the unleashed power of a full Deryni lashed out at the Shadowed One, guided only by the despair of a mother who must try to save her only child, whatever the personal consequences.
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But Jehana's power was untrained. The long denial of her Deryni heritage so many years before had left her unskilled in its use, unable to adequately control it or use it to best advantage. And Charissa, in her evil, was all that Jehana had denied herself—full Deryni sorceress, skilled in her art, in complete control of an arsenal of power so great, Jehana had probably never even dreamed of its extent.
Consequently, Charissa was not disturbed by the attack. She recovered immediately from the initial onslaught and wove a defensive net around herself which repelled anything Jehana could summon. Then she began to concentrate on destroying this bastard Deryni who dared to challenge her powers.
The air between the two women glowed. The air crackled as fantastic power was launched and neutralized. Kelson watched wide-eyed as his mother held her own against Charissa for a time. But meanwhile, Duncan and Morgan had already spotted the trap Charissa was laying, and they worked feverishly to deflect the killing force Charissa now directed at her royal adversary.
Then it was over. With a little cry, Jehana crumpled softly to the floor to lie like a sleeping child on the rich carpet of the steps. As Kelson scrambled to her side, Duncan was already kneeling beside her, feeling for a pulse, his mouth going grim and tense as he found what he feared.
With a worried shake of his head he motioned Nigel and Ewan to move her gently to the side, and faint energy crackled lightly around her as they took her to safety. As Duncan helped Kelson to his feet, the boy turned wide, dreading eyes on the priest, and Duncan shook his head.
"She's not dead," the priest whispered, so that only Kelson could hear. "Alaric and 1 were able to deflect
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the worst of the power." He glanced aside at where Morgan lay, then let his eyes touch on Jehana.
"As far as I can tell, she's in a binding trance controlled by Charissa. She'll be all right if we can break it. But other than that, only Charissa can release her —either by will, or by her own death. Since the first is unlikely, I'm afraid you're going to have to try for the second. So now you have something else to fight for."
Kelson nodded somberly, his mind reeling in the certain knowledge he had acquired in the past few minutes. He was half-Deryni! And if his mother's performance was any indication, he should be able to make use of that fact to at least some extent. After all, he had been trained to accept these powers, to believe in them—even some principles for control. Now if he could just apply some of those principles he'd been taught...
And Brion's powers—those should still be available, too. They had obviously overlooked something—in the verse itself, perhaps. Morgan's seal had not been the Defender's Sign. Who, then, was the Defender? Now that he thought about it, Morgan had been called Protector, not Defender, in the earlier part of the verse. So the Defender had to be someone else. And the Defender's Sign—what could it be?
Charissa returned to her original spot at the foot of the chancel steps and indicated the mailed gauntlet still lying on the floor where Morgan had flung it. There was a grim smile on her lips now, for there was no doubt in her mind that she held the upper hand. Kelson did not have his father's power. For surely he would have used it to protect his own mother if he had had it. The boy was not canny enough to sacrifice Jehana simply for the effect of a later sure victory. Besides, she knew full well that the burst of power which had saved Jehana had never come from the mind of the half-breed Kelson Haldane.
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She nodded slightly in Kelson's direction as he took his place at the top of the stairs, and met his gaze levelly.
"And now, Kelson Haldane, son of Brion, will you accept my honorable challenge, to do battle in the ancient and honored manner of our Deryni forbears? Or must I strike out now and slay you where you stand, smite you a martyr, without a fight?
"Come, Kelson. You were full of bragging words before, I call your bluff!"
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
battle joins,- the mind of mortal man cannot conceive.
KELSON'S MIND raced frantically, turning over every piece of information he had ever encountered regarding Deryni magic, searching for a clue. As he clasped his hands together, his fingers began absently rubbing the Ring of Fire, and he again turned over the ritual verse: New morn, ring hand. Defender's Sign shall seal thy force, ... Defender's Sign shall seal, . .. Defender's Sign....
Suddenly, Kelson's eyes focused on the floor where Charissa was standing. He had never noticed it before, but there were seals inlaid in the marble floor there in the transept—seals of the saints, seals of—by all the Holy Saints! Could it be?
Trying to control his excitement, he forced his eyes to casually scan the great circle of seals, searching for one he dared not hope was there. If this had been a newer church, he knew he could not have hoped to find it. But Saint George's—by God, there it was! The
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seal of Saint Camber, he who was long ago called De-fensor Hominum, the Defender of Man!
Triumphantly, he raised his eyes to sweep the cathedral before him. He had found it! There could be no other answer. They had unwittingly equated Protector and Defender in their first readings of the verse, and almost ruined the entire sequence. But now...
He gazed confidently across the space at Charissa, studied her for a long moment before he spoke. Now he must set the stage for what he was about to do.
"You have made the statement that we are afraid to do you battle, Charissa," he said evenly. "You have admitted the murder of King Brion. You have caused one we hold in almost the same reverence to be sorely wounded. And you have gravely injured the mother who made the ultimate effort to try to avert this deed. The tune is now past for idle talk." He scanned the assembly confidently.
"Also is the time now past for mercy, which we had thought to offer eve
n hi the light of what first happened. And now we warn you, Charissa. We accept your challenge and agree to do you battle, even though it is with some reluctance that we join here in this place. But since you force us to this show of strength, we can guarantee no mercy now, no promise of gentle retribution."
Charissa tossed her head defiantly. "The Shadowed One has no need of your mercy, Kelson. And when such boasts are backed only by bluffs, I can only laugh. Come down, if you are not a coward. I am ready for you."
Kelson regarded her disdainfully for a moment, then glanced over at Morgan and Duncan and nodded slightly. As he reached to his throat and unclasped the heavy, wine-dark cloak, Nigel was suddenly at his side to take it, his anxiety and hope almost tangible in the light of Kelson's new awareness. Kelson flashed an
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impression of reassurance at his uncle, then turned and walked slowly down the chancel steps. Nigel folded the cloak over his arm, then joined Morgan and Duncan on the right.
As Kelson descended the steps, Charissa withdrew to the far side of the transept, perhaps forty feet away, waited as Kelson stooped to pick up the gauntlet.
Slowly, he stood up, formulating the exact pattern his movements must take to get him to the Camber seal as soon as possible. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the target area perhaps twenty feet ahead and a little to the left. He began walking toward Charissa with the gauntlet, edging his way slightly to the left so his path would coincide with the seal. Then, just before he stepped onto it, he flung down the gauntlet, ahead and to the right. As it clashed against the marble floor, he stepped onto the seal.
Morgan and Duncan watched the scene with growing apprehension, for the gamble Kelson was taking was against fearsome odds, and with dire consequences. Also, there was some uncertainty as to what the boy had planned. That he had a plan was evident from the glance he had shot them before he descended the stairs. As he approached the seal, they guessed how his reasoning had gone. But as far as they could tell, there was no reaction as Kelson flung down the gauntlet and stepped onto the seal.
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