Morgan nodded carefully. “We still don’t know who he was. But each of us had seen him before in separate situations, which I haven’t the time to enumerate just now. He looks like—well, let us simply say that he bears a striking resemblance to the portraits and written descriptions of Camber of Culdi.”
“Saint Camber?” Arilan murmured, unable to believe what he was hearing.
Duncan shifted in his chair uneasily. “Please don’t misunderstand, Excellency. We are not claiming that he was Saint Camber. He never said he was. In fact, this last time when Alaric and I finally saw him at the same time, he said that he wasn’t Saint Camber—‘only one of his faithful servants,’ I believe he put it. From what you have just told us of the Camberian Council, perhaps it was one of them.”
“That is impossible,” Arilan murmured, shaking his head in disbelief. “What did he say to you?”
Morgan raised an eyebrow. “Well, he implied that we had Deryni enemies that we didn’t know about. He said that ‘those whose business it was to know such things’ believed that Duncan and I might have more powers than we think, and that we might be challenged to a Duel Arcane to discover our strength. He seemed concerned that this not happen, though.”
Arilan’s face had gone white, and he had to reach out to the center pole to support himself. “It’s impossible,” he whispered, not listening anymore. “And yet, it almost has to be one of the Council.” He groped his way to an empty stool and sat heavily.
“This puts an entirely different light on matters. Alaric, you and Duncan were made liable for challenge by any full Deryni—and for the reasons your visitant stated. I sit on the Council; I was there when it happened, though I could not prevent it. But who could have come to you in that guise? Who would even have a motive? It simply does not make sense.”
Arilan looked up at them, at all of them in the room, and realized he had been rambling on. Warin and Cardiel were staring at him with wide, faintly frightened eyes, unable in their humanness to comprehend; and even Nigel was regarding him in stunned confusion, only partially understanding the implications of the Deryni bishop’s words. Morgan and Duncan measured him carefully, trying to reconcile what he was saying with all they could remember of their encounters with the stranger in Camber’s guise. Kelson alone remained aloof, the sudden uncertainty of the situation seeming to isolate him, to infuse him with a cold sobriety, a logical detachment that enabled him to assess the growing crisis with a semblance of objectivity.
“Very well,” Arilan said, shaking off his sense of foreboding and returning to the matter at hand. “Alaric, Duncan, I cannot explain the visitations you have had, but I intend, at least, to find out whether Wencit really has been in contact with the Council and coerced them into arbitrating a Duel Arcane. I know of no such ruling, and as a member of the Council directly involved in this matter, I should have been consulted. However, I have missed a few routine meetings lately because of our forced march, so it is possible. Morgan, do you possess a set of Ward cubes, and do you carry them with you?”
“Ward cubes? I—” Morgan hesitated and Arilan shook his head.
“Do not be coy with me; there isn’t time. Do you or do you not?”
“Yes.”
“Then, get them. Duncan, I shall need eight white candles, all about the same size. See what you can find.”
“At once.”
“Thank you. Thomas, help Warin and Nigel roll back the carpet to expose bare earth. Kelson, I shall need something from the old times. May I borrow your Ring of Fire?”
“Certainly. What are you going to do?” Kelson asked, pulling off his ring and watching, mystified, as the carpet was pulled back to expose bare, matted grass.
Arilan slipped the Ring of Fire on his little finger and motioned for Morgan and Duncan to be off on their own errands. “I intend to construct a Transfer Portal, with your help. Happily, that is one of the old talents that has not been entirely lost. Nigel, I shall need a different sort of help from you and Warin and Thomas in a few moments. Can all of you obey me without question?”
The three exchanged apprehensive glances, but even Warin nodded. Arilan flashed them a fleeting smile of reassurance as he stepped onto the patch of grass and dropped to his knees. After raking through the grass with his fingertips and removing several small stones and bits of brush, he held out his hand for Nigel’s dagger, which the prince handed over without a word. Then, with the four of them looking on, he began cutting a six-foot octagon in the turf.
“I can only imagine how strange this must seem to you,” he said, cutting the second of the sides and moving on to the third. “Warin, I shall explain for your benefit and Nigel’s that a Transfer Portal is a device whereby Deryni can travel from point to point without the passage of time. The process is instantaneous. Unfortunately, we cannot exercise this remarkable talent without a Portal—and that takes a great deal of power to construct.
“Which is where the three of you come in. What I should like to do is to place each of you in a deep trance and then draw on your strength to help us activate the Portal. I promise you’ll be none the worse for it.”
He had finished cutting the sixth side of the octagon and looked up to see Warin fidgeting in his place, obviously more than a little uncomfortable at the idea of being used in magic.
“You are uneasy at this thought, and I cannot say I blame you, Warin. But there is nothing to be alarmed about, really. It will hardly be any different from when Morgan read you, except that you shan’t remember anything.”
“You swear it?”
Arilan nodded, and Warin shrugged nervously.
“Very well, I’ll do what I can.”
Arilan continued cutting his octagon, coming down the final facet as Morgan returned with a small, red leather box. Morgan halted at the edge of the octagon and watched as Arilan made his last cut and then straightened to dust his hands against his cassock. The dagger he returned to Nigel.
“The Wards?” Arilan asked, looking up.
Nodding, Morgan opened the box to spill eight tiny black and white cubes into his cupped hand, four each of black and white, each about the size of the end of his little finger. They glistened in the wan light as Morgan extended them on his open palm.
Arilan passed a hand over the cubes and cocked his head as though listening to something, then nodded and motioned for Morgan to proceed. As he moved clear of the octagon, Morgan stepped inside and dropped to his knees to begin laying out the cubes on the grass. Arilan watched him in silence for a moment, then cleared his throat.
“Can you set them up except for the last step, and then trigger the Ward from inside?”
Morgan looked up and nodded.
“Excellent. When Duncan comes back with the candles, you can have him set one at each angle of the octagon. Nigel, suppose you and Warin come over here now and make yourselves comfortable. Kelson, would you shift some of those sleeping-furs for them to lie on?”
As the two humans moved to their appointed places, Duncan returned with the required candles and knelt outside the octagon, trimming the candles to size with his dagger. Morgan watched him for a moment, indicating where the candles should be placed, then cast a last glance at the others and returned to setting out his cubes.
The black and white cubes were called Wards, the entire composite called a Ward Major, once activated; and each step must be performed correctly in order to make the Ward Major come alive. The four white cubes must first be arranged in a square, two sides of each cube touching its neighbors; and then the black cubes must be placed, one at each corner of the large square formed by the white ones, black and white not quite touching.
Morgan arranged the cubes in the requisite pattern, then reached out his right forefinger to rest lightly on the white cube at the upper left of the square, glancing up at Arilan as he whispered the nomen, “Prime.” None of the others had been watching, and as Morgan glanced back down at his Wards, he was pleased to see that the first cube now glowed with a faint, milky light.
He had not lost his touch.
“Seconde,” Morgan whispered, touching the white cube in the upper right of the square. “Tierce, Quarte,” he repeated in rapid succession, touching the remaining white cubes.
The four white cubes now glowed in a single, larger square, which reflected coldly off the four black cubes remaining. Morgan moved his finger to the black cube in the upper left corner and drew a deep breath, then murmured, “Quinte.” The process was quickly repeated for the three remaining black cubes as he hurried past their names, “Sixte, Septime, Octave.” The black cubes now glowed from within with a deep, green-black flame. Where the light of the black cubes met the light of the white, there was a vague, shimmering area of darkness, as though the one cancelled out the effect of the other.
Morgan glanced up and was surprised to find that the others were well about their own tasks. Duncan had finished with his candles and set them in place without Morgan even being aware, and now knelt calmly beside the entranced Warin, the rebel leader’s slack head resting against his knee, his own eyes closed. Arilan and Kelson were kneeling on either side of a sleeping Nigel, Arilan apparently assisting the young king with mastering a fine point of control.
But Cardiel was sitting apart from the others, one arm cradled around his upraised knee as he crouched on the rugs folded back at the edge of the octagon. He apparently had been watching Morgan closely for some time, and he looked down in embarrassment as Morgan caught his eye. The downward glance did not last for long, though, for Cardiel was clearly fascinated by what he had just seen.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry,” he said in a low voice. “Do you mind if I watch?”
Morgan hesitated for just an instant, weighing the advisability of permitting the bishop to learn more than he already knew, then shrugged. “If you wish. Please don’t interrupt me, though. The next part is a bit tedious, and I need to concentrate.”
“Whatever you say,” Cardiel murmured, sidling closer for a better view.
Suppressing a smile, Morgan wiped the palms of both hands against his thighs, then picked up Prime, the first white cube. Bringing it carefully to Quinte, its black counterpart, he let the two touch gently as he murmured, “Primus!”
With a muffled click, the two cubes merged into a silvery-gray oblong, which Morgan gently put aside before picking up Seconde. With a glance at the frozen Cardiel, he touched it to Sixte and whispered, “Secundus!” A second glowing oblong was formed, and Cardiel stifled a gasp as Morgan put the second one aside and picked up Tierce.
Morgan was beginning to feel the energy drain now, and he passed a hand lightly over his eyes as he fingered the third white cube. The weariness faded as he applied the Deryni technique for banishing fatigue, though he knew he would have to pay later. For now, though, the Wards must be set, whatever the cost in power. Quickly he steeled himself to touch Tierce to Septime.
“Tertius!”
The third oblong glowed. The Ward was now three-quarters complete.
“We’re almost ready,” Arilan said, moving quietly to Cardiel’s side as Morgan picked up Quinte. “Thomas, I need you now.”
With an apprehensive swallow, Cardiel let himself be guided to a place on the rolled-up carpet, lying back as Arilan directed and letting the Deryni place a cool hand on his forehead. His eyelids fluttered briefly as he drifted into Arilan’s trance. Morgan shook his head and took a deep breath, steeling his strength to meld the final pair of cubes.
“Quartus!”
Light flashed again as the two cubes became one; and then there were four silvery oblongs on the ground before him.
Morgan sat back on his haunches and glanced around him, then began moving the oblongs to the four compass points of the octagon. As he laid out the limits of the Ward’s protection, Arilan moved within the circle and motioned Kelson and Duncan to do the same, each of them still retaining control of his charge at a distance. Morgan crouched in the center of the octagon and glanced around warily as the other three crowded close around him, then readjusted the position of a Ward that had gotten jostled in the process of moving into the circle.
“Go ahead and set the Wards,” Arilan murmured, nodding toward their three entranced colleagues. “Include them in the protection, too. I’ll light the candles as soon as you’re done.”
Morgan glanced at the circle, at the sleeping men just outside its confines, then raised his right hand to point in succession to the four wards.
“Primus, Secundus, Tertius, et Quartus, fiat lux!”
His words caused the light of the Wards to flare to a misty web of luminescence that bathed the seven men in faint milky-white light. As the net stabilized around them, Arilan reached out a tentative hand to probe the net, then passed his hands over the candles set at the points of the octagon, setting them alight. He then edged himself slightly closer to the center of the octagon and placed a hand on Morgan’s shoulder.
“Very well. As soon as the four of us have linked minds, I shall guide all of us through the Portal-setting process. It will not be particularly pleasant—we must pull and focus a considerable amount of energy—but we can do it. I shall do what I can to shield you from the worst of any fluctuations. Any questions?”
There were none. With a short nod, Arilan reached out his free hand to grasp Duncan’s and Kelson’s, then bowed his head. A breath of wind stirred through the tent, making the candles gutter and flare, and then a pure white light began to grow around Arilan’s head. The light brightened, becoming gradually diffused with swirls of crimson and green, and the three in thrall shuddered as power was drawn inexorably from minds and bodies.
Mists swirled and surged around the seven, beginning to spin in an ever-widening vortex as the light crackled and arced, until finally a blinding flash filled the entire tent for just an instant and then was gone.
Kelson cried out, and Morgan swayed near fainting as Duncan let out a moan. But even then the moment was past, the white light gone. As the four Deryni shakily opened their eyes, they felt the faint tingle of a viable Transfer Portal beneath their knees—a sensation familiar to all of them. With a satisfied sigh, Arilan got to his feet and began to pull Cardiel back and away from the circle, motioning for Duncan and Kelson to do the same for Nigel and Warin. Soon the circle was clear except for the hunched form of Morgan kneeling still in the center with bowed head. Biting at his lip, Arilan dropped to his knees beside Morgan and again put a hand on his shoulder.
“I know how tired you are, but I must ask one more favor before I go. The Wards must be extended to protect the whole tent. All of you are seriously depleted, and when I come back for you and Kelson and Duncan, we shall want to leave the others protected. They should sleep until midnight or so, but they might not rouse to defend themselves if someone were to come upon them unawares.”
“I understand.”
With a faint groan of fatigue, Morgan lurched to his feet and spread his hands to either side, palms up. He drew in his breath and exhaled heavily, marshalling new strength from somewhere deep within, then began the low words of the appropriate spell. As he spoke, he turned his hands to make a slight warding-off gesture, as though pushing back something with his palms. Then, when the net of light had extended to the tent walls, he turned his hands palms-up once again, lowering them slowly.
“Is that what you wanted?” he asked dully.
Arilan nodded carefully and motioned for Kelson and Duncan to help Morgan sit beside the circle.
“I shouldn’t be gone for very long,” he said, stepping into the center of the figure. “In the meantime, the two of you might try to help Alaric replenish his strength, insofar as that is possible at this time. Try to be ready to move as soon as I return, though. The Council is not going to like this at all, and I don’t want to give them time to think about it.”
“We’ll be ready,” Kelson replied.
Arilan nodded, then crossed his arms across his chest and bowed his head—and abruptly was gone.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TH
REE
“And I will bind up that which was broken, and I will strengthen that which was weak.”
EZEKIEL 34:16
DARKNESS. Even before his eyes had adjusted to the dim light, Arilan knew that he was standing near the great doors to the Camberian Council chamber, in the slight alcove that defined the Transfer Portal. The area was deserted, as he had expected that it would be at this hour; nonetheless, he cast about carefully for several seconds before moving on toward the great golden doors. He did not relish the idea of any interruption just now.
The doors swung away as he approached the chamber, but the room beyond was as deserted as the antechamber, the fading afternoon sunlight glowing only dimly through the high violet skylight. Without missing a stride, Arilan raised his arms and made a sweeping gesture as he passed between the golden doors, and the torches and the violet glass glowed to life at his command. Settling into his chair, the sorcerer-bishop rested his hands on the ivory table and leaned his head back against the high headrest to compose himself for just a moment. Then he fixed his gaze on the great silvery crystal suspended above the octagonal table and began to Call the other members of the Council.
Incalculable minutes; the Call continued. Several times Arilan shifted restlessly in his chair, trying to conserve energy yet keep his Call at maximum intensity, impatient with the delay. After a time he ceased his efforts and sat back to wait. It was not long before the golden doors swung back once again and the members of the Council began to arrive.
First Kyri of the Flame, splendid and enchanting in deepest green hunting attire; then Laran ap Pardyce in flowing scholar’s robes. Thorne Hagen, barefooted and swathed in an orange dressing gown, hastily donned; Stefan Coram looking ruffled in dark blue riding leathers. Finally came the blind Barrett de Laney on the arm of Vivienne, with Tiercel de Claron trailing behind them and looking vaguely dissolute, his burgundy tunic open at the throat.
As the last of them entered, Arilan lifted his gaze to scan them, blue-violet eyes aglow as he searched their questioning faces. Not a word was spoken as the seven took their places, though they eyed Arilan speculatively—there could be no doubt who had sent out the Call. The Deryni bishop studied them unrelentingly, making a bridge of his fingers as he drew breath to speak.
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