The King's Deryni

by Katherine Kurtz

  To his relief, the king was not inclined to linger the next morning. Alaric, for his part, had no desire to be anywhere in Wencit’s vicinity, if he could help it. They sailed with the noonday tide, when the morning fog had mostly burned off and the weather looked to hold for long enough to make safe harbor at Coroth. Only as the cliffs of Tralia and the Orsal’s winter palace fell away behind them did Alaric begin to breathe easily again.

  On the short dash back across to Coroth, he mostly managed to put the previous night’s events behind him. He chatted with Llion for most of the way and, as they sailed between Coroth’s sea jetties, found his thoughts returning to more practical considerations, and wondering how Cormac had fared the previous day, leading the Michaelmas procession to the cathedral.

  But as the galley’s crew tossed lines ashore and warped it to the quay, he realized that he need not have worried. The prince was among those waiting quayside to greet them as they came down the gangplank, and made a point to ride beside Alaric as they headed back up to the castle. In fact, Cormac could hardly stop grinning as he recounted all the details of his great adventure.

  “It’s very different from Pwyllheli,” the prince enthused, “but I much liked it. I was much taken by the idea of Saint Michael being the patron of knights, with a yearly ceremony to reinforce that devotion. I wonder whether my father might agree to such a custom. Though I would have to persuade my brothers first.”

  His sheer delight in so simple an activity underlined the sometimes bleak role Cormac was allowed at home, as a very junior prince only distantly in the succession. It was an aspect of Cormac’s life that Alaric had never thought about before, and he found himself wondering whether, when Cormac returned to his brother’s court, he would find it even more difficult to carve out a meaningful role. But at least for now, he could count himself a valued page in the court of Gwynedd.

  The following day, Corwyn’s regents belatedly celebrated Alaric’s birthday with a final ducal court. There, taking advantage of the presence both of the king and of their future duke, the regents presented several squires for knighthood, which honor the king duly conferred, with Alaric’s hand upon the sword. For a duke in training, it was a singular privilege, and one that he would long treasure.

  He treasured, too, the time he had been given with his age-mates in Coroth, particularly Jernian and Viliam, whom he recruited to assist in the knightings, helping to buckle on the spurs. And that night, after he had supped with the king and his regents, he and Cormac were able to play a few more cardounet matches with Jernian and Viliam.

  The voyage home was uneventful, though the rough weather curtailed much activity on deck, and caused many of the ship’s company to spend an inordinate part of their time standing at the leeward rail, sometimes making reluctant offerings to the sea gods. Alaric suffered no such indignity. By mid-October they were back in Rhemuth, where Alaric resumed his Haldane livery and Haldane duties, settling back into his training with new focus as he counted the days until Sé should make an appearance.

  October gave way to November, and November to December, and autumn duly eased into winter, with sleety rain and hard frost. The leafless branches bore a mantle of icy rime that rarely melted even at midday, then froze again. The slush underfoot was treacherous, and hardened with the dusk to a brittle layer of ice that bloodied horses’ fetlocks and left bloody hoofprints where they passed, causing the royal stable masters to suspend unnecessary ride-outs until the weather should improve. Ordinary folk moved as they must. And whether by day or by night, the wintering weather chilled to the bone, sending many a denizen of the city to huddle close to fires or scurry early to their beds for warmth.

  Not long into Advent, Alaric and Prince Cormac were among those who sought their beds early, though only Cormac would sleep that night. Alaric sensed Sé’s presence behind the door as the two of them entered, and schooled himself not to react as a black-clad arm reached from behind the door to clasp the back of the prince’s neck from behind. Even as Cormac’s knees buckled, Sé was sweeping him off his feet, his black cloak engulfing the boy like the wings of some gigantic bird as he carried him to the bed that Alaric wordlessly indicated, almost as if they had planned it that way all along.

  “He has come to no harm,” Sé murmured, as he deposited the sleeping prince on the bed.

  “I know that.” Alaric closed the door and threw the bolt, watching as Sé tucked Cormac’s cloak more closely around him, then covered him with a sleeping fur. A good fire was blazing on the hearth, and firepots waited beside each of the beds, flaring to life at a gesture from the Deryni knight. As an afterthought, Sé also lit a rushlight set in a niche above the bed head.

  “Tell me,” Alaric said, “is it always necessary to touch a person, to put him to sleep?”

  “Usually, at least the first time. After that, it depends on the depth of the link one has already forged, and how much energy one is willing to expend.”

  Sé briefly turned his face back toward the door and gave a nod, one hand moving minutely in a gesture of warding. “That should keep us from being disturbed. Llion and Alazais are already asleep next door.”

  Alaric cocked his head at the older Deryni. “You put them to sleep, too?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can you teach me?”

  Sé glanced at the sleeping Cormac, his lips tightening, then nodded. “Very well. I had intended another lesson, but perhaps we can do both. Any lad brash enough to attempt Reading a Torenthi mage from across the room is probably ready to learn—if not that particular skill. You are very fortunate I was there.” His tone held exasperation, but also indulgence. “Come along, then.” He beckoned Alaric to join him by Cormac’s bed. “Sit here beside him. He will not wake, I assure you.”

  Alaric had not reckoned on Cormac being his first subject, but he eagerly did as Sé directed, scrunching closer to the sleeping prince as Sé sat behind him. He tried not to tense as Sé set hands on his shoulders and drew him back against his chest, fingertips slipping forward to rest on his carotid pulse points.

  “I believe I shall try the method by which we train novices in my order,” Sé said softly. “Still yourself now, and open to me. Close your eyes. You may lose awareness for a time.”

  Alaric started, for that last statement underlined how real this was about to become—what Sé was about to do—but he did his best to comply, closing his eyes and willing himself to relax against Sé’s chest. Focusing on his heartbeat pulsing under Sé’s touch, he let himself drift with it, vaguely aware of the feather brush of Sé’s controls slipping into place and pressing him deeper. Then he was aware of nothing.

  “Well, then, that was interesting.” Sé’s murmur immediately brought Alaric back to awareness, though he had no idea how long it had been. “I see you have already begun to Truth-Read. That is a skill that will, indeed, be useful to the king, as well as yourself. Continue working on that.

  “But for now, let us look at putting a subject to sleep.” Sé slid his hands back onto Alaric’s shoulders. “This will be the prelude to a number of additional skills that you will also learn to exercise, in time. Reach across and rest your hand on Cormac’s forehead. I shall be right with you. You won’t hurt him,” he added, as Alaric stiffened minutely. “Nor will I hurt you.”

  Nodding, Alaric reached out his hand and touched Cormac’s forehead, aware of Sé’s presence at the back of his mind.

  But he wasn’t afraid. At Sé’s prompting, he drew a slow, steadying breath and “reached” his mind into Cormac’s, gently seizing control, astonished at how easy it was. He was also faintly aware of Sé’s approval.

  “Good. You may let your hand fall away now,” Sé whispered. “You have him. Cormac, your sleep will be far more restful if you remove your outer garments, just as you normally do before going to bed. You need not pay us any mind.”

  As Cormac roused, apparently oblivious to their pre
sence, he sat up and yawned, folding back the sleeping fur, then swung his legs over the other side of the bed. As he did so, Sé urged Alaric to his feet and drew the two of them back into shadow to watch as Cormac unfastened the cloak clasp at his throat and let it fall away, then bent to remove his boots.

  Under Sé’s guidance, Alaric followed Cormac’s unfocused musings as he straightened and rose, pulling his discarded cloak from the bed to hang it from a nearby peg. He then unbuckled and removed his belt and dagger, hanging them on another peg, with the dagger within reach. After that, he raked both hands through tousled hair and yawned again, then padded to the garderobe across the room and disappeared behind the curtain.

  “He is quite unaware that we are here,” Sé said softly, “and he will remember none of this unless you wish it.”

  He shifted to pure thought, swiftly insinuating further teaching: the concepts that would give his pupil access to this important skill: to take control or impart communication, most often without the knowledge or consent of the subject.

  Responsibility comes with that ability, Sé sent. And prudence is essential. The actual words unaccountably resonated in Alaric’s mind, almost painfully. If only out of common courtesy, one does not impel behavior that contradicts an individual’s free will—unless, of course, it touches on your own safety or the safety of others.

  “You must forgive me if I seem to lecture,” Sé murmured aloud, laying an arm around Alaric’s shoulders and briefly ducking his head. “It is one of the ways we are taught, in my order. That point, regarding free will, is extremely important.”

  He jutted his chin in Cormac’s direction as the prince came out of the garderobe, stretching and yawning again as he fumbled out of his shirt and pulled it off over his head. “This is different: a harmless training exercise, so that you may learn how to use this ability. I do hope you appreciate the degrees of acceptable interference.”

  Alaric nodded minutely. “I do.”

  “Good. Then, have him walk around the room, do things that would not be part of his usual routine before going to bed. Test your control.”

  Alaric looked aside, startled, but Sé only nodded and gave him a wry smile—and gently withdrew his own controls, leaving the young Deryni on his own.

  Alaric drew a sobering breath, but he had no doubt that he could do this. He had no idea how Sé had done to him what he had done, but the subtle strands of Cormac’s control were his to command, and not in any frivolous way.

  Abruptly he decided what to do with Cormac. If he made a mistake, he knew Sé could make it right. With a few tentative tweaks of control, he was stepping out into the room, heading nonchalantly for his own bed as Cormac, in the process of pulling on a nightshirt, suddenly noticed his presence.

  “Hullo. Where did you go?”

  Alaric took off his own cloak and hung it on a peg by his bed. “I wanted to ask Sir Llion about something, but he was already abed.” He shrugged. “It can wait until morning, I suppose.” He gave Cormac an impish grin and a raised eyebrow. “Married folk!”

  “Ah, well.” Cormac returned the grin, but it turned into a yawn. “Mercy, I’m tired! I think Duke Richard must stay up nights, dreaming up new ways to test us. But then, he doesn’t have a bonny and buxom wife in his—” The prince’s face fell, and he clapped both hands over his mouth.

  “Oh God, I don’t know what made me say that! She’s your sister! I am so sorry!”

  Chuckling and shaking his head, Alaric came over to give a comradely dunt to Cormac’s shoulder. “Cormac, I’m not offended, truly. She is bonny—and buxom. And Llion is a lucky man to have her.”

  “I really am sorry!”

  “Just go to bed,” Alaric said. He was beginning to feel embarrassed about putting the prince up to the comment. “Get some sleep. We’ll both feel better in the morning.”

  Still murmuring snatches of apology and shaking his head in disbelief at his presumed gaffe, Cormac climbed into his bed and extinguished the rushlight, then burrowed under the sleeping furs and pulled them close as he curled onto his side. He was asleep almost as soon as his head touched the pillow. Alaric felt a little self-conscious as he turned to where Sé waited in the shadows, but the Deryni knight only inclined his head in approval.

  “Nicely done. With a bit more experience, you will learn to be less heavy-handed—and in time, all of this will become second nature when there’s need.”

  “I shouldn’t have embarrassed him,” Alaric said. “He’s my friend.”

  “He shan’t remember,” Sé replied. “And now that you have once established a link with him, you will have no need to touch him in the future, when you wish to resume rapport—though it will take more effort, without the contact. You’ll learn, never fear.” He gestured for Alaric to join him before the hearth, where two chairs were set to either side of a small table.

  “When you have become more comfortable with this process, it will be the basis for compelling the truth. But that is for a later lesson. For now, you should be able to tell whether a person is lying—which is almost as useful, and not at all invasive. Do you understand the difference?”

  Alaric sat in one of the chairs at Sé’s invitation. “I think so.”

  “Good. Because if ever I hear that you have tried another stunt like in Tralia—trying to Read a known Torenthi Deryni from across the room!—I will come back from wherever I am, including the grave, and—” He shook his head as he, too, sat, pulling his sword from its hangers to lay it on the floor close by his feet. “Just don’t ever do that again. Am I clear?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good.” With a sparse gesture, Sé shrugged out of his cloak and let it fall over the back of the chair, then conjured handfire and set it to hovering above the table. “Now, I want to teach you what I actually came here to do.”

  Reaching into the front of his robe, he produced a small leather pouch, which he handed to Alaric.

  “These belonged to your mother, many years ago,” he said, jutting his chin toward the pouch. “Go ahead, open it.”

  Alaric loosed the strings that closed the pouch and peered inside. By the light of the handfire above, he could see what appeared to be a jumble of small black and white cubes about the size of dice.

  “Those were your mother’s first ward cubes,” Sé said. “You do know what ward cubes are?”

  Alaric nodded distractedly. He had tipped the cubes into his hand and was fingering them curiously as he peered at them. There were four each of the black and the white, of a warmth to suggest ivory or bone or jet, like his cardounet pieces, but their weight seemed heavier, more like stone.

  “I’ve seen ward cubes a few times,” he said softly, “but I was never allowed to handle them. I do know what they do, though. . . .”

  “Then let us see if they know what you can do,” Sé said with a smile, scooping the cubes from Alaric’s hand to place them on the table between them. “Arrange the white cubes in a square, with the black cubes at the diagonal corners, but not quite touching.”

  Cautiously Alaric did as Sé bade.

  “Now lay your right hand flat on the cubes, covering all of them, and close your eyes.”

  Alaric had no idea what to expect, but he closed his eyes and tried to still his mind. The cubes felt cool at first, but then they began to tingle under his hand, only faintly at first, but then more intensely, almost vibrating.

  “Keep your hand on the cubes,” Sé said softly. “I’m going to touch you now. Don’t resist.”

  Alaric drew a deep breath and let it out, making a conscious effort to relax and open to Sé as cool fingers touched his temples to either side. He briefly felt a surge of vertigo, a vague impression of reassurance and approval; then Sé’s hands fell away.

  “Very good,” Sé murmured. “You can open your eyes now, and take your hand away from the cubes.”

  “What did you
just do?” Alaric breathed.

  “Similar to what I did before. I’ve given you a bit of instruction on warding. Come stand here on my right now, spread your hand over mine, and follow what I do. Wards are basically a defensive tool, and we’re going to see if these will still set.”

  Eagerly Alaric complied, overlapping his fingers on Sé’s as the Deryni knight touched his right forefinger to the white cube in the upper left-hand corner and spoke its nomen:

  “Prime!”

  At once Alaric felt a measured surge of power tingle through his finger, at which the cube began to glow softly in the firelight, a translucent milky-white. It had been Sé’s power, but clearly the Deryni mage was expecting him to do likewise. He was ready as Sé touched the upper-right cube.

  “Seconde!”

  Again, the outflow of power as that cube, too, began to glow, but this time Alaric had contributed. He felt Sé’s wordless approval as they shifted their attention in quick succession to the lower white cubes.

  “Tierce! Quarte!”

  Cautiously Alaric let out a breath he had not realized he had been holding. At the same time, he sensed a subtle change in the very air around them, and a definite depletion of his own energy. But the air itself was also charged with energy, almost like the taut, expectant stillness that follows a close lightning strike.

  Sé glanced back at him, an eyebrow raised in question as he lifted his hand toward the black cube set at the upper-left corner of the large white square, but Alaric only nodded. He could do this; he knew he could.

  “Quinte!” As Sé touched the first black cube, power went out from both of them, intertwined. The black cube flared with light: this time, a murky green-black glow under Sé’s fingertip. Before Alaric could think about it too much, Sé moved to name the other black cubes in turn, in the same order he had named the white ones:

  “Sixte! Septime! Octave!”

  By the time the last cube had been named, each black cube glowed like a dark jewel at a corner of the white square. Breathing deeply and then exhaling, Sé glanced again at his pupil and nodded.