The Quest for Saint Camber (35 page)

“Hope of what?” Arilan replied. “Hope of finding Kelson's body? That doesn't change things. And after this long, I'm afraid there's virtually no chance of his being found alive, much as I wish I could tell you different. Meanwhile, you have responsibilities that
must
be fulfilled.”

“I'll fulfill them.”

“
Haldane
responsibilities, Nigel,” Arilan said softly.

Even Duncan looked up at that, as Nigel blanched and quickly looked away.

“I shall exercise the customary responsibilities of the crown,” he whispered, “as I have as regent. But unless Kelson's body is found, I shall not be crowned until a year and a day have passed. That decision is not open to negotiation.”

Even through his own grief, Duncan knew that neither Nigel nor Arilan was talking about merely human functions of royal responsibility. But while Nigel apparently had assumed that his full assumption of the Haldane powers would be contingent upon his crowning, as Kelson's was, Duncan knew that no such contingency existed and that, if Kelson truly was dead, and Dhugal—
God, let it not be true!
—then the power must be brought to full fruition in Nigel as soon as possible. But he dared not speak openly about it in front of Bradene, for Arilan's sake.

“I see no difficulty in delaying the coronation, if that is what His Highness wishes,” Duncan said quietly, deliberately using the more neutral royal title to which Nigel was entitled as a prince of Gwynedd, but that also applied to a king. “Once a suitable period of mourning has passed, however, and we can all think more clearly, His Highness may wish to amend that decision. For now, however, I suggest that no date be set at all.

“In the meantime, I would recommend that Your Highness summon the rest of the privy council to return to Rhemuth immediately, along with those other lords whose opinion Your Highness values. If I may be of service, I would offer to take the news to Duke Alaric myself. He—would take it best coming from me, I think.”

Arilan, flashing Duncan a look that confirmed he knew precisely what Duncan was about, gave a nod of agreement.

“I concur, Your Highness. But, Duncan, you are doubly bereaved—not that we all do not mourn the loss of your son. Do you think it wise to attempt such a long and grueling journey?”

Duncan swallowed painfully. “I shall value the time alone to remember both my sons,” Duncan murmured. “In the meantime, Excellency, I wonder if you would pray with me a while before I leave.”

The request startled Arilan, but only until he had followed Duncan up to the apartment that once had been Dhugal's, where Duncan, rather than praying, began stripping off his cassock to change into more suitable attire for riding—the courier's garb he had worn to Valoret.

“Have you told the Council yet?” Duncan asked.

Arilan shook his head. “No, there was no time before we left Valoret. I'll do it as soon as I've seen you off. Cardiel will cover my absence until morning.”

“Fine. Then you won't be missed if you spend a little additional time to take me to Dhassa—unless there's a Portal closer to Coroth, that is.”

Arilan scowled as he watched Duncan pull on leather breeches and a shirt of soft black suede.

“I don't recall having told you there was a Portal there.”

“You didn't; but if there wasn't one before, I can't imagine that you and some of your Council brethren wouldn't have put one in, once you became Bishop of Dhassa.”

“It was already there,” Arilan said sourly. “But you're asking a great deal.”

“I'm asking you to save me at least a week's riding, between here and Coroth,” Duncan replied. He plopped on a stool to begin tugging on stout leather boots that came well over the knee. “Even from Dhassa, I'll still have a solid day's ride each way. And I'll need a horse to get out of Dhassa, if you can manage it. I'd rather not steal one.”

Arilan could not control a wry smile as the younger man strapped on plain, blackened steel spurs such as any man-at-arms might wear.

“You would, too, wouldn't you?”

“I've had to do worse,” Duncan said, rising to take up a quilted leather vest, heavy with metal plates sewn between the layers. “Will you or won't you help me? If you won't, I'll go directly to the stables from here. I haven't the time or the inclination to argue with you.”

“I'll help,” Arilan said, also helping him into the jazerant. “May I ask one favor, however?”

Duncan gave the other Deryni bishop a warning look before bending to the buckles that closed the front of the vest.

“As a condition for your assistance?”

“Of course not. As a point of information that may benefit both of us. Will you and Alaric be able to convince Nigel he must assume the full Haldane power before the year is out?”

“I don't see that that's any of your business,” Duncan replied coolly, tucking the last strap of the jazerant under its keeper. “Just now, I don't give a bloody damn about the Haldane power. I just want to try to find out whether my son and my king might still be alive.”

“Do you really think they are?” Arilan asked softly, refusing to take offense.

A sob threatened to well up in Duncan's throat, but he managed to stifle it. He knew he would not be able to do that much longer. But by concentrating on picking up his sword, unwinding the belt from around the scabbard, and buckling it around his waist, he managed to keep the tears from blurring his vision worse than it already was.

“I want to believe they are,” he whispered. “As long as no bodies turn up, it's all too tempting to let myself keep hoping for a miracle. Besides, I can't shake the feeling that I'd
know
somehow, if they were dead—especially Dhugal, He's my
son
, Denis. And I've been Kelson's confessor for nearly seven years. You know what kind of bond that can put between two people—especially two Deryni.”

As Duncan jammed a fur-lined leather cap on his head and snatched up a pair of riding gloves, slipping them under his belt, Arilan picked up the black leather travel cloak Duncan obviously planned to wear and flung it over his arm, moving with Duncan toward the fireplace.

“Yes, I know what kind of bond that can mean,” he said. “Have you tried yet to invoke it, or the bond of father and son?”

Duncan shook his head. “It's too far away to try on my own. Besides, there hasn't been time; you know that. You've been with me every minute.”

“It's even farther from Coroth.”

“Yes, but not from Dhassa.” Duncan leaned the heels of both hands against the mantel, watching the firelight play in the amethyst of his bishop's ring—the only concession he had allowed himself to his true identity. It would just barely fit under his glove.

“Well, what's it to be? Will you take me to Dhassa, or must I go down to the stable yard and do this the hard way?”

“What about the Haldane power for Nigel?” Arilan countered. “What if he needs it before you get back?”

“I suppose,” said Duncan, “that he'll just have to cope as best he can—or do you think I could bring him to power by myself?”

“Could you?”

“I don't know. I'd rather not find out. And I'd especially rather not find out until after I'm more certain that Kelson—really is dead.” He swallowed and half turned his face to glance over his shoulder at Arilan. “And Dhugal. Do you think they
are
dead, Denis?”

Arilan sighed wearily. “I fear they very well may be, son,” he whispered. “Now, do you have any preference which Portal we use at this end? I think I would recommend the one in your study.”

A quarter hour later, they were stepping into the compartment that concealed the study Portal, Duncan gathering his cloak close around him to make room for Arilan behind him. Silvery handfire followed Arilan in, and he dimmed it almost to nothing as Duncan pulled the door closed.

“We aren't going to surprise anyone at the other end, are we?” Duncan asked.

Arilan gave a soft snort as he set his hands on Duncan's shoulders. “It isn't likely, since the Portal's in my private chapel, but who knows what may have been going on while I'm away? Father Nivard, my chaplain, has permission to say Mass there, but it's late for that. Anyway, he—ah—knows about me.”

“In other words, you have him controlled,” Duncan said, smiling a little despite the numb sense of loss churning just at the edge of awareness. “Not that I have any room to sermonize, after what I've done to Father Shandon on occasion. Suppose someone else is there, though?”

“If there should be, I'll bounce you back, return to Dhassa to deal with the situation, then come back for you again,” Arilan said, drawing Duncan close against him, his voice very near Duncan's right ear. “Close your eyes and relax now, and we'll go. Don't fight me, or I swear I'll make you take a horse next time. If we
should
have to do any to-and-froing, that's going to waste enough energy as it is; and I've got other things to do after I've seen you safely on your way to Dhassa.”

“How far
is
it to where the Camberian Council meets?” Duncan whispered, expecting no answer as the last of the handfire's glow died away behind his closed eyelids.

From Rhemuth or from Dhassa?
came Arilan's bemused reply, just before his mind wrapped around Duncan's like a blanket of fog, dense and almost physical, and closed out everything with a soft, numbing greyness.

Duncan felt the vague, stomach-wrenching shift of the jump, subtly blunted by Arilan's silken control, and an instant of suspended
not-ness
into which not even the grief penetrated, almost as if Duncan had managed to leave it behind in Rhemuth. But then the soul-numbing sense of loss was back, and Duncan opened his eyes to near darkness again, though they were not where they had been.

“Well, we're in luck,” Arilan whispered. “Even Nivard's elsewhere, though I'm going to have to go find him, if he's to be any help to you.”

“How much are you going to tell him?” Duncan asked.

They had appeared in a tiny side chapel, hardly more than an oratory, opening off the left of the main chapel—Duncan presumed it was in Dhassa. A rack of votive candles in clear glass holders illumined an odd, tight expression on Arilan's face just before he moved out of range, heading into the chapel proper.

“Well, you're hardly a private figure, after all,” Arilan murmured. “Don't worry, you can trust him. Take a few minutes to learn this Portal while I try to fetch him up. And it might be a good idea at least to look like you're praying, in case anyone should happen by. Nor would a true prayer be out of order, I think. I shan't be long.”

He was gone before Duncan could ask any more questions, leaving the door to the chapel a little ajar. Duncan stared after him for a few seconds, a little uneasy, then shifted his attention to the tingle of the Portal beneath his feet. A vaguely circular pattern in the mosaic of the floor tiles marked the Portal's location visually, but he needed more than that to make it his for all time.

Kneeling, he dropped both hands to brush the floor on either side of him, bowing his head and closing his eyes as he extended his senses to discern the peculiar features that made this Portal unique. Within a dozen heartbeats, he knew that he could reach out and link it with the power of any of the other four Portals he knew. It was a reassuring feeling that helped blunt the enormity of the physical effort he would have to exert in the next few days, though it did little to blunt the emotional beating he had taken in the past hour.

He had doffed his cap and was praying in fact, begging God that his son and Kelson might yet be found alive, when he heard the chapel door open again. He kept his head bowed, pretending to be yet in prayer as two sets of footsteps started down the center aisle.

“Come and meet Father John Nivard,” Arilan's low voice said, releasing Duncan from his taut listening and apprehension.

Duncan rose and turned to face them, expecting a staid and dignified older man, and was surprised to find that Father Nivard was young. In fact, he looked hardly old enough even to be a priest, much less chaplain to a bishop of Arilan's stature—pink-cheeked and still a little soft with puppy fat, the top of his head barely reaching Arilan's shoulder, dark curls springing crisply from around his tonsure like the halo on some pagan godling.

Duncan could not see whether the eyes matched the imagery, for the young priest kept them modestly averted as he and Arilan approached, but the hands were squared and sturdy, hard with honest work, as he knelt to kiss Duncan's ring—for Arilan introduced Duncan by his true name and rank. What surprised Duncan even more than Nivard's youth was the quickly damped flare of shields as their hands touched.

Good God, could this be one of Arilan's other Deryni priests?

“I am honored to meet you, Excellency,” Nivard murmured, awe touching voice and demeanor as he raised sea-green eyes to meet Duncan's. “Bishop Denis tells me you require very discreet assistance. How may I be of service?”

Awed himself, Duncan raised the young man up and glanced at Arilan, though he did not release Nivard's hand.

“One of ours?” he breathed.

Arilan smiled and nodded.

“Go ahead and test his shields. I think you'll be pleasantly surprised. When I found John, nearly four years ago, he was a seminarian having a crisis of conscience because he was just beginning to discover what he was and was sure he would have to abandon his vocation. I fancy he's done rather well since then, all things considered. I ordained him last fall.”

“Ah, then, you're still quite a new priest, too, aren't you?” Duncan murmured, turning his attention back to Nivard.

“Yes, Excellency.”

“Do you mind?”

Nivard swallowed and shook his head.