“That I’m Deryni? No, it isn’t. But I helped him to magic.”
“And saved his life!” Nigel retorted. “I was there! Can you imagine what the Marluk would have done to him, if he’d had no magic?”
“So he saved his kingdom and lost his queen!” Alaric returned. “Do you think he’s thanking me for that?”
“Well, let’s see if he is,” Nigel said, seizing his upper arm and marching him toward the withdrawing room. “Do not fight me on this, or you shall see what the wrath of an angry Haldane is all about. If he doesn’t thrash you, I shall!”
The prince’s outburst shocked Alaric to silence, and he meekly let himself be chivvied along, half stumbling as Nigel drew him up the steps behind the dais and right through the door to the withdrawing room. The king was within, conferring with Jiri Redfearn, who must have returned unbeknownst to Alaric. Sir Tiarnán and Llion were also present.
“Can’t this wait?” the king snapped.
“No, I don’t think it can,” Nigel replied. “You have news?”
Brion shook his head. “Mostly more of the same.” He glanced at the others. “Jiri and Tiarnán, out! Llion, you stay. And you”—he pointed to Alaric—“sit.”
His gesture at a stool beside the map table left no doubt as to his wishes. As Alaric sat, the king hooked another stool closer with a booted foot and also sat, gesturing for Nigel to do the same. Llion came to stand near Alaric, looking very solemn, indeed.
“Now. What is the problem?” the king demanded.
“Alaric feels responsible for the queen’s absence,” Nigel said. “He believes that the magic he awakened in you has driven her off.”
“Well, he isn’t responsible. Magic has driven her off, but it was my magic.” Brion paused to draw a deep breath and shifted his gaze to Alaric. “Do you really think I blame you?”
Alaric averted his gaze, nervously intertwining his fingers. “She’s gone, isn’t she? And it’s because of my magic.”
“No, it’s because of my magic, and what I did with my magic.” Brion shook his head. “I blame that blasted priest of hers, and those sisters. I should never have allowed them to come with her household.”
“Sire, that is hardly realistic,” Llion ventured. “The queen is a pious young woman. You cannot have forgotten the sisters who were present at your betrothal.”
Brion snorted. “Busy old crows!”
“But you must have known she would bring some of them,” Nigel said. “As I understand it, she was convent educated by those ‘old crows.’ I would have been surprised if she did not bring some of them along as part of her household. And a queen needs her own chaplain; it’s logical that she should have brought her own.”
“Well, the timing could hardly have been worse,” Brion muttered. “First the de Courcy affair, then the expedition into Eastmarch. Perhaps it was all too much, coming from the background she did.”
“Sire, may I ask what news Sir Jiri brought?” Llion asked.
Brion let out his breath in a huff. “She seems to have taken refuge in an abbey up by Shannis Meer, in the Rheljan Mountains. Saint Giles, it’s called. Jamyl has set up a camp nearby, to wait her out.”
“You won’t go get her?” Nigel asked.
Brion shook his head. “No. Not yet, at any rate. She said that she needs time to think. I must allow her to do that. Within reason. But meanwhile, Alaric, it is nothing to do with you.”
“Pardon, Sire, but it has everything to do with me.”
“But nothing that you can do anything about,” the king replied. “Just leave it for now, lad. I mean that.”
• • •
THE king waited well into autumn, but received only monthly letters reiterating Jehana’s revulsion at the magic given Brion by his Deryni squire. By October, following a cheerless celebration of Alaric’s fourteenth birthday, it had become clear that serious changes would be required at court, if Brion’s queen was to return.
“So far as I can tell, she wants Alaric out of my life, and certainly out of the capital,” the king said, at a meeting that included his uncle, his brother, his mother, and also the bone of contention himself: the fourteen-year-old Alaric Morgan. Llion was also present, in the role of Alaric’s personal knight.
“Will you allow her to hold you to ransom, then?” Nigel asked. “Brion, he is your Duke of Corwyn, your Earl of Lendour. Whether she likes it or not, he is a part of your life, part of the defense of your kingdom. It appears that, if she had her way, Alaric would simply cease to exist!”
“I’ve been thinking about that,” the king replied. “And I’ve explored at least a temporary solution with Uncle Richard.” He glanced at Richard, who inclined his head in encouragement. “How, if Alaric were to withdraw to Cynfyn for the next few years, to take up his full-time duties as Earl of Lendour? He could also travel to Coroth periodically, to interact with his regents there. Once he reaches the age of eighteen, I would come to Coroth and knight him, confirm him in the duchy. And by then, God willing, Jehana would have come to her senses.”
Alaric had listened to the proposal in silence, and now looked to Llion for direction. The young knight sighed.
“I understand your reasoning, Sire,” Llion said. “But, what of the rest of his training? He is still only fourteen.”
“The bulk of his formal training is largely finished,” Richard said. “From this point, he should be given practical experience to harden and temper him, as he continues to gain strength and ability. I’m told that riding border patrol provides excellent tempering—and I dare say, Corwyn has some of the more spectacular borders with our Torenthi neighbors. Both Cynfyn and Coroth have an abundance of highly competent knights, who could guide him from this point.”
As Llion allowed that this might provide a reasonable solution in the short term, Brion pointed out another consideration.
“Your own position becomes somewhat more problematical,” the king said, “for I know that you had agreed to take on the stewardship of Morganhall during Alaric’s minority—and your wife and child are there. Perhaps you could move them to Cynfyn for the first year, until Alaric is settled there. And, it is entirely possible that, with time, the queen may soften her attitude, so that he could return to court, at least a few times a year. After all, the time will come eventually when he must take up the full-time governance of his own lands.”
Alaric had listened in silence as his elders discussed his future, and allowed himself a long sigh, which drew all eyes to him.
“Your thoughts?” the king said quietly.
Alaric nodded. “I understand the delicate balances you are trying to maintain, sir, and I appreciate your efforts. While it would never be my wish to go into exile—and what you describe is exile, of a sort—this seems a reasonable solution for the moment.” Llion started to speak, but Alaric held up a staying hand.
“No, let me speak. The king must have his wife back, and she has no use for me. This I understand. But it will not be forever, and I will not be a child forever. If I can serve the king in this way, at least for now, then I will.”
• • •
WITHIN a week they were on their way: Alaric, Llion, and a troop of Haldane lancers as escort, traveling along that now-familiar route eastward along the River Molling. They arrived early in November, his Lendour men alerted by a courier who had gone before, and most welcome.
“We had not expected you again so soon,” Zoë told him, as she led him and Llion into the hall at Cynfyn.
“Things have become more complicated,” Alaric replied. “Could you please ask Jovett and Sir Pedur to join me in the council chamber? There is aught all of you should know.”
Half an hour later, he had told them of the events at Rhemuth after his and the king’s return, and of the queen’s flight to Shannis Meer, and the king’s difficult decision to send him from court.
�
��He still has no guarantee that the queen will return,” he said in summary, “but he has hopes. He has hinted that he may move his Twelfth Night court here, as it puts him that much nearer the queen. If she declines to join him here—which is likely, since I am here—I suspect he will feel obliged to go to her in the spring and bring her out, by force, if necessary.”
It was not a happy proposition, but one that must be considered.
• • •
DURING the next several months, Alaric continued learning about the operation of his county council and working with the men who had been running his affairs. Sir Xander of Torrylin and Sir Yves de Tremelan, men knighted by his father, returned to Cynfyn from their family holdings to assist him, and to take on the task of ensuring that his military training continued. Shortly before Christmas, he received word that the king would, indeed, be joining him for Twelfth Night court.
The king duly arrived two days before Christmas, with Nigel and Jiri Redfearn in tow, along with half a dozen of his courtiers from Rhemuth. Jamyl briefly appeared two days after Christmas, but only to report that the queen had declined Brion’s invitation to join him for Twelfth Night, and showed no signs of leaving St. Giles’s Abbey before the spring. Furthermore, the weather was worsening.
Accordingly, Twelfth Night at Cynfyn was less attended than it might have been, even with the king present, but Zoë and her mother-in-law managed to put together a respectable feast to entertain Lendour’s young earl and his royal guest.
After supper, with the king looking on, Earl Alaric witnessed the induction of two squires into service of his house. For the knighting that followed, of a sober young man called Ualtar Bryndisi, he directed that the candidate’s spurs be buckled on by his Chandos cousins, Kailan and Charlan: excellent court service for the young pages.
Sir Jovett would have done the dubbing honors in the normal course of affairs, since Lendour’s earl was not yet a knight—or the king, since he was present. But Brion deferred to his young host, and asked Alaric also to lay his hand upon the sword that created Ualtar a knight.
“Now swear your fealty to your earl, Sir Ualtar,” the king told the newly dubbed knight. “It is his privilege and your honor.”
Alaric’s hands shook as he took Sir Ualtar’s hands between his own and exchanged the traditional vows, but the experience was exhilarating, and only a foretaste, he knew, of what would gradually come to him as he took on increasing duties for the king.
But the king seemed not to take as much pleasure in the event, though he put on a brave face. After Twelfth Night, while the denizens of Cynfyn hunkered down in the face of a harsh winter storm, Brion Haldane brooded before the fire in Cynfyn’s hall and made his plans.
The king and his party left Cynfyn late in January, as soon as weather permitted, to head north toward Shannis Meer and St. Giles’s Abbey. Alaric did not go with him, much though he would have wished to spare the king the coming confrontation with Queen Jehana. Instead he traveled west with Llion, Xander of Torrylin, and Yves de Tremelan, for their presence had been requested in Culdi for the knighting of Duke Jared’s eldest son, Kevin McLain.
It was an event well worthy of celebration, but more important to Alaric was Duncan’s coming of age, when he also became a squire to his father, as Kevin had done. Alaric duly celebrated both events, but his late-night discussions up on the castle leads were with Duncan, regarding his strengthening call to priesthood, which only Alaric and Duncan’s confessor yet knew about.
“You’re still thinking to do it?” Alaric asked.
Duncan shrugged, a resigned look on his face. “Father Geordan has my studies tilted in that direction. Mother doesn’t know. And Father . . .” He shuddered. “At least he doesn’t know how much more dangerous it will be for me, being what I am.” By tacit agreement, both of them tried to avoid using Deryni terminology whenever possible.
“Unfortunately, Mother does know that,” Duncan went on, “though she’s never said a word to him. But she also knows that many young men begin seminary and never finish, after discovering that they’re actually called in other directions. I suspect she’ll hope that’s the case with me. What about you? What will happen to you, now that the queen has effectively banished you from Rhemuth?”
Alaric gave a heavy sigh. “The king came to me at Cynfyn for Twelfth Night, since it’s closer to where the queen is holed up. When I left to come here, he was heading north to fetch her home.” He shivered. “I don’t envy him that trip.”
“Nor I,” Duncan whispered, then looked up at Alaric with more enthusiasm. “But, I have a bit of court gossip for you. Prince Nigel is to be married, in early June.”
“Married? To whom?”
“A lady called Meraude de Traherne. She’s sister to one of the king’s squires, called Saer de Traherne. He’s heir to the Earl of Rhendall. Apparently Duke Richard announced the betrothal at the Twelfth Night court he held in the king’s absence. They say Nigel is quite smitten.”
Alaric thought he knew who Duncan was talking about. “Well, I wish him all happiness.” He quirked an ironic smile. “Now that the king is married, I suppose everyone will be getting married.”
“Not you and me,” Duncan replied, grinning. “Not me, anyway. Not if I’m going to be a priest.”
“Not me, either, especially now that this has happened,” Alaric said. “Do you know that Princess Silke actually suggested that she and I should marry?”
“No! Was she serious?”
Alaric shrugged. “Well, she doesn’t want to be married off like her sister. Apparently the old queen has already picked out some Connaiti prince for her. But I did point out that no one would accept a marriage between the king’s sister and a Deryni.” He gazed off into the distance. “I understand that she went into retreat with the queen, in that convent up in the north.”
“You don’t think she’d take the veil, do you?”
Alaric shrugged again. “I don’t know.” He sighed. “I don’t feel like I know much of anything, right now. Who would have thought I’d be effectively exiled from court?”
“So, you’ll go back to Cynfyn?”
“What else can I do?”
He and his knights headed back to Cynfyn the following week, passing through Morganhall to check on affairs there and for Llion to pick up Alazais and their daughter, since it appeared that he would be needed in Cynfyn for the foreseeable future. They did not stop at Rhemuth, though Alazais had heard that the queen was back in residence, and that domestic matters were settling down.
A letter was waiting from the king at Cynfyn, delivered in his absence, informing him that he and the queen were on their way back to Rhemuth. Nothing was said of the queen’s state of mind, or the king’s heart. Alaric was not invited to return to Rhemuth, and did not send an immediate reply.
It was early summer before more joyous news at last arrived from Rhemuth, that the queen finally was with child.
“He’s obviously won her back,” Alaric said to Llion, as the two of them shared far too much ale later that night.
“So it appears,” Llion agreed, topping up his cup. “I wonder what the price will have been.”
“You think she laid down conditions?”
“I should think that both of them will have done.”
Alaric pondered that statement for a long moment, then drained his cup and held it out for a refill.
“Let us hope that she carries a son.”
“Indeed,” Llion replied. “I should hate to think that we might have to go through this for every child, until he gets it right.” He lifted his cup in salute. “To a prince!”
“To a prince!” Alaric replied.
• • •
THEY heard nothing directly from the king through the summer, though occasional gossip did reach Cynfyn. Prince Nigel had, indeed, married the Lady Meraude de Traherne early in June, up in Rhendall
, but though the king attended the marriage of this, his only surviving brother, Jehana declined, lest the journey endanger her pregnancy. And Princess Silke had not been seen at court since the queen’s return, and was believed to be considering a religious vocation at a convent of hospitallers.
Alaric snorted as he read the letter, originally sent to Llion and shared by him. “Silke, to enter religion! She told me she didn’t want to marry where her mother chose, at that Twelfth Night I told you about. But I didn’t think she’d do this.”
“It doesn’t appear that anything has been decided yet,” Llion replied, “though it would serve them all right. Poor Silke never had a chance at marrying someone she actually fancied.”
“Maybe she was serious, that we should marry,” Alaric said. “Not that it could ever happen, even if we were both so inclined. I told her that—and that was before the queen ran away. Somehow, I think that a Deryni brother-in-law would be absolutely the last straw.”
Llion allowed himself a tiny smile. “You’re probably right.” He lifted his cup again. “Here’s to Princess Silke, God bless her. May she find refuge from her blood, and satisfaction in whatever life she chooses.”
Alaric touched his cup to Llion’s. “To Silke.”
• • •
IT was not long after that when Alaric decided to move his growing household to Coroth for Twelfth Night court.
“I haven’t been there in a while. And it’s fairly obvious that the king will not call me back to Rhemuth for this year’s Twelfth Night court. He has other things on his mind besides an exiled Deryni.”
While they made arrangements for the move to Coroth, Llion sent ahead to Corwyn’s regents, informing them of their duke’s plans, and likewise sent a courier to Rhemuth.
“It’s a courtesy, Alaric. You’re one of his dukes. He needs to have at least a general idea where you are.”
Alaric thought it unlikely that the king would be thinking about him at a time like this, when his heir was due to be born in only a matter of months, but he allowed the message to be sent. He had been in Coroth for several weeks when a breathless messenger came galloping up to the castle gates from the harbor below, where a fast galley flying the royal standard could be seen tying up to the quay.
The King's Deryni Page 60
