The Quest for Saint Camber (64 page)

The cheering continued as the king turned to face his assembled lords, and he stood a long time, caressing the hilt of the Haldane sword, as their shouts of acclamation echoed among the high beams of the hall. Bradene and Cardiel stood behind the throne to either side, and at Kelson's glance, as the shouting died down, the former brought forward the oldest and plainest of Kelson's official crowns: a band of hammered gold two fingers wide, chased with a design of Celtic interlace and set with small, round cabochon rubies in some of the interstices. It was also the most primitively designed and went well with the mountain leathers and tweeds he wore. The hall grew hushed as the king bent his head to receive it from the archbishop's hands with a murmured word of thanks and rippled in new but quieter comment as he took his seat.

“My lords, I thank you for your welcome,” Kelson said, when silence at last lay like a tranquil pond before him. “It is good to be home and even better to know that your loyalty is unshaken. I wish I could say that all of my subjects had remained so loyal during my absence, but unfortunately, this is not the case in at least one appalling instance.

“Before proceeding to deal with this unpleasantness, however, it is my pleasure to bring you happier news—that my beloved Uncle Nigel, who has always served me and our family with such devotion, is back among us and recovering—if weaker than he would have us believe,” he added, with a glance of mock disapproval in Nigel's direction. “But in a few weeks, his physicians and I have every reason to believe that he will be back to his full-time occupation of bullying my royal pages and squires into becoming fine warriors and young men of honor, as well as continuing as one of my most trusted and valuable advisers. I give you welcome and thanks, Uncle.”

As the hall erupted in shouts of enthusiastic approval, Kelson glanced again at Nigel, who ducked his head awkwardly, blinking back proud tears as Meraude came to kneel at his side. Behind him, comforted by Duncan, the two younger Haldane cousins, Payne and Rory, stood ill-at-ease and frightened looking, trying not to be obvious as they searched the back of the hall for sign of their elder brother. And Rothana, huddling even smaller on her bench, would not raise her eyes. Kelson sighed as he turned his gaze away from that sad little family.

“Another thing I have to tell you concerns my faithful friend and confessor, Bishop Duncan McLain, the Duke of Cassan.” He could feel Duncan tensing over his shoulder, but he did not turn his eyes back in that direction. “Many of you have been aware for some time now that Father Duncan is Deryni.” He held up a hand to silence the murmurs of comment that threatened to disrupt the room again at this open and unequivocal admission of Duncan's Deryni status. “I am also aware that some of you have voiced concerns as to what this disclosure would mean to his status as a priest and bishop.

“I am happy to be able to tell you that I have just come from the synod now meeting in Valoret, and that the Ramos Statutes barring Deryni from the priesthood are in the process of being rescinded. Yesterday, as Archbishop Bradene will attest, the bishops voted unanimously to uphold Father Duncan's status as a priest and bishop in good standing, granting him pardon and absolution for any errors committed in the past because of this unjust former ruling. I am assured that this absolution will be extended to any other Deryni who may presently be in holy orders, thus mitigating the grave injustices perpetuated in the past against those who came to God's service in defiance of the laws of man and whose only sin was that they were born Deryni.

“All of which brings us to a major departure from our former official posture regarding Deryni. The law is being changed to remove merely being Deryni from any list of crimes. But part of the reason this has not always been so in the past is because the majority of people have not been aware of the true abilities and limits of Deryni—and it is a weakness of our race, human and Deryni, that we fear what we do not understand. Therefore, what I am about to bring before you will be conducted in all openness, so that all may know that being Deryni, or even being royal, is no bar to equal and just treatment under the law. Some of what may transpire will surprise, shock, or even frighten you—but I believe it is time that you knew the truth.”

He raised his eyes to the back of the hall, where Morgan had moved into sight with Conall at his side.

“Alaric, Duke of Corwyn, bring in the prisoner.”

A collective gasp rippled through the assembly as Morgan slowly walked Conall down the hall, his stiletto still held casually against the side of Conall's throat, the prince's hands bound before him, grey Haldane eyes blazing defiance and anger.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY
-E
IGHT

A king that sitteth in the throne of judgment scattereth away all evil with his eyes
.

—Proverbs 20:8

Nearly everything eventually came to light in the trial that followed, beginning with Conall's tearful, impassioned denial after Tiercel's drug satchel was produced.

“I didn't start out to betray you, Kelson,” he sobbed, “but things—happened. It wasn't fair! Why should you have gotten everything, just because your father was older than mine? You got to be king, you got all the glory—and the power—and you were going to take the woman I wanted, too. I saw you with her in the garden, that last night before we left on the quest!”

“And so you decided to kill your rival?” Morgan said, as Rothana buried her face in her hands and wept silently, and Kelson went tight-jawed.

“No!” Conall replied. “I was jealous—I admit that—but I never actually would have done anything to Kelson. He was my king.”

“Yet you put
merasha
in Dhugal's wine flask, knowing that Kelson might drink from it, too,” Duncan said. “Surely you knew what it would do.”

“I know nothing about
merasha
,” Conall insisted, though none of the Deryni present had any doubt that he was lying. “I was—jealous of Dhugal, too, but I never would have tried to kill him.”

“But you were quick to take advantage of the situation, once you believed Kelson and Dhugal were dead,” Archbishop Bradene said.

Defiantly Conall lifted his head.

“Fate seemed to have eliminated both my rivals, without my lifting a finger,” he said haughtily. “Meanwhile, I had a responsibility to my royal line.
Everyone
believed that Kelson was dead—including Alaric and Duncan! And that meant that my father was king—and I was his heir. It was appropriate that I take a suitable bride at once and secure the succession, as my royal cousin had failed to do. Whatever else I may have done in error, I at least have fulfilled my dynastic duty, for my lady wife carries my child. Nor is there any crime in
that
.”

And indeed, there was none; no man could say there was, though many might lament that it had occurred, after the fact. All eyes turned toward Rothana in shock, but she only kept her head bowed over her clasped hands, sitting forlornly on her bench near Nigel's pallet.

“And what of Tiercel's death?” Duncan asked. “Do you maintain that there was no crime in that, either?”

“It was an accident,” Conall replied. “We argued. Both of us said things we shouldn't have. It degenerated into pushing, and he—went over backwards and hit his head. I didn't mean to kill him, but I was afraid I would be blamed.”

“And you were feeling guilty, because you had been seeing Tiercel secretly,” Morgan added coldly. “And the reason you were seeing him secretly is because you
were
engaged in a crime with him—for you were plotting to usurp the Haldane magic, which has always been reserved to the senior Haldane. You planned eventually to rival the king for the throne. That's why, when Duncan and I took measures to confirm you in the Haldane powers—after you had struck down your own father with your illicit power—both of us had the feeling that something was not quite right. We couldn't really confirm you in the power, because you had already usurped it for yourself, in defiance of the law.”

“No! It wasn't that way at all!”

“Then, how was it, cousin?” Kelson demanded. “We know that Tiercel always maintained that more than one Haldane could hold the power at a time—and you two set out to prove it, didn't you? And now we know exactly why it was always forbidden before.”

The interrogation went on for several hours. Partway through it, an overjoyed but fearful Jehana arrived, escorted by Father Ambros, but Duncan intercepted them and had Ambros take her to a seat in one of the upper galleries before she could interrupt, for Kelson did not need her distraction at a time like this. Kelson marked her arrival, but he did not allow it to shake his resolve. He sighed and slowly nodded when Conall at last wound down in his latest attempt at justification.

“It's pointless to continue this,” the king said quietly. “Your very refusal to allow yourself to be Truth-Read condemns you, Conall. What would
you
do, if you were I? How would you resolve this sad, sad state of affairs?”

Conall, sitting dejectedly in a straight-backed chair, with Morgan and Jass MacArdry standing guard to right and left of him, lifted his bound hands in a weary, futile gesture.

“What else could I do but kill me, cousin?” he said bitterly. “You killed my chances long ago of rising to my true birthright. And no matter what I say, you will condemn me now.”

Kelson shifted uneasily, knowing that it was so. But before he could open his mouth to say anything, Conall suddenly gave a desperate lurch to the left and looped his bound wrists over Jass's head, bearing him backwards onto the floor, with Jass's body shielding his. He had overturned his chair as he launched himself from it; but, before it could hit the floor, he kicked it deftly into Morgan's path so that Morgan tripped and fell with it. Simultaneously, he conjured a blazing aura of white light around himself and Jass that immediately made Morgan recoil.

“Call off the archers, or he's a dead man!” Conall shouted, wrenching his head wildly from side to side to try to watch them all as Jass subsided jerkily. “I don't want to kill him, but, if I'm going to die anyway, I've got nothing to lose. Morgan, get back! You know what I can do. And if one arrow touches me, I can kill Jass before it kills me. I mean it!”

Kelson had sprung to his feet as the struggle erupted, and Dhugal was halfway down the dais steps—as, indeed, half the court had started forward instinctively, while the archers took aim and the rest of the MacArdry men began to move—but the king's stiff gesture halted all further notion of intervention, at least for the moment.

“Conall, don't be a fool!” Kelson said. “Don't add deliberate murder to your list of crimes. What did Jass ever do to you?”

Conall only smiled and whispered something in Jass's ear, his eyes bright with defiance. The young border knight had ceased his struggling, arms slack at his sides to further shield Conall, and his eyes were half-closed. The field of energy keeping Morgan at bay distorted Deryni perception of precisely what else Conall was doing, but not enough to disguise the fact that he had taken control of Jass's mind—for Jass's hands slowly raised to begin untying Conall's wrists.

“Why don't you go ahead and have them cut me down, Kelson?” Conall taunted, glancing up triumphantly at the hesitant archers as Jass worked at the knots. “Kill me, the way you cut down Sicard MacArdry last summer. But I don't think you'll risk Jass's life further, if you can bargain instead.”

“I don't bargain with traitors, Conall,” Kelson said coldly, raising a hand to stay the archers in the balconies above. “But, just to humor me, suppose you tell me what you want. Surely you don't think I'd let you walk out of here, after what you've done.”

Conall, his wrists freed at last, slid his right hand back to twist it several times in Jass's border braid, keeping the young knight's head very close to his own while his other arm stayed close around the young man's neck.

“I want you to face me in a proper Duel Arcane,” Conall said softly, a wild, crafty look lighting his eyes. “I want you to face me the way you faced Charissa at your coronation—except that this time, the outcome will be a little different, because I've got Tiercel de Claron's knowledge behind me to augment all the Haldane power we've both got.”

A ripple of indignation and disapproval rose and fell in the crowded hall, especially among the Deryni, but Kelson only set his jaw, barely containing his anger.

“Do you really think that would solve anything? Even if you won, Conall, no one would accept you. If you killed me, you wouldn't walk out of this hall alive, no matter how many innocent people had to die to prevent it.”

“Then I would make certain that they paid a high price for my life,” Conall retorted, “and I would die in battle—not at the hands of an executioner.”

“And are you so certain you have to die?”

Conall snorted. “Do you take me for an idiot? There's no way you can let me live, knowing what I can do. If you don't kill me, you'll have to keep your best Deryni busy guarding me night and day for the rest of my life—because, having tasted the full sense of what it means to be a Haldane, I'll never rest now until the crown is mine.”

And though he would have wished it almost any other way, Kelson knew that this was true, for Conall permitted him to read it. Nigel knew it, too, sitting propped against Duncan's shoulder and shielded by him—though he knew it not by any Haldane magic, but only honest human intuition and knowledge of his son. His eyes were dark with righteous anger as he struggled weakly in Duncan's arms to sit up with more dignity.

“I am ashamed for the honor of my family, Sire,” he said, as Kelson glanced in his direction. “He is my son, and I love him—but I do not like him. All apart from what he did to his own father, he has tried to usurp the throne and kill my king. For that I cannot forgive him. He is a traitor. He must die.”