Deryni Checkmate

by Katherine Kurtz

  "It is Duke Jared's execution, my lady. Do not ask me to intervene,"

  "But you are king, Sire. You can—"

  "I came not as king but as a wedding guest," Kelson interrupted, turning his grey glance on Margaret and fixing her with his stare. "I would not usurp Duke Jared's authority in his own house."

  "But Sire—"

  "I understand what motivates Jared, my lady," Kelson said firmly, looking at the kneeling duke. "He has lost a son. I have no sons yet, and like may never have one if the forces of darkness have their way. But I think I know how he feels. I have lost a father and many more. I think the anguish cannot be too different."

  "But-"

  There was a sickening thud from the terrace outside, the clang of steel striking stone flagstones, and Margaret's face went white. Footsteps approached the terrace doors with a measured tread, and then Lord Fergus was standing in the doorway with a heavy dripping burden held by a shock of red-stained white hair. It was Rimmell's head.

  Jared looked up impassively as Fergus displayed the head aloft, only his hands clenching and unclenching in the folds of the crimson cloak to betray his emotion. Then his face blanched and he nodded dismissal. Fergus bowed and backed away from the doorway, leaving a trail of red that soaked into the stone paving as he disappeared around the corner. Only then did

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  Jared lower his eyes to the two beneath the cloak again.

  '"Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord,'" Father Anselm murmured, his voice slightly chiding as he gazed across at Jared.

  "And I have avenged my children," Jared whispered, reaching out a trembling hand to touch Kevin's shoulder. "My son, my beloved daughter who was to be ... Now you shall sleep together forever, as was your wish. Yet, by my soul and by everything I hold precious, I never dreamed a tomb would be your bridal bed. I had thought to see you married two days hence."

  His voice caught, and then he began to weep—dry, racking sobs which shook the proud old body in grief. With a muffled cry, Margaret ran to her husband and knelt beside him, wordlessly cradling his head against her breast and weeping with him. Kelson stared after them, reliving for a moment the anguish and despair that each one felt, then shook himself free and signaled Deny to come to his side.

  "There is a mission to be undertaken which, by rights, should fall to me," Kelson murmured, "but I must not leave Lord Jared alone at this time. Will you undertake it for me, Deny?"

  Derry nodded gravely. "You know I will. Sire. What would you have me do?"

  "Go into the hills and search out this Dame Bethane. If she's Deryni, there may be danger. But I know that you are not afraid of magic. You're the only one here I would trust to go in my place.'*

  Deny bowed. "I would be honored, Sire."

  Kelson glanced around the room, then moved to the corner and signalled Deny to follow. The guards and ladies had all withdrawn, and only Gwydion and Lord Deveril and a few special servants still remained with the family. Father Anselm's prayers drifted in the stillness as Kelson looked Deny in the eyes.

  "I would ask you this now as friend, not as king,"

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  Kelson said in a low voice. "I ask it as I believe Morgan would ask, giving full freedom to refuse if you so choose."

  "Ask, then, Kelson," Deny replied softly, returning Kelson's gaze measure for measure.

  Kelson nodded. "Will you allow me to place occult protection upon you before you seek Bethane? I hesitate to send you against her without some defense."

  Deny lowered his eyes in thought, his right hand moving to his chest where Morgan's Camber medallion still bung. He considered Kelson's words for a long moment, then pulled the chain from beneath his tunic to cup the medallion in his hand.

  "I am not totally uninitiated in the arts of magic, Sire. This medal was the instrument of Morgan's instruction. Saint Camber offers his protection even to humans, it seems."

  Kelson glanced sharply at the medallion, then at Deny. "May I touch it? Perhaps my power can augment what you already have."

  Deny nodded, and Kelson took the medallion in his hands. He stared at it in concentration for several seconds, ttien placed his right hand lightly on Derry's shoulder. His left hand still cupped the medal.

  "Relax and close your eyes as Morgan taught you," Kelson instructed. "Open your thoughts to me."

  As Deny obeyed, Kelson wet his lips and began to concentrate, a crimson aura forming around the medal as Kelson held it. Green flared with the crimson as Kelson's spell merged with that of Morgan. Then the light died and Kelson dropped his Hands and sighed. The medallion gleamed silver against Derry's Hue tunic.

  "Well, that should be some help," Kelson half-smiled as he glanced at the medallion again. "Are you sure you don't have any Deryni blood, Deny?"

  "None, Sire. I think that has Morgan puzzled too." He smiled, then lowered his eyes and sobered.

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  "And what about Morgan, Sire? Shouldn't Ke be told what has happened?"

  Kelson shook his head. "What purpose would it serve? Would it bring him any faster? He's already on his way here, surely—riding once more to the scene of death, as he did for my father. At least let his rido be peaceful this time."

  "Very well, Sire. And if I find this Bethane, and can capture her, shall I bring her back?"

  "Yes. I want to know what her part was in all of this. But be careful. There was a mistake in her magic before, whether accidental or intentional. I would rather have you alive than she, if it comes to a choice."

  "I can take care of myself," Deny smiled.

  "So I've been told," Kelson replied, a half-hearted smile escaping his lips in spite of himself. "You'd best go now."

  "At once, Sire."

  And as Deny disappeared to do his king's bidding, Kelson turned once more to gaze at the scene of sorrow. Father Anselm still knelt with the family and household servants beside the bodies, and his voice whispered through the hushed room in the timeless words of the litany:

  "Kyrie eleison."

  "Christe eleison."

  "Kyrie eleison."

  "Pater noster, qui es in coelis ..."

  Kelson dropped to one knee and let the familial phrases wash over him as they had another time, when he knelt by the body of a man on the field of Candor Rhea. The man then had been his father Brion, also struck down unawares by magic. And the words now brought little more comfort than they had when he knelt on that windswept plain five months before. "Eternal rest grant unto them, O Lord."

  JL

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  "And let perpetual light shine upon them... /* Kelson suppressed a small sigh and rose, slipped out of the room to escape the murmur of death. He would hear the words again, two days hence; and they would be no more easy to accept then than they were now.

  He wondered again if they would ever be easy to accept.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  There must be also heresies among you, that they which are approved may be manifest among you.

  I Corinthians 11:19

  IT WAS edging on into the evening of that fatal day—as Kelson mourned, and Morgan and Duncan rode unwittingly toward the place of mourning—and the Gwynedd Curia in Dhassa was still in session.

  Loris had assembled his bishops in the great Curia Hall at the center of the episcopal palace, not far from where he and his colleagues had performed the rite of excommunication the night before. But though the session had begun shortly after dawn, with but a short break for a noon meal and attention to personal necessities, the discussion still dragged on, no closer to resolution than it had been when they started.

  The principal reason for this seeming deadlock was in the person of two men: Ralf Tolliver and Wolfram de Blanet, one of Gwynedd's twelve itinerant bishops with no fixed see. Tolliver had begun the dissent with the opening of the session—it was, after all, his diocese for which Interdict was threatened. But it was Wolfram who had fi
nally brought the matter out into the open.

  The gruff old prelate had arrived midway through the morning session with seven of his colleagues in tow, appalled to find that the Interdict question was

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  being seriously considered. He had made a noisy entrance—as ill-bred, itinerant bishops were wont to do, his enemies would have said—and had straightaway declared himself unalterably opposed to Loris' intended sanction against Corwyn. Corwyn's duke, as Arilan and Cardiel had agreed the day before, undoubtedly deserved censure of some kind for his actions at Saint Torin's, as did his Deryni cousin who had been masquerading in the guise of a priest for lo, these many years. But to punish the entire duchy for the sins of their master, especially when that master had been adequately dealt with already—why, that was nothing short of preposterous!

  And so the debate had raged. Cardiel and Arilan, hoping to gain some insight into just how far the peppery old Wolfram would go, had held themselves aloof through much of the discussion, being careful to say nothing which might tip their hands before they were ready. But both realized that Wolfram could be just the catalyst they were seeking to make others bolt in their support—if the timing were right. It simply required a proper paving of the way.

  Arilan folded his slender fingers on the table before him and scanned the assembly while old Bishop Car-sten droned on and on about some obscure point of canon law touching the matter at hand.

  Wolfram, of course, would support anyone who was against the Interdict. Which meant that he could be counted upon to follow Cardiel's lead when the time came. Of Wolfram's seven unattached colleagues, Siward and the dull-witted Gilbert would probably follow suit, with three more on Loris' side and the remaining pair undecided. Of the senior bishops, Bradene and Ifor would remain carefully neutral— you could tell just by the looks on their faces as they listened to the debates—but de Lacey and Creoda would follow Loris, as would the wheezing old Car-sten. Corrigan, of course, was Loris' man from the

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  start—which left only Tolliver among the senior bishops. Fortunately, there was no question where his loyalties lay.

  That made eight for the Interdict; four neutral; and six against. Not very impressive odds, Arilan realized. For the four neutral men could not be counted upon to stay that way, and in any case would probably never break with the Curia if it actually came to that. Which meant, in effect, a count of twelve to six, unless someone had the courage to remain truly neutral. So if the six bolted, they would be cutting themselves off from the Church—self-imposed excommunication, in effect—possibly for good.

  Arilan glanced across the table—it was large and horseshoe-shaped, with Loris seated between the arms of the horseshoe—and caught the gaze of Cardiel. Cardiel nodded almost imperceptibly, then returned his attention to Carsten's closing remarks. When the old bishop had taken his seatv Cardiel stood. It was time to make their move.

  "My Lord Archbishop?"

  Cardiel's voice, though low, cut through the whispered dissension Carsten's words had evoked, and heads turned toward the bend of the horseshoe table where he stood. He waited quietly, knuckles resting lightly on the table in front of him as the dissidents took their seats and gradually calmed down, then nodded toward Loris.

  "May I speak, Your Excellency?"

  "Very well."

  Cardiel bowed slight in Loris' direction. "Thank you, my lord. I have been listening to this railing and dissension among Christian brothers for an entire day now, and as host bishop I wish to make a statement."

  Loris frowned. "We have given you leave to speak, Bishop Cardiel." His voice held a hint of irritation— and suspicion.

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  Cardiel controlled a smile and allowed his gaze to sweep the assembly, noting the positions of his chief targets and touching the glances of Arilan and Tolliver as he passed. Comgan's secretary, Father Hugh, looked up expectantly from his note-taking as Cardiel paused, lowered his head again as the bishop drew breath to speak.

  "My Lord Bishops, brothers," he began coolly, "I speak to you this evening as brother, as friend, but also as host to this Curia. I have held my peace for the most part today, because the Bishop of Dhassa should, in most matters, remain carefully neutral, lest he sway those of lesser stature. But I believe that things have progressed to the point where I can no longer keep silent, when I must either speak or else betray the trust I assumed when I was consecrated bishop."

  His eyes swept the assembly, and he could feel Loris's gaze boring into him. Hugh was scribbling furiously, his lank hair falling partially in his eyes as he wrote, but all other eyes were locked on Cardiel.

  "Let me state it in my official capacity—and I hope that Father Hugh is inscribing all of this—that I, too, am opposed to the Interdict which our brother of Valoret has proposed to lay upon Corwyn."

  "What!"

  "Have you lost your mind, Cardiel?"

  "He's gone mad!"

  Cardiel waited patiently, watched as the protestors gradually took their seats, as Loris' fingers tightened on the arms of his chair, though the archbishop's expression did not change. Cardiel held up his hands for silence, got it, scanned his listeners again as he continued.

  "This is not a decision which is lightly made, my brothers. I have thought and prayed about it for many days, since I first learned what it was that Loris proposed to bring before this Curia. And further dis-

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  cussion of the issue today has only strengthened my belief.

  "The Interdict for Corwyn is wrong. The one the Interdict attempts to reach is already out of Corwyn by last reckoning. He met the brunt of your personal censure last night when you excommunicated him and his kinsman."

  "You supported the excommunication, Cardiel," Corrigan interrupted. "As I recall, you sanctioned it by your presence in the procession with Archbishop Loris and myself. So did Tolliver, Morgan's own bishop."

  "So I did," Cardiel replied evenly. "And as canon law is now written, Morgan and McLain were rightly proscribed. So they should remain unless they can bring evidence that they are not guilty of the charges in the edict, or can justify their actions to this assembly. The excommunication is not the issue."

  "Then, what is the issue, Cardiel?" one of the itinerant bishops asked. "If you agree that Morgan and the priest are guilty as charged, then—"

  "I made no such judgement as to their moral guilt or innocence, my lord. Indeed, they have done the things described in the proscription read out last night. But we're speaking of proscription for an entire duchy, proscription for many thousands of people who will be wantonly cut off from the sacraments of Holy Church for the actions of their duke. This is not just."

  "It will bring the wicked to justice," Loris began.

  "It is not just!" Cardiel repeated, striking the table with the flat of his hand for emphasis. "I will not condone it! Further, if you persist in advocating the lowering of this Interdict, I shall withdraw from this assembly!"

  "Then do it!" Loris said, standing in his place, his face going red. "If you think you can intimidate me with threats to withdraw your support from this Curia,

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  you are mistaken! Dhassa is not the only city in the Eleven Kingdoms. If the Curia does not meet here, it will simply meet somewhere else. Either that, or else Dhassa will shortly have a new bishop!"

  "Perhaps it is Valoret which needs a new bishop!" Wolfram said, jumping to his feet and glaring at Lor-is. "And as for me, my lord, I have no diocese you can threaten to remove me from. While I live, I remain bishop. And not you nor any man can take away that which came to me through God! Cardiel, I follow you!"

  "This is insane!" Loris spluttered. "Do you think the two of you can defy this Curia?"

  "There are more than two of us, my lord," Arilan said, as he and Tolliver stood and moved to Cardiel
's side.

  Corrigan threw up his hands in dismay. "O Lord, deliver us from men with causes! Are we now to be schooled by our juniors?"

  I am older than was Our Lord when he rebuked the scribes and the Pharisees," Arilan replied coolly.

  "Siward? Gilbert? Do you stand with us? Or with Loris?"

  The two glanced at one another, at Wolfram, ffien stood. "With you, My Lord," Siward said. "We like not this talk of Interdict."

  "Do you like rebellion better?" Loris hissed. "You realize that if you do this, I could suspend you all, I could even excommunicate you—"

  "For disobedience?" Arilan snorted. "I hardly think that makes us anathema, My Lord Archbishop. As for suspension—yes, that is within your prerogative. But our actions will not be affected by your words. And we shall continue to minister to the people who depend upon us."

  "This is madness!" old Carsten whispered, searching them all with wide, rheumy eyes. "What can you hope to gain by it?"

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  "Say that we witness for our faith, my lord," Tolliver said, "and that we attempt to preserve the rights of the flocks the Lord entrusted to our care. We will not see an entire duchy put under Interdict for the deeds of one or two men."

  "You will see it done here and now!" Loris raged. "Father Hugh, you have the instrument of Interdict ready for signature?"

  Hugh's face drained white as he stared up at Loris— he had long since ceased taking notes—and then he pulled a parchment from the bottom of the pile and handed it across to Loris.

  "Now," Loris said, taking Hugh's pen and signing his name with a flourish. "I hereby declare the Duchy of Corwyn, with all its cities and inhabitants, under Interdict, until such time as Duke Alaric Morgan and his Deryni kinsman, Lord Duncan McLain, are taken into the custody of this Curia for disposition. Who will sign with me?"

  "I will," Corrigan said, pushing his way to Loris' side and taking the pen.

  "And I," echoed de Lacey.

  Cardiel watched in silence as Corrigan's signature rasped across the page. "Have you given thought to what the king will say when he learns of your actions, Loris?" he asked.