In the King's Service (2 page)

Mostly, its guidance was more subtle: the hidden hand in the glove of another’s apparent action, quietly exerting pressure behind the scenes to discourage and hopefully prevent wanton use of Deryni powers. And while rigorous discipline and the mutual intent of its members gave it access, as a body, to power not generally available to any single individual, the Council’s greater power lay in the speculations of other Deryni about what the Council might actually be able to do, and apprehension regarding what force it could bring to bear to enforce its rulings and to discipline those who strayed from responsible behavior.

For the Deryni in Gwynedd were few, and always had been, regarded by the much larger human population with varying measures of wary fascination, suspicion, and outright fear—which, in reaction to Deryni abuses, whether real or imagined, could shift all too swiftly to active hostility and murderous rampages. Once that occurred, sheer numbers could overwhelm even the mightiest of magical defenses—and had done so, far too many times.

It had not always been thus. Early in the previous century—and still, in many of the lands neighboring Gwynedd, especially to the east—humans and Deryni had cohabited in relative peace, mostly to the mutual benefit of both races. But there had always been those who harbored an uneasy mistrust of the Deryni and their sometimes startling abilities, and feared the possible misuse of powers not accessible to ordinary men. Some said that such powers were too near to that of gods, or at least of angels—or devils. Others were convinced that such powers could only be demonic, corrupting not only the wielders of those powers but those touched by them.

Such hostility, born of fear of what was not understood, had finally come to a head early in the previous century, triggering a period of persecution akin to a religious crusade. Many had died as a result. A rigid and repressive code of laws now regulated the existence of those remaining, excluding known Deryni from many occupations and barring them from holding public office or even owning property above a certain value, under pain of fines, imprisonment, or worse. Most odious of all was to be discovered using one’s powers, even with the most benign of intentions, for such folly was apt to trigger a killing rampage by frightened and irate humans—an act given legitimacy by human law.

With care and cunning, such laws could be circumvented, as all the members of the Camberian Council were well aware, but even those who lived beyond the borders of Gwynedd mostly maintained a low profile, for magic could make one a target as well as giving one a tool or weapon. Those resident within Gwynedd were extremely careful. Of the seven members of the Council, only Sief had managed to carve out a secure public position within Gwynedd itself, at the king’s court in Rhemuth, as had his family for many generations. Seisyll, likewise, had achieved modest prominence among the king’s courtiers, though he and his extended family lived outside the capital. Neither was known to be Deryni.

Michon, for his part, kept mostly to his modest holdings far to the west, though still within Gwynedd, only venturing to court when duty required: Twelfth Night, always, and usually several more times each year, when the king summoned various of his vassals to attend him. The others, through choice or circumstances, dwelt outside Gwynedd’s borders, where those of their kind could live more openly, though even they were circumspect. Barrett, perhaps, had the greatest freedom, being currently in residence at one of the great Torenthi universities. The remaining member of the Council resided not far from where the Council met, but had sent apologies for non-attendance, being currently occupied with business concerns away from Portal access.

But six were more than enough to transact informal business; five of the seven would have been sufficient to uphold any serious ruling of the Council, though no capital matter was under discussion on this night. When possible, the Council met fortnightly, to brief one another on affairs in the areas where they lived. In the past three decades—longer than any member’s span of service save Sief himself—there had been no truly serious demand on the Council’s powers of arbitration. Though all of them were well aware how precariously still stood the plight of Deryni in Gwynedd, slow gains had been made in the past several generations, and the future was beginning to look hopeful.

“We should begin,” said Seisyll Arilan, when Michon had led Barrett to his seat between them and taken his own. “Doubtless, Sief will wish to return to his new son. My congratulations,” he added, inclining his head in the new father’s direction. “Your lady wife is well?”

Sief gave a nod, still looking pleased. “Weakened somewhat, which is to be expected with an older mother, but I am hopeful that the child will show more of its paternal heritage than its maternal. I never forget that she is the daughter of Lewys ap Norfal.”

“You did agree to marry her,” Michon pointed out.

“It was that, or have her killed,” Sief said lightly, though all of them were aware that he meant precisely that. “We could not have trusted Lewys’s daughter to a nunnery.”

“Yet you have trusted one of her daughters to a nunnery,” Dominy de Laney reminded him.

“She is my daughter as well,” Sief replied. “And each child is different.“But I would have smothered Jessilde at birth, had she shown the wayward potentials of her grandfather—or her mother.”

Vivienne rolled her eyes heavenward, then glanced at Dominy, a mother like herself.

“Let us please have no more talk of smothering babies,” she said emphatically. “Especially not Deryni babies. It’s bad enough that poisonous priests like Alexander Darby continue to spread lies about us. Have any of you actually seen that scurrilous piece of tripe that he published at Grecotha last year?
De Natura Deryniorum
, indeed!”

“Scurrilous or not,” Sief said, “I hear that it’s to become required reading at every seminary in Gwynedd.”

Barrett was nodding, fingers steepled before his sightless eyes. “It’s been making the rounds at Nur Sayyid. Well written, they say, but utterly lacking in scholarly integrity.”

“Lacking in scholarly integrity?”
Dominy blurted. “Is that all you can say? Barrett, the man’s a monster!”

“Yes, and he’s a monster with a growing following,” Seisyll said sourly. “And I can understand why. I heard him preach a few months ago. A very persuasive speaker, and a very dangerous man.”

“I’ve heard him, too,” Michon said. “It’s a pity that a timely accident can’t be arranged. A fatal one. Actually, it could. But given the public profile he’s already established, I suppose the authorities would quickly draw the right conclusion regarding who was responsible, at least in general terms—and
that
would spark the very kind of reprisal that we try to avoid.”

Seisyll Arilan gave a disgusted snort. “We should have taken care of the problem long ago. Now it’s too late for the more obvious solutions.”

“It is never too late to stamp out pestiferous vermin,” Vivienne said coldly. “I’m sure one of my brothers would be happy to oblige.”

“No, we’ll not risk losing one of them for the sake of the likes of him,” Michon said.

“Sometimes risks are necessary,” Sief pointed out. “You
are
aware, I trust, that the bishops already have an eye on him?”

“For what, chief inquisitor?” Seisyll muttered.

“Actually, for a bishop’s miter,” Sief replied. “I have that directly from the Archbishop of Rhemuth. Unless Darby puts a foot seriously wrong, it
will
happen, mark my words.”

“But—he was only ordained last year,” Dominy said, sounding scandalized.

“True enough,” Seisyll said patiently. “But keep in mind that he is hardly your typical green young priest. He’s something of a scholar, yes—though he draws all the wrong conclusions. But he also lived in the world before he took holy orders. He trained as a physician, and they say that he has all the arrogance that sometimes comes of both disciplines. That’s a dangerous enough combination in a priest who also hates Deryni. In a bishop—”

He shook his head, heaving a sigh, and the two women exchanged troubled glances.

“He isn’t a bishop yet,” Michon said, in a darkling tone that suggested the matter might not be the foregone conclusion everyone else was assuming.

Sief shot him a sharp glance, but his reply was unexpectedly mild.

“No, he isn’t. And it won’t happen tomorrow, or even next week. But whatever happens to Alexander Darby, there must be no trail that leads back to any of us. Just keep that in mind.”

Michon gave a noncommittal shrug, and Sief went on.

“In the meantime, we have more immediate matters to discuss. I gather that all of you are now acquainted with the recommendation regarding the young Duke of Corwyn?”

He jutted his chin toward the document lying between Seisyll and Vivienne, who both glanced at it with some distaste.

“He isn’t the duke yet,” the latter said, looking faintly disapproving. “Not until he turns twenty-five, and has proven his loyalty to Donal of Gwynedd.” Her fair brow furrowed. “Are we really proposing that he be fostered to the Duc du Joux? And would the king allow him to go?”

“I believe he could be persuaded,” Sief replied. “And what better haven for a known Deryni who is destined for a ducal coronet in Gwynedd?”

“It’s true,” Seisyll agreed. “Besides, Gwynedd has no other Deryni of high rank—and the current Duc du Joux has spent a lifetime cultivating the perception that he is the most harmless of Deryni. He would pass that survival skill to young Ahern—as he did to Morian ap Lewys,” he added, with a nod to Sief. “I daresay that your wife’s brother would not be where he is today, a trusted officer of the Crown of Gwynedd, if he had not learned to be circumspect regarding what he is.”

“Morian also has his father’s intelligence and gifts,” Michon pointed out. “Say what you like about Lewys ap Norfal, but he was one of our best and brightest—alas, lacking in self-restraint.”

“Are you suggesting that young Ahern de Corwyn is similarly gifted?” Sief asked.

Michon shrugged. “I do not know. Stevana de Corwyn was very much cast in the mold of her father and grandfather. Keryell went against our instructions in seizing her, in marrying her by force, but he, too, carries a strong bloodline. Once Ahern has come into his inheritance, I would hope to see him spend some time at Nur Sayyid, perhaps—or even at Rhanamé or at Djellarda with the Knights of the Anvil. But he is only eleven now. Time enough for that.”

“Indeed,” Barrett said. “Where is he now?”

“Back in Coroth, since Twelfth Night,” Michon replied. “Keryell sent him and his sisters to the Orsal’s court for several years after their mother died. You’ll recall that Sobbon is cousin-kin to Keryell’s mother. Among all those von Horthy children, I doubt Sobbon much noticed three extras.”

“Was there not a prior marriage,” Dominy said thoughtfully, “and a son by that marriage?”

“Cynfyn,” Vivienne supplied promptly. “His mother was a daughter of one of the Torenthi dukes. But he died young, leaving Keryell without an heir—a riding mishap, while returning from his knighting.”

“Which was what impelled Keryell to go seeking a new bride and a new heir,” Michon supplied, shaking his head. “Unfortunately for us, his loss coincided with the passing of Stevana’s grandfather, Duke Stiofan—and the rest, as they say, is history.”

“What of the daughters?” Vivienne asked, a frown furrowing her fair brow.

Seisyll shrugged. “After Ahern, the eldest—Alyce is her name—is heiress presumptive to Corwyn—though I’m sure that Keryell has set aside dower lands for her, in her own right. Her brother will be the next duke, when he turns twenty-five.”

“Unless, like Keryell’s previous heir, he suffers a fatal mishap,” Barrett pointed out. “These things do happen.”

“Aye, of course they do,” Seisyll said. “Which is why the king will have a say in whom she—and her sister, too—eventually wed. He will not gamble with the fate of a duchy so rich as Corwyn, in case Ahern should
not
inherit.” He swept them with his gaze. “This means that the king must approve their eventual marriages—which eliminates any suitor from Torenth, for Donal would never consent to Corwyn lands passing into Torenthi control. One of the Forcinn states, perhaps.”

“He could always pack them off to a convent,” Sief murmured.

Dominy glanced at him frostily. “With your Jessilde, Sief?”

“It was her choice,” Sief shot back.

“As if you gave her any other!”

“Peace!” Seisyll interjected. “We have often done things we would rather not have done. Never forget that we serve a higher cause than our own desires.”

His admonition left a tense silence in its wake, only lifting as Michon cleared his throat.

“On a more constructive note, I suggest that we return to the recommendation regarding young Ahern,” he said. “His position, when he comes of age, will be of immense importance—but only if he can, indeed, convince the king that he is worthy to take up the title of his great-grandfather.”

“And pray that it no more passes through the female line,” Seisyll muttered. “I, for one, shall be greatly relieved when he’s grown and married and has an heir. At least Stevana had a boy, God rest her, and blood
is
blood. . . .”

Chapter 1

—ECCLESIASTICUS 37:2

 
 
 
 
 
 
FAR from where the Camberian Council sat in secret session, crafting their careful, deliberate plans for the future of their race, the wife of one of its members lay propped amid the pillows of their curtained and canopied bed and waited for the nurse to bring her infant son for feeding. Two days after his birth, Lady Jessamy MacAthan was feeling far stronger, but both the pregnancy and the delivery of this latest bairn had taken more out of her than any of her previous children, even the stillborn ones.