Deryni Rising Read online

  Morgan forced himself to control his rising anger. "Having a goal helps immensely, Charissa. I'm determined you won't succeed with this Haldane."

  "Why, that sounds almost like a challenge, my little Morgan," Charissa murmured archly. "That's heartening, at least." She glanced at her nails. "Well, you can depend on an energetic battle tomorrow—maybe even tonight. And I warn you hi advance: there will be no quarter, no mercy." Her eyes narrowed. "I intend to make you pay for what you did to my father. And I'll do it by destroying the ones you love best, one at a time, slowly. And there is nothing, dear Morgan, nothing at all that you can do about it."

  Morgan was silent for a long moment as he glared at the incredibly beautiful and evil woman in grey. "We'll see," he finally whispered. "We'll see."

  As he headed slowly for the door, watching her every flicker of an eyelash, every rustle of her gown, she smiled languidly. "Take me at my word, Morgan. No quarter. And that being the case, I suggest you look to your prince. He may need you very shortly."

  Morgan slowly opened the door and went through, never taking his eyes from the terrible woman in grey. When the door had finally closed behind him, Charissa walked slowly over to where Morgan had been sitting,

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  then picked up the book he had been reading.

  Casually, she flipped through the pages.

  Lives of the Saints.

  Now, what possible interest could Morgan have had in a book like this?

  Nothing came to her, and she frowned. Morgan had been looking at this book for a reason. Of that, she was certain. But why?

  The book didn't fit the pattern. It wasn't within the elements she'd predicted for Morgan's actions, and that bothered her.

  Charissa did not like it when things did not go exactly her way.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  "A Spokesman of the Infinite must guide. ..."

  As MORGAN APPROACHED Kelson's quarters, he felt a twinge of dread. What if Charissa had been bluffing, had somehow found a way to get at Kelson through the wards? Suppose she had killed him?

  Derry was commanding the guard tonight, and he glided up beside Morgan as the general reached Kelson's door.

  "Anything wrong, M'lord?"

  "I don't know yet," Morgan said in a low voice, signalling the two regular guards to stand aside. "Did you see anyone while I was gone?"

  "No, sir. I have this entire wing sealed off." He watched as Morgan put his hand on the door latch. "Do you want me to come with you, M'lord?"

  Morgan shook his head. "It isn't necessary."

  Stealthily, he eased the door open just enough to slip through, then closed it gently behind him. He stood with his back to the door while he slipped the

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  bolt into place, trying at the same time to peer across the darkened room and see if Kelson was safe.

  He need not have worried. For his wards were, as he had boasted, impervious to almost any power in the universe tonight. As he approached the royal bed, he was able to discern the faint protective aura still glowing around his young lord. And he could sense the boy's undisturbed sleep patterns on the very surface of his awareness if he concentrated.

  But he did not. It was enough that the boy was safe. Wearily, he sank into the deep chair before the fireplace and shifted some of the logs with an ornate poker. When the blaze had been stabilized once more, he rose catlike and stretched.

  The bells would be ringing Compline soon, and he and Kelson still had a short journey ahead of them. He didn't want to have to hurry. Haste led to carelessness, and that was a luxury they could ill afford tonight.

  He shrugged out of his woolen robe and draped it over the chair, then slung his own heavy cloak around his shoulders once more. The clasp snicked shut with a satisfying clink of metal against metal as he crossed to kneel at Kelson's bedside. The fat yellow candle he had left on the floor there still flickered its pale light over the sleeping form.

  Morgan allowed himself a feeling of satisfaction as he glanced over his Ward Major, for it had served him well tonight. He would not be able to use it again for some weeks, as the cubes must be recharged, but that was no matter. He had had the use of its protection when he needed it most. And he didn't intend to leave Kelson alone for even a minute until after the coronation tomorrow.

  Standing up, he spread his hands over the sleeping prince, palms up, and began murmuring a counterspell, slowly turning his hands palms down as he finished the verse. As he did, the glow of the wards slowly dimin-

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  ished to nothing and the cubes died. Then there were but eight tiny cubes, four white and four black, cast like strange dice, a pair at each corner of the bed.

  As Morgan reached across to retrieve the cubes, Kelson opened his eyes and looked around.

  "I must have fallen asleep," he said, raising to one elbow. "Is it time?"

  Morgan smiled and put the remaining cubes into their red leather case. "Almost," he replied, picking up the candlestick and returning to the fireplace. "Did you sleep well?"

  Kelson sat up and rubbed his eyes, then rose and padded over to join Morgan by the fire. "I suppose so. I certainly would like to know how you did that, though."

  "Did what, my prince?" Morgan queried absently as he sank back down in his chair by the fire.

  "Made me go to sleep, of course," the boy answered. He plopped down on the fur rug in front of the fire and began pulling on his boots. "I really wanted to come with you. But when you touched my forehead, I just couldn't keep my eyes open any longer."

  Morgan smiled and ran an idle hand through his burnished hair. "You were very tired, my prince," he said enigmatically.

  Kelson had finished with his boots, and now he stood and began rummaging through his closet for a warmer cloak. The weather was definitely colder now, and Morgan could hear an icy wind whistling outside the balcony doors.

  Kelson found a fur-lined crimson cloak with a hood and pulled it over his head. Then he took the sword Morgan offered and belted it around his slim waist. Morgan stood and slipped his own sword into its scabbard at his belt.

  "Are you ready, my prince?"

  Kelson nodded and started to head for the door.

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  "Not that way," Morgan said, motioning the boy to come back to the fireplace.

  Kelson looked suitably puzzled, but he went where he was bidden, watched as Morgan paced off a precise distance from the wall to the left of the fireplace and traced an intricate design in the air with his forefinger. With a sigh, a portion of the wall recessed to reveal a dark stairwell descending into the cold night air. Kelson gaped incredulously.

  "How did that get there?"

  "I rather imagine someone built it, my prince," Morgan said, taking the candle from the mantle and Indicating that Kelson should enter. "Didn't you really know this was here?"

  He extended his hand as the boy shook his head and followed him into the dark passage. Behind them, the wall closed softly, and their muffled footsteps echoed hollowly on the damp stone treads.

  Kelson stuck very close to Morgan as they descended the stairs, peering apprehensively into the darkness ahead. Here in this cold, wet unknown, the tiny circle of light from their one candle seemed small comfort indeed. He dared not speak until they reached a flat landing, and even then his voice .was hushed.

  "Are there many of these secret passages, Morgan?*' he asked, as they rounded a turn and came to a blank wall. They stopped, and Morgan handed the candle to Kelson.

  "There are enough so that you can get to almost anyplace in the palace without anyone knowing—if you know where you're going. Get ready to douse that light, now. We've reached the end. This will take us out just across the square from the basilica."

  Morgan pressed the recessed latch, and a small square quietly opened at eye level. Morgan put his eye to the hole for a long mo
ment, then put his hand on the latch again.

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  "All right, douse the light and set it down at your right."

  Kelson obeyed, and the chamber was plunged into darkness. There was a soft sigh, and Kelson felt a cold, damp draft blowing into his face. Then he was aware of a lighter rectangle of darkness directly in front of him. Morgan took his arm and led him through, and the opening closed silently behind them. A fine, icy mist was drifting in the night air, and its chill quickly penetrated even the heavy clothes the two wore. Kelson pulled his hood over his head and huddled back farther in the shadows as he and Morgan waited.

  The courtyard was almost deserted, now, and the massive presence of the basilica loomed dark against the night sky. Far in the distance, they could hear the cathedral bells striking Compline, last of the canonical hours. And the last stragglers were filing from the lighter square of the basilica door across the way. Here and there, soldiers crossed the square in twos and threes, sometimes holding sputtering torches aloft hi the fine drizzle, but more often just hurrying along, eager to get where they were going, in out of the cold and wet.

  The two waited perhaps five minutes there in the shadows, until the courtyard was nearly deserted. Then Morgan took Kelson's arm and guided him around the perimeter of the square to the portico. They waited there for what seemed to Kelson like an interminable time, then slipped unobtrusively through one of the side doors and into the narthex.

  The silent church was deserted now, as they had hoped it would be. The darkness was broken only by the low, pale wash of votive candles, splashing their ruby and sapphire glows over the stone floors and dark stained glass.

  In the sanctuary, a single crimson vigil lamp burned steadily in its place of honor, casting a rosy glow over

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  the entire chancel area. As the two moved quietly down the side aisle, a lone, black-clad figure detached itself from the shadows in the chancel, bowed once before the high altar, and came to meet them in the transept.

  "Any trouble?" Duncan whispered, as he led them to the study and closed the door.

  "None worth mentioning," Morgan replied. He crossed to the curtained window and peered outside intently for a long moment, then came back and sat down at the table hi the center of the room. Kelson, too, took a seat and regarded his elders apprehensively. Duncan did not sit, but instead took a heavy wool cloak from the chair at his desk and flung it around his shoulders.

  "You might as well make yourselves comfortable for a few minutes. We're going to use an old Deryni Transfer Portal to get to the cathedral from here—left over from the days when being Deryni was a respectable occupation." He struggled with the clasp of the cloak for a moment, then mastered it. "I want to check out the other end before the three of us go through. With our phenomenal luck, someone would be in the sacristy just as we winked into existence. And the result then is not a happy thought."

  He crossed to the prie-dieu in the comer and touched a series of hidden studs along its surface, and a new section of the wall opened, no more than four feet wide and two feet deep, as high as a man.

  With a reassuring wave of his hand, Duncan stepped into the cubicle—and disappeared.

  Kelson was amazed.

  "How did he do that, Morgan? I swear, I didn't take my eyes off him. And what is a Transfer Portal?"

  Morgan smiled and leaned back in his chair. "Kelson, you have just seen a practical demonstration of an almost lost art—that of portal transfer. You'll notice,

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  as you learn more about him, that our Duncan is a man of many talents. He's made a fantastic reconciliation of that basic conflict we talked about earlier. He approaches his powers as a God-given gift, to be used for the good of all men."

  "And that's why he became a priest?"

  Morgan shrugged. "In his own way, Duncan is a very religious man. Things being what they are, what better place for one who is half Deryni?"

  As Duncan appeared in the sacristy of the Cathedral of Saint George, he scanned the room. Other than the tiny vigil light burning in the far corner, there was no other light in the chamber. And as far as Duncan could tell, there was no one about, either.

  He was just about to breathe a sigh of relief and transfer back to bring Morgan and Kelson when he heard a movement in the shadows near the door. A voice said, "Who's there?"

  Duncan turned slowly toward the source of the sound, uncertain just what he'd blundered into. Now, as his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he was able to make out the stooped figure of a man in dark clothing standing there.

  "I thought everyone had left for the night," the voice continued. The stranger struck a light and lit a slim white candle, then held it aloft. "Oh, 'tis you, Monsignor McLain. Fm Brother Jerome, the sacristan. Do ye remember me?"

  Duncan relaxed with an almost audible sigh. Thank God, it was Brother Jerome! The elderly monk was almost half-blind, and beginning to grow a bit senile. If he had seen anything in the dim light, no one would believe him anyway. Duncan crossed to Brother Jerome with a genuine smile on his face.

  "Brother Jerome, you startled me," he chided

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  mildly. "What are you doing sneaking around like this in the middle of the night?"

  The old man chuckled. "Aye, I suppose I did startle ye at that, me boyo. Why, when I first called out to ye, ye nearly jumped out o' yer skin!" He chuckled again, almost to himself, and Duncan wondered if he had seen more than he was telling, or if it was just his senility flaring up tonight.

  Duncan said, "You surprised me, Brother. I thought I was the only one here. I came back to make one last check of all the coronation regalia for tomorrow. I was rather busy today, you know. His Highness had me on call all afternoon."

  Brother Jerome shuffled over to the cabinet where the special vestments were stored and patted the counter top reassuringly. "Ah, ye needn't have worried, laddie. I've kept everything in order, as I have for forty-five years. TTis no second rate King ye'll be makin' tomorrow if I have anything to say about it. Our young lord will be a bonnie King if he lives through the night."

  Duncan stiffened slightly, and he felt a chilly finger raise the hackles on his neck. "What do you mean, 'if he lives through the night'?"

  "Why, laddie, do ye not barken to the rumors? Tis said that monstrous evil powers stalk the streets of Rhemuth this night, an' their target is young Prince Kelson, God bless him." Jerome crossed himself piously. " 'Tis said that Deryni magic guides them to his chamber."

  "Deryni magic?" Duncan repeated. "Who told you that, Brother Jerome? The Deryni lords of this time have always been friends of the Haldane line."

  "Not all the Deryni, M'lord," the old monk contradicted. "Some say 'tis the spirit of that dead Deryni sorcerer that the lad's father, God rest his soul, killed in that terrible duel many years ago, that he's returned

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  to take his revenge. An' some say 'tis the sorcerer's daughter, Charissa, the Shadowed Lady of the North, what means to kill our prince an' set herself upon the throne of Gwynedd.

  "Still others say 'tis a coalition of all the evil powers in the world, come to destroy our prince and despoil his kingdom, because we do nae pay homage to the Dark Ones any more.

  "But I think, an' there be those who agree wi* me, that it's all the fault o' that Morgan fellow, his Deryni blood finally gettin' the better o' him. Mind ye, he's the one to watch out for!"

  Duncan forced a laugh,, though he was extremely troubled by what he had just heard. For even if the old man's ramblings had been liberally laced with superstitious embellishment and legend, there was a hard core of truth to much of what he said. Charissa was involved, and her father's spirit, too, if one believed that parents lived on in their children. And he had no doubt that the forces of darkness were massing even now, ready to move in on the entire world once mighty G
wynedd fell.

  As for the stories about Alaric, he'd heard them. And that part of the rumors was utter nonsense. At least he could attempt to correct Brother Jerome on that point.

  Duncan moved closer to Jerome and leaned against the cabinet there. "Brother Jerome, you don't really believe all that about Morgan, do you?"

  "Ah, now, laddie, it's all gospel truth."

  Duncan shook his head disapprovingly. "No, I'm afraid you've been misinformed. For example, I can tell you for certain that Lord Alaric is not what you claim him to be. I saw him just this afternoon, and believe me, he has only Prince Kelson's best interests at heart."

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  Jerome's eyes narrowed. "Can ye prove that, laddie?"

  "Not without violating my priestly vows," Duncan replied calmly.

  Sudden insight appeared on Jerome's face. "Oh, I see. Ye're his confessor, then." He paused, obviously in deep thought "But, can ye be sure he's telling ye the truth?"

  Duncan smiled. "I think I can tell. Fve known him a very long time, brother."

  Jerome shrugged, then began shuffling slowly toward the door. "Weel, ye should know, if any man does, laddie. But there must be sommat to the rumors. Anyway, we'll not solve the dispute here, tonight. If ye don't mind, I'll be gettin' on. The guards will let ye out when ye're ready to leave."

  Duncan picked up the candle Brother Jerome had lit and followed him to the door. "That's fine, Brother Jerome. There's just one other thing."

  "Aye?" The old monk paused at the door, his hand on the latch.

  Duncan took the lighted candle and put it in Jerome's other hand, put his hand on Jerome's.

  "Do you see this candle, Brother Jerome?'*

  Jerome's eyes darted to the candle and were held there.

  "Aye," he whispered.

  Duncan's voice became lower, softer, and his eyes glittered from within. "You'd better take this candle with you, Jerome. Because it's dark out there. There's been no one here but yourself, so you don't want to leave a lighted candle here like this. Why, it might burn down the whole cathedral And that would be terrible, wouldn't it?"