The Quest for Saint Camber (14 page)

“I thank you, my lord, but our ship waits at Desse, and we must be on our way as soon as possible, if we wish to catch the tide. Might I present my compliments to my Lord Liam, however, since I am not to see his mother?”

“In our company and here before the court, you may speak with him, yes,” Kelson said.

With silent signal for Dhugal to accompany him, the king came slowly down several steps, keeping a wary eye on the great cat, but Dhugal went ahead of him, several steps closer, and crouched to hold out his hand to the beast—to Rasoul's obvious surprise.

“Young lord—”

“It's all right,” Dhugal murmured.

Kelson cleared his throat nervously and glanced at Rasoul, himself a little taken aback at Dhugal's boldness.

“Permit me to make known to you my foster brother, the Earl of Transha, my lord,” Kelson said. “I confess, sir, he is more daring than I, to offer his hand to your most magnificent companion, not knowing whether she would prefer to make a meal of him.”

Rasoul chuckled, but honest amazement showed in his face as the cat stretched its head closer to sniff at Dhugal's hand, then wrapped an enormous tongue around his fingers, and Dhugal only laughed.

“Ah, I thought as much,” Dhugal murmured. “You're a great, huge, hearthside cat, aren't you, girl?” As he shifted his hand to scratch behind one tawny ear, the animal crawled up a few more steps and butted its head against him, sinking down on the Kheldish carpet with a contented sigh.

“Ah, I was right about that, too, wasn't I?” Dhugal crooned. “You didn't like the cold floor, did you, my pretty? May I ask how she is called, my lord?”

Rasoul raised one eyebrow as the great cat's purr rumbled and it closed its eyes, rubbing its head harder against Dhugal's knee.

“If you mean her name, young sir, she is called Kisah, which means Light,” the Moor said. “If you refer to her breed, she is a cheetah. They alone of all the great cats can be tamed with any reliability. My people use them for hunting as well as for bodyguards. But—you are not afraid of her?”

Dhugal shrugged, grinning as the cheetah butted him hard enough to knock him back on his haunches and continued to purr as Dhugal's hand kept up its caress.

“She knows I will not harm her, my lord,” he said. “We border folk seem to have a way with animals—don't we, Kisah?”

The cheetah only closed its eyes and leaned more heavily against Dhugal's hand, purring even louder. After a few more seconds of this display, Rasoul shook his head and glanced up at Kelson, a smile twitching at his beard.

“It seems there are wonders at the court of Gwynedd that I had not anticipated, my Lord King,” he said respectfully. “But I truly have not the time to tarry. Perhaps the young tamer of cheetahs will conduct me to my Lord Liam …?”

The cheetah lurched alertly to its feet as Dhugal stood and made Rasoul a bow, then padded calmly between him and Rasoul as Kelson led the strange trio across the front of the hall to where Liam waited with the other squires. Boys and courtiers retreated at their approach, but Liam stood his ground, still flanked by Morgan and Duncan. At Morgan's nod, the boy went forward to fling his arms around Kisah's neck, giggling and laughing as the great cat wrapped its paws around his waist and licked his face. When Liam at last made the cat stand down and raised his head to greet his ambassador, one arm still around the cat's neck, Rasoul made him formal obeisance, fingertips to breast, lips, and forehead.

“May Allah give you long to reign, my prince.”

“My Lord Rasoul, I am glad to see you.”

“And I you, my prince, though it seems I might have sent only Kisah, and you would have been content. Are you treated well, my lord?”

“Aye, of course.” Liam glanced sidelong at Morgan and Duncan while he continued fondling the cat. “Many things are different here, but I am learning so much! And now, to be squired to Prince Nigel—it is a great honor. When I am grown and I return to Torenth, I hope to be as great a warrior as he!”

Rasoul laughed dutifully as Liam buried his face in Kisah's neck to hug her playfully, dark head against spotted, tawny fur, but the Moor's eyes were mirthless as he crouched down opposite the boy, the cat between.

“Why, that is well to hear, my prince, and you have surely grown taller since last I saw you. But do you not miss your brother? He is page to your Uncle Mahael now—who would be honored to squire you as well. Do you not think that a king should learn the ways of his own people before studying the ways of other lands?”

Liam looked stricken, and his lower lip started to quiver, but Morgan moved closer to set his hand on the boy's shoulder and meet Rasoul's eyes in veiled challenge.

“It is a king's duty to learn the ways of many peoples, my lord,” he said quietly. “And those who love their king ought not to play upon his childish fears to turn him from that duty. If you persist in this, you do him no service.”

Kelson felt the brush of Rasoul's shields as the Moor scanned all of those close around the young king and found only other Deryni. Smiling, Rasoul rose and bowed, right hand to heart.

“I see that you are well served, my Lord King of Gwynedd,” he murmured, “so I shall not press the matter. And that being the case, I shall take my leave as soon as I have received the documents you have commanded me to carry—for I would not have it said that Al Rasoul ibn Tarik did aught to bring unhappiness to his king. But here comes your esteemed archbishop now, I believe.”

Arilan was at Cardiel's side as the archbishop approached with a leather courier pouch in hand, and Rasoul favored both prelates with a respectful bow before turning back to the wide-eyed Liam. Kelson, as the bishops came nearer, became suddenly aware that neither man looked happy and wondered whether Arilan had come along to shield the human Cardiel from possible probing by Rasoul. But he had no time to consider that question further, because Rasoul was bowing to Liam again, and reaching out one hand as if to try to touch him.

“My prince, I shall convey your dutiful greetings to your uncle and hope that circumstances soon will permit you to convey those greetings in person. In the meantime, I would kiss your hand in leave-taking—” He pulled up short as an attempt to do just that was thwarted by Duncan's outstretched arm. “But I see that it is not to be permitted, so I shall merely take my leave with a most loving farewell.
Salaam aleikum
, my prince. May Allah hold you safe in the hollow of His hand.”

“No doubt He shall, my lord,” Kelson remarked dryly. “My Lord Archbishop, are all the documents complete?”

Cardiel gave the king a cool inclination of his head and handed over the pouch.

“They are, Sire. And might I recommend that Your Majesty assign an honor escort to see the Lord Rasoul and his company at least partway to their ship at Desse?” He flicked his gaze pointedly at Duncan. “Perhaps one of your senior dukes would be good enough to go, since I should hate to deprive any of your new young knights of these festivities in their honor. Perhaps His Grace of Cassan.”

“I concur, Sire,” Arilan agreed. “Duke Duncan is an excellent choice.”

The ducal form of address from both men, coupled with their unexpected desire to see Duncan gone from court, suddenly jarred Kelson to wonder whether Cardiel and Arilan were angry with their fellow bishop. Of course! Duncan had not consulted them before confirming, before the entire court, that he was Deryni!

But before Kelson could do more than glance in Duncan's direction, Morgan moved a step closer and laid a warning hand on his sleeve.

“By your leave, Sire,” he said softly, “I shall accompany Lord Rasoul as well. Even two dukes are scarcely fitting escort for a man of his caliber—and this evening's festivities, as His Excellency has said, are intended for the new young knights.”

The celebration for the new young knights began almost as soon as Morgan and Duncan had escorted their exotic visitors from the hall, though it was close on an hour before Kelson was able to relax enough to begin enjoying it. Cardiel and Arilan vanished before he could get a private word with either of them. Nor was Wolfram anywhere to be found, once the feasting started. It boded ill, but there was nothing he could do about it without creating an uproar; and they had had uproar enough for one day.

“Do you think they're angry that my father revealed himself as Deryni?” Dhugal asked Kelson, while the two of them dismembered a fat game hen stuffed with dates and licked greasy fingers, pretending to watch a troupe of acrobats.

The musicians were playing far too loudly in the rear gallery, but if Kelson could only barely hear Dhugal, sitting right beside him, he knew there was no danger of anyone else overhearing.

“Probably,” he replied. “They were unhappy about
something
, but there were too many Deryni around for me to figure out what. And you and that damned cat didn't help matters any.”

Dhugal grinned, but let the point pass.

“It may have been a good thing, though, to get Duncan out of here for the rest of the evening,” Kelson went on. “You're not that different from Alaric, as far as being Deryni is concerned, so no one's going to bother you, now that they know—not sitting here beside me, at any rate. But Duncan's already stepped on a lot of toes—being a bishop, having you, and now confirming that he's Deryni, too. It'll die down in a while, I'm sure, but there's no sense asking for trouble. Besides, it was a very good idea to send a couple of Deryni along to make sure that the Moors left. A Deryni as powerful as Rasoul could make a lot of trouble, if he put his mind to it.”

“Hmmm, you're probably right,” Dhugal agreed, chewing thoughtfully at a bite of bread as his eyes roamed the hall. “I don't suppose it does any good to spoil our evening worrying about it, in any case. Incidentally, did you notice who's sitting with your Aunt Meraude, down there near Saer and Duke Ewan?”

Taking a deep pull at his wine, Kelson glanced in the direction of Dhugal's vague gesture, flicking his attention past a pair of indifferent jugglers. The Princess Janniver was sitting on Meraude's left, nearest Kelson, shyly sharing a trencher with his ex-squire, Sir Jatham—well, that was nice! But Kelson had to look twice before he recognized the young woman seated on Meraude's other side—and nearly choked on his wine when he did.

It was Rothana. Had she been wearing the expected pale blue of her novice's habit, he would have noticed her immediately, but he had never seen her in secular attire before. Her gown reminded him of the color of the wine he was drinking, lavished around its high neck and flowing sleeve hems with silver tracery. Her hair was covered by a gauzy pinkish veil draped in eastern fashion and held in place by a silver circlet set with purple stones the size of grapes, framing sultry brown eyes a man might drown in.

“Good God almighty!” Kelson whispered, when he could breathe again.

Dhugal only chuckled and shook his head. “Good God, the man says. One would think you'd never seen a pretty girl before, Kel. And she
is
a nun, after all.”

“Then where's her habit?”

“I dunno. Shall I ask her?”

“You do, and I'll have to kill you,” Kelson muttered, clutching at Dhugal's sleeve and only half joking, when Dhugal shifted in his seat as if he might do exactly as he threatened.

Dhugal only smiled and sipped at his wine, letting his eyes rove over other parts of the hall.

“Don't worry. I have better things to do this evening than play matchmaker for a man who doesn't want to be matched. I wonder if the Earl of Carthane's daughter will give me a dance or two? And then, there's the Lady Agnes de Barra—if one can work one's way past her ever-watchful brother.
You
might be able to get past. Shall I introduce you?”

“I don't know how you do it,” Kelson said, shaking his head. “Go on, then. I don't think I'm drunk enough for that yet.”

By the time the feasting was over and the center of the hall had been cleared for dancing and entertainment, Dhugal was already making good his boasts, flirting boldly with nearly every lady present—as were most of the other young men. Kelson dutifully led off a
pavanetta
with his Aunt Meraude, since his mother had declined to attend the feast, and watched both Dhugal and Conall claim a dance from Rothana as the afternoon wore into evening—but at length he found himself sitting quietly next to Nigel during a lull in the entertainment, drinking more than he should and worrying about bishops and Torenthi ambassadors and hostage Torenthi princesses.

He tried not even to think about the bishops. He was sure that matter could be resolved without too much difficulty. It wasn't as if Cardiel and Arilan hadn't known what Duncan was, after all, though he supposed some of the other bishops might not be too happy, once the word spread.

The Torenthi matter was far more vexing just now, however. Rasoul had raised many doubts in Kelson's mind—as he was sure the Moor had intended.

Could he have misjudged the danger? Was the promise to consider releasing Morag a mistake, even if he took Prince Ronal hostage in exchange? Liam, and Ronal after him, were the rightful heirs to Torenth, as blood nephews of Wencit, and Kelson had no designs on their crown; he had enough to manage, keeping his own kingdom at peace. But their mother's children by a second marriage might be said to have equal claim to Wencit of Torenth's bloodline, even if not the senior claim, and might be better supported by the nobility of Torenth than two princes in fosterage to the king of a neighboring land—especially if the father of the junior claimants were one of them and as strong a leader as Mahael of Arjenol appeared to be.

Kelson did his best to appear attentive as Lord Rhodri announced a troupe of players and the servants lit more torches to dispel the growing twilight; but in the face of his own concerns tonight, he was little interested in the exploits of the semi-legendary Sir Armand, flattered though he was to be compared to that goodly knight. By the time the play had ended, Kelson knew that he needed more perspective than his own analysis could give him. Nor was such input likely to be forthcoming tonight.