The King’s Justice (23 page)

Conall had already mastered several useful talents, like rudimentary Truth-Reading, and shielding, and how to use the sigils that operated the passageway he had used this evening. He had even gotten quite adept at making his squire forget where they went, when they rode out for Conall's training sessions with Tiercel. The young fool thought it was a lady Conall had been meeting, all those times they'd slipped away on various pretexts. Had it not been far too much trouble, Conall might simply have put the lad to sleep tonight; but uncertainty about the possible length of tonight's session had also dictated other, more direct measures.

He could have done it, though, if he'd wanted to.

He was congratulating himself on his improving prowess when Tiercel turned to look at him again, the handsome face somber above the tawny green tunic. The fire lit the dark cap of Tiercel's hair with reddish highlights, flaring behind his aristocratic profile like some satanic halo. Suddenly, Conall was a little afraid.

“We may have a problem,” Tiercel said.

Conall swallowed and set his goblet on the floor beside his chair, all taste for wine suddenly gone.

“What—problem?” he managed to say without his voice betraying his apprehension.

“There are entirely too many Deryni at court, with you beginning to come into your powers. You know Lady Rothana, the sister who looked after Princess Janniver?”

Conall's jaw dropped, for he had rather begun to fancy the girl on the long ride back from Saint Brigid's. He thought she might even return his interest, despite her outward dedication to the religious life. Her quiet courtesy to him had even sparked the rebuke of her abbess once, though nothing untoward had passed between them. In fact, he had already been considering a gentle wooing. She was only a novice in religion, after all—and a princess herself, according to Morgan.

“She's—Deryni?” he breathed, suddenly realizing that it followed, if Rothana was indeed related to Richenda, even by marriage.

“Don't worry. She doesn't suspect you. I read very deep to be sure you hadn't been touched. She'd be a good match for you—”

“Damn you! Do you have to read my most intimate thoughts?” Conall blurted.

“Keep your voice down!”
Tiercel whispered, very softly, but with such force that there was no question of disobeying. “I apologize. I had to know whether she suspected you. It wasn't the sort of thing you could tell me on your own.”

“That doesn't mean I have to like it,” Conall murmured, his voice subdued but still a little petulant.

Tiercel drew in a deep breath and let it out patiently. “I didn't
expect
you to like it. I don't like it that you'll be among so many Deryni now, either: Rothana, Richenda, Jehana—and Morgan, Duncan, and Dhugal, of course, when they come back; not to mention Kelson.”

“Dhugal?”
Conall gasped, “He's Deryni? But how—”

“I don't know. All I can tell you is that he is—though apparently untrained. I doubt he could spot you, even if he were here. A far more immediate problem is likely to be your father.”

“My father?” Conall whispered. “What do you mean?”

“Kelson set the Haldane potential in him before he left,” Tiercel said quietly. “Ah, I didn't
think
they'd told you. He doesn't have all the powers, of course. They'd never do that while Kelson's alive—and don't think it
can
be done; that's where
we'll
prove them wrong one day—but he has
some
powers. According to—friends, he's beginning to Truth-Read, he can certainly link in with other Deryni for major workings—and he may be able to detect shields. That's the danger for you.”

Conall managed to swallow noisily. He could hardly avoid contact with his own father.

“What—what are we going to do? We've worked hard to build my shields, Tiercel. Shields are the heart of almost everything you've taught me.”

“I know that. Fortunately, shield potential sometimes runs naturally in the Haldane line, even without being sought after. As long as your shields appear to be only rudimentary, I don't think even a trained Deryni would bother too much about them—
if
you can avoid doing anything to provoke a need to go deeper.”

“Like what?” Conall wanted to know. “You're going to have to be a little more specific than that. And why would they even care about me?”

“Because you're Nigel's son, and he now has a partially activated potential.”

“But—”

“Don't press me for details,” Tiercel said, holding up a hand to stay further insistence. “If anything should happen to Kelson, and Nigel becomes king, you're next in line.”

“I know that,” Conall said faintly.

“Which means it's only natural that your father is going to want to include you on more of what's happening at high levels of government from now on.”

“He didn't tonight,” Conall muttered. “He's meeting with some of the privy councillors right now. I wasn't invited.”

“Not this time, no. But you can bet that's one thing they'll be discussing; take my word for it.”

“And?”

“And—” Tiercel sighed. “Conall, there are Deryni at court that you don't know about—and I can't tell you who they are. Nigel may choose to tell you, however—he almost has to, if you're to work at the levels you should, as his heir. And if he does, their identities will have to be protected.”

“How—protected?”

Tiercel shrugged. “I can't tell you that exactly, because I don't know myself, but probably one of the Deryni he has access to—Richenda, most likely—will set limited blocks. Then you can be told who the others are—but you won't be able to use that knowledge in any situation that might betray their identities to outsiders. It's a rather neat trick, actually.”

Trying to assimilate it all, Conall drew a deep breath and set both hands carefully on the arms of his chair.

“These—limited blocks—I take it they're dangerous for us?”

“Only the setting of them, and not if we prepare,” Tiercel replied. “Fortunately, I have a very good idea who would need protecting, so I think I can set a facade over your shields that will leave that area accessible, yet hide what we don't want seen. Whoever does it will only be interested in getting in, doing the job, and getting out. Beyond that, it will be up to you to make sure you don't make someone want to see more.”

“How complicated is that?—setting a facade over my shields, or whatever you said?”

“Not very, for me, though it will be a little rough on you—mainly because it will take a while. Because of that, I'll want to give you something to knock down any reflex resistance. We really ought to do it tonight, if you're up for it. It's getting late, I know, but God knows how soon it will occur to the rest of them that you ought to be included in what they're doing, and try to take precautions.”

Conall made himself draw in a deep breath and hold it for several heartbeats before letting it out slowly. What Tiercel proposed sounded frightening, but not nearly as frightening as being caught before they had accomplished their goal. When he glanced up, Tiercel had not moved; only studied him with those faintly glowing almond eyes. Abruptly Conall wondered whether the Deryni was reading his mind.

“Tonight, eh?” Conall whispered.

Tiercel nodded.

“All right.”

Immediately Tiercel pushed himself away from the mantel and went to the bench across the other side of the room. The little satchel he always brought with him to their sessions was lying under the heap of a dull ochre cape, and he rummaged in it for several seconds as Conall got up to join him.

“Pour yourself about half a cup of water,” Tiercel said, conjuring handfire so he could sort through several parchment packets he pulled out of the satchel. “I'm giving you a heavier dose than usual, but I'll give you an antidote when we're done. You'll probably have a bit of a headache in the morning, but no worse than a mild hangover. That's better than going back to the castle with the first drug still working on you, though—just in case you run into anyone who shouldn't know what we're doing. I don't want you that vulnerable.”

Conall brought the water and watched Tiercel empty the contents of one of the packets into it, wrinkling his nose at the sharp aroma as the powder dissolved. He remembered this one, though he couldn't have said what its name was. Even half a packet had always been enough to leave him groggy for several hours. As Tiercel gave it a stir with the blade of his dagger, Conall took off his sword and coiled the belt around the scabbard, wondering vaguely, as he set the weapon aside, whether a person could die from too much of the drug. He had no idea what this much would do to him.

“You'd better sit down before you drink this,” Tiercel said, answering the unasked question as he gestured with the cup toward the fireside chair. “If you don't, you may fall down before you can finish it. In this concentration, it's going to hit you like a mule. Once you're under, however, I promise you won't feel a thing.”

“Small consolation,” Conall murmured, sitting and gingerly taking the cup. “Any special instructions?”

“Only the usual. Take a nice, deep breath and try to relax. Drop your shields as much as you can. Then toss it down.”

“Easy for you to say,” Conall muttered.

But he did as he was instructed, consciously relaxing his body as he breathed in, then willing his shields to subside as he let his breath out in a slow sigh. When he had breathed in again, he tossed off the contents of the cup in a single gulp, managing to bypass most of the terrible taste.

He had time to swallow once and close his eyes to prepare, and was aware of Tiercel taking the cup from his hand. Then the room began to spin, and he had to hold tight to the arms of the chair to keep from being sucked into—nothing.

He squeezed his eyes shut tighter, gasping. He felt disembodied hands clamp down on his head, welcome cool across his forehead and quivering eyelids and around the back of his neck—reassuring, supportive—but already the pressure was building behind his eyes, threatening to explode his very skull. There was a roaring in his ears, and a sharp bile aftertaste in the back of his throat.

Then a black tide washing over him and carrying him away—and nothing, and spinning into nothing, and touching and touched by nothing—and blessed oblivion.

It was not the first morning after, but the second, that Conall had cause to try the success of what he and Tiercel had done. He remembered little of what had passed between them after he drank the cup, but he had become faintly aware, in the previous twenty-four hours, that he seemed to be functioning on a dual level now, his most intimate thoughts sequestered away in some less accessible dimension while the humdrum of the everyday continued on the surface.

He was heading toward the castle yard. He had a packet of letters his father had asked him to collect this morning, ready to be delivered to the courier about to leave for Kelson's camp. He was cutting through the garden, thinking he might catch a glimpse on the way of Rothana at her morning office, when Richenda and Rothana came around the corner of a hedge. A look of speculation flitted across Richenda's face as they all exchanged greetings—enough to make him suspect the moment might be upon him, if Tiercel had been right in his suspicions.

“Ah, the rest of the letters for the courier,” Richenda said, drawing another out of her sleeve and extending it to him. “May I add another one?”

“Of course, my lady.”

As he slipped it under the leather band securing the others, he saw Richenda glance at Rothana.

“Incidentally, I wonder if I might prevail upon a moment of your time, Conall,” she said. “Is it important that you go immediately to the yard with the letters?”

“Well, the courier will be waiting—”

“Of course he will. Would you perhaps permit the Lady Rothana to take them in your stead? Nigel would not mind, I think.”

He started to decline—he was sure now that Tiercel had been right—but Richenda laid her hand on the letters, her fingers brushing his own, and her touch sent all thought of resistance out of his head.

“Very well,” he found himself saying, as Richenda took the letters and handed them to Rothana. “I thank you, my lady.”

In a daze he watched Rothana walk on past, letting Richenda guide him a few paces farther along the path until they could step into a tiny arbor recessed between the hedges.

“Please don't be alarmed,” Richenda murmured, turning him to face her, still maintaining contact, hand to hand. “Your father has asked me to speak to you. He intends to begin including you in the most intimate of his counsels, but certain safety measures must be taken before that may occur. Kelson has awakened a portion of the Haldane potential in him, so that he may govern more effectively in Kelson's absence, and has given him the counsel of several Deryni you do not know about, here at court.”

For the first time, he was consciously aware of the brush of another mind against his own, though only at the surface levels Tiercel had isolated. The surface levels did not seem to elicit any surprise in Richenda, however; and he found himself able to react on two levels at once, only the surface responding with the curiosity and slight apprehension that should be expected of one in his position.

“I—do not know what you're talking about, my lady,” he murmured haltingly, unable to drag his eyes from hers.

She smiled gently and brushed her free hand down his forehead, fingertips coming to rest on his trembling eyelids.

“That will all become clear, in due time,” she whispered. “Relax a moment, Conall.”

A wave of vertigo swept over him, making him sway a little on his feet, but her hand still resting on his kept him steady. Her fingers were cool on his eyelids.