The Quest for Saint Camber (43 page)

Soon after that, he did go to bed, and his dreams that night were of Rothana, as they had been several times since his return from Valoret, and of making love to her. He woke in a sweat more than once, determined to make the dream a reality as soon as possible.

“Once,” said Morgan, “just once, before I die, I'd like to ride into Dhassa without having to resort to subterfuge.”

“If you don't keep your voice down, we'll be doing it this time,” Duncan murmured, “possibly with consequences that are at least inconvenient. Act like a monk, now.”

“
Dominus vobiscum
,” Morgan muttered, bowing in the saddle of his little mountain pony as a merchant passed by.

He and Duncan were making the final approach to the city gates from the northeast shore of the lake, mail and leather concealed under the ubiquitous black habits and cowls of lay brothers attached to the cathedral chapter there. As courier monks, they were even entitled to the swords strapped beneath their knees—though Morgan had wrapped the hilt of his with leather to hide the gold wire and gemstones that adorned it, and sheathed it in a plain black scabbard.

The disguises had been Father Nivard's idea, before sending Duncan on his way three days before. The two also wore the pilgrim badges of both Dhassa's patron saints, though Saint Torin's had burned to the ground the last time these two particular Deryni passed through Dhassa territory. Both Morgan and Duncan had made substantial donations to cover the cost of rebuilding the shrine, so discovery of their true identities would not invite their murder, as it once might have. Nor were they any longer under episcopal Interdict and excommunication, and therefore to be incarcerated for canonical trial and execution. Still, their presence in Dhassa might raise awkward questions for Arilan as well as the two of them, if it were learned that they had come there to use a Deryni Transfer Portal.

But the delicacy of their situation, as well as any Deryni aspect of it all, paled almost to insignificance beside the very human ache of Kelson's loss. Morgan had been trying, all during the long, hard ride from Coroth, to make himself accept that Kelson and Dhugal were, indeed, dead, but his heart refused to countenance the notion with any real seriousness; and when, occasionally, it did, the dull, heavy weight in his chest far surpassed the grief he had felt even at Brion's death—and at least at the time, he had thought he could never grieve for anyone as he had for his dead friend and king. Duncan's grief he dared not touch at all.

And so, in clergy masquerade, Morgan followed his cousin through the gates of Dhassa and up toward the market square before the entrance to the bishop's palace. On this Lenten Sunday afternoon, the square was mostly deserted, but Duncan headed immediately toward the public well, where several black-cowled monks were watering half a dozen milk cows. A young man whom Duncan greeted as Father Nivard stepped out of their midst at the two's approach and bade one of the monks take their ponies, waiting while they unstrapped swords from saddles before leading them briskly into an inner chamber of the palace, not far from the chapel. Duncan had told Morgan about Nivard, during one of their infrequent rest stops on the way, but Morgan was still surprised to see how young the Deryni priest looked. Morgan's light, tentative probe confirmed that in shielding, at least, the priest knew what he was about. Still, he seemed very young and vulnerable as he closed the double doors and turned toward them, awe lighting his face now that they were alone.

“We shan't be disturbed here, my lords,” Nivard said, crossing self-consciously to add wood to the fire burning on the hearth. “Bishop Denis has instructed me to give you every cooperation I can.”

“I see,” Morgan replied cautiously. “Our mutual benefactor,” he gestured to indicate the room, with the arms of the Bishop of Dhassa above the fireplace, “neglected to mention that he'd been—ah—recruiting. Is it safe to talk here?”

“Or to do anything else that you might deem needful,” Nivard said. “Bishop Denis said you'd want to try for a long range contact with the king or Lord Dhugal, before you go on to Rhemuth, and that you might want to use me to augment the link. I haven't a great deal of experience in that particular kind of working—none, in fact,” he added with a fleeting, sheepish grin, “but he assured me that it wasn't necessary, and that you'd know what to do with me.”

As he glanced expectantly between the two men, Morgan exchanged a skeptical glance with Duncan.

“Are you sure he's up to our needs, Duncan?” Morgan asked. “Sometimes a little knowledge is worse than none at all. Humans might be better, for our purposes.”

“But not as potentially powerful,” Duncan replied, giving Nivard a kindly smile. “Arilan had him make a light link with me, before I left for Coroth, and he was steady as a rock. Besides, he'll be worth three or four humans who don't know what they're doing, even if he doesn't either.”

“Very well,” Morgan murmured.

He had no idea how broad Nivard's experience might have been with Arilan, but as he and Duncan made the physical arrangements necessary for what must be done, drawing three chairs into a tight circle so that knees could touch when they were seated, Nivard seemed to take it all in stride, not batting an eye when Morgan pulled out the red leather box containing his ward cubes and began placing the black and white cubes in the proper configuration on the floor at their feet.

He could sense Nivard centering and relaxing, his psychic presence smoothing out, as minute adjustments were made to the positions of the black cubes, set at the corners of the white square formed by the four white ones. By the time Morgan was ready to touch his forefinger to the first white cube and name it, Nivard was as steady as Duncan, his leashed potential already settling into a light guidance by Duncan—who drew both of them back just a fraction as Morgan activated the first cube.

“
Prime
.”

Nivard hardly batted an eye as the first cube began to glow—if anything, seeming to center even deeper. When the speaking of the next cube's name—“
Seconde
”—brought hardly any more reaction, Morgan put Nivard almost totally from his mind and concentrated on the cubes exclusively. Nivard was not likely to bolt from ward cubes, at any rate.

“
Tierce
” and “
Quarte
” followed close on, giving four white-glowing cubes. And as Morgan straightened momentarily to take a deep breath and get the cricks out of his back, shifting the polarities in his mind before tackling the black cubes, Nivard closed his eyes and bent to lay his forehead against his crossed forearms, supported by his slightly splayed knees, his shields now wholly transparent and quiescent.

Any further apprehensions Morgan might have had about the young priest vanished in that instant, for to disregard the setting of wards so unflappably was an accomplishment, indeed. Nivard obviously was far more skilled than he had let on—or perhaps he was not aware of how good he was, having had only Arilan by which to measure himself before. Quickly Morgan named the black cubes—“
Quinte,” “Sixte,” “Septime,” “Octave”
—then began matching black and white counterparts to form the four pillars of the wards.

“
Primus
.

“
Secundus
.

“
Tertius
.

“
Quartus
.”

Nivard straightened as Morgan and Duncan began putting the pillars into position outside the circle of their chairs, placing the one behind his own himself. And it was his energy as well as that of Morgan and Duncan that raised the ward itself, as Morgan spread his arms to either side and threw back his head, speaking the final ritual words that would seal their safety while they cast for some sign of Kelson or Dhugal.

“
Primus, Secundus, Tertius, et Quartus, fiat lux!
”

As the faintly glowing canopy of silvery light sprang up above them, Morgan lowered his arms to take hands with both Duncan and Nivard. The physical link reinforced the rapport that had already been bridged astonishingly well while the wards were being set, and Morgan found it easier to speak directly into the minds of his two associates than to try to say verbally what he planned to do.

I'll direct the first cast and try to link with Kelson
, he sent.
If, after a suitable interval of trying, we're unsuccessful, we'll shift the cast to Dhugal. Duncan, you'll direct that one. Nivard, you're to back up the inactive partner in both instances and simply hold yourself ready to be tapped for additional power, if it's required. Any questions?

There were none. Morgan ceased to worry about Nivard after the first few seconds, as he sent out his call to the missing king. Before the working was complete, he drew deeply on the young priest, too.

But though they cast in the direction of Saint Bearand's for nearly an hour, searching first for Kelson and then for Dhugal, and alternating between the two, no sign of either was forthcoming. By the time they dismantled the link and dispelled the Wards, all three of them were drained and exhausted, and both Morgan and Duncan were forced to admit that further attempts were probably futile.

“I kept hoping,” Morgan murmured, his voice hoarse and unsteady as he ran a spell to banish fatigue. “I still can't believe they both could be dead, and us not have known. But to find no sign …”

He and Duncan were very subdued as they followed Nivard quietly into the chapel to make the long Portal jump back to Rhemuth.

Nor were their spirits raised by the news awaiting them at the capital. That Nigel should have succumbed to so human a weakness as a seizure was ironic, after everything else that had happened; but the evidence was there before their eyes as they visited the royal bedside with Arilan, shortly after their arrival, and heard the physicians' opinion when they had withdrawn to another room.

“He hasn't gotten any worse,” Father Lael told them, “but he's made absolutely no improvement, either. Usually, if they're going to recover, there's been some change after this long.”

“He isn't responsive at all?” Duncan asked.

Lael shook his head. “Not really. His heartbeat is strong, his breathing is regular and even, and we do get some of the standard reflexes you might expect, but he's deep in coma. We're getting clear soups and broths down him, so he's taking some sustenance, but that's a losing proposition, in the long run. He's lost weight already. If nothing else happens to change things, he'll last a few months, at best.”

Morgan sighed and glanced down at his boots. He had managed to isolate a great deal of the emotion he felt at learning of Nigel's illness, for hope still remained as long as Nigel was not actually dead, but its weight, on top of Kelson's and Dhugal's loss, had pushed him even nearer the brink of sheer exhaustion. He palmed both hands across his eyes while he ran through his fatigue banishing spell again, aware that there must come an end to that soon, then glanced blearily at Duncan, who was hardly the better for wear. Both of them knew they had things to discuss with Arilan now that were not for human ears.

“Thank you for briefing us, Father,” Duncan said to Lael, dismissing him with a nod. “You probably ought to get back to your patient.”

“Of course. If you need me, you have only to call.”

When he had gone, Duncan turned his focus on Arilan. He had a feeling Arilan knew precisely what the next topic was going to be.

“Well, what now?” Duncan asked softly. “Obviously, this raises difficult questions vis-a-vis the Haldane inheritance. Denis, when we returned, we were prepared to bring Nigel to power. Obviously, that won't be possible now, if ever. Does the Council have an opinion about this?”

Before Arilan could answer, Morgan snorted and folded his arms across his chest. “Of course they have an opinion on it. When have you ever known the Council not to have an opinion on any given topic, whether it concerns them or not?”

“Rudeness is hardly called for, I think,” Arilan said evenly. “I'll forgive it because I know the strain under which you've been operating. As it happens, the transfer of the Haldane power is of vital concern to the Council—and yes, they do have an opinion. They want Conall confirmed as the Haldane heir, and his powers fully activated, even if he can't be crowned as long as Nigel lives.”

Duncan gasped. “But can that be done, with Nigel still alive? Besides, Nigel was already partially confirmed in the powers.”

“Yes, but he's now incapable of succeeding to Kelson's powers and incapable of passing on what he does have. It will be tricky, I'll grant you, but we estimate that it should be possible to strip away what was given to Nigel and confer it all on Conall. Of course, that would preclude Nigel ever taking up the crown, if he
should
recover; but you heard Lael. This isn't really likely.”

Morgan snorted. “I'm half surprised they don't just remedy the situation, if it's a problem,” he muttered. “A convenient pillow held to a helpless invalid's face or something—that's just about their style. And it would make all their job's easier, wouldn't it?”

“Don't you think you're being a little harsh?” Arilan countered.

“Not really.” Morgan turned half-away, his hands clasped behind his back, and gazed out a nearby window. “How does Conall feel about the whole situation? Is he ready to write off his father, just to satisfy the noble Council's notions of what constitutes appropriate transmission of the Haldane power?”

“As a matter of fact,” Arilan said, setting both fists on his waist, “Prince Conall is far more of a realist than either of you seem to be. It's nearly April, after all. There's an entire season of fighting weather ahead of us, if Gwynedd's enemies should decide to take advantage of the fact that the throne is currently unstable. And as regent, he's the one who's going to have to take the consequences of what men like the three of us decide in the next few days.”