The King's Deryni

by Katherine Kurtz

“We’ve already established that Nigel should not be out of the kingdom at the same time as the king,” Richard said quietly.

  “Then choose someone else to serve as witness,” Jamyl retorted. “Summon the Duke of Cassan; he is of suitable rank, and your friend, and would be honored to so serve you. Or take Jiri, or Tiarnán. But I think I will better serve you by accompanying the queen.”

  Brion averted his gaze briefly, but Alaric saw the tears the king struggled to suppress.

  “Sire, if I may speak?” he said quietly. At the king’s gesture of assent, he went on. “Sire, it is clear that an expedition into Arkadia will take many weeks, perhaps months—and you are needed elsewhere, whatever your heart might wish otherwise.”

  “Your point?” Brion said impatiently.

  “Send the recovery party by way of Lendour, and then northward through the Cardosa Pass. If Sir Jamyl is to be your envoy, he can pick up additional men at Cynfyn. Many of my Lendour men know that area of the borders very well. We could enlist the assistance of my brother-in-law, Sir Jovett Chandos, and some of his knights. From Cardosa, it should be an easy enough ride on to Arkadia.”

  “Your Earl of Lendour makes a great deal of sense,” Richard said to Brion, with an approving glance at the squire. “And Lendour knights would certainly make a suitable escort for the queen. Of course, that assumes that Count Sigismund agrees to return the bodies.”

  “And why would he not?” Jamyl retorted. “A Haldane bride was a prize; a Haldane child would have been a veritable treasure. Quite bluntly, I doubt he feels the same way about two Haldane corpses.”

  Brion had grimaced at the comment, but Jiri was nodding thoughtfully.

  “It could work, Sire. And I would suggest that you send the boy as well. Not into Torenth, of course,” he added, with a nod toward Llion, whose mouth was opening to object, “but he and Llion know the Lendour men better than any of us. And I suspect that the queen would take comfort in their company.” He glanced at Duke Richard. “Regarding the queen, will she be able for such a journey?”

  Richard shrugged. “She has said she intends to go. And she is hardly an old woman. She is not yet forty.”

  “But she has borne six children,” Tiarnán MacRae pointed out, “and she spends little time a-horse. It will not be an easy journey.”

  “No, but she clearly is determined to do it,” Richard replied. He cocked his head at the king. “What say you, Nephew? I doubt you will change your mother’s mind—and the weather favors such an endeavor for the next few months. Send a priest along with her, to underline the pious nature of the request. Sending her with Lendour men will also reassure the Arkadians that this is not a state matter, but a personal one on the part of Xenia’s mother.”

  Brion sighed. “Very well. Alaric and Llion, you really are willing to accompany my mother? I had thought to have both of you at my wedding.”

  Llion smiled thinly and shrugged. “We serve the royal house, Sire. And this is the sort of service that dukes render to their lord.” He jutted his head toward Alaric, who was listening eagerly. “Alaric will learn much from this mission, even if he remains in Lendour.” He cast a pointed look at the boy. “And if I may, I should like to offer the services of my wife, Lady Alazais, to serve as companion to the queen,” he added.

  Richard snorted. “I know that Lady Alazais is fond of the queen, but she may not welcome that you have volunteered for her.”

  “Ah, but she has a sister in Lendour whom she sees far too seldom,” Llion countered. “She is wife to Sir Jovett. Besides, most of the queen’s usual ladies-in-waiting are—of somewhat more advanced years, and ill accustomed to the rigors of such a journey.”

  “Delicately put,” the king said with a quirk of a smile. “But—is your wife not at Morganhall, with a young daughter?”

  “She is, Sire,” Llion replied, “but I can fetch her in less than a day. And my daughter will be in good hands with her aunt and the rest of the Morgan household.”

  “Then, it seems to be decided,” Richard said, pushing back his chair. “I’ll go and inform the queen. Brion, you probably should prepare a letter to Count Sigismund. And Llion, you’d best get yourself to Morganhall.”

  • • •

  THEY were ready to ride two days hence, a week before the king was to depart for Bremagne. Alaric had been excited to watch his offer of assistance be accepted by the king, and he was even more excited to be actually going along.

  “You’re sure you won’t mind missing the wedding?” the king asked, as Alaric mounted up with the rest of the party forming up before the great hall steps. The boy was wearing brown riding leathers and a cloak of Corwyn green instead of his customary Haldane livery, and suddenly looked far older than his twelve and a half years.

  Alaric smiled and shook his head. “No, Sire. As Sir Llion has pointed out, this is the sort of work I shall do for you as your duke. Besides, I get plenty of opportunity to witness court ceremony—and I’ve been to Bremagne. I suggest you take Ciarán as your squire, or the Redfearn twins. And take Princess Silke with you. It will give her something to think about besides the loss of her sister.”

  Brion glanced over his shoulder to where the black-clad princess was bidding a tearful farewell to her mother, likewise dressed all in black and already mounted on a black palfrey.

  “Actually, I had already decided to take Silke along with me,” he said. “She just doesn’t know it yet. She’s only a little younger than Jehana; they’ll make good travel companions.” He turned his gaze back to Alaric. “I do appreciate what you’re doing, though. Just remember: you’re not to go into Torenth. I cannot risk you there.”

  Alaric nodded. “I understand.”

  They soon were on their way, riding briskly eastward along the Mollingford road toward Lendour. Jamyl Arilan led the delegation, accompanied by Jiri and Llion. A priest also had joined the royal party: Father Creoda of Carbury, a solid and reliable cleric only recently attached to the royal household, who had helped negotiate Brion’s marriage contract. Two additional knights brought up the rear: grizzled veterans of many a battle.

  In the midst of them, and enduring the rigors of the road as well as any, was the Dowager Queen Richeldis, with Alazais as her female attendant and Alaric as her squire. The queen said little during their first day out, but she seemed to gain heart after that, since she now was doing something to bring her daughter home. She and Alazais chatted easily to one another and to the priest, Father Creoda; and even Alaric was sometimes included in their conversations.

  They spent the first two nights at roadside inns along the river, but when they approached the market town of Hallowdale, Llion directed their party in a wide detour around its outskirts.

  “There is no suitable accommodation there,” he said flatly, when the queen asked why they could not take lodging in the town. “We’ll make camp in a field, farther along the road.”

  “But, I don’t understand,” the queen said. “How could there be no lodging in the town?”

  “We shall camp where Sir Llion directs,” Jamyl reiterated, his face as set as Llion’s. “Bad things happened here, in the past.”

  That night, as Alaric sat beside the fire with Llion to eat their travel fare, he was well aware that the queen had drawn Alazais aside to ask about the town. Tight-chested, he ducked his head and tried not to remember what he had been told about Hallowdale, mouthing a prayer for the Deryni who had perished that day and would have no other memorial.

  They pressed on the next morning, though the mood had turned more solemn. They traveled hard, to take advantage of the good weather and open roads. It soon became clear that the pace was taking its toll, especially on the women, who were ill accustomed to riding for days on end. But the queen never complained; nor did Alazais.

  On the morning of the day they were to arrive at Cynfyn, the Lendour capital, Jamyl directed Alaric to take the lead,
for these were his lands through which they rode. Llion had unfurled Alaric’s Lendour banner beside him, and Jamyl carried the queen’s banner: the royal arms of Gwynedd within a bordure of white roses. Alaric found himself sitting straighter as they rode, and even grinning from time to time, for this was a foretaste of the recognition that would be his when he was grown.

  Just at noonday, still several hours out from Cynfyn, they stopped to let the horses blow. The queen and Alazais dismounted to walk out sore muscles for a few minutes, and Father Creoda also got down. Alaric sat his horse easily, automatically scanning the higher ground around them—and did a double-take as he spied two dark-clad riders gazing down on them, motionless against the sky.

  Chapter 39

  “That we henceforth be no more children, tossed to and fro . . .”

  —EPHESIANS 4:14

  LLION and Jamyl noticed the riders in that same instant, but Alaric at once signed for them to stay where they were and gigged his horse ahead, where the pair began picking their way down the hillside to meet him. He sensed powerful shields in both men, but he knew one of them even before the man reached to pull down the black desert veil covering the lower part of his face. As the two drew rein to await his arrival, the second man uncovered as well, but Alaric did not recognize him.

  “Sir Sé,” he said uncertainly, also drawing rein.

  “Well met, Earl of Lendour,” Sé said, bowing slightly in his saddle. His formal greeting told Alaric that the Anviler knight likely was here on business, and that his companion possibly did not know the extent of their relationship. Both men were dressed in the stark black of their order, with mail at their throats, shields slung across their backs, and helms hanging at saddlebows.

  “Our order has become aware of a service we might render for your queen in Torenth,” Sé went on. “If that is permitted.”

  Alaric simply gaped at Sé for a beat, glad that he was here but uncertain how much he should say before Sé’s companion. In any case, it appeared that the pair knew of their mission, and were offering to go into Torenth with them, to retrieve the bodies of Xenia and her dead child.

  He glanced back at the others, wary faces upturned on the road below, the knights closely guarding the queen and Alazais, who were hastily remounting their horses. Llion would know to trust Sé, but the others?

  “Thank you, Sir Sé,” he said as he turned back to the pair. “Sir Jamyl Arilan has command of this expedition. The queen will wish to be consulted, but I think they would welcome the assistance of Knights of the Anvil. Will you join us, Sir . . . ?”

  “I am called Savion,” the stranger knight said by way of introduction, smiling slightly as he kneed his horse closer to reach across and clasp Alaric’s forearm. “Sé speaks highly of you and your king. Please to make us known to Sir Jamyl and your queen.”

  During that brief contact, despite the muffling of gloves and sleeves and mail, Alaric felt the subtle probe of the other’s mind, briefly testing at his shields. But he sensed no threat; nor did he think that Sé would have exposed him to danger.

  With a nod of agreement, he backed his horse off a few steps and turned to lead the way back to the waiting party. Jamyl and Llion broke away from the others and came to meet them a little way ahead of the queen and Alazais and their very wary guards.

  “Gentlemen,” Sir Savion said, before any of them could speak. “Our order has become aware of your mission. We are sent to escort you into Arkadia, and to assist in negotiations.”

  Jamyl eyed the two with suspicion. “You have access to the Duke of Arkadia?”

  Savion inclined his head. “We do. And I am confident that we can persuade His Grace that he takes no profit from retaining the bodies of the late princess and her child.”

  “Very well,” Jamyl said flatly, drawing himself more upright in the saddle. “Come with us to Cynfyn. We plan to stage the venture from there. You can explain to us over supper just how you propose to assist us.”

  • • •

  THE queen’s unannounced arrival at Cynfyn sparked both excitement and consternation, for news of Princess Xenia’s death had not yet reached the Lendouri capital. But when Llion had briefly informed Jovett and the seneschal, Sir Deinol Hartmann, of the reason for their presence, also presenting the two Anviler knights, Jovett immediately drew the men into the council chamber adjacent to the great hall to get down to business. Zoë and her mother-in-law took both the queen and Alazais into their charge and whisked them off to guest chambers for a quiet meal, hot baths, and soft beds. Alaric, acutely aware that he was forbidden to accompany the party into Torenth, took his place at the high table with Jovett’s father, Sir Pedur, and supped with his Lendouri retainers, trying to be personable and mature while he fretted about how the meeting was progressing.

  When Llion and the others came out, Llion summoned him to the quarters they were to share. The others were dispersing to various duties.

  “Jovett is going to handpick a small party of escort knights to accompany us from here,” Llion said, drawing Alaric into the window embrasure in the dim-lit room. “It was decided to give the women a day to rest, but then we’ll ride northward along the river to cross the mountains at Cardosa.”

  “Couldn’t I go with you as far as Cardosa?” Alaric asked. “That’s still in Gwynedd.”

  Llion shook his head. “I don’t think that’s what the king had in mind, lad. You’re better off here at Cynfyn—and then we don’t have to worry about you.”

  Alaric considered trying to change Llion’s mind, but he suspected that the order had actually come from one of the others. “What, after Cardosa?” he asked.

  “There it gets trickier,” Llion replied. “Once we cross into Torenth, provided we encounter no resistance, Sé says it will be several days’ hard ride eastward to the Arkadian capital. With any luck, the duke will honor our request and we can be back on our way within a day or two.”

  “And Sé thinks this will work,” Alaric said, less than convinced. “Do you really think they can persuade the Arkadians?”

  Llion shrugged. “Well, they’re all Deryni; you tell me. But if anyone can do it, I would place my bets on Sir Sé.” He cocked his head. “Do you think there’s something he isn’t telling us?”

  “I’m sure there are many things he isn’t telling us,” Alaric replied with a sour smile. “I’d like to know how he found out about this expedition. But I have to trust him because my mother trusted him. And Jovett grew up with him. I do wish I could go along, though.”

  “In a way, I wish it, too,” Llion admitted. “But the king is right not to risk sending you into Torenth before you’re grown. And I somehow don’t think that Sé would go against the king’s wishes in this.”

  “I suppose.”

  They turned in for the night shortly after that, but Alaric’s sleep was restless. The next day, he joined in the preparations for the continued mission into Torenth, shadowing Jovett as he selected the men to go along, chose remounts to accompany the party, and organized supplies.

  They supped early that evening, for Jamyl planned to set out at dawn the next morning. Accordingly, most of the principals turned in soon after.

  Alaric, too, retired to his chambers, for Jamyl had given him leave to ride out partway with the queen’s party. He was ready for bed, checking his equipment a final time, when Llion suddenly cocked his head in the direction of the door, then went to open it and admit Sé.

  Alaric straightened as the black-clad Anviler knight entered the room and closed the door behind him. Rather than his riding leathers of earlier in the day, he wore the familiar high-necked black robe of his order, fastened at the shoulder. Only now did Alaric notice how grey Sé was becoming.

  “Is anything wrong?” the boy asked quietly.

  “Not at all.” Sé motioned him to the bed. “It’s time you were abed, though. Lie down and make yourself comfortable. Llio
n, please give us a moment.”

  As Llion went to one of the chairs before the fire and settled, head against the high back, Sé came to sit on the bed beside Alaric.

  “I hadn’t thought to teach you this for a while yet, but I think it may be warranted, under the circumstances.” He reached into the neck of his robe to pull at a length of silver chain. “I’ll need this back when I return, but you can use it in the meantime.” A silvery medal emerged on the chain, which he pulled off over his head. Then he looped the chain over Alaric’s head and set his fingertips to Alaric’s temples. “Now, clear your mind and concentrate on my voice. . . .”

  • • •

  IN that same hour, elsewhere in the castle, another Deryni made similar use of a spell very like the one Alaric was learning. Jamyl Arilan had used the technique many times, and now focused outward to the man in the Camberian Council who was his customary contact when he could not himself be present for meetings.

  There has been an interesting development, Jamyl told his contact. Two Anviler knights have shown up in Cynfyn and offered to accompany us to Arkadia. The one is Sé Trelawney, but I don’t recognize the other one. He calls himself Savion.

  The name is not familiar, came the reply, but I shall make inquiries. I take it that they don’t simply propose to accompany the queen’s party. And one must wonder how they came to know of the expedition.

  Sé seems to keep track of young Morgan’s comings and goings, Jamyl said. And in this case, he seems to be looking out for Haldane honor.

  Young Morgan isn’t going on the expedition, is he? came the somewhat anxious query.

  No, the king has forbidden him to leave the kingdom, Jamyl replied. He does plan to ride out with us in the morning; we’re taking some of his Lendour men, after all. But I think Sir Llion will prevent him from following on.

  Well, do your own part to preserve Haldane honor, came the reply. Meanwhile, I shall pass on this information to the Council.

  • • •