The other four moved closer to the table and set their tapers against the bowl, each instinctively reaching to his or her left to link with the right hand of the next person. Camber edged a little closer to Joram, so that he stood midway between him and Evaine, reaching between them to lay his hands on the edge of the bowl. His wrists rested lightly on their forearms, physically linking him into the bond which was about to be forged.
He closed his eyes and began clearing his mind, letting the incense and the stillness carry him into a state of relaxed receptivity. He became aware of the familiar minds surrounding and meshing with his own—distinct, yet blurred in the bonding which they mutually forged. He could feel their closeness, firm and supportive, yet undemanding, passive, as he slowly opened his eyes to gaze at the saltired reflection of candlelight on the silver-rimmed blackness.
Stillness. Anticipation. A crystal clarity of all senses, as he tuned his awareness and focused in on his own mental processes. He could feel himself slipping into an even deeper concentration, and he let it happen. His vision tunneled, blurring all around him until only the blackened water remained, incense smoke rolling across the surface like heavy fog.
He put aside all conscious thought, letting conscious and unconscious merge and focus on and through the blackness which was there and not. He let a mental image form of Ariella as he had last seen her—proud and arrogant—merge with his knowledge of the necklace hidden beneath the inky water.
Dimly, no longer aware of anything else around him other than the safeness, the reservoir of energy, he quested outward and inward for some thread which would draw her essence nearer. He kept his blinking to a minimum as an image began to form at the edges of his vision.
There! A face—indistinct at first, but then a wizened, ancient—no, an infant visage, which quickly expanded to include the whole body! A child of perhaps five or six months, one tiny fist clenched beside the pursed, petulant mouth. Wisps of fine chestnut hair feathered the shapely skull. The child opened slightly bulging eyes of rich, golden brown and seemed to look directly at Camber.
Could it be that he was seeing Ariella’s child, through her own eyes?
The image wavered as Camber blinked, but he managed not to lose it entirely. His vision swam for a few moments, but then it cleared and a new image began to materialize—a map this time, with a ringed female hand sprinkling water on that map. The map itself seemed indistinct—he could not seem to make it quite come into focus—but then he realized that was because the person sprinkling it was not concentrating on the map, but on magic connected with the map.
He was watching Ariella work her weather magic!
He blinked again, inadvertently this time, and lost the image—tried desperately to reschool his thoughts to tranquility.
He must regain the contact! He must somehow try to redirect Ariella’s attention to the map itself. Her strategies were what they most desperately needed.
He closed his eyes briefly to rest them, then stared at the blackness again, this time concentrating specifically on Ariella and her connection with the map—any map! He could feel himself slipping even deeper into trance, and let himself go. Images formed and reformed on the blackness, only to fade and be replaced before he could read them.
He must read them! He was so close, he dared not fail now!
Another deep breath, a stretching to his very limits of awareness, as he tried to reach across the miles and touch her sleeping mind, actually to manipulate her dreaming. Gently, he visualized a map of Gwynedd and its surrounding kingdoms, mentally marked the map with Torenth’s capital, with Cardosa—and waited.
At first, nothing. And then, other markings began appearing on the map—notations and markings such as Cullen and Jebediah had been employing on their map earlier in the day. Hands moving markers, deploying troops.
Abruptly, he knew the location of all Ariella’s strength, knew where and how many and what kinds of warriors she could throw into any assault!
He was almost ready to withdraw, when suddenly the picture blanked and he caught an almost mind-splitting explosion of rage. A wrenching pain lanced behind his eyes, temporarily blinding him physically as well as psychically, and he realized that he had been detected. His touch had been too clumsy, his direction too direct! Ariella was awake, and aware of his link—and she was trying to sustain the link he had created, to surge back across that link and mentally destroy him!
With a cry of pain, he blinked and wrenched his eyes from the blackened water, gasping for breath.
“Joram, get me out of it!”
He did not know whether Joram or the others had seen what he had seen, or felt the awesome menace of Ariella’s retaliation; but Joram and Evaine, at least, knew exactly what to do in such a situation. Joram threw down his taper and seized his father’s shoulders, pouring power and protection into his father’s mind. As Cullen joined forces with Joram, protective instincts taking precedence over caution, Evaine snatched the silver bowl and hurried to where Rhys was already struggling to move the chest which covered the garderobe.
A wind roared outside, ripping the tapestry covering from the window and whistling into the room, but not inside the wards which they had set to prevent just such an incursion. The wind died as Evaine poured the contents of the bowl down the garderobe, and Camber relaxed in his son’s arms.
The link was broken.
The room seemed to undulate as Camber opened his eyes, and the first thing that he saw was Joram’s ashen face, the gray eyes stunned, dulled with exhaustion. Camber swallowed and managed to get his feet under himself again, but he had to lean on Cullen’s arm until he could steady himself against the edge of the table. He took a deep, sobering breath, but he knew that he had nearly reached the limits of his physical endurance. His defense had drained him.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I’m afraid I pushed too hard. Is everyone else all right? Do you realize what happened?”
“You linked in with something bigger than you could handle,” Cullen said gruffly. “What was it? Do you know?”
“You mean you didn’t see?”
“See what?” Rhys asked. “I knew you were experiencing something—but until you started shaking, all I saw was candlelight reflected on that black water.”
“I couldn’t see anything either, Father,” Evaine agreed.
“Oh.”
Camber swallowed down a surge of nausea and let that sink in, finding it increasingly difficult to think coherently in his exhaustion. He tried to straighten up more, but his fatigued body refused to obey. Partially abandoning that fight, he let himself slump back against Joram again and closed his eyes, making a conscious effort to organize his thoughts.
Rhys’s hand touched his forehead, and he felt the cool touch of the Healer’s mind against his, but he shook his head and opened his eyes again.
“I’ll rest in a moment, Rhys—I promise. I got what I went for, though, and you’ll need the information before I let myself collapse. Joram, if you’ll release the wards, Evaine can get a map and pen. I have Ariella’s troop strengths and deployment, and I think I’ll have just about enough strength to make those notations before I have to sleep.”
He gestured weakly with a hand which seemed almost not to belong to him, so heavy was his fatigue. Rhys took Joram’s place, supporting him against the table, while Joram raised his arms to release the wards. As the silvery hemisphere dissolved away, the chill of the room assaulted them. Instantly, Evaine was unlocking the door to the sleeping chamber and rushing through.
Rhys and Cullen slowly walked Camber to his chair beside the fire, where Joram wrapped another robe around him. Cullen, when he had seen Camber safely ensconced, went to the earl’s desk and brought back a map board. Evaine stood holding pen and ink beside a seemingly unconscious Camber. Cullen glanced at them all in concern.
“Is he all right?”
Rhys moved his fingers from his patient’s pulse point to the temples and closed his eyes briefly, then no
dded and motioned for Cullen to lay the map board across Camber’s lap. As Evaine put the pen in her father’s hand, Joram brought a lighted candle from the mantel and held it close.
Camber opened his eyes and took a deep breath.
“All right. Her main strength is here, and here, and here.” The pen glided across the parchment, marking encampments and troop deployments.
“I’d say that close to a thousand men, most of them mounted, have already come through the Arranal Canyon approach and are now camped here, at Coldoire. Another eight hundred are here, at the foot of the Cardosa Defile, where she herself plans to join them tomorrow. They plan to rendezvous near Iomaire two days from now. Be sure that Jebediah studies this aspect in particular.”
As Cullen and Joram nodded agreement, Camber closed his eyes and took another deep breath. His hand shook a little as he again dipped the pen in the ink which Evaine held.
“Now, this is also important. She has eighty extra knights here.” He indicated a location. “And here. She’s also considering a new foot route through this pass, which can accommodate several hundred men. If she uses it, we’re vulnerable here and here, even if Sighere assists us. She has reports of his troop movements about a day’s ride west of Iomaire, by the way.
“One last thing—she has a small body of men, perhaps as many as thirty of them, who seem to be some kind of elite bodyguard, or special shock troops, or something on that order. But they’re more than that; there’s something special about them that I wasn’t quite able to read—only that Ariella seemed very pleased with herself about them. It may simply be that they’re Deryni. I’ll try to go back over that part in the morning, after I’ve slept, and see if I can remember anything else. They’re quartered with her in Cardosa, for now, along with another five hundred of mountain cavalry.”
His pen moved to the mountain city and drew a circle, with the figure 550? in it. Then his hand relaxed and he almost dropped the pen. Evaine rescued it as he leaned back in the chair and let out a deep sigh.
“Is that all of it?” Joram asked.
Camber nodded and closed his eyes. “All that’s important. More details later. Sleep now …”
As his voice trailed off, his entire body relaxed and he was asleep in a single breath. When Cullen removed the support of the map board from his lap, Camber slumped even deeper into the chair, his light, even breathing the only sound in the stilled room.
Rhys reached across and felt for a pulse, then glanced at his brother-in-law.
“He’s exhausted, but he’s only asleep—not in a coma. He’ll be all right when he’s rested.”
Joram gave a relieved sigh. “Good. In the meantime, we ought to get this map to Jebediah and the others. Can you and Evaine stay with him? He probably ought to sleep under wards, too.”
“We’ll do what’s necessary,” Rhys replied, slipping his arms under Camber’s. “Just help me get him to the bed before you go, will you?”
As Evaine ran to turn back the bedclothes, Joram picked up his father’s knees and helped Rhys carry him to the curtained bed. There they laid him down gently, Evaine unfastening his belt and starting to remove his shoes and stockings as Rhys escorted Joram and Cullen to the door. When the two priests had gone, and Rhys had bolted the door behind them, Evaine glanced up at her husband, looking tired but content as she tucked the last of the blankets around her sleeping father’s form.
“I’ve seen him this way before, Rhys. I’m sure he’ll be fine in the morning.”
“Don’t tell me you’ve worked with him on these kinds of things before,” Rhys said, checking his patient’s pulse again while he peered briefly beneath a slack eyelid.
“On occasion,” Evaine admitted. “Don’t you approve?”
“You know I wouldn’t dream of interfering, even if I didn’t approve,” Rhys replied with a grin, sitting back wearily on the edge of the bed as he watched his wife rummage in the purse at her waist. “I know how important your work with your father is to you—as important, perhaps, as my healing call is to me. Besides, I know that you take reasonable precautions.”
“We try,” she said with a droll smile.
Pulling out a small black suede leather pouch, she dropped to her knees beside the bed and began undoing the thongs which bound the end closed. When she dumped the contents on the bed, eight polished cubes came tumbling out, four white and four black. She glanced up at him as she began sorting them.
“Will you work the wards with me?”
“Of course.”
Slipping to his knees beside her, he watched as she arranged the cubes in the necessary pattern: the four white ones in a square, all of them touching; the black ones at the four corners of the square so formed, each near but not in contact with its closest white neighbor.
“Go ahead and start,” Evaine said in a low voice. “These are mine. You shouldn’t have any trouble centering in.”
With a nod, Rhys drew a deep breath and laid the fingertips of his right hand lightly on all four white cubes, closing his eyes briefly while he found the balance point with these particular cubes. Then he withdrew all but his index finger, to touch the cube in the upper left-hand corner of the white square.
“Prime,” he said softly.
The touched cube began to glow with a ghostly, opalescent light.
“Seconde.” He touched the cube to the right of the first one, and it, too, began to glow.
“Tierce.” The cube below the first cube came to life.
“Quarte.” As the last white cube lit, the four seemed to form a single square of milky light.
Rhys sighed and sat back on his haunches, watching serenely as Evaine drew a deep breath and brought her finger down on the first black cube. The glowing white square reflected off her hand and cast a mellow, moonlike glow on her calm face.
“Quinte.”
Her low voice seemed to chime deep in the cube, which shone now with the iridescence of an ebon butterfly wing.
“Sixte.”
The second cube, at the upper right, lit with the same quiet fire.
“Septime. Octave.”
As the last two black cubes were activated in rapid succession, Rhys came up on his knees again and picked up Prime, extending his empty left hand under his right arm to lie easily on the blanket. Evaine laid her left hand in Rhys’s, then picked up Quinte and brought it toward his Prime. So joined, hand to hand, they also joined the two cubes, pouring in defensive energy as together they spoke the union nomen:
“Primus!”
A minute click vibrated through both their fingers as the two cubes touched and fused; and then they were holding a single, oblong rectoid which gleamed with a metallic brightness. Evaine laid it on the blanket and picked up Sixte as Rhys took Seconde. She closed her eyes as they brought Sixte and Seconde together:
“Secundus!”
Camber stirred a little in his sleep, perhaps unconsciously sensing the power being raised at his side, but he quickly settled down again as his daughter and son-in-law brought Septime and Tierce to:
“Tertius!”
Finally, “Quartus” was formed of Quarte and Octave. Of the four silvery oblongs now lying on the bed, Rhys took the last two and set them on the floor behind him, Tertius to his left, toward the head of the bed, and Quartus to the foot. Then, as Evaine moved around to the other side to place Primus and Secundus, Rhys sat down at the head of the bed beside his father-in-law, laying a sleep-deepening hand on Camber’s forehead as Evaine paused at the foot of the bed to activate the wards.
Facing toward the first of them, she raised her arms heavenward and threw back her head for a moment, eyes closed, then opened them and pointed to each of the wards in succession as she spoke their names and the words of power:
“Primus, Secundus, Tertius, et Quartus, fiat lux!”
A silvery canopy of light sprang up around them with her final words, its edges defined by the limits laid out by the ward components. Evaine smiled as she came to join her husband,
taking the hand he held out to her and touching it tenderly to her lips. Rhys sighed contentedly and leaned back against the headboard, pulling her into his lap with an arm around her waist. They had just settled into a comfortable position, she with her head smuggled in the hollow of his shoulder, when suddenly she giggled.
“A giggle at a time like this?” he whispered.
She pulled away to peer at him mischievously. “My love, you’re going to giggle, too, when I tell you.”
He raised one eyebrow in question, the corners of his mouth curving up in anticipation of her explanation, as she brushed his lips with hers and laughed again.
“I was just sitting here, thinking about cleaning up Father’s dressing room in the morning, and I remembered that, in the excitement, I dumped everything down the garderobe—including the Haldana necklace!”
“Surely you’re joking!”
Evaine giggled again and shook her head. “And that means, dearest husband, that someone is going to have to go wading in the middens tomorrow and find it.”
Rhys shook his head incredulously and drew her closer in amused disbelief.
“I knew things had gone far too smoothly,” he chuckled, nuzzling her ear. “Now all we have to decide is who’s going to do it. Let’s see—who do we know who needs a little humbling?”
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BETHANE
SUMMER, 1100
With “Bethane,” we shift more than a hundred years to the timeframe of Morgan, Kelson, and the rest of the familiar characters of the CHRONICLES OF THE DERYNI. This particular story sprang from two sources: a brief reference in Deryni Checkmate to the summer when Alaric Morgan fell out of a tree and broke his arm; and a request to do a story about witches for an anthology called Hecate’s Cauldron. I’d never actually referred to old Bethane as a witch, but she certainly fulfills the usual stereotypes about crones and cauldrons and the like. Besides, I’d always been curious about her. Her brief appearance in Deryni Checkmate sketched just enough information to be enticing, and asked far more questions than it answered.
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