Childe Morgan cm-2

by Katherine Kurtz

  «I am also much pleased with the counsel that you have given with regard to the regency of your wife’s lands», the king went on, «which, someday, will be your son’s lands. Given his tender age, however, it seems to me that those lands deserve a more tangible symbol of lordship, and sooner rather than later. In addition, as I much desire to continue employing your talents on my own behalf, as I advance in years and my own heir approaches his majority, it seems to me fitting that you possess a more appropriate rank by which you may speak in my name and his, in matters diplomatic».

  «Sire, I am yours to command», Kenneth murmured with a taut bow.

  «Then I trust you will not object when I tell you that I have this day determined to create you Earl of Lendour for life, by right of your wife». A collective gasp whispered through the hall, but the king only flicked a steely glance out over the assembled court to silence it, and went on.

  «Will you, then, accept this honor from my hand, and be my man for Lendour, and continue serving as principal regent of Corwyn?» He smiled and shrugged. «It means that someday, your son will be your feudal superior, when he takes up his ducal coronet — but by then, perhaps you will be ready to retire to some quiet spot with your lovely wife, to enjoy the delights of grandchildren. It is a pleasure I have not yet tasted for myself, but I am assured by my governor in Meara and others who have them that the experience is altogether agreeable».

  His droll smile and wink at Sir Lucien and several of his senior council lords who did have grandchildren was answered by gentle chuckles of honest amusement from most in the hall, and defused what might have been an awkward moment regarding Kenneth’s good fortune.

  «But, enough of this», Donal said, rising. «Kenneth, I’ll thank you to kneel». As Kenneth hastily did so, the king shifted the Haldane sword into his right hand and briskly touched it to Kenneth’s right shoulder, left shoulder. «I create you Earl of Lendour for life, with all the rights, privileges, and responsibilities that entails. Will you now do homage for your lands?»

  «I will, Sire, most gladly», Kenneth replied, lifting his joined hands in an attitude of prayer.

  Smiling faintly, the king handed the sword off to Prince Brion and took Kenneth’s hands between his own, nodding for him to speak.

  «I, Kenneth Kai Morgan, do enter your homage and become your liege man for Lendour, reaffirming the vows I made when your father knighted me. Faith and truth will I bear to you, and to your sons, and to your house, in all things, so help me God».

  «And I receive your homage most gladly, Kenneth Morgan Earl of Lendour, and pledge you my loyalty and protection for so long as you keep faith with me».

  So saying, the king released Kenneth’s hands and dipped into a pocket within his sleeve, producing a gold signet, which he slid onto Kenneth’s left forefinger.

  «Wear this ring as a seal of fidelity to the oaths you have sworn, and a symbol of your authority», the king said, also receiving from the queen a hammered silver circlet the width of two fingers, set with flat cabochon garnets all around. «And receive this coronet as a mark of my esteem and trust».

  He set the coronet on Kenneth’s brow, then kissed him on both cheeks and nodded for him to rise.

  «That’s done, then. You may stand, Earl of Lendour. And for your first official act, if it is your pleasure and that of these young men, I give you leave to bestow the accolade on these, your knights of Lendour».

  Kenneth rose uncertainly at the king’s gesture, looking both pleased and somewhat taken aback by this further demonstration of royal favor.

  «Sire, it is an honor I am right willing to confer in your name, but surely they would prefer to receive it from the hand of their king».

  «I should think that, given a choice, they would prefer to receive it from the hand of a loyal and noble knight who has many times saved the life of that king», Donal countered, with a measuring glance at the two kneeling candidates. «And this is fitting, since it is you they should emulate, rather than a warrior no longer in his prime. Sir Jovett, is this acceptable to Lendour’s candidates?»

  Jovett glanced at the Lendour sponsors, who clearly approved, then made a graceful bow, taking his cue from Alyce’s unperturbed expression and the lightning thought she sent his way.

  «Sire, it has long been the honor of Lendour’s knights to receive the accolade from Lendour’s earl, when that has been possible. When young Alaric attains his majority and is himself a knight, such will be his happy duty. But until that day arrives, I can think of few finer exemplars for our young knights than the noble father of their future earl».

  «Then, let it be done», the king replied, extending the hilt of the Haldane sword across his forearm to Kenneth. «You may use this».

  Kenneth knelt briefly to receive it, reverently touching his lips to the holy relic enclosed in the hilt, then moved beside the throne and turned to face the candidates and assembled court, indicating that Alyce and Alaric should stand to his other side. He occasionally had knighted men in the field before, but the hilt of the Haldane sword in his fist made concrete just how different this was, and would be henceforth. As the first candidate, Yves de Tremelan, came to kneel before him, his older brother following with sword and spurs, Kenneth leaned down to whisper to his son in a sudden flash of inspiration.

  «Son, would you like to help Sir Jovett with the spurs?»

  The boy grinned delightedly, scurrying to Jovett’s side to receive one of the spurs. He watched with grave attentiveness as Jovett affixed the first spur, then knelt to do the same with the second. The straps and buckles were a little stiff, the spurs being new and never worn, but the boy very nearly managed on his own, so that Jovett only had to help him with the final adjustment.

  Their whispered consultation brought a smile to the candidate’s lips, but he did not speak or turn to look. When the two had finished, the pair of them stood to either side of the candidate and Alaric shyly slipped his hand into Yves’s large one as he gazed up expectantly at his father, obviously aware of the solemnity of what was about to occur. Alyce, watching from Kenneth’s side, could only barely contain her smile and her pride. Tears were glistening in the candidate’s eyes.

  «Yves de Tremelan», Kenneth declared, lowering the Haldane blade to touch the young man’s right shoulder, «in the name of the Father, and of the Son», the blade arched to the left shoulder, «and of the Holy Spirit», the flat of the blade rested briefly on the bowed head, «be thou a good knight and true». He brought the blade to his lips in salute. «Arise, Sir Yves».

  He offered the new knight his hand and raised him up.

  «And now, since I am Earl of Lendour by the grace of my lady wife as well as the king’s favor, perhaps it would be fitting that you be invested with the further symbols of your rank by the Lady of Lendour — if Her Majesty will allow», he added, with a glance at the queen.

  «Most certainly», Richeldis replied, extending the strip of white leather to Alyce, who nodded thanks and moved closer to Yves. Young Alaric stayed beside Jovett, now under Jovett’s hands, watching as his mother girded the new-made knight with the white belt.

  «Sir Yves, I gird you with this symbol of your unstained honor», Alyce murmured, as she leaned close to pass the belt around his waist. «And I am very happy that you should have received this honor from my own dear husband’s hand».

  «So am I, my lady», he whispered, hastily knuckling at a tear as she fastened the buckle.

  When she had finished, he bowed over her hand and kissed it, then waited as his elder brother brought forth the goodly sword to be presented, laying it into Alyce’s hands with a bow. At the king’s nod, she gave it into the keeping of Sir Yves, who slipped it into its hangers and then sank to his knees uncertainly between Kenneth and the king, glancing at both of them as he lifted joined hands.

  «Sire», he said steadily, «I am now prepared to offer my fealty».

  «He is your knight, Lord Kenneth», the king said quietly. «It is you who should receive h
is oath».

  «It would be my honor and privilege, Sire», Kenneth murmured. «But is this acceptable to you, Sir Yves? I know that you were expecting to give your oath to the king».

  «You are Earl of Lendour, my lord, and I am your knight», Yves said steadily. «I am pleased to give it to you».

  With an inclination of his head, Kenneth reversed the Haldane sword under the quillons and returned it into the king’s keeping, then took Sir Yves’s joined hands between his own. The young man met his gaze steadily, his chin lifting as he spoke the ritual words.

  «I, Yves de Tremelan, do become your liege man of life and limb and earthly worship. Faith and truth will I bear unto you, to live and to die, against all manner of folk, so help me God».

  «And I, for my part, will be a faithful liege to you, Sir Yves de Tremelan», Kenneth answered, «giving justice and protection so long as you keep faith with me. So help me God».

  Murmurs of approval surrounded the pair as Kenneth raised up the new knight, accompanied by young Alaric’s joyful jumping up and down, quickly curbed by a look from his father. The boy stood with his mother as the knighting process was repeated with Xander in its focus, Alaric again helping with the spurs. He followed happily with his mother when all the Lendour contingent, save Kenneth, retired to the rear of the hall for the next candidates to approach.

  «Did I do it right, Mummy?» the boy whispered, when they had gained the relative privacy of the rear door.

  «You did it very well, indeed, darling», Alyce replied, with an affectionate ruffling of the silver-blond hair. «I was very, very proud of you».

  Chapter 5

  «There be spirits that are created for vengeance».[6]

  Sir Kenneth Morgan’s ennobling as Earl of Lendour became the topic of many a conversation in the hours following that year’s Twelfth Night Court. Not all of the discussion was favorable.

  «My lord, are you ill?» Father Rodder asked in a low voice.

  Jarred from his introspection, Bishop Oliver de Nore shook his head. Though normally a witty and articulate table companion, he had been brooding over his trencher through the first several courses, and had already earned puzzled glances from his superiors, the Archbishops Desmond and William, seated a few places up the table on the other side.

  «Nay, I am well enough», de Nore allowed. «I was reflecting how well the Deryni witch continues to prosper. Her husband is now Earl of Lendour, and her half-breed son flourishes. It is clear that the king dotes on this cursèd family».

  «Sir Kenneth has long been the king’s good friend», Father Rodder observed, «and has many times saved the king’s life. Surely it is fitting that he should be rewarded for his loyalty and service».

  «The service of getting a Deryni brat on that Deryni witch?» de Nore said bitterly. «She denounced my brother, Rodder! Her accusations betrayed him to his death!»

  Father Rodder contained a sigh, for he was tiring of this reiteration of old grievances. But since de Nore was his superior, he tempered his reply to diplomatic neutrality.

  «I cannot dispute the facts», he agreed quietly. «She did, indeed, have a part in discovering the involvement of Father Septimus in the…unfortunate incident. But she is a great heiress, even if she is Deryni, with vastly important lands. Surely it is prudent to give those lands into the keeping of a loyal human lord».

  «Aye, if it does not corrupt him, to consort with such a sorceress», de Nore conceded, albeit grudgingly. But his eyes narrowed every time his gaze glided in the direction of the pair, noting the eager adulation of the small entourage come from Lendour and Corwyn for the Twelfth Night Court.

  * * *

  Elsewhere, somewhat later that night, others more kindly disposed toward Deryni were also assessing the day’s events. Lord Seisyll Arilan, senior of King Donal’s ministers of state and also senior in an organization embodying everything Bishop Oliver de Nore had come to hate, was contemplating the day’s developments as he made his way to the apartment he maintained within the castle precincts — one of the more useful perquisites of his office as a crown counselor. He had left the door locked, but he knew the measure had been little deterrent to the man he sensed waiting behind it.

  «I thought I might find you here», Seisyll said in a low voice, when he had closed the door behind him, for he knew the identity of his visitor without having to look.

  With a faint smile and the lift of a hand in acknowledgment, Michon de Courcy moved into the light from the fire blazing on the hearth. His collar-length hair was gone grey, the neatly trimmed beard and mustache the same, softening a narrow, aristocratic nose. The cut of his teal-blue robes had been in fashion a decade before. Though quite unalarming in appearance, he was reckoned as one of the most accomplished Deryni of his generation, though he was careful never to reveal this to any of his human associates.

  «Sometimes it occurs to me to wonder whether you actually detect me or if we have simply known one another too long», he said easily.

  Seisyll allowed himself a low chuckle. «Perhaps a bit of both», he conceded. «I assume you have formed an opinion about the events at today’s court».

  «If you are referring to Sir Kenneth Morgan’s good fortune, I have some thoughts on the matter», he allowed, smiling faintly. «I daresay the Council will also have a few things to say».

  «Then, we’d better tell them, so they can say it», Seisyll said archly. «Shall we?» He gestured toward the door to the corridor. «I think most everyone has retired or left by now. I asked Jamyl to make the necessary preparations».

  «Damned convenient, having him in the castle now», Michon commented, as he opened the outer door a crack to glance both ways along the corridor, then opened it far enough to slip outside. Seisyll joined him, also scanning with his Deryni senses, then carefully closed the door behind them and locked it. As they headed back the way Seisyll had come, Michon took his arm: two elderly courtiers, apparently the worse for drink, should they encounter anyone.

  But they did not. Traversing a succession of shadowed corridors and torch-lit stairways, they finally entered the passageway that led to King Donal’s library, though Seisyll led them past that door and on to the next.

  A moment they paused there, Michon scanning beyond them while Seisyll probed beyond the door. Then, with a softly indrawn breath, Seisyll set his hand on the latch and gently pushed — at which the door swung soundlessly inward. Faintly smiling, he eased the door wide enough to enter and slipped inside.

  The room was dark save for the gentle glow of the fire, with the sound of heavy snoring rumbling in the curtained recesses of a canopied bed. As he cast his senses in that direction, a youthful figure in Haldane squire’s livery stepped from the shadows nearer the head of the bed, faint violet briefly flaring around the head of young Jamyl Arilan, who held a forefinger to his lips to caution silence.

  Pleased and relieved, Seisyll sent acknowledgment and approval in the direction of his nephew, then leaned back out the door long enough to beckon for Michon, who immediately entered and latched the door behind him. As he did so, Jamyl came to join them.

  I’m afraid I denied Lord Harkness the pleasures of his wife’s embrace, the younger man sent, but they’ll sleep until morning, and have dreams to compensate. Amazing, the places a squire can go without raising any eyebrows.

  Just so long as they don’t stir until we’ve returned and gotten out of here, Seisyll replied, with a nod toward the bed. Michon, he sent to his companion, at the same time extending a beckoning hand.

  Together they moved into the center of the room, where a Kheldish carpet concealed the sight but not their awareness of a magical matrix laid out there more than a century before. With the ease of long-accustomed practice, Seisyll moved behind Michon and set his hands on the other man’s shoulders, extending his senses even as Michon drew back his shields and accepted control.

  A moment Seisyll spared to stabilize the balance between them, then closed his eyes and focused on the pattern of the
Transfer Portal beneath their feet, unique to this location, and shifted the energies. The momentary quaver of vertigo was his only sign that anything had changed — except that, when he opened his eyes, they were standing in a niche outside the secret meeting chamber of the Camberian Council, that powerful and clandestine body instituted by St. Camber himself to monitor the magical activities of Deryni and safeguard against abuses of their power.

  «I am impressed with young Jamyl’s progress», Michon said approvingly, as he deftly reengaged control and shields and glanced over his shoulder at Seisyll, at the same time moving off the Portal. «He seems to have inherited the Arilan talents in full measure. My congratulations».

  «Coming from you, I count that as high praise», Seisyll replied, as the two of them headed toward the pair of great bronze doors. «But you must take credit for at least a part of his training. It’s a pity that my brother shows so little interest in the subtleties of politics».

  «Aye, but at least his sons take after their uncle», Michon noted. «And moving Jamyl to court was a master stroke».

  «I am certain he will prove equal to the challenge. Prince Brion is quite taken with him».

  «We shall hope that the liking continues once Brion is king», Michon said dryly.

  Beyond the great bronze doors, four more individuals were seated around a massive octagonal table crafted of ivory. The amethyst dome that crowned the chamber and arched above their heads looked black at this hour, and seemed to swallow up most of the light from the crystal sphere hanging from the dome’s center. Three of the room’s four occupants rose as the newcomers entered: Oisín Adair, who bred fine horseflesh when he was not carrying out the Council’s directives, and Dominy de Laney, wife and consort of a prince of the Connait, who soon would be stepping down in favor of the fresh-faced younger man coming to his feet at her side. Rhydon Sasillion was still but five-and-twenty, but his potential had marked him out early as a mage of great potential, well worthy of the Council’s notice.