With an increasing sense of despair, Camber moved his hands to where Joram indicated and felt the awful indentation. The skin had not even been broken—there was no blood at all—but he could feel the irregular edges of bone beneath the scalp. All the life signs were depressed, along with the section of skull; and as he reached into the brilliant Healer’s mind, he found the Healing channels hopelessly obscured and drug-muddled. Now he knew just what the encounter with Tavis O’Neill had cost Rhys, besides the information he had been made to reveal. There was no way that even Camber could try to link into Rhys’s Healing resources. Another Healer was Rhys’s only hope, and soon.
“Niallan!” he called over his shoulder, the word almost a sob. “You haven’t got a Healer nearby, have you?”
The other Deryni bishop knelt beside him with a shake of his head. “I’ve already checked. My household Healer is out on a call. I’ve sent for him, but I don’t know whether it’s going to be in time, Alister.”
Beneath Camber’s hands, Rhys’s breathing was becoming shallower and more irregular, the pulse thinner and more thready. In desperation, Camber tried to reach out with his mind to ease the pressure on the brain, to lift the shattered portion of the skull. He could feel the depression lessening slightly under his fingertips, but he could also sense the fluid beneath the broken skull, building yet more pressure to quench the vital functions. Rhys’s breathing became more erratic still, and Joram began to blow his own breath into the failing man’s lungs as he once had done for Camber, while Jebediah laid his hands over the laboring heart and tried to regularize its pace.
Despite all their efforts, Camber finally had to admit that Rhys was dying. After a few minutes, he became aware that Niallan had left them and then returned to kneel beside him again; his brother bishop was unstoppering a vial of holy oil and preparing to perform the Last Rites, still in his full vestments, less miter. Camber could not bring himself to participate. He could only watch and listen numbly, still doing all he could to keep this man who was more than a son to him from slipping away.
While Niallan prayed, Camber himself assaulted the heavens with his petition, not for the first time resenting the fortune which had given some the Healing gift, but not himself, or even the man whose identity he wore. The thought of Alister brought him the image of another time, however—of Alister in death; and of Alister’s killer, the beautiful but treacherous Ariella, impaled on the sword flung by Alister with his dying strength, her fingers cupped in the attitude of a spell which might have saved her—a spell thought by most Deryni to be but legend.
For a moment, hope flared. He knew why Ariella had failed, at least in theory. As surely as he now despaired for Rhys’s life, he knew. Had Rhys been even remotely conscious, he could have fed the Healer the procedure and helped him work it, he was sure. The spell did not even depend on Healing function. He could have worried later about how to bring Rhys back from the spell’s stasis. Again, he knew the theory. With another Healer close at hand, he felt certain he could have muddled through it somehow.
But Rhys was not conscious and might not have agreed to try so desperate a measure, even if he had been. The Healer was not as conservative as Joram, but there was an ethical question, nonetheless. Did Camber have the right to answer that for even one so close as Rhys? Dared he be another’s conscience?
Almost, he decided to try it anyway. It was really little more than the stasis that could be put on bodies to prevent decay—well, perhaps a little more, to keep a soul bound to a suspended body.…
But while he argued with himself, and agonized, and even made a tentative probe to see whether he could work the spell on an unconscious subject, he realized that it was too late. Rhys was dead. As Niallan’s voice wrapped around him in the traditional prayers, joined by the responses of Dermot and a handful of priests in the white of the Gabrilite Order, Camber felt the bleak emptiness and knew that Rhys was gone.
He waited until Niallan had finished, his hands still resting on the thick red hair which hid the damage done to the skull beneath, then signalled minutely that Joram and Jebediah should cease their ministrations. As they sank back on their heels, drained and exhausted, he gently gathered Rhys into his arms again, cradling the red head close against his cheek.
“Dear God, why?” he whispered, his voice breaking as the tears began to come. “Forty years to make this man, and now—this! A fall! Death should be more difficult!”
The regents wasted no time in extending their vengeance, especially once they learned that their principal quarry had managed to elude them. In all, only five of the ten renegade bishops remained in custody by the end of the day, three having escaped by Portal and two by death. Davet Nevan was kicked in the chest by a warhorse and died before help could be obtained, and they found Kai Descantor sprawled in the center of the sacristy floor without a mark upon him. Oriel told them later that a Portal had previously been sited there beneath the carpet, and judged that Kai had died destroying it, after the escape of his colleagues.
But five of the ten bishops would be enough for the regents’ intentions. After chaining the captives in a dungeon overnight to let them contemplate the folly of their disobedience, the regents set in motion the mechanism for rounding up those who had escaped. Writs of attainder and outlawry were issued for Alister Cullen, sometime Bishop of Grecotha (suspended), Niallan Trey, sometime Bishop of Dhassa (also suspended), Father Joram MacRorie, Earl Jebediah of Alcara, Lord Rhys Thuryn, and also Bishop Dermot O’Beirne, suspended Bishop of Cashien, who was not Deryni but who had fled with them, and who had supported the illegal election of Alister Cullen as archbishop.
As an afterthought, the regents also ordered the apprehension of Rhys’s wife and children and any other of their kin who could be found, for the regents were beginning to suspect that the entire clan related to the so-called Saint Camber were probably involved in plots against the Crown and regents.
In keeping with the writs, the regents also sent new orders to Rhun of Horthness, who henceforth was to be Earl of Sheele for his brilliant work of Christmas Eve. Dhassa, which the regents immediately guessed as being the renegade archbishop’s place of refuge, was to be besieged by Rhun’s forces. The siege of Dhassa, however, would be a long and weary business, for the worst of the winter was just beginning. Unless the Dhassa Portal was still operational, and at least one other open to supply it, no one would be going in or out of Dhassa until the spring.
Meanwhile, the regents continued to cement their ecclesiastical power in Valoret. On the day after Christmas, a little way outside Valoret in a town called Ramos, the remaining bishops, five of them in chains, convened to reconsider their actions of two days previously. It soon became clear, however, that most of the five captured bishops were going to remain obdurate—one, Turlough, was won over with the promise of a new see to be created at Marbury—so Hubert and his faction took the opportunity to nominate six new itinerant bishops to the council, one of them Edward, the twenty-year-old bachelor son of Hubert’s brother Manfred, who had already received the rich earldom of Culdi. Since confirmation of the nominations required only a simple majority, the six nominees were approved without difficulty.
Consequently, when the first ballot for archbishop was taken that afternoon, after Ulliam also went over to Hubert, thirteen of the sixteen possible votes went to Hubert. The three abstentions, not surprisingly, were Robert Oriss, Archbishop of Rhemuth, Ailin MacGregor, Auxiliary Bishop of Valoret, and the only remaining itinerant bishop who had not just been elected at the synod itself, Eustace of Fairleigh.
Hubert was enthroned the day after he was elected, but in a much more private ceremony than Alister Cullen’s had been, for Hubert had work to do. That very afternoon, the Council of Ramos convened and began taking measures to stop the further incursions of Deryni into the control of Gwynedd. Hubert, with this much power in his hands, could not be restrained.
They began by suspending and laicizing all Deryni priests and other clergy, that the Chu
rch might be purged of their magical influence and evil taint. No Deryni might ever again enter holy orders of any kind, even as a layman. There was even some talk regarding whether Deryni might continue to receive the other six sacraments, but fortunately more prudent heads prevailed. Barring Deryni from normally sanctioned religious functions might lead to even more monstrous practices than those of which they were already suspected. Better to keep the average Deryni in the fold of the Church as a wayward child than to cast him out altogether, where one would never know what he was up to.
Alister and Niallan, of course, were included in the general suspension and laicization, and stripped of their offices. Joram, son of the infamous “Saint” Camber, was also declared to be a priest no longer. Dermot O’Beirne they likewise suspended and stripped of office, as a Deryni sympathizer, but they did not strip him of his priesthood altogether, since he was not Deryni. His see of Cashien they gave to Zephram of Lorda. Alister’s old see of Grecotha went to the new Bishop Edward MacInnis, and Niallan’s to Archer of Arrand—though Bishop Archer would have a difficult time taking possession of his new diocese until the siege of Dhassa was over.
Joram’s specific naming in the suspensions and laicizations brought up the subject of Camber’s sainthood again, and this time it did not survive. The canonization of twelve years before was repudiated. Camber’s name was forbidden even to be spoken, on pain of flogging for a first offense and having one’s tongue cut out the next time. The order was issued to destroy all written records of his name and family. Anyone tempted to write anew of the quondam saint risked the loss of the hand which wrote it.
Nor was that sufficient for the regents’ retribution. Declaring all magic anathema, with Deryni sorcery the chiefest among the heresies, they proclaimed Camber a heretic besides. Had they been able to find his body, they would have burned it at the stake, but unfortunately it had been established at his canonization that the body had been miraculously assumed into heaven. Now Bishop Zephram was led to suggest that perhaps the body had, indeed, been spirited away by Camber’s son; but he and the others doubted whether anyone would have any luck finding it now. In any case, since punishment for heresy could not be meted out to Camber in person at this late date, the bishops decided that it would be a fitting penalty to exact on his adherents instead. On Childermas, the Feast of the Holy Innocents, they made an example at Dolban, the mother house of the Servants of Saint Camber, burning more than three-score men and women to death at stakes set row on row in the abbey yard. Only a few of them were even Deryni.
One reluctant exception the bishops made to the general condemnation of Deryni magic, and that was to permit Healers to continue to function, though under far more rigid regulation than they had known hitherto. Philosophers and theologians had long agreed that Healing came of God—but the Healers were also Deryni, and therefore at least suspect of having other, darker allies than the Lord of Hosts. Eventually, it was hoped that even Healers could be phased out of practice, but none of the bishops was really ready to think out all the implications yet. In any event, Healers were few, and their services had always been somewhat limited to the aristocracy of both races; so as long as the bishops and regents could call upon Healers when they needed them, they decided not to worry too much about the common people. It was also judged appropriate to continue the use of Deryni collaborators to hunt down other Deryni, for nearly anything may be justified in time of war.
The impropriety of Deryni magic finally defined, the bishops next considered nonreligious sanctions against Deryni in general. While even Hubert would not go so far as to advocate the wholesale annihilation of all Deryni at this time, he was very much in favor of rigid controls. All high-born Deryni were to be stripped of their titles and ranks. Henceforth, no Deryni would be permitted to own land, except under the strictest of supervision. Deryni could not hold offices of any kind, or marry or inherit without the express leave of their liege lord. And any Deryni discovered to be teaching his evil abilities to another would be summarily executed.
The Council of Ramos met each day of Christmas week, the bishops returning to their quarters at the cathedral complex only to sleep, except for Archbishop Hubert, who still occupied his suite in the keep, and who dined each evening with his fellow regents and briefed them on the day’s accomplishments. The young king was permitted to join them for the meal and the first part of the briefing, to make him feel he was a part of the policy-making process, but liberal amounts of strong wine served with the meal always set him to nodding by the time more serious discussions began, and he was bundled off to bed by a few squires. Javan and Rhys Michael were not included at all.
This exclusion, as the days wore on, bothered Javan and Tavis more and more, for rumor was spreading of the general tone the bishops were taking in their daily meetings, and Javan was beginning to fear for Tavis’s safety. Tavis found himself being watched very closely whenever he went out of Javan’s quarters, for he and Oriel and a few other collaborators were now the only Deryni at large in the keep. He took to staying in Javan’s rooms in the daytime, but often he would disappear at night and even Javan did not know where he had gone, though he always covered for him. The Healer made a thorough exploration of the walls and passageways deep in the bowels of the keep. By Saturday night after Christmas, he had made several interesting discoveries and several difficult decisions. His heart was heavy as he talked with Javan late that night.
“I just don’t see what we can do to stop them, Javan,” he concluded, after he had reviewed all he had managed to glean of the bishops’ rulings of the past week. “Hubert has gone mad with power, and he’ll use it as a scourge against every Deryni he can track down. It’s a miracle that I’m still allowed to be with you. I can only surmise that it’s an oversight, because of the bishops still being in conclave, since the only other Deryni in the castle are under heavy guard almost all the time, even Oriel. Either that, or they’re simply not ready to contend with you.”
Javan stood and began to pace back and forth, in and out of the window embrasure where they both had been sitting. Under the long, fur-lined dressing gown he wore, his limp was hardly noticeable. He had grown several more inches since the fall, and was now taller than his twin.
“I won’t let them take you from me, you know that,” he said solemnly.
Tavis shook his head. “I know that you don’t want to let them take me, but you may not have much choice, my prince. What we have to decide, I think, is what to do if they do try it. Do I let them take me, or do I escape? In either case, I leave you to their less than gentle ministrations—and that’s the last thing I want.”
“Or I. Find another option. You know I can’t—wait a minute! You said escape—you mean, from Valoret? How?”
“Through a Portal.”
It took an instant for the import of Tavis’s words to sink in. Then, all at once, Javan was scurrying back to crouch at Tavis’s knee, grabbing the Healer’s one good hand in his two and staring up in excitement.
“A Portal? Then, we could both escape! Oh, Tavis, do you think we really could?”
“We?” Tavis looked at the boy with a stricken expression. “My prince, you can’t go. You’re the heir-presumptive. If I left, and you went with me, it would be taken by the regents as a renunciation of your claim to the throne—and that’s exactly what they want. They could manage Rhys Michael; they can’t manage you. Oh, I know it doesn’t seem that important now, but think about it. Who else can hope to undo what the regents and bishops are doing now, except you? Do you think Rhys Michael can, or would?”
As Javan’s shoulders slumped, he shook his head, and Tavis continued, laying his handless forearm along the boy’s right shoulder in comfort.
“All right, then. We’re agreed on that point, in any case. Your place is here, regardless of whether or not I can stay with you. Once you’re king—or even once you’re of age—you can have me brought back to Court. For that matter, if and when I do have to leave, I’ll try to come ba
ck for brief visits as long as the Portal isn’t discovered.”
“But, you will go, rather than be taken?” Javan whispered. “I couldn’t bear to see you killed by them.”
“Yes, I’ll go. But not before it’s necessary.”
“And I can’t come along?”
“No.”
With a sigh, Javan bowed his head over their joined hands for a moment, touching them to his forehead, then got up and moved to the window without looking at the Healer. He stood there with both hands resting on the stone tracery for several seconds, staring out at the darkness, then dropped one hand and turned slightly toward Tavis, though he still did not look at him.
“Have you any idea how difficult it is to be a prince?” he asked in a low voice.
“Very little,” Tavis whispered, shaking his head slightly. “I wish it were something that you did not have to learn, and so young.”
The prince glanced at the floor, at his clubbed foot in its special boot, protruding from beneath the hem of the fur-lined robe, then looked back at Tavis. The young Haldane face was now composed, every inch the prince that he must be.
“This Portal that you mentioned—I take it that you don’t mean the one in the archbishop’s apartments, since that’s impossible to reach with Hubert there now; and you said Bishop Kai destroyed the one in the cathedral. Where—”
“Beneath the King’s Tower,” Tavis replied. “There are probably several more, in other portions of the castle which were built during the Interregnum, but this is the only one I’ve managed to locate. Stories say that on the night Imre was taken in his tower room, his pregnant sister darted through a secret opening in the king’s chamber and made good her escape. I was hardly older than you at the time, but I remember thinking that she must somehow have gotten to a Portal. So I’ve been searching all the likely hiding places all week. I don’t know whether what I found is the one Ariella used, but it is a Portal. I wasn’t going to tell you.”
Camber the Heretic Page 50
