The King's Deryni

by Katherine Kurtz

  “That’s quite good,” Ninian finally said, backing off a few paces and giving casual salute with his sword, which Alaric returned. “I think we’ll put you with the older pages for arms drill.” He tucked his sword under his arm and pulled off his helmet, then summoned Airey Redfearn with a raised arm.

  “Mind you, you’re good enough to spar with some of the squires,” he went on, “but they’re mostly much taller than you are, so that would put you at a distinct disadvantage. In the real world, of course, you’ll have to face whoever decides to lay into you, but training at this stage is not so much about winning or getting beaten; it’s about learning, and hopefully not getting hurt too much in the process.”

  As Airey Redfearn approached at the trot, Ninian handed him his sword and helmet, and Alaric also turned over his equipment.

  “All right, you can go fetch your pony now, and put him away for the night,” Ninian said. “And I’ll expect you in the classroom in the morning with the other boys.”

  He nodded to Kenneth and Llion as the boy trotted toward them, then turned to go with Airey.

  Chapter 15

  “My son, if thou wilt, thou shalt be taught: and if thou wilt apply thy mind, thou shalt be prudent.”

  —ECCLESIASTICUS 6:32

  IN the days that followed, while Kenneth conferred with the king and his crown council and caught up on developments in Meara, Llion kept close watch on the progress of his young charge. Alaric had accepted that he would be joining the pages’ training at Rhemuth, and did his best to fit in, but it was difficult.

  As Llion had warned him, he soon discovered that his knowledge and skills were well above those of most of the other boys near his age. Furthermore, because of his father’s rank, and because he was already slated to enter page’s service with Duke Jared right after Twelfth Night, he was not obliged to share accommodation in the dormitory rooms allocated for other pages. Clearly, some of the others resented that. But that alone was not what soon set him apart from them.

  “No one likes me, Llion,” he muttered to his mentor after the first week, when he was getting ready for bed.

  “Well, you are the new boy,” Llion said lightly, though he suspected he knew the true source of his charge’s difficulties. “The others have been together for many months now, some of them for several years. And even though you’re much younger than most of them, you did make a rather impressive showing at the king’s birthday tourney—and when Sir Ninian evaluated your training. There’s bound to be some resentment.”

  “I don’t think it’s that,” Alaric replied.

  Llion sighed. Aside from the run-in with Bishop de Nore, the boy had been mostly sheltered until now, secure in the company and protection of loving parents and loyal retainers in the immediate household; Llion would certainly give his life for his charge, if required. But what young Alaric Morgan was beginning to experience went far beyond resentment of his titled privileges, his emerging skills in the field, even his physical attractiveness—and the boy was handsome, God knew, with his pale hair and eyes, his regular features, his mannerly demeanor. Young girls were already beginning to notice, and not a few not-so-young ones.

  “Well, envy almost certainly is a factor,” Llion allowed. “And a bit of that is natural, though maturity hopefully teaches all of us to put aside petty jealousies. You also wear your own clothes instead of Haldane livery. That makes you stand out.”

  “That isn’t all that makes me stand out,” the boy muttered.

  “No, it isn’t,” Llion agreed.

  “But, that isn’t fair,” Alaric said after a beat. “You’re talking about me being half-Deryni. I can’t help that! And I don’t do anything. I can’t do anything yet.”

  Llion quirked an eyebrow at him. “No?”

  Alaric glanced at his feet. “Well, there’s the Truth-Reading,” he admitted reluctantly. “And the pain blocking,” he added. “But that doesn’t hurt anyone. Besides, no one but you knows I can even do that yet. Some of them just hate me; I can sense it. Especially Cornelius. He definitely hates me. And a lot of the others are afraid of me.”

  “That is true.”

  “Well, what do I do about it?” Tears were glittering in the boy’s grey eyes as he looked up. “They don’t even know me.”

  “It’s difficult, I know,” Llion said gently. “Unfortunately, there are some who will always dislike you—because of simple jealousy, in many cases, but also because they don’t know you and they’re afraid to know you, because of what you are. All the telling in the world won’t change some people’s minds.”

  “That doesn’t answer my question, Llion,” the boy murmured, knuckling away his tears. “What can I do?”

  With a heavy sigh, Llion came to sit on the bed beside the boy, slipping a comforting arm around the rigid shoulders. “Well, one thing you cannot do is force the other boys to be friends with you.” He rolled his eyes in grudging amendment. “Actually, it’s possible that you could force at least the outward semblance of friendship, once you’ve come into your powers. But if you were ever found out, that would only prove to those who hate your kind that Deryni are not to be trusted.”

  “Then, what can I do?”

  “Simply be the very best person you can be, as your dear mother would have wished. Say little and observe much. Be courteous and thoughtful, a man of honor. Try to be good-natured and helpful to the other boys, but never do less than your best, even if some are envious. It’s something you must learn,” he added, at Alaric’s dubious grimace, “because you’re the one who must live with these lads—and with the men they will become. When all of you are grown, they’ll remember how you treated them now. It would be good if you could trust at least a few of them at your back. Do you understand?”

  “I suppose so,” Alaric murmured, sighing. “But growing up is harder than I thought it would be.”

  • • •

  IN the coming weeks, as they began counting down to the feasts of Christmas and Twelfth Night, Alaric thought about what Llion had told him. Though he tried hard to implement what Llion had suggested, he could see little real change, but at least he better understood what might be causing the other boys’ antipathy, and consoled himself with the expectation that he would soon be returning to the relative safety of his Uncle Jared’s household.

  Thus fortified, he decided not to mention the conversation to his father, and indeed, would have found it difficult to do so, for Kenneth was much closeted with the king and the crown council, or out on the king’s business, and often returned late to his bed, if at all. A visitation to Valoret with the king kept him from court for more than a week. Kenneth also made a quick visit to Morganhall to check on his sisters, with only Xander and a pair of armsmen to accompany him.

  “I would take you and the boy, but I don’t want to interrupt his training,” he told Llion, before setting out. “I know this is a difficult time for him, and I’d prefer to avoid the impression that he’s getting any more special treatment than he already is.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  But a week later, the afternoon following Kenneth’s return, he asked Alaric to accompany him to the practice arena. To Alaric’s surprise, Llion was already there, cinching up the saddle on a compact bay Llanneddi mare he had never seen before.

  “I wanted your opinion on this mare,” his father said. “Llion pointed her out to me, when I got back from Morganhall. She’s old enough to be sensible, but she still has many good years in her. What do you think?”

  As his father came to hold the mare’s head and stroke the velvety nose, offering her an apple, Alaric eyed the mare appraisingly, running a hand along the bright bay hindquarters and down one white-stockinged leg. Some of his earliest and happiest memories were of walking through horse fairs with his father and Llion and occasionally other knights of the household, watching and listening while his father haggled with horse dea
lers over the merits and faults of various steeds. Though Alaric was still learning the finer points of equine assessment, the mare looked like a good example of her breed: not perfect, by any means, and perhaps on the small side for a grown man, but then, Llanners ran small. This one was bigger than most.

  “Whose horse would this be, Papa?” he asked, for he knew that it was important to match horse and rider.

  Kenneth inclined his head. “Yours, perhaps?”

  Alaric felt an anxious flutter in the pit of his stomach, for he could not suppress the sudden image of the doomed grey mare at Nyford, blood blossoming against her satiny coat as she sank into death, but he ducked his head and made himself put it from mind, concentrating instead on his inspection of the animal. At least this animal was bay, not grey.

  “Well, she looks a little narrow through the withers, but at least for me, that might be an asset while I’m still growing.” He swallowed and managed a brittle smile as he glanced up. “My legs still remember those big-barreled livery horses from the summer. Good chest, though,” he went on more confidently, “and good legs.”

  “Let’s put you up on her and see how she goes,” Kenneth said, giving the mare’s bridle to Llion and moving to the animal’s side. “Here, I’ll give you a leg up.”

  Smiling tentatively, Alaric moved to the animal’s near side and allowed his sire to boost him into the saddle. Across the arena, he was aware of several of the older pages and younger squires taking places on the fence rail, but he tried to put them from mind as he gathered the mare’s reins and moved out.

  For the next little while he put the mare through her paces. He was heartened to find that his hours in the saddle going to and from Culdi and Morganhall and Coroth had left him confident and easily capable of handling the larger animal. The mare was responsive and even-tempered, her gaits far smoother than the livery mounts’ that had served them on their peregrinations. Alaric could picture himself riding her for some years. But he also knew there would be a price to pay.

  “Well, what do you think?” his father asked, as the boy brought the mare to a halt beside the fence where his father sat with Llion. “Shall I tell Master Oisín we’ll keep her?”

  Alaric glanced across the arena, where he could see the horse dealer likewise sitting on the fence with Paget Sullivan, Airey Redfearn, and several of the younger squires, including Prince Nigel, obviously watching them. Unfortunately, Cornelius Seaton was also among their number.

  “I like her very well, Papa,” he said quietly, with a covert glance at Llion. “But I . . . don’t think it would be a good idea if I had such a fine horse just now, while I’m at Rhemuth.”

  “Oh? And may I ask why not?”

  Alaric ducked his head, reluctant to mention his reasons, but aware that his father probably should be apprised of them—and perhaps even knew already, anyway.

  “Well, some of the other boys already don’t like me very much,” he said hesitantly. “Llion says some of it may be because they’re envious. None of the other pages at court have such fine horses.”

  “Son, you are a future duke,” his father said patiently. “You are heir to a great fortune and a noble name, and there will always be those who will resent you for it.”

  “That’s—probably part of it, sir,” Alaric almost whispered, blinking hard to keep back tears.

  Kenneth nodded slowly, casting a sidelong glance at Llion. “I see. And the other part of it would be that some of them don’t like you because you’re very accomplished and very clever, and because you are your mother’s son as well as mine.”

  Alaric glanced up quickly, shocked.

  Kenneth sighed and shook his head. “I’m very sorry, son,” he said quietly. “I knew this time would come, though I had hoped it would be later. But don’t you ever let them see you cry!” he said fiercely, though his voice did not rise.

  “He’s bearing up well, sir,” Llion assured him. “He’ll be all right.”

  “He’ll be better than all right,” Kenneth said under his breath. “He’ll be superb! And he deserves a superb horse.”

  “Yes, sir, he does,” Llion agreed. “But perhaps not just now. He’ll only be at court for a few months. Perhaps best if we wait.”

  Considering, Kenneth shifted his gaze from Llion to Alaric and back. “Aye, that’s probably true. Very well. Llion, you also deserve a superb mount, so the mare is officially yours for now, if anyone asks. And once you and Alaric move up to Culdi to train with Jared, he can have access to it, with no one the wiser here at court. You are his riding master, after all. And meanwhile, I’ll have Master Oisín on the lookout for another horse for you.”

  Llion allowed himself a pleased grin, and Alaric, too, found himself greatly cheered.

  “That is uncommonly generous, my lord,” Llion said. “Thank you.”

  “It isn’t generous; it’s expedient,” Kenneth replied. “I’ve been remiss in not finding you a suitable mount of your own—which I did promise, when you first entered my service.”

  “I am content, my lord,” Llion objected. “You have been most generous.”

  “Nay, ’tis only your due,” Kenneth said. “Old Cockleburr has been retired for several years now, and you’re still soldiering on with borrowed horses. Besides, it reflects badly on me, if my son’s knight is not well mounted.” He jutted his chin in Llion’s direction. “Give the mare a try, so that our deception will hold, and I’ll go and speak with Master Oisín.”

  “Very good, my lord,” Llion agreed. “Lad, you’d best get down now, so I can put this lady through her paces.”

  Alaric was grinning as he complied, and held on to the stirrup for Llion as the young knight swung up. As Llion settled into the saddle and then moved out, Kenneth watched him for a few minutes, nodding approval as Llion eased the mare into a canter. Then, with a nod and a smile at his son, he headed off across the arena toward Master Oisín.

  • • •

  THE ruse held in the remaining weeks leading up to Twelfth Night. Alaric did ride the mare once or twice, for lessons in the arena, but Llion made a point of taking the little bay out for daily rides, and for his own weapons practice, and always rode the mare when he needed to accompany Kenneth on missions for the king. So far as he could tell, others at court accepted the supposition that Earl Kenneth was a generous lord, and that Llion simply indulged his young charge from time to time.

  Since Llion continued some of Alaric’s private training, especially in areas in which Alaric was well ahead of his age-mates, this averted some of the too-close contact that the lad had dreaded. On his own, Alaric even began venturing guarded interactions with a few of the other boys. Some, like Cornelius Seaton, would always remain implacably against him, but a few encounters seemed to hold the potential for more positive relationships, perhaps even a kind of friendship.

  “You handle that pony well,” said a voice from the fence, as Alaric pulled up after yet another successful run at the rings with a wooden sword. “Is he the same one you rode at the king’s birthday tournament?”

  Alaric turned his attention to the speaker: Paget Sullivan, a tall, gangly lad with auburn hair and bright blue eyes, slated for squiring at the upcoming Twelfth Night festivities. There was reserve in his gaze, but no apparent hostility.

  “Aye, he is,” Alaric acknowledged, reining the pony closer and halting. “Would you like to try him?”

  The other boy looked surprised, but then a faint smile curved at the corners of his mouth. “May I, truly?” he asked.

  For answer, Alaric swung one leg over the pommel of his saddle and jumped down, offering the reins with an answering smile.

  “Of course.”

  “Thank you.” The older boy reinforced his reply with an amiable nod and climbed down from the fence.

  “You’re Paget Sullivan, aren’t you?” Alaric said, as the other set his foot in the stirrup.
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  Young Paget flinched, then put his raised foot back on the ground and partially turned toward Alaric.

  “I am.”

  Alaric gave the older boy a nod of approval. “You took ten rings at the king’s birthday tourney. That was impressive.”

  Paget turned to face Alaric squarely, his expression softening a little. “Thank you. As I recall, you also took ten rings.” He glanced around to see who might be listening, then added, in a lower voice, “Cornelius Seaton was practically livid. He hates you, you know.”

  Alaric shrugged. “I’ve given him no cause, other than to exist.”

  Paget snorted. “That’s more than enough for Cornelius. He doesn’t much like me, either—probably because he considers me a rival, which I am. Come to think of it, there aren’t many of the other pages he does like, much less respects.”

  “I gathered that,” Alaric said. “But I’ve heard that he’s actually pretty good at ring-tilting—when he isn’t getting dumped from his pony.”

  “Don’t let him hear you say that,” Paget murmured, casting a nervous glance under the pony’s neck to where the said Cornelius had just come in from riding a set of runs at the rings, and negligently threw his lance aside to nearly hit one of the younger pages. “He does have a fearsome temper.”

  “You’d better ride, then, before he sees us talking,” Alaric said, wisely keeping the pony between him and Cornelius.

  Tight-lipped, Paget again set foot to stirrup and, this time, sprang up into the saddle. Gathering up the reins, he then cast a conspiratorial grin down at the younger boy. “He’ll remember that this is your pony, you know. As soon as he sees me ride out, he’s going to know I was talking to you. But if you don’t mind, I don’t!”

  “Enjoy your ride,” was all Alaric said, though he smiled as he said it.