The Quest for Saint Camber (46 page)

After a few seconds, the formerly locked door swung softly inward on its hinges; and a moment later, Conall felt a hand on his shoulder.

“It's time, Conall,” Arilan said softly. “Or do you need a little longer?”

Squaring his shoulders, Conall raised his head to meet the bishop's gaze unflinchingly.

“I've prayed enough, Excellency—but I'd welcome your blessing before we go.”

He stayed kneeling as Arilan laid a hand briefly on his head in benediction, echoing the bishop's movement as the sign of the cross was sketched above his head.

Then he was rising to let Arilan lay a dark cloak around his shoulders, drawing the hood close around his face at Arilan's gesture. He kept his face averted as Arilan led him out into the corridor and finally up the narrow stair that led to his father's rooms, his heart pounding in his chest.

Standing opposite Duncan, on the right-hand side of the bed where Nigel lay, Morgan waited, arms crossed on his breast in a ritual posture of readiness, of receptivity, fingertips brushing opposite shoulders. Like Duncan, he wore a cowled black cassock girdled in scarlet, hood pulled low over his forehead to block out distractions. Though his gryphon signet adorned his right hand, he had taken off that of the King's Champion and put it on a leather thong around his neck, for now he was champion of neither Kelson, nor the uncrowned Nigel, lying motionless before him, nor of Nigel's regent son, yet to be crowned. But he would keep Kelson's ring until the day he died, in loving memory of the king who was lost.

And Nigel, the king who now would never be, lay in state in the center of the canopied bed, robed in the lion-charged crimson of his royal line, the Haldane sword laid atop the length of his body with the hilt beneath his crossed hands, one of the Haldane state crowns set on a pillow above his head—a crown Nigel would never wear. Bearded now, since his illness, he looked even more like his dead brother Brion—and Morgan had a terrible foreshadowing of some future time when Nigel would lie thus arrayed on his funeral bier, with funeral tapers guttering at the corners of his catafalque and the noblest knights in the land keeping watch to do him honor before his final journey, deep into the royal crypts of Rhemuth Cathedral. In a sense, Nigel was dead already; Morgan mourned him as a friend and brother, though the true time of mourning was yet to come.

And yet, it was fitting that Nigel should be here; for Nigel twice had witnessed rituals similar to what would be worked here tonight, first for Brion's coming to power, half a lifetime ago, and then his own potentializing. He had not been present at Kelson's enabling, only a handful of years ago, though Duncan had been. What was about to transpire tonight would be a melding of elements from all three rituals, with additional details added according to tonight's peculiar circumstances. If only a successful outcome would not also confirm that Kelson was truly gone …

Morgan tensed as the click of the door latch announced the arrival of Arilan and Conall, but neither he nor Duncan looked up as the Deryni bishop took Conall's cloak from him, guided Conall to a prie-dieu set against the foot of the canopied bed, and bade him kneel before returning to secure the door. Conall bowed his head without prompting, impassive behind smooth-layered shields, then crossed himself piously and looked up at his father's still form, the shallow breathing hardly stirring the sword laid along the shrouding Haldane crimson. Arilan moved directly behind the kneeling prince, a scarlet cope now covering most of his black cassock, hands joined in an attitude of prayer.

“If you have any misgivings concerning what we are about to do,” Morgan said softly, still not looking directly at Conall, “now is the time to voice them. We expect everything to go smoothly, but the procedure we have decided upon is not without its dangers, especially since we have had to improvise, to some extent.

“I therefore must ask you, formally, and as designated Master of this ritual, whether you are willing to place yourself unreservedly in our hands, body and soul, to do with as we deem necessary for the purpose of raising the Haldane power within you.”

“I am willing,” Conall replied, as he had been told to answer.

“Before we proceed, then,” Duncan said, taking up the thread of formal narrative in a flat, emotionless voice, “it behooves me to read the formal declaration outlining the reasons for this ritual. For, in the normal course of things, a prince ought not to usurp the office of his father while the father still lives.”

He drew a flat sheet of parchment before him, from a small stand set beside the bed, and read from it in a steady voice.

“Whereas our late lamented and beloved lord, King Kelson Cinhil Rhys Anthony Haldane, by the Grace of God, King of Gwynedd, Prince of Meara, and Lord of the Purple March, has departed this realm without leaving an heir of his body;

“And whereas said King Kelson did designate his beloved uncle, the High and Mighty Prince Nigel Cluim Gwydion Rhys Haldane, as his heir both in law and in magic, should the said King Kelson die before engendering such an heir;

“And whereas said Prince Nigel, before he could be crowned or his Haldane powers confirmed, has been rendered incompetent to reign, by virtue of physical illness rapidly drawing him toward death of the body;

“And whereas the High and Mighty Prince Conall Blaine Cluim Uthyr Haldane, firstborn son and heir of Prince Nigel, has been recognized as Regent and future King by the Lords of State, both temporal and spiritual;

“And whereas our late lamented and beloved King Kelson did designate as executors of the passing of his Haldane powers The Most High, Potent, and Noble His Grace The Duke of Corwyn, General Sir Alaric Anthony Morgan; The Most High, Potent, and Noble His Grace The Duke of Cassan, Sir Duncan Howard McLain, Priest and Bishop; and The Most Reverend His Excellency The Bishop of Dhassa, Lord Denis Michael Arilan;

“So, therefore, do said executors agree that, inasmuch as Gwynedd has urgent need of a ruler with the full faculties of the Haldane legacy intact and functioning;

“And inasmuch as said Prince Nigel is not now able, nor is he likely to be able in the future, to assume these Haldane faculties, the temporal authority of his office already having been vested in his son and heir, Prince Conall;

“Therefore, the spiritual and magical authority of that office ought also to be vested in said son and heir.

“To which purpose, the aforesaid Duke Alaric, Duke Duncan, and Bishop Denis have gathered together, in the presence of the aforesaid Prince Nigel, to perform such rites as are necessary to see the transfer of such authority to His Royal Highness, The Most High, Most Mighty, and Most Illustrious Prince Conall Blaine Cluim Uthyr Haldane.

“Attest: Morgan, Duke of Corwyn; McLain, Duke of Cassan; Arilan, Bishop of Dhassa.”

The three of them had already signed and sealed it. Now Arilan brought Conall to add his signature to the document, setting a quill in his hand as Duncan spread the parchment on the side table. Conall traced the letters carefully—
Conall Interrex
—finishing with the flourished paraph, almost impossible to forge, that made the signature unique. But when he set the pen aside and glanced at Duncan in question regarding the matter of a seal, Arilan drew him back to kneel again at the foot of the bed, cautioning silence with a forefinger held to lips. Morgan, with a quick glance at Conall, drew a thin stiletto blade from inside his cassock and gently unwound Nigel's right thumb from around the hilt of the sword.

“It's traditional,” Arilan murmured in Conall's ear, “that such documents be sealed in the blood of the principals.”

Morgan's deft pricking of Nigel's thumb with the point of the stiletto produced a glistening drop of scarlet that Duncan caught at the bottom of the parchment and set with Nigel's thumbprint as seal. Then, while Morgan cleaned the wounded thumb with a cloth Duncan gave him, and briefly enclosed it in his hand to heal it, Duncan passed the document to Arilan, who laid it on the armrest before Conall.

“Your sealing will be done a little differently,” Arilan said, as Duncan brought a small glass tray from the side table and Morgan came to hold it. On the tray were Kelson's Ring of Fire, an earring set with a blue star sapphire, a needle threaded through a scrap of white silk, and a small glass vial with a tuft of cotton wool stuck into its neck. This last Duncan took from the tray and upturned once, holding the wool in place with a forefinger, as Arilan moved closer to straddle the kneeling Conall and brace his head lightly from either side.

“The Eye of Rom was lost with Kelson,” Morgan explained, watching as Duncan swabbed Conall's right earlobe with the moistened cotton wool and then began cleaning the needle and the wire of the earring. “That's doubly unfortunate, because we are of the impression that it has always played some part in the setting of the Haldane potential in Haldane heirs. I know for a fact that it was used in Kelson's and Nigel's rituals; but I have reason to believe that Brion was invested with it as a boy, with a ten-to-fifteen-year gap between the two parts of his ritual.

“On the positive side, however, that particular jewel does not seem to be essential to the power transfer. The Ring of Fire may be another matter, but we have that. In any case, Duncan and I have attempted to endow this replacement jewel with the kind of psychic energy we've perceived in the Eye of Rom—which should be sufficient for our purposes. The essential element of the conferring seems to be tied up with the shedding of blood, rather than the stone itself—which makes it useful for sealing the document you've just signed: a necessary item, since you were never given any official recognition prior to now. The Ring of Fire also needs to be primed by your blood, so we'll do that at the same time. Don't worry; you only get stabbed once.”

He watched Conall close his eyes as Duncan brought the needle close, though the prince did not flinch as Duncan thrust it briskly through. Arilan lifted the parchment so that Duncan could catch Conall's blood on it, when the needle had been withdrawn, but Conall looked up of his own accord as that was done, and without prompting set his thumb deftly against the blood to seal it. The prince said nothing as Duncan touched the Ring of Fire to the blood welling from his earlobe, not seeming to notice how the large, cabochon-cut garnet in the center had darkened with something more than blood-color, when Duncan laid it back on the tray, but he flinched a little when Duncan threaded the wire of the star sapphire through his still-raw flesh.

“I'll heal this, if you can relax your shields a little,” Duncan murmured, lightly enclosing the jewel and earlobe between his fingers. “There's no sense enduring any more discomfort than you must.”

Conall let out a heavy sigh at that, looking much relieved when, after a few seconds, Duncan drew back. Arilan withdrew to lay the sealed document on a small table set against the opposite wall, bringing the whole into the center of the room before returning to stand at Conall's back, and Duncan resumed his place at Nigel's left side, once more taking up his ritual pose with arms crossed on his breast as Morgan spoke.

“I now charge and require you, Conall Blaine Cluim Uthyr, as the true-born heir of Nigel Cluim Gwydion Rhys, to witness the lawful withdrawing of the Haldane mandate from this Nigel Cluim Gwydion Rhys.”

Morgan closed his eyes and held up his open palms at shoulder level, like a priest invoking the Divine Presence, as he went on.

“To that end do I now summon, stir, and call up invisible witnesses to approve and ratify this act. May we be protected from all dangers and adversity approaching from the East, in the name of Ra-pha-el.”

He chanted the archangelic name, and as the final note faded, Duncan and Arilan sang, “Amen.”

“So, likewise, may we be protected from all dangers and adversity approaching from the South, in the name of Mi-cha-el.”

“Amen,” the two priests sang.

“May we also be protected from all dangers and adversity approaching from the West, in the name of Ga-bri-el.”

“Amen.”

“And finally, may we be protected from all dangers and adversity approaching from the North, in the name of Au-ri-el.”

“Amen, Amen, Amen, and with open hearts may we proceed,” the priests responded.

And as Morgan again crossed his arms on his breast and bowed his head, Arilan let his left hand rest on the back of Conall's neck, pressing him to bow his head against his folded hands, while his right hand was raised palm-outward toward Nigel, as if in benediction.

“Blessed be the Creator, Yesterday and Today,” Arilan said, tracing a cross the full length of Nigel's motionless body, “the Beginning and the End, the Alpha and the Omega.” As his hand moved on to trace the Greek letters at Nigel's head and feet and the signs of the elements in the quadrants of the cross, he went on.

“His are the seasons and the ages, to Him glory and dominion through all the ages of eternity.”

The words, though Morgan had heard them in a magical context before, were those normally used to bless the Paschal candle and perhaps had an added connotation of acknowledging Nigel as the sacrificial victim—as, indeed, were all Sacred Kings for their people.

“Blessed be the Lord,” Arilan concluded. “Blessed be His Holy Name.”

As he finished, he released Conall's neck and folded his hands on his breast as Morgan and Duncan had done, and Morgan, with a quick glance at Duncan, extended his hands to lay the left one on Nigel's brow, the right on the naked blade of the Haldane sword beneath Nigel's hands. Duncan followed suit, but in reverse, right hand on Nigel's brow and left on blade, fingertips overlapping with Morgan's.

“Now, in sorrow,” Morgan whispered, “do we withdraw that which was given, Nigel Cluim Gwydion Rhys, that in the fullness of time, all that is encompassed by Haldane blood and right may be vested in thy son and heir, Conall Blaine Cluim Uthyr. So be it.”