High Deryni Page 10

  His voice trailed off awkwardly as he remembered how Barrett de Laney had lost his sight over fifty years ago, from a hot iron held close to the emerald eyes as ransom for a score of Deryni children saved from the swords of the persecutors. Barrett bowed his head and reached out to touch Laran’s shoulder in a comforting gesture.

  “Do not chide yourself, Laran,” the blind man whispered. “There are things more precious than sight. Tell us more of this Morgan.”

  Laran shrugged, much subdued. “Unfortunately, I have no proof. I have merely heard it said—and as a physician, my curiosity was aroused. If Morgan—”

  “Oh, Morgan, Morgan, Morgan!” Tiercel slapped the flat of his hand sharply against the table. “That’s all we ever talk about anymore. Are we determined to summon up a witch hunt against our own kind? I thought that was one of the more expendable things we lost with the Restoration!”

  Vivienne snorted in derision, her fine gray head turning toward the young man in disdain. “Tiercel, do act your age. It isn’t as though Morgan was one of us. He is a half-breed traitor, a disgrace to the Deryni name—the way he cavorts around the countryside making indiscriminate use of his powers!”

  Tiercel threw back his head and laughed. “Morgan? Now, there’s a thought. Half-breed he is; traitor he may or may not be, depending upon whose side one is on—King Kelson, I know, would not agree. But as for disgrace, madam, our rogue half-breed has never done anything to discredit the Deryni name that I am aware of. On the contrary, he is the one Deryni I know of who is not afraid to stand and declare himself for what he is. Any disgracing of our name was done long ago, and by men far more expert than an untrained Deryni half-breed like Alaric Morgan!”

  “But you do see him as a half-breed,” Thorne interjected, seizing the opportunity to press his suit for Wencit. “And Duncan McLain, too. All of you regard them both as half-breeds. And yet, time and time again, they react in ways not consistent with their supposed bloodline. Now they allegedly can heal—something that even we cannot do! Has anyone ever considered the possibility that they might not be only half-blood after all? That we may be dealing with a renegade pair of full Deryni?”

  Kyri, to Thorne’s right—she of the tawny hair—frowned lightly and touched his arm. “Surely that cannot be,” she said. “How could they be full Deryni? ’Tis inconsistent with what we know of their parentage.”

  “Well, their mothers are certain,” Vivienne scoffed. “And we know that they, at least, were full Deryni. As for the fathers—well, how certain can anyone be?”

  She cocked an eyebrow, prompting a low, appreciative chuckle that rippled around the table. Tiercel reddened.

  “If you intend to cast aspersions on the parentage of Morgan and McLain,” he said, “I should like to remind you that there are some of us whose ancestry might not bear close scrutiny. Oh, we are all Deryni; no one could argue against that. But who among us can be absolutely certain, beyond any shadow of a doubt, just who his father was?”

  “That will be enough,” Coram said sharply, laying his hand on his ivory wand in a gesture of authority.

  “Peace, Stefan.” Barrett’s voice. “Tiercel, we shall not indulge in verbal innuendo.” He turned his blind face slowly toward the younger man, as though the emerald eyes could see. “The legitimacy of Morgan or McLain’s birth—or yours or mine or anyone else’s—is not pertinent to this discussion, except as it may touch on the point just raised by Thorne. If, as he has suggested, the two in question have been exhibiting abilities that were deemed lost, that are inconsistent with those normally associated with their supposed bloodline, it behooves us to inquire how this can be possible. The discussion does not require impassioned rhetoric from either side. Is that clear?”

  “I beseech pardon if I have spoken rashly,” Tiercel said, though the ritual phrase was not consistent with the tight-jawed expression on his handsome face. “But I exercise my right to inquire further regarding what Laran has reported.” He turned his head in Laran’s direction. “You say that Morgan is reputed to have healed?”

  “So it is said.”

  “By whom? And whom is he said to have healed?

  Laran cleared his throat and glanced around the table. “You will recall reports of an attempt on the king’s life on the night before his coronation. To gain entrance to his chambers, the would-be assassins overpowered the night guards and killed or wounded them. Among the wounded was Morgan’s aide, Sean Lord Derry.

  “One of the attending surgeons states that he examined this same Lord Derry shortly before Morgan came out of the king’s chamber, and that the young man was very near death. When Morgan arrived, the surgeon told him as much, then moved on to treat those who could be helped. A few minutes later, Morgan was summoning another surgeon to attend, telling him that the young lord was not wounded so badly as had been feared.

  “It was not until some days later that the two surgeons compared notes and discovered that something approaching a miracle had occurred. For though Derry had been wounded to the very brink of death, and no medical procedure known to them could have saved him, yet he lived. He attended Morgan at the coronation the next day.”

  “What makes you believe that this was evidence of Deryni healing?” Coram said slowly. “And why should that ability surface now, after nearly two centuries?”

  “I merely report what I have heard,” Laran replied. “As a physician, I cannot explain what happened in any other way. Unless, of course, you prefer to believe that it really was a miracle.”

  “Ha! I do not believe in miracles,” Vivienne said caustically. “What say you, Denis? You are our resident expert in such matters. Is such a thing possible?”

  Denis Arilan glanced at Vivienne, sitting to his right, then shrugged slightly. “Biblically speaking, of course miracles are possible.” He traced a careful pattern on the tabletop with his fingertip, his amethyst catching the light. “But miracles in more recent times, at least in the past four or five centuries, can usually be explained—or at least duplicated—by some form of our magic. This is not to say that there are no more miracles; only that, by the use of our powers, we can often cause what appear to be miracles. As for what you allege of Morgan, I have no knowledge of that. I have met the man only once, to talk to—and he was only young then.”

  “But you were present at the coronation the day after this alleged healing, were you not, Bishop?” Thorne said slowly. “And according to all reports, Morgan himself was badly wounded in his duel with the Lord Ian. Yet, when the time came to swear fealty, he walked erect and without pain to place his hands between the king’s: somewhat bloodstained, to be sure, but not at all like a man who has just had a handspan of cold steel removed from his shoulder. How do you explain that?”

  Arilan shrugged. “I cannot explain it. Perhaps what Morgan said of his own wound was true, as well: that it was less serious than it appeared. Monsignor McLain attended him; I was not close by at the time. But perhaps his skil l…”

  Laran shook his head. “I think not, Denis. Even if this McLain is a capable battle-surgeon, as many borderers are, could he have…?” His voice trailed off briefly, then: “Of course, if he, too, has the healing power—why, this is incredible! If two half-breeds can—”

  Young Tiercel could contain himself no longer, and sat back in his chair with an explosive sigh. “You people sicken me! If it really is true that Morgan and McLain have rediscovered the lost gifts of healing, then we should be seeking them out on bended knee, begging them to share this great knowledge with us—not dragging their names through this senseless inquisition!”

  “But, they are half-breeds,” Kyri ventured.

  “Oh, ‘half-breeds’ be hanged!” Tiercel retorted. “Maybe they are not. How could they be, and still be able to heal? The ancient records tell us little about the actual process of training or engaging the healing gift, but we do know that it was one of the most difficult of all the Deryni powers to master, and that it required great focus and discipline to co
ntrol. If Morgan and McLain can do this, I think we must either accept the possibility that they are somehow full Deryni, that there is something in their makeup of which we are still unaware—or else we must reconsider our whole understanding of what it means to be Deryni.”

  Vivienne rolled her eyes and looked about to interrupt, but Tiercel shook his head and held up a restraining hand.

  “No, hear me out. Perhaps Deryniness is not a cumulative thing at all. Perhaps one either is Deryni or one is not, and nothing in between. We know that powers themselves are not cumulative between two people, other than to bring one weakened or untrained individual up to his full potential. If this were not the case, Deryni could band together and the larger, stronger groups defeat the smaller ones every time.

  “But, no. We know, at least, that battle doesn’t work that way. We keep our duels on a one-to-one basis, and we forbid more than one individual to challenge at a time, and the custom is couched in legend, but why did that become the standard? Perhaps because of the very fact that the powers are not additive.

  “Perhaps inheritance is governed on much the same principle. Other things are inherited in full from one parent or the other. Why not Deryniness?”

  There was silence for a long moment as the Council digested what its youngest member had just said, and then Barrett lifted his hairless head.

  “We are well instructed by our juniors,” he said quietly. “Does anyone know the present whereabouts of Morgan and McLain?”

  No one answered, and Barrett’s blind eyes continued to sweep the table.

  “Has any one of you ever touched Morgan’s mind?” Barrett ventured again.

  Again, silence.

  “What about McLain?” Barrett continued. “Bishop Arilan, we understand that Father McLain was an associate of yours for a time. Did you never have occasion to touch his mind?”

  Arilan shook his head. “He was a fellow priest, and there was no reason to suspect that he was Deryni. And I should have risked exposing my own identity, had I tried to read him for any other purpose.”

  “Well, you may wish that you had,” Thorne retorted. “I am given to understand that he and Morgan are on their way to see you. Something about trying to prove their innocence of the excommunication you and your bishops imposed on them. Personally, I shouldn’t be surprised if they tried to kill you.”

  “I doubt there is that danger,” Arilan said confidently. “Even if Morgan or Duncan had reason to hate me personally, which they do not, they are astute enough to recognize that this kingdom is on the brink both of civil war and invasion, and that we must resolve the first in order to prevent the second. If the forces of Gwynedd remain divided over the Interdict imposed on Corwyn, we will be unable to repel the invaders. Deryni-human relations will have been set back at least two centuries.”

  “Forget that for now,” Thorne said impatiently. “In case everyone else has forgotten, there is still the problem of what we must do about Morgan and McLain. The situation appears to have come to a head at King Kelson’s coronation, after which Morgan was censured for using magic openly. That is also why McLain was called to appear before the archbishops: the illicit and unpredictable use of powers neither of them should have, either by the standards of Church and state, which declare that they should have none, or by ours, which ought, at least, to be able to predict their capabilities.

  “Now, I am not particularly bothered that there are Deryni running around loose who have not been properly trained in the use of their powers. That has been going on for years, and I see no way to stop it. But Morgan and McLain somehow have learned how to use their powers, and apparently are learning more every day. We have turned a blind eye in the past, since we always regarded them as immune to formal challenge, since they were half-breeds. Now that this assumption seems no longer valid, I think we should declare them liable to full challenge proceedings, just as though they were full Deryni. I, for one, do not wish to find myself in a situation where I might be forced to disobey a Council injunction in order to stop them.”

  “Realistically, I think there is little danger of that,” Arilan said. “Besides, the injunction says nothing about self-defense. It was meant to protect those of lesser training and abilities from being attacked by full Deryni whose powers they could not hope to resist. If a lesser Deryni wished to challenge a full lord and got himself killed in the process, that was his choice.”

  “It would be interesting to find out if they are full Deryni, though,” Laran mused. “We could limit the challenge to non-lethal combat—except, of course, in self-defense. I think it might be rather interesting to test wits against Alaric Morgan.”

  “An excellent suggestion,” Thorne agreed. “I so move.”

  “You so move what?” Coram asked.

  “I move that Morgan and McLain be accorded full challenge liability—excluding mortal combat save for self-defense. After all, we must clear up this question of the healing.”

  “But, is it necessary to challenge them?” Arilan asked.

  “Thorne Hagen has stipulated that there shall be no mortal challenge permitted,” Barrett said evenly. “I think it not out of order. Besides, the question is largely academic. No one even knows where they are.”

  Thorne suppressed a smile and laced his pudgy fingers together. “Then, it is agreed? They may be challenged?”

  Tiercel shook his head. “I like it not. I call for a voice vote, one by one. I claim the ancient right,” he added, at Thorne’s look of protest. “And let each person state his reasons.”

  Barrett turned his blind eyes toward Tiercel for a long moment, touching his mind fleetingly, then nodded slowly. “As you wish, Tiercel. It is, indeed, your right. Voice vote. Laran ap Pardyce, how say you?”

  “I agree. Limited challenge is acceptable. And as a physician, I am most eager to find out about this healing ability they may or may not have.”

  “Thorne Hagen?”

  “I proposed it, for the reasons I originally specified. Of course I agree.”

  “Lady Kyri?”

  The young redheaded woman nodded slowly. “If anyone can find them, I think the test is justified. I accept the measure.”

  “Stefan Coram, how say you?”

  “I agree that they ought to be tested when the time is right—so long as it is a non-lethal challenge.”

  “And Bishop Arilan?”

  “I disagree.” Arilan sat forward in his chair and intertwined his fingers, turning at the amethyst on his right hand. “I believe it not only uncalled for, but dangerous here. If you force Morgan and Duncan to use their powers to defend themselves against their own kind, you play them directly into the hands of the archbishops. If anything, Morgan and Duncan must be persuaded not to use their powers under any circumstances—at least that the archbishops find out about. Kelson needs their aid desperately, if he is to hold the kingdom together and keep Wencit on his own side of the mountains. I am in the midst of this controversy; I know the situation; you do not. Do not ask me to go against something I believe in.”

  Coram smiled and glanced sidelong at the man beside him. “No one is asking you to challenge them, Arilan. As it is, you will probably be the first to see them in any case. And we all know that no one could force you to give away their whereabouts against your will.”

  “I thought you were in sympathy, Coram.”

  “Sympathy, yes. I feel for their plight: half-breed Deryni obliged to stand as though they were full, against their kinds of both halves, human and Deryni. But I didn’t make the rules, Denis. I merely play by them.”

  Arilan glanced down at his ring, briefly bent his head to touch his lips to the stone, then shook his head. “My answer is still no. I will not challenge them.”

  “Nor will you tell them of the possibility of challenge,” Coram persisted.

  “No,” Arilan whispered.

  Coram nodded in Barrett’s direction, sending him a mental image of the action, and Barrett returned the nod.

  “
Lady Vivienne?”

  “I concur with Stefan. The young men must be tried to test their mettle.” Her fine, silvery head turned to scan the table. “I wish it understood, however, that this is not out of malice, but in curiosity. We have never had so promising a pair of half-breeds in our midst, despite what I said about them earlier. I, for one, will be interested to see what they can do.”

  “A measured observation,” Barrett agreed. “And Tiercel de Claron?”

  “You know I vote against the measure. I shan’t repeat myself.”

  “And I must vote to accept the proposal,” Barrett countered, coming full circle at last. “I think there is no need for a formal count.” He rose slowly to his feet.

  “The measure is sealed. From this time hence, until such time as the Council may reconvene and alter its decree, the two half-breed Deryni known as Alaric Morgan and Duncan McLain are to be liable to full challenge proceedings, saving only mortal combat. This injunction against deadly force does not, of course, preclude self-defense, should either of the aforementioned men attempt to answer such challenge with killing strength. But should any member of this Council, or any Deryni who keeps the Council’s tenets, be tempted to disregard this decretal, let him be liable to the censure of the Council. So let it be written.”

  “So let it be done,” the seven others replied in unison.

  Hours later, Denis Arilan paced the carpet of his room in the Bishop’s Palace at Dhassa. For him, there was little sleep that night.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “Many things beyond human understanding have been revealed to thee.”

  ECCLESIASTICUS 3:25

  MORGAN peered out the window of the ruined tower and scanned the plain far below. Away and to the southeast he could just discern a lone horseman moving rapidly out of sight: Derry, on his way to the northern armies. Below, at the base of the tower, two dun-colored horses pulled hungrily at the new spring grass, their harness worn and common. Duncan was waiting at the foot of the ruined stairway, slapping a brown leather riding crop against one muddy boot. As Morgan stepped back from the window and began his descent, Duncan looked up.