Katherine Kurtz - Kelson 3 - The Quest for Saint Camber

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THE QUEST FOR SAINT CAMBER
PROLOGUE
Behold, thou hast instructed many, and thou hast strengthened the weak hands.
-Job 4: 3
Thunder rumbled not far away, low and ominous, as Prince Conall Haldane,
first cousin to King Kelson of Gwynedd, pulled up with his squire in the
meager shelter of a winter-bare tree and huddled deeper into his oiled leather
cloak, squinting against the spatter of increasingly large rain-drops.
"Damn! I thought we'd finished with storms for a while," he muttered,
jerking up his fur-lined hood. "Maybe we can wait it out."
Conall's comment was more a wishful aside than a statement of real
belief, for March in Gwynedd was notorious for its unpredictable weather. An
hour before, when the two young men rode out from Rhemuth's city gates, the
sky had been reasonably clear, but all too quickly fast-moving clouds had
closed the countryside in a flat, grey gloom more appropriate to dusk than
noon, plummeting the temperature accordingly. As thunder rolled closer and
shower turned to deluge, Conall could taste the acrid bite of lightning-
charged air moving just ahead of the storm. Had it continued only to rain,
Conall still might have borne the situation with reasonable good humor-for the
day's outing was one of Conall's choosing, not someone else's notion of royal
duty. But his fragile forbearance quickly evaporated as the icy downpour
turned to hailstones the size of a man's thumbnail, pelting prince, squire,
and horses hard enough to sting.
"God's teeth! It's hailing plover's eggs!" he yelped.
"Shouldn't we make a dash for it, sir?" came the plaintive entreaty of
the squire, Jowan, shivering on a drenched bay palfrey crowded next to
Conall's grey. "I don't think it's going to let up very soon-and we can't get
much wetter. Besides, your lady will have a warm fire on the hearth to dry us
out. And the horses will be glad for her snug little barn."
Smiling a little, despite his increasing vexation with the weather,
Conall nodded his agreement and set spurs to his mount, charging into the
hailstorm with his squire right behind him.
His lady. Ah, yes. The lady to whom Jowan referred was not the principal
reason Conall had decided to venture forth today, but she was pleasant enough,
a side benefit. Nor was she a lady, in the genteel sense usually meant in
court parlance. The pretty and pliant Vanissa was his leman, his doxy, his
light o' love, or his mistress, depending on his mood, and he sometimes called
her his "lady" in the throes of love-making; but even she knew she would never
be his wife. That honor was reserved for a royal princess Conall had already
picked out at court-though the object of his more honorable intentions had yet
to be enlightened in that regard.
No, Vanissa would give him a child before summer's end, and Conall would
see that mother and bairn were provided for, but visiting Vanissa was
primarily a convenient cover for other activities that would raise far more
questions than a royal mistress, were they to become known by the wrong
people-and the wrong people, at least for now, included Cousin Kelson and all
his closest confidants, especially those of the magically endowed race called
the Deryni.
Conall often wished he were Deryni, despite the opprobrium and abuse
heaped upon them by Church and State for most of the past two hundred years,
for the Deryni possessed powers that gave them considerable advantages over
ordinary humans, even if the Church officially condemned such powers as
satanic and hell-spawned. By an odd quirk of history, Conall's own Haldane
family had come to be possessed of the potential for powers not unlike those
of the Deryni- but the gift was not for all Haldanes. Tradition insisted that
only one Haldane at a time could actually wield the powers, and that was the
man who wore the crown-in this generation, Conall's cousin, Kelson Haldane.
Conall had come to resent that restriction early on, having been born
the eldest son of a Haldane king's second son. But his dissatisfaction came
not so much of Kelson's having the crown and the Haldane power-for that was an
accident of birth-but rather, that Kelson should have an exclusive claim on
the latter, which seemed to Conall to have little to do with the kingship
itself. That rationalization had led Conall to take certain steps during the
past year to discover whether the wielding of the Haldane inheritance by more
than one Haldane was a matter of could not or should not. And that was why,
but a few days short of his eighteenth birthday and knighthood, Conall pressed
on through such filthy weather-to meet his teacher. And if the outing also
permitted him to indulge more physical appetites...
Anticipation of Vanissa's welcome lifted even Conall's flagging spirits
as he continued through the storm, for he knew that the lass would provide her
prince a far more warming fire than the one Jowan predicted burning on the
hearth. The hail had slacked back to mere rain by the time the two pulled up
before her secluded little cottage, but the puddles in the tiny yard were
afloat with hailstones that crunched under Conall's boots as he lurched from
the saddle and made a mad dash for the door, leaving Jowan to deal with the
horses. The door flew back before he could even knock, an eager Vanissa
bidding him welcome with a flustered curtsey, the curtain of her dark hair
rippling like a rich mantle nearly to her knees.
"Ah, my good lord, I knew not whether still to expect you, with the
storm an' all. Come take off those wet things an' warm yourself by the fire.
You're shivering. You'll take your death of cold!"
He was shivering, but not only from the cold. Rain dripped from a small,
silky mustache and from short-cropped black hair as he pushed back his hood
and accepted a towel to dry himself, but her touch, as she reached to his
throat to undo his cloak clasp, ignited a warming fire that sizzled through
every limb and centered in his groin.
In heart-pounding silence, he watched her spread the dripping cloak over
a stool near the hearth while he peeled off clammy gloves and sank down
impatiently on another stool, inhaling the musty-sweet fragrance of the herb-
strewn rushes underfoot and the sharper scent of mulling wine. He nodded his
thanks as she handed him a cup of the steaming stuff and bent to pull off his
muddy boots, his eyes gliding appreciatively along the sweet curve of her
breasts as she struggled with the wet, slippery leather. Her exertions had
them both panting by the time she finished.
"Shall my lord be warm enough with this?" she asked, bringing an armful
of coarse wool blanket to lay around his shoulders.
Conall knew he really should not allow himself to be distracted until
after he concluded business, but he had always found it difficult to moderate
his pleasures. Vanissa was so eager to please him, so ripe for the taking, her
body only just beginning to thicken from the child she carried...
Almost overturning his wine in his haste to put it aside, he enfolded
her with him in the blanket and bore her to the rushes before the cheery fire,
losing himself in growing urgency and pleasure-until suddenly someone was
grabbing a handful of his tunic and yanking him off of her and onto his back,
slamming his shoulders to the rushes, a gloved hand pinning his sword arm
while a wet knee jammed into his chest and the flat of a dagger pressed hard
against his throat.
"Good God, boy, it doesn't even need a Deryni to take you by surprise
when you're that stupid!" said a familiar voice, not Jowan's. "I could have
been anybody!"
As the speaker's identity registered, Conall's reflex alarm and anger
quickly shifted to indignation and then to grudging acknowledgement, though
his hands still closed around the other's wrists to protect himself and move
the blade aside, even as his mind tested at the other's decidedly Deryni
shields.
"Here, now! Enough of that!" the newcomer said, abandoning his threat
and pulling back. "You'll frighten the girl."
Conall subsided immediately, releasing his assailant and sitting up with
a grunt of agreement. The stunned girl only cowered on the rushes and stared
up at both of them in fear, skirts and bodice akimbo, cringing as the cloaked
and hooded stranger sheathed his blade.
"Oh, for Christ's sake, Vanissa, no one's going to hurt you," Conall
said, looking put upon as he reached across to touch her forehead with his
fingertips. "Relax. Go to bed and forget what's just happened. I'll come to
you later. And Tiercel, stop dripping on me!"
The offender drew back with a muttered oath, but he gave a hand up to
the girl, who headed without comment toward the door to the next room, face
devoid of emotion, mechanically smoothing her skirts as she went. When the
door had closed behind her. Tiercel took off the offending cloak and laid it
out next to Conall's. He was only a few years older than the prince.
"So. I was only half joking about just anybody walking right in, you
know," said Tiercel de Claron, for more than a year now Conall's secret tutor
in matters magical and Deryni-though without the knowledge or consent of the
Camberian Council, who staunchly upheld the exclusive right of only one
Haldane at a time to hold the Haldane legacy of magical power. Few outside the
Council itself even knew of its existence-though Conall did, and the risk
Tiercel took to teach him. "It mightn't have been so bad if Jowan had come in-
"
"He's come in before and remembers nothing," Conall interjected, a surly
note in his voice.
"That's undoubtedly true," Tiercel agreed. "At least that kind of
control is better than I ever dared to hope you'd achieve. I wish I could say
the same about your self-control. Couldn't you have waited?"
"I was going to, but I was cold," Conall said, as he lay back to do up
his breeches before rolling to his knees and then getting to his feet. "I'm
not anymore, though," he added, giving the Deryni lord a sly grin. "She's far
better than a fire. Tiercel. Go ahead. Have her, if you want. I'll wait.
She'll never know, if you tell her to forget."
Tiercel snorted disdainfully as he snatched up Conall's discarded towel
to scrub at his own sopping hair. "Sometimes I wonder why I bother with you."
"What's the matter. Tiercel? Too fastidious to take a woman who's
carrying another man's child?"
"What makes you so bloody certain it's yours?" Tiercel muttered, tossing
the towel aside and unlooping the strap of a leather satchel from across his
chest.
"How's that?"
"You heard me."
"As a matter of fact, I did. And I'm not at all certain I like your-"
"Just now, I don't much care what you like or don't like!" Tiercel said.
He tossed the satchel on a well-scrubbed trestle table near the fireplace and
hooked one of the stools closer with a booted toe, disturbing the rushes. "Sit
down and act like a prince instead of a stablehand?"
Conall sat.
"Now. The point is, you were screwing around when you should have been
paying attention to the business at hand," Tiercel said sternly. "Anyone could
have walked through that door instead of me. I could have betrayed you. A
prince must never neglect his defenses. And you had defenses available to you
that ordinary men only dream of-but you didn't bother to use them."
"But-who was going to be out on a day like this? Besides, Jowan would
have stopped them."
"Oh? He didn't stop me." Tiercel stalked to the outer door and wrenched
it open, curtly beckoning a sleepy looking Jowan to enter. "Go lie down by the
fire, Jowan," he said. "Take off your wet things and have a nap."
Conall's grey eyes narrowed as he watched the squire obey, but, by the
time Jowan was snoring peacefully in the rushes, he had managed to push his
anger down to a smoldering resentment.
"Very well, you've made your point," he finally said sulkily. "It won't
happen again. I apologize. Am I forgiven?"
His bright smile was both compelling and infectious, and he knew it.
Tiercel only sighed and nodded as he sat at the table opposite the prince.
"So long as you've learned from this little unpleasantness. Are you
ready to work?"
"Of course. What are we going to do?"
"Something I've been meaning to do for several months now," Tiercel
replied, feeling around inside his satchel. "I'm going to start you on proper
warding. Wards are a type of magical protection or defense. Eventually, you'll
learn to use them in conjunction with working other spells. It won't always be
necessary to use a physical matrix to set the wards, but these will help, in
the beginning."
As he extracted a well-worn brown leather pouch and opened it, spilling
a handful of thumbnail-sized black and white cubes into his cupped palm,
Conall leaned closer.
"They look like dice."
"Aye. And so they might have been, a long time ago- or could have been
disguised as dice, once it became dangerous to be Deryni. I've seen spotted
ones, and they work just as well. Notice there are four each of the black and
white. That has an esoteric significance, but we won't bother with that for
now. Most Deryni children begin their formal training with cubes similar to
these. Hold out your right hand."
Hesitantly Conall obeyed, flinching involuntarily as Tiercel tipped them
from his own right hand into Conall's. The cubes felt cold and sleek, the
white ones yellowed like old ivory but with little of ivory's warmth, the
black ones more a charcoal grey than true ebon or obsidian.
"Now, close your eyes and tell me the first thing you sense about them,"
Tiercel said.
"They're colder than they look," Conall ventured, cautiously closing his
hand to finger the cubes' comers and edges.
"Good. What else?"
Conall hefted the handful of cubes, considering, then opened his eyes
and shifted the four black cubes to his left hand. He stared at them a moment,
black cubes in his left hand, white in his right, then cocked his head at
Tiercel.
"There's something different besides their color."
"Yes?"
"I-don't know what it is."
"Try changing them to opposite hands and tell me how that feels."
Dutifully Conall complied; but after a few seconds of concentration, he
shook his head and switched them back.
"No, they definitely feel better this way."
"Better?"
"Well, more-balanced," Conall conceded. "Does that make any sense?"
Raising an appreciative eyebrow. Tiercel nodded. "It does, indeed. In
fact, this may be easier than I dreamed. You've detected the polarities. Put
the four white cubes on the table, forming a square, all of them touching.
Then set the four black ones at the corners."
Conall obeyed, then looked up at Tiercel with a "what-next?" expression.
"Now, lower your shields and open your mind to me, to follow what I do,"
Tiercel said. "Setting wards doesn't require a great deal of power, but well-
focused concentration is essential. That's what's hardest for children-and
it's the reason I had you practice centering all winter. Pay attention now."
Setting his right forefinger on the first white cube. Tiercel breathed
in deeply and spoke the cube's nomen: "Prime." Light flared in the cube as the
energy was set and bound, then spread to the other three as Tiercel proceeded
to name them as well:
"Seconde.
"Tierce.
"Quarte."
Conall had grasped the procedure by the second repetition and glanced
eagerly at Tiercel when the first four were complete.
"I can do that," he said confidently.
"Very well, then, you name the black ones," Tiercel said, sitting back
with fists braced on hips in good-natured challenge. "Just keep to the same
order, starting with Quinte."
"All right."
Narrowing all his concentration to the cube set diagonal to the white
Prime, Conall touched it with a tentative forefinger and spoke its name:
"Quinte."
The light that flared in the cube was an inky green-black rather than
white like the first four, but Conall hardly even blinked as he shifted his
attention to the black cube next to Seconde.
"Sixte."
The second black cube lit to match Quinte's.
"Septime ... Octave," Conall continued, activating the remaining two
black cubes in rapid succession. "Is that all there is to it?"
"Hardly," Tiercel replied, though he was grinning ear-to-ear and shaking
his head slightly as if in disbelief. "They want balancing next. Watch how I
combine the elements-first, Prime to Quinte, with the intent to bring the
pairs of opposites into harmony."
He closed his eyes for just an instant, re-collecting his focus, then
picked up the white Prime and brought it down on its black counterpart,
speaking the word of power as the two touched with a faint flash and bonded.
"Primus!"
When he withdrew his hand, an oblong, silvery rectoid stood where two
cubes had been. Conall gaped.
"No questions yet," Tiercel said, reaching for Seconde. "Just pay
attention. Some magical systems equate the ward components with the Elemental
Lords and their Watchtowers, or the Archangels of the Quarters. Some prefer
the symbolism of the pillars. All are valid conventions. Watch again, now,
while I do Secundus, and then I'll let you have a go at Tertius and Quartus."
He quirked a pleased grin at the prince. "God, I'm glad you're grown! Teaching
this to children can sometimes be so tedious-but I think you're going to get
it right the first time."
"Do you do that often?" Conall asked. "Teach children, I mean?"
"Often enough. Be still, now."
Tiercel brought Seconde above Sixte, paused to draw a deep breath, then
gently brought the white cube down on the black as he spoke its balance
mnemonic.
"Secundus! Now you do the other two," he added, as he drew his hand away
from a second silvery rectoid.
Conall complied without hesitation or difficulty, looking up expectantly
as he drew his hand away from Quartus.
"Now what?"
"Now comes the tricky part, because there's some very specific
visualization involved," Tiercel said. "May I borrow your signet for a
moment?"
The ring, richly engraved gold on Conall's left little finger, bore the
Haldane arms as differenced for a second son's eldest son: Nigel's bordured
and crescent-charged Haldane lion overlaid with a label of three points.
Conall removed it without discussion, setting it, at Tiercel's direction, in
the central space Tiercel made by moving the four towers a handspan farther
apart.
"Now, just watch, this first time," Tiercel said, poising a forefinger
above the tower that was Primus. "I want you to observe the effect before
you're involved with it."
As Conall sat back a little with a nod, Tiercel drew another deep
breath, his tawny eyes going hooded, and pointed to the four towers in quick
succession as he spoke their names.
"Primus, Secundus, Tertius, et Quartus-fiat lux!"
Conall gasped as misty light flared up in a shallow dome over the
towers, enclosing the ring, but he immediately leaned closer for a better
look.
"Is it solid?" he whispered.
"Touch it and find out," Tiercel replied. "Go ahead," he added, at
Conall's hesitation. "It won't hurt you-not set this way, at any rate."
"I suppose that's meant to be reassuring," Conall muttered, prodding
tentatively with a fingertip. It felt not quite solid, and made his finger
tingle, as when an arm or leg went to sleep, but the sensation was not
painful.
"Poke a little harder," Tiercel suggested, watching him closely.
Conall complied. His finger encountered more resistance, and a stronger
tingling sensation, the farther he pushed it in, but even when he tried with
all his strength, he could not quite manage to touch his ring.
"That's enough of that," Tiercel finally said, gesturing for him to pull
back. "Now I'm going to make a subtle alteration." He held his hand over the
domelet for a few seconds, not doing anything that Conall could detect, then
blinked and glanced up at Conall again. "Now touch it."
Conall started to obey, but a blue-violet spark arced between the dome
and his fingertip with painful consequences before he could even make contact.
He gasped as he wrenched his hand away, looking up at Tiercel with only thinly
veiled anger as he nursed his wounded finger in his mouth. It was all but
blistered at the tip.
"What the devil did you do that for?" he demanded.
"So you would have some inkling of what this spell could do," Tiercel
said mildly. "Now suppose it were covering an entire room rather than just
your ring. Do you remember the protective dome that Kelson and Charissa
raised, when they fought at Kelson's coronation?"
"Of course," Conall breathed. "But they didn't use ward cubes-did they?"
"No. But some of the principles are the same. Actually, the first
version is the more useful for general purposes-and there are variations
between." Tiercel passed his hand over the dome again, then turned his palm
briefly toward Conall. "Now try it again."
"Is it going to kill me this time, instead of just burning me?" Conall
asked, still sucking resentfully at his wounded fingertip.
"Come, now. Would I kill you, after all the work I've put into you in
the past year?"
Conall only snorted in answer; but after taking a deep breath, he did
reach out gingerly to touch the dome again. This time, his finger passed
through its misty outline with no more sensation than going through fog. With
elation in his eyes, he speared the ring with his fingertip and pulled it out,
looking up at Tiercel in triumph.
"Got it!"
"Of course. That time, the wards were attuned to you. Now, put it back,
and I'll show you how we dismantle the wards. Then I'll let you practice."
Two hours later, Conall had formed and neutralized the wards several
times under Tiercel's supervision-though only in the primary, non-lethal mode-
and was confident he could now do so without assistance if the need arose.
"Hmmm, I daresay you probably could. But there's no need to rush
things," Tiercel cautioned, when they had replaced the cubes in their pouch
and Conall had made none too subtle inquiries about acquiring a set of his
own. "Perhaps I'll have you a set by the time you return from the summer
progress."
"So long?"
"Well, frankly, I didn't expect you to master them so quickly. Finding
you the right set will take some time."
"Couldn't I borrow yours? That way, I could practice while I'm away."
"I-don't think that's a good idea," Tiercel replied. "For one thing, I
may need them. For another, it wouldn't do for someone to find them and deduce
what you've been doing with your spare time. Only a trained Deryni would have
any business with a set. Besides, you're flexing abilities you've never used
before. You have to build up your endurance. I'll bet you've got a headache
just from this afternoon's work."
Conall nodded grudgingly, kneading the bridge of his nose between thumb
and forefinger and trying te will the dull throb to recede. He'd been trying
to ignore it, but it was centered just behind his eyes.
"I have. It isn't too bad, though. Not as bad as some I've had."
"You're sure? I can give you something for it, if you like. You needn't
play the martyr, you know."
"I know. But if I take one of your potions, I'll still be groggy at
dinnertime. Someone might notice. I'll be all right."
"Very well. Suit yourself. I am pleased with your progress, however.
Today's gains should make it much easier when we continue with your training.
If only we'd had a few more weeks, I feel certain I could have taken you
before the Council by Midsummer."
Conall grimaced, but not from his headache. "I know you won't want to
believe this, coming from me, but under the circumstances, it's probably best
we have to wait," he said. "The Council isn't going to like it when we prove
that more than one Haldane can hold the Haldane power at a time. And when they
tell Kelson, he isn't going to like it. If he knew, he'd never let me be
knighted."
"What makes you so sure they'll tell Kelson?" Tiercel asked. "He isn't
exactly their favorite Deryni right now, you know. If he were on the Council,
it would be different, of course, but he isn't-the more fool, he."
"I still can't believe he turned down a Council seat," Conall muttered.
"I wouldn't have - not that I'm ever likely to be asked."
Conall cocked his head thoughtfully at his prize pupil as he stashed the
cube pouch in his satchel.
"That may not be as far-fetched as you think," he said quietly. "If you
keep progressing, there's no predicting how far you might go."
"And wouldn't that be a feather in your cap?" Conall returned, not even
blinking at the notion-which startled Tiercel. "You can't tell me you don't
have ambitions, too, Tiercel de Claron."
Tiercel shrugged. "Oh, I do. But they had included your rather
uncooperative cousin Kelson as well as yourself. And if declining the Council
seat wasn't enough, he had to recommend Morgan or Duncan in his place-or
Dhugal..."
"Dhugal!" Conall snorted. "What does that upstart border bastard know
about anything?"
Tiercel favored the sour-visaged prince with a wry little smile. "I must
assume that you mean the term bastard in the purely pejorative sense rather
than the literal one, since the holy fathers of the Church are even now about
the business of legitimating young Dhugal."
"He's still a bastard."
"In that his parents were not wed according to the usual rites of Mother
Church-perhaps. But a form of marriage was enacted, and both parents were free
to marry at the time. That's enough for the king. And at his request, the
bishops almost certainly will grant the necessary dispensation."
"A piece of parchment," Conall muttered. "It changes nothing."
"Why, one might almost think you were jealous," Tiercel said mildly.
"Jealous? Of Dhugal?"
"Well, he is of true Deryni lineage, after all, and the king's blood
brother," Tiercel said pointedly. "That gives him a few perquisites that mere
cousinship and usurped Haldane potentials don't confer, doesn't it? Don't
worry, I won't betray your secret."
"I'd rather not talk about it," Conall said, turning his face away
guiltily.
"No, I don't suppose you would." Tiercel stood. "Well, I must be away.
You're sure you don't want something for your headache?"
"No. It's nearly gone already." Conall swallowed uneasily, fighting down
a flush of embarrassment at his outburst. "Tiercel, I-"
The Deryni lord ducked under the shoulder strap of his satchel, then
began drawing on his clammy cloak as he glanced back at Conall.
"Yes?"
"I-please don't mind me getting a little hot about Dhugal. I guess I am
a bit jealous." He glanced down at his stockinged feet. "I suppose I'm a bit
jealous of Kelson, too."
"I know," Tiercel said softly. He laid a comforting hand on Conall's
shoulder until the younger man looked up and managed a shifty, half-hearted
smile, then took his hand away.
"You have much to recommend you for yourself alone, Conall. Don't let
jealousy make you lose sight of that."
"I'll try. Will-will we have time for any more sessions before I leave?"
"One more, perhaps," Tiercel said, "though not until after the
knighting. You're going to be very busy between now and then. And I'd better
come to you, rather than the reverse. You're going to be under increasing
scrutiny-not because anyone suspects anything," he added, at Conall's flash of
alarm, "but simply because, since the conferring of knighthood denotes a full
coming of age in your rank as prince and knight, people are going to be
interested in what you're doing and how you're taking the new responsibilities
that come with the honor."
"I suppose that makes sense," Conall agreed. "Will you send word in the
usual way, then?"
Tiercel nodded. "We'll plan tentatively for the night before you
actually leave on the progress. Most everyone else will be otherwise occupied
getting last-minute arrangements taken care of, so you're that much less
likely to be missed."
"True enough." Conall stood as Tiercel gathered up cap and gloves.
"Good luck with your knighting, then," Tiercel said, clasping his hand
to Conall's and brushing his mind briefly against the other's in leave-taking.
"Mine was far less lavish than what they have planned for you, but I'll never
forget it. Will you return to Rhemuth now, or are you staying a while with
your lady?"
Conall smiled lazily as Tiercel withdrew from the hand-clasp and pulled
on his cap, moving toward the door.
"I have some unfinished business here, I think," he said, hooking his
thumbs in his belt as Tiercel paused with a hand on the latch. "And this time,
I shall take suitable precautions to make certain I'm not interrupted."
Tiercel only flashed him a forbearing grin before dashing back into the
rain.
CHAPTER ONE
I will make him my firstborn.
-Psalms 89:27
"Well, it's a relief finally to have official confirmation that my
foster brother is not a bastard!" King Kelson of Gwynedd said.
He flung a playful arm around the neck of Dhugal MacArdry as the two of
them followed Dhugal's father and Duke Alaric Morgan into Kelson's suite of
rooms in Rhemuth Castle, Bishop Denis Arilan bringing up the rear. All of them
were dripping rain. It was the Saturday before the beginning of Lent, the
Vigil of Quinquagesima Sunday, the first day of March in the Year of Our Lord
1125, and Kelson Haldane had been King of Gwynedd for a little more than four
years. He had turned eighteen the previous November.
"Not that I ever believed he was, of course," Kelson went on drolly, "or
that it would have made any difference to me if he had been. I am glad that I
won't have to defy the law to knight him on Tuesday, however."
The bluster evoked a chuckle from Morgan and a snort of disapproval from
Arilan as everyone shed wet cloaks and gathered before the fire, for all were
aware that the king might have done precisely that, if necessary, to see
proper honor done to his beloved foster brother. Kelson had already waived the
usual age requirement for the accolade-a royal prerogative whose exercise
would raise no eyebrows, given Dhugal's outstanding service in the previous
summer's campaign, and Dhugal only just seventeen. Several others were also
being knighted early, for the same reason.
But age was one thing-a somewhat arbitrary milestone that easily might
be set aside for reasonable cause, even royal whim. The bar sinister was quite
another. Even with royal patronage, illegitimacy was normally a serious, if
not absolute, bar to knighthood.
Fortunately, Bishop Duncan McLain had proven today, to the satisfaction
of an archbishop's tribunal, that long before entering holy orders, he and
Dhugal's mother had exchanged vows that constituted a valid, if irregular,
marriage. The proving had not been easy. The first sticking point had been
that the vows were witnessed only by the two principals and the sacred
Presence signified by the ever-burning lamp in the chapel of Duncan's father,
at Culdi.
"Mind you, I don't dispute the precedent of per verba de praesenti, old
Bishop Wolfram de Blanet had said, acting as devil's advocate as he and Arilan
reviewed the case for Archbishop Cardiel in closed session. "Common law in the
borders has long recognized the validity of a marriage declared before
witnesses when no priest was available- though the Church has always urged a
more solemn ratification at some future date."
Duncan, standing alone before the tribunal's long table, shook his head
in objection, aware of the tension of his son and the others seated behind
him. Other than one of Cardiel's darks, taking down a careful transcript at
the end of the table, only Dhugal, Morgan, the king, and Nigel had been
permitted to attend.
"Your Excellency knows that was not possible," Duncan said. "I never saw
her again. She died the following winter."
"Yes, so you have said. The salient point here, however, which must be
addressed, has nothing to do with omission of a later regularization of the
marriage, but whether a declaration before the Blessed Sacrament in fact
fulfills the elements of per verba de praesenti."
Arilan, serving as Duncan's counsel, cleared his throat.
"Ah, there is a parallel precedent in ancient Talmudic law. Wolfram," he
pointed out. "I doubt the comparison has often been invoked, but we have in
the sacred tabernacle, before which the Presence lamp bums, a direct lineal
descendant of the Jewish Ark of the Covenant. Interestingly enough, the Ark
was permitted, in necessity, to substitute for one of the quorum of ten adult
males required for many public rituals of Jewish worship."
"Implying that the Ark functioned as a witness of sorts?" Wolfram asked,
frowning.
Arilan nodded. "Beyond question. Surely at least equal in weight to the
mere mortals making up the other nine- and in symbol, at least, the physical
representative of the presence of the living God. If, as we believe. God is
physically present in the Blessed Sacrament as the Body and Blood of Christ,
then can the Holy Presence in the tabernacle before which Duncan and Maryse
made their vows be any tess valid a witness?"
Duncan scarcely dared to breathe as the import of the argument sank in;
he sensed that the others, seated behind him, recognized it, too. Arilan had
scored a point not easily refuted; for to deny the real Presence of God in the
Sacrament housed in the tabernacle was clearly blasphemy.
Wolfram pursed his lips and looked to Cardiel for guidance, but the
archbishop only raised an eyebrow, turning the initiative back to Wolfram.
Cardiel was already far from neutral in this case, being Duncan's immediate
superior. He did not know, in the way that many others in the room knew, that
Duncan was telling the truth-but he sincerely believed he was. Unfortunately,
neither believing nor knowing was sufficient in a court of ecclesiastical law,
especially when the latter came of Deryni proving.
For Duncan McLain, besides being a bishop and the father of a son, was
also Deryni-a member of that magical race whose powers had been feared and
condemned by the Church for nearly two centuries. Duncan's identity as Deryni
was not widely known outside the highest ecclesiastical circles, and even
there was not officially acknowledged-for though the Church had long
prohibited Deryni from entering the priesthood, Duncan McLain was an able,
pious, and loyal churchman, Deryni or not-but speculation was rife. Thus far,
Duncan had managed neither to confirm nor deny what he was.
There were other Deryni in the room as well, though only one besides the
king was openly known to be so. Folk had always known who and what Alaric
Morgan was. Protected by Kelson's Haldane grandfather and father through
childhood and youth, he eventually had come to grudging acceptance at court
because of his unswerving loyalty to the House of Haldane and because he had
the good sense not to flaunt his abilities. Even the human Bishop Wolfram
acknowledged guarded respect for the fair-haired man in black sitting at the
king's elbow.
The fact that Morgan was Duncan's cousin must surely fuel old Wolfram's
suspicions that Duncan was Deryni, too, though-and that Dhugal might also be,
if Duncan was. What Wolfram did not suspect was that Bishop Denis Arilan also
shared that distinction-though everyone else present except the dark knew it.
And though any one of the Deryni could have verified the truth of Duncan's
claim by using their magical powers-and some had-that evidence might not be
presented, for the Church's official position regarding the Deryni race and
their magical powers was still quite negative.
"You beg the question, Denis," Wolfram finally said. "Naturally, any
declaration made before the Blessed Sacrament would have been witnessed in
that sense." He jerked his chin vaguely over his shoulder toward the open
doorway of the adjoining chapel. "The Light bums in there, too, and His
Presence is among us in this room."
"Far be it from me to dispute that," Arilan replied, spreading his hands
in a conciliatory gesture.
"It is usual, however," Wolfram added, "to be able to produce witnesses
who can testify to what they've witnessed."
"Implying that God could not, if He wished?" Arilan asked.
"You know that isn't what I meant!"
摘要：

THEQUESTFORSAINTCAMBERPROLOGUEBehold,thouhastinstructedmany,andthouhaststrengthenedtheweakhands.-Job4:3Thunderrumblednotfaraway,lowandominous,asPrinceConallHaldane,firstcousintoKingKelsonofGwynedd,pulledupwithhissquireinthemeagershelterofawinter-baretreeandhuddleddeeperintohisoiledleathercloak,squin...

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