The King's Deryni

by Katherine Kurtz

  “Then, temper justice with mercy,” Caitrin’s husband countered. “I regret that life was lost, but it was a passion of the moment, against one who has greatly wronged many Mearans. Surely that does not require their deaths as well. One of my men also died.”

  “What do you suggest?” Lucien interjected, with a glance at the king.

  “Flog them,” Delaney said coldly. “They behaved like wayward boys, brawling in the presence of my bride, and one of them died for it. But the rest do not deserve to die.”

  Brion gave a heavy sigh. Kenneth sensed his frustration and uncertainty. It was a terrible burden laid upon a young man only just come into his full adulthood, but he was also a king, and must always weigh the greater good in his decision.

  Brion glanced aside at Lucien, backing his mount a few paces, and motioned Kenneth and Jared closer.

  “What say you?” he murmured. “They killed Morian, but we did kill one of theirs as well. I don’t want to go to war over this. Not right now.”

  “The decision must be yours, Sire,” Lucien whispered.

  “I know that. I’m asking what you would do. You live among these people.”

  Lucien inclined his head. “I would flog those responsible and release them to their lord.”

  Brion shifted his attention to Kenneth and Jared. “Do you concur?”

  “Aye,” Jared murmured.

  “Kenneth?”

  “Regrettably, I must agree.”

  With a heavy sigh, the king motioned to Jiri Redfearn, waiting in the gateway. “Bring out the prisoners and prepare to administer punishment.”

  And so it transpired. The Gwynedd men grumbled when they realized what was to be done, and the Mearan men could not believe their good fortune, but the prisoners were soundly flogged and then released, backs bleeding and wrists still bound, into the custody of Derek Delaney, who sternly marched them back to the safety of his own line, accompanied by his wife and the parley banner. The king watched them go, watched the waiting men take the flogged ones up behind them on their horses. No one moved from the gatehouse arch until all the Mearans had disappeared over the rise.

  “Very well,” Brion finally said. “I didn’t like that resolution, but it’s done, as Morian would have wished. We now have the sad duty to return him to his family.”

  Chapter 26

  “Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace . . .”

  —LUKE 2:29

  THEY were two days taking Morian home, with his body well wrapped in cerecloth and sheltered under a canopy atop a light cart drawn by a pair of sturdy cobs. It was not an ideal arrangement, for the summer heat was still upon them, but nothing could be done about the weather. Despite their good intentions, the body was beginning to bloat by the time they finally approached the modest manor house outside Ratharkin. Lucien said it was called Breitfahr.

  At Lucien’s recommendation, Brion had not sent a messenger ahead to warn Morian’s family that they were coming, for he believed that such ill news should be delivered in person. But as they rumbled through the gatehouse to the yard before the manor house, several liveried servants came onto the porch before the great hall, followed by a tiny woman clothed all in black, with her grey hair unbound to tumble down her back.

  “Lady Cloris!” Lucien called, immediately drawing rein to dismount and bound up the steps to her. As they met, she let herself be enfolded in his arms, wordlessly laying her head against his chest.

  “I knew he was gone,” she murmured, as Brion, too, mounted the stair, followed by Kenneth and Jared. “How did it happen?”

  Brion shifted uneasily from one foot to the other. “I am so very sorry we must bring you such news, my lady,” he said awkwardly. “The encounter was altogether unexpected, and his attackers were more successful than any of them would have dared to hope.”

  She pulled back a little to search all their faces, then gazed beyond them to where the cart had stopped in the yard with its sad burden.

  Within the hour, after being coffined, Morian’s body lay in the little church nearby, under a guard of honor by half a dozen of the king’s men. Soon after, the dead man’s son arrived: an intense, fit-looking young man of a like age to Jared, with wavy red hair tied back in a queue and a red beard to match. Sir Halloran du Joux seemed personable enough, as he sat at table with the family that night, though he spoke but little, but he kept watch through the night with Lucien, Jared, Kenneth, Jamyl, and the king himself.

  The next morning, after a solemn Requiem Mass, they buried Morian in the nearby churchyard, next to the graves of several of his children and a sister who had predeceased him. After, the widow walked back to the manor house beside Kenneth, for she had learned of his part in her husband’s passing.

  “Lord Kenneth, I wish to thank you for the service you did my husband,” she murmured, taking his arm.

  He managed a faint, bleak smile as he set his hand over hers.

  “It is not a service that any man is eager to perform,” he said quietly, “but he invoked a plea that I could not refuse. He said, ‘You dared to love a Deryni wife.’ And then he said, ‘For the love you bore her, let me go.’”

  The lady’s face upturned to him in surprise. “You were married to a Deryni, Lord Kenneth?”

  “I was.” He nodded, a faint smile curving at his lips. “I had not thought to marry again, after my first wife died. But the late king had other plans.”

  “Ah, then, it was an arranged marriage.”

  “Aye, in the beginning. She was a great heiress, whose marriage lay in the gift of the king, and I was privileged to be in the king’s favor. But we came to love one another deeply. She gave me the son I thought never to have, and a fair, bonnie daughter who sadly never got to know her mother. She died of the milk fever soon after our daughter’s birth,” he added wistfully. “I still miss her, more than I can say.”

  “I can see that you do,” she said with a sigh and a smile, laying her free hand over his. “She must have been an extraordinary woman.”

  “The finest I have ever known,” he replied. “Would you like to see her likeness? I have a miniature, painted by my elder sister.” As she smiled and nodded, he delved into the pouch at his belt and pulled out the locket that Delphine had given him. As the two of them stepped aside to let others pass, he removed it from its protective pouch and opened it, spreading its triptych before her admiring gaze.

  “Oh, she was lovely,” Cloris breathed, tilting his hand with the triptych. “And beautiful children. How was she called?”

  “Alyce,” Kenneth replied. “Alyce de Corwyn. And my son Alaric and my daughter Bronwyn. These are recent likenesses.”

  Nodding, she lightly tapped the portrait of Alaric. “I have heard his name mentioned,” she said. “My husband spoke several times of a half-Deryni boy being brought up at the royal court.” She looked up at him appraisingly. “You are very brave, Kenneth Morgan, to deliberately sire a half-Deryni child. It will not be easy for him—or for your daughter.”

  “No,” Kenneth agreed with a taut smile.

  “How old is the boy now?” Cloris asked.

  “He will be nine at Michaelmas—only a few days from now,” he added with some surprise, for he had somewhat lost track of time while they were in the field.

  She, too, smiled as she closed his hand over the triptych. “A magical age, as they begin to edge into young adulthood. I remember my Halloran at nine.” Behind them, said Halloran was approaching with Lucien and Jared, along with Jamyl and the king, and she glanced in their direction.

  “Thank you for allowing me to gaze upon your family, Lord Kenneth,” she said, turning as the king drew abreast of them. “Sire, I hope that all of you will stay to sup with us tonight in my husband’s memory. It is late to start on the road now. You traveled many days to bring him home to us, and had little rest in that time—or last night, eith
er, I think.”

  Brion glanced at Jared and Lucien, who had joined them. Though he would have been happy enough to make an immediate departure for Ratharkin, courtesy clearly demanded that they stay for a proper meal with the family, now that Morian was decently buried.

  “It would be our honor, my lady,” he said with a bow, right hand pressed to heart. “We are tired. And I think that, perhaps, a few of us would appreciate the opportunity to rest for a few hours before we dine. I did notice Lucien yawning at Mass.”

  The Mearan governor smiled and made his own bow. “Guilty as charged, Sire. And I confess that a bed would be most welcome, my lady.”

  “Then, I shall have our steward show you to rooms,” she replied. “My son Halloran will arrange it.”

  Both Lucien and Kenneth took advantage of the offer of beds, along with the king and several others. While most of them followed Halloran to the next floor, Morian’s widow led Kenneth to a dim, airy chamber on the ground floor, overlooking a well-manicured garden.

  “My husband loved this room,” she told him, as she opened the door to see him in. “There is a daybed there by the window. I can have wine or other refreshment brought for you, if you wish.”

  “Thank you, no,” he said with a smile, flexing a stiff shoulder. “A bed is all I need—and a few hours’ sleep.”

  “Then, I shall leave you to your rest,” she said, smiling. “And thank you again for your kindness to my husband.”

  “Lady,” he murmured, giving her another bow, hand to heart.

  As she left, closing the door behind her, he continued on toward the bed, at the same time detaching his sword from its hangers. The bed was only knee-high, more of a pallet than a daybed, but it beckoned seductively as he laid the sword close along the side and, with a barely suppressed groan, sank down onto the thin mattress. After weeks in the field, any bed seemed a great luxury.

  All but light-headed, he lay back and briefly closed his eyes, the back of one wrist across his brow, a little surprised at how bone weary he was. Speaking of his family with Lady Cloris had reminded him how very much he missed his children, and his longing to see them again almost overwhelmed him.

  They needed him at home, too. Delving into the pouch at his waist, he retrieved the letter that had caught up with him only days before—the one telling how Alaric had broken his arm early in August. Previous letters had been written in the boy’s own hand, but this one clearly had been dictated to someone else, probably Father Geordan. Unfolding it, he skimmed his fingertips down the page, though he had mostly memorized the words by now.

  Dearest Papa, I hope you will not be angry when you read this. . . .

  How he wished he had been there to comfort his son’s pain. How he wished he had been there to prevent the ill-fated foray up to the meadow, with its perilous tree!

  Almost overcome with longing and remorse, he laid the letter aside and took out the silver locket, with its triptych of his loved ones, and prised it open to gaze at the likeness of his son, of his daughter, of his beautiful Alyce, and dreamed of home. All too often he had been with the king instead of with his wife, his children! How many years he had served the Haldanes!

  And yet, it was a noble service, even in its absences from those he loved the most. It was a life that had brought him great satisfactions, despite the privations. As he closed his eyes, surrendering to his utter weariness, he closed the locket in his hand and clasped it to his breast, likewise holding his loved ones to his heart.

  • • •

  IT was thus that Jared found him several hours later, when he came to wake him for dinner and could not rouse him.

  “Kenneth?” Jared whispered. “Kenneth! Dear God, no!”

  Jared shook him again and again, and even slapped his face several times, but to no avail. The loyal and steadfast Earl of Lendour had served three Haldane kings, but now it appeared he had passed away peacefully in his sleep, his faithful heart worn out in royal service. Fallen to one side lay the last letter Kenneth had received from his son; and clasped to his breast under one slack hand, Jared found the silver locket that Kenneth’s sister had given him, with its portraits of his late second wife and their two children, who now were truly orphans.

  “Why?” Jared whispered, as he sank down on the edge of the pallet where Kenneth lay. “Dear God, why?”

  Despite the tears blurring his vision, Jared noticed Kenneth’s sheathed sword lying close along the side of the bed and fumbled it into his hands to press the cross-hilt to his lips in salute, breathing a wordless prayer for the soul of his dead friend and kinsman. Then he gently laid the sword along Kenneth’s side, slipping its hilt under the hand that did not hold the locket, and retrieved the discarded letter lying close by, gently tucking that under the hand that held the locket. He dashed away his tears with the back of a hand as he rose and gazed blindly out the garden window, where the sun was sinking low on the horizon in a blaze of flaming splendor.

  • • •

  NOT a man in Morian’s hall but realized that something was terribly amiss as Jared joined the others in the room. Brion and his men were already at table with Sir Halloran and his mother, partaking of a modest meal, but everything seemed to move as slowly as treacle as Jared crossed the hall, coming directly to the king’s side to whisper in his ear.

  “Sweet Jesu, no!” Brion said aloud, his tone and a stunned expression instantly drawing all attention to him. “Are you sure?”

  “Sadly, I am, Sire,” Jared murmured. He turned his gaze to Lucien Talbot, and to Sir Halloran and Lady Cloris, seated across from them. “I regret to report that the Earl of Lendour apparently has passed away in his sleep,” he said baldly. Beyond them, a stunned-looking Xander slowly rose, looking like he might be physically ill.

  There followed a great flurry of agitated speculation and consternation, which only ceased when Lady Cloris drew the king and Jared to one side, along with her son.

  “I am deeply sorry that this has happened, Sire,” she said quietly. “You are welcome, of course, to let Lord Kenneth’s body lie in the chapel tonight—and sadly, you have already supplied the cart and horses that will be necessary to take him home.”

  The king said nothing, other than to nod his thanks for the offer of holy space. Jared was still too distraught to speak of what had happened.

  “Sire,” Sir Halloran said softly, with a sidelong glance at his mother, “I am reminded that Lord Kenneth was once married to a Deryni woman. It occurs to me that my mother and I might offer a last service to Lord Kenneth, as a mark of respect and in thanks for the kindness he showed my father.”

  Brion cocked his head in query.

  “It may be that your chaplain would object,” Halloran went on, “but you perhaps are aware that it is possible for those of our kind to . . . take certain measures that delay the corruption of a corpse.”

  The king glanced quickly at Jared, whose grief was shifting to hopeful interest.

  “Are you speaking of a preservation spell?” Brion asked. “I have heard of such.”

  Halloran inclined his head. “None of the rest of your party need know of it,” he said quietly. “It can be done privately in the chapel, once he is laid out for vigil.” He quirked a bitter smile. “We cannot avert death, Sire, or even hold it at bay, but at least its outward form can be softened for a time, for the sake of the living. It seems to me that this would be a great kindness to Lord Kenneth’s young children, if they might look upon their father’s face a final time without the graphic reminder of his mortality.”

  At the king’s look of query, Jared gave a jerky nod.

  “It would, indeed, be a great kindness, Sire,” he managed to murmur. “I do not relish the task of telling his children that he is gone.”

  Halloran glanced at his mother, who nodded, then gave a slight bow. “Then, it shall be done,” he said quietly.

  Chapter 27 />
  “For this corruptible must put on incorruption, and this mortal must put on immortality.”

  —I CORINTHIANS 15:53

  IT was mid-October by the time a lone rider galloped into Culdi: Kenneth’s aide, Sir Xander of Torrylin, asking to be taken directly to Lady Vera. Alaric and Duncan, practicing their stalking skills on the battlements, saw him arrive, but by the time they could reach the stable yard, Xander had disappeared.

  “Has he brought letters?” Duncan asked the groom who was walking out Xander’s horse.

  “I have no idea, my lord,” the man replied.

  “He must have gone up to the solar,” Alaric muttered; and he and Duncan took off to Vera’s airy dayroom, pelting up the turnpike stair to find Llion and Sir Walter just disappearing behind the closing door.

  “Llion, Llion, wait!” Alaric called, for both men looked very serious. But Llion only turned and shook his head, holding up a hand to forbid further exchange, then disappeared inside with Walter.

  “What do you think has happened?” Duncan whispered, wide-eyed, as Alaric drew back in confusion, for it was not like Llion to be so brusque.

  “I dunno,” Alaric replied. “Something bad.”

  “You don’t suppose something has happened to one of our fathers?” Duncan ventured timidly. “Or to the king?”

  “I guess we’ll have to wait until one of them comes out,” Alaric said, trying to keep up a brave face. But he was worried.

  Very shortly, Father Geordan came trudging up the stairs, followed by a stunned-looking Kevin.

  “What’s going on?” Duncan demanded. “I want to see my mother!”

  “Not now,” Father Geordan murmured. “Alaric, my boy, come with me, please. And Kevin, you stay with your brother.”

  This unexpected order took all three boys by surprise, Alaric not least among them. In something of a daze, he allowed the priest to escort him through the door, which closed behind them. In the room beyond, Llion and Xander both turned somber faces toward him. His Aunt Vera was comforting Geill, his half-sister, along with Sir Walter, Geill’s husband. Abruptly Alaric realized that whatever the news Xander had brought, it was something to do with his father, not Duke Jared.