The Legends of Camber of Culdi Trilogy

by Katherine Kurtz

“You lost it for me,” Cinhil murmured. “Is there nothing more I can do to repay that debt?”

  “Only pray for us,” Cullen said simply. “And pray for me, if you will—for strength to know and do God’s will in my new undertaking. I would value your prayers, Cinhil.”

  Cinhil stared at the other man for a long moment, then smiled tentatively, almost shyly.

  “It is I who would be privileged to pray for you, Father—or should I say ‘Your Grace’?”

  “‘Father’ is always appropriate. Or ‘Alister,’ if you wish.”

  “Nay, not ‘Alister.’ Not yet, at least. But a bishop,” Cinhil repeated. “You’re to be a bishop. What a wondrous thing!”

  “Perhaps we can share a few of our mutual burdens, Sire,” Cullen said, touching Cinhil’s arm lightly as he turned to go. “You may tell me how it is to be a king, and I shall tell you how it is to be a bishop. At least that is not forbidden us.”

  Cinhil watched almost reverently as Cullen moved to the door and turned to bow.

  “Thank you for coming, Father.”

  “Thank you for seeing me, Sire.” Cullen smiled.

  When he was gone, Cinhil sank back on the cushions of the window seat and let out a sigh.

  Cullen to be a bishop, and Bishop of Grecotha at that! And just now, when it had begun to look as if he were one Deryni who might be trusted. True, Grecotha was not that far away, but still …

  Even so, to have one in so high a place in sympathy, even if he was Deryni—that could not help but be useful. Perhaps Cullen could even be persuaded to restore Cinhil’s priestly functions, after a time. Or Oriss, for that matter. As Archbishop of Rhemuth, he would be in an even better position than Cullen to permit a more suitable disposition of Cinhil’s priestly status, especially once the capital returned to Rhemuth. And Oriss was human.

  True, Oriss had not known Cinhil while Cinhil was a monk under his rule. Oriss probably had never even heard of the Brother Benedict Cinhil had been before Joram and Rhys spirited him out of Saint Foillan’s Abbey.

  Still, Oriss would be Archbishop of Rhemuth, second only to Anscom; and Cullen would be Bishop of Grecotha. Perhaps the day was not so far off as Cinhil had feared, when he might openly celebrate the Mass again!

  He mused on that for a long time, dreaming of many yesterdays, then sat up with a start. The idea had flashed through his mind so suddenly that he could not even articulate it, dared not give mental substance to what was taking shape.

  Quickly, before he could think about it too much and find a reasoned argument against, he scrambled to the bellpull beside his bed and rang for a servant. Sorle, his valet, appeared momentarily, breathless and anxious-looking.

  “Sorle, please ask Father Alfred to join me,” he said, avoiding looking at the chest at the foot of his bed. “Tell him to bring parchment and ink. I have work for him.”

  Sorle bowed, somewhat mystified, and left to do his master’s bidding. Cinhil threw himself on his bed and hugged knees to chest in sheer delight.

  What a singular opportunity! With Cullen and Oriss slated for elevation to the purple, it was altogether fitting that Cinhil, as king, make them suitable gifts upon the occasion of their elevations. And what could be more suitable than several sets of new vestments apiece?

  No one need ever know that not all of the vestments so commissioned would find their way to the two new bishops. No one would know that at least one set would find its way into the reverent and longing hands of Cinhil Haldane!

  CHAPTER THREE

  For death is come up into our windows, and is entered into our palaces.

  —Jeremiah 9:21

  Camber sat in a cushioned chair before the fireplace in his sleeping chamber, eyes unfocused in the direction of the fire, his feet propped comfortably on a padded stool.

  He felt very peaceful now—ready to cope with whatever might come. After leaving the hall, alone at his own insistence, he had returned to his quarters to shed his bloody clothing and relax for a few minutes before beginning preparations for that evening’s work.

  Others also had plans for him, however. Guaire, who insisted upon acting as his squire most of the time, had appeared very shortly—obviously briefed by Joram or Evaine—and coaxed him to sit and soak in a hot bath, which Guaire had already had drawn. When Camber emerged, clean-clad and feeling far better than he had expected for the experience, there was a simple but hearty meal set for him before the fire: a joint of beef, cheese, crusty bread spread thick with butter and honey, and plenty of good red wine. He knew Evaine had had a hand in that.

  He had not thought he could eat much. Besides, he had the feeling that he wanted to fast at least a little for the ritual planned later that night.

  But Guaire was insistent, and Camber could not really tell him why he did not wish to eat; so Camber complied. Guaire stood over him sternly until he had consumed more than half of what had been put before him.

  After, feeling admittedly restored, Camber dismissed Guaire on the pretext of wanting to rest—which was true, though not quite yet—then spent the next hour and more cleaning and arranging the dressing room to his satisfaction. Following that, he did rest, stretching out supine on the bed while he employed diverse Deryni relaxation techniques to ensure that he would be fresh and alert when the time came for him to do what he must.

  When he awoke a few hours later, the room darkening into dusky twilight, he was feeling quite fit and ready. He spent the hour until the Vesper bell in more-active meditation, making the mental and spiritual preparations he felt necessary for the task approaching. The steady rain outside was a constant reinforcement to his intent, helping to drive him to ever-deeper centering points of consciousness.

  What he planned tonight was not particularly dangerous, though the best-intended dabblings in this realm could turn threatening if one did not pay proper attention to what one was doing. He had checked his source document again, while he prepared the room, and the author had made the need for prudence abundantly clear.

  But the prime consideration was precision, and the necessity for great concentration and a steady outpouring of energy. The results could be unsettling to anyone not anticipating all aspects, but Camber knew he would have ample support from those assisting him. There would be no faintheartedness from those four.

  Their images flashed before him in the flames as he thought about them, and he allowed himself to dwell on each one lovingly: Evaine and Rhys, beloved daughter and new-found son, fearless and above reproach; Joram—not his first-born or even his eldest son, but the only son of his body now alive, dear because of his stubborn differences, not despite them; and Alister Cullen, gruff and often cynical, a former adversary but now a respected colleague and friend, even if he was sometimes suspicious of the magic which they wielded.

  He yawned and stretched luxuriously, the scarlet velvet of his sleeve catching his attention in the firelight. He wondered again why the document required that he wear red for the operation he was going to try, remembering the look on Guaire’s face earlier in the afternoon when he had asked the young man to search the wardrobe of the former king for just such a garment. The feel of the velvet against his body gave him a sense of comfort as he stood and moved quietly toward the door to the corridor. He opened it before the two outside could even knock.

  Rhys and Evaine passed to the fireplace without a word as Camber bolted the door, the Healer settling onto a stool while Evaine curled up on the fur at his feet, her arms cradling something bulky and awkward in its wrappings beneath her cloak.

  Camber moved back to his chair, but stood with one hand resting lightly on the back as he gazed down at his daughter.

  “Are the others on their way?”

  Evaine nodded and began unwrapping the bundle in her lap, letting her cloak fall back from her shoulders in the warmth of the fire.

  “Joram officiated at Vespers tonight, and Cinhil wanted to speak with him afterwards. Father Cullen is waiting for him in the sacristy. Will this bowl sui
t our purposes?”

  Firelight flickered mellow and warm on the silver as she withdrew the bowl from its wrappings and put it into her father’s hands, flashing quicksilver into Camber’s eyes momentarily as he gazed at his distorted reflection.

  “It’s perfect.”

  He set it carefully on a chest near the door to the dressing chamber, very much aware of their eyes following his every move as he returned to the fireplace.

  Rhys coughed gently to engage his attention.

  “Can you tell us what you’re planning now, or must we wait for the others?”

  “I’d rather not have to explain it twice, if you don’t mind.”

  They waited, Camber outwardly assuming an air of relaxation but inwardly vaguely uneasy over the delay. Finally he heard the muffled tread of footsteps approaching, and waved Rhys back to his seat as he himself went to the door. His hands were moving the latch even as the first faint knock sounded on the other side.

  “Sorry we’re late,” Joram murmured as he and Cullen slipped through the opening which Camber permitted. “Cinhil detained us. I brought your incense.”

  “Thank you. Alister, were you able to get what I asked for?”

  As Camber latched the door, Cullen reached into his habit and pulled out a lumpily folded packet of cloth, which he handed to Camber.

  “It wasn’t as easy as you thought. Some of the specific items you mentioned weren’t there. Ariella may have taken them with her, or they’re already being worn by the queen. I hope this one will do.”

  Camber sat in his chair and began unfolding the packet. Cullen, with a nod to Evaine and Rhys, dropped to one knee on the furs to peer over the arm of Camber’s chair. Joram kissed his sister and touched his brother-in-law’s shoulder in greeting before settling on a stool to Camber’s right.

  “Ah, the Haldana necklace!” Camber exclaimed.

  He reached into the last folds of the fabric to withdraw a mass of diamonds and cabochon-cut rubies, none of them smaller than a pea. The stones flashed rainbow brilliance in the firelight as he laid the necklace across one hand.

  Cullen leaned one elbow on the arm of Camber’s chair and looked pleased with himself.

  “You said you wanted something she’d worn a lot,” he said in his gruff voice. “Now, would you mind telling me what you plan to do with it?”

  Camber smiled and let his eyes focus through it softly, probing delicately with his mind. After a few seconds, he closed it in his hands and looked up at them.

  “This will be our link to Ariella,” he said in a low voice. “Using this as a focus, I should be able to project images from her mind on the surface of a bowl of blackened water. If we’re lucky, I may even be able to manipulate those images a little, backward and maybe even forward in time.”

  Rhys’s jaw dropped, and Evaine swallowed, and Joram lifted one blond eyebrow. Cullen pursed his lips and slowly shook his head.

  “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

  Camber smiled. “I told you that you could be excused, if you wanted to be, and that offer still holds. But I don’t really think your conscience is going to have any trouble with this one.”

  Cullen made a face and muttered something unintelligible under his breath, and Camber chuckled.

  “Let’s go into the next room, and I’ll explain exactly what we’re going to do.”

  Carrying the silver bowl, Camber led them into the room he had prepared. His clothing and other accoutrements he had put away in chests and garment presses, all of which had been shoved against one wall to block the door to another set of apartments not currently in use. The single, high window he had curtained off with a heavy tapestry, closing out the storm and the wan light of the rising moon. Even the garderobe shaft had been sealed off by a chest dragged over the opening in the floor.

  In the center of the room, he had set a small, square table, covered with a white cloth. On it, a single candle lit a sea-green glass flagon of water and four new tapers partially folded in a linen napkin. A small, stoppered bottle nestled in the shadow of the flagon to one side.

  Joram put down the small thurible he had been carrying and fished in the folds of his sash until he found a packet of incense. This he laid beside the thurible as Camber carefully set the silver bowl in the center of the table.

  After locking the door, Camber rejoined the other four around the table, taking a place opposite the window. He laid the Haldana necklace beside the bowl, then reached inside the neck of his crimson robe to remove a small silver crucifix, which he placed on the table where he could see it.

  “In a moment I’m going to ask you to help me invoke the four quarters and set wards, much as we did for Cinhil’s ceremony of power,” he said, giving what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “Rhys, you’re fine where you are; you’re our Healer, Raphael. Joram, please change places with Alister and come here, on my right; you are logically Michael. Alister, I’ll ask you to speak for Uriel, in the north. Evaine is our Angel of the Annunciation, here beside me.”

  The appropriate shifts were made, and then an expectant silence settled around the table. The light from the single candle reflected off the bowl and cast a nimbus of candlelight on Camber’s face. In front of him, between the bowl and the edge of the table, his crucifix gleamed friendly and reassuring beside the cold fire of the Haldana rubies and diamonds.

  Camber took up the flagon of water and poured it into the bowl, a wistful lift to one corner of his mouth as he glanced aside at Cullen.

  “This is water—nothing more. Alister, would you please bless it?”

  “A simple blessing, or something more involved?”

  “The latter, I think. Use the Paschal blessing with the necessary changes.”

  “Very well.”

  Taking a deep breath, Cullen extended his priestly hands flat over the surface of the water as Camber put the flagon out of the way behind him.

  “I bless and consecrate thee, O creature of water, by the living God, by the true God, by the holy God, by that God Who, in the beginning, separated thee by His word from the dry land, and Whose Spirit moved upon thee.”

  With his hand he traced a cross on the surface of the water, then scattered some of it toward each of the four quarters so that it sprinkled each of the watchers.

  “Who made thee to flow forth from the fountains of Paradise, and commanded thee to water the world in four rivers. Who, changing thy bitterness in the desert into sweetness, made thee fit to drink, and brought thee forth from the rock to quench the people’s thirst.”

  Again he signed the water, this time bending to breathe thrice upon it, as God, in the beginning, had breathed upon the water with the Holy Spirit.

  “Do Thou, with Thy mouth, bless these clear waters: that besides their natural virtue of cleansing the body, they may be effectual for the purification of minds. In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti, Amen.”

  As he looked up, Camber handed him the four tapers.

  “Now consecrate the tapers, please.”

  Handling the four as one, Cullen dipped the bases of the tapers into the bowl of water.

  “May the power of the Holy Spirit descend into the fullness of this water, that it may purify all it touches.” He removed the tapers. “Per omnia saecula saeculorum.”

  “Amen,” the other four responded.

  Cullen shook the excess water off the tapers, then handed them to Camber, who dried them with his napkin before giving one to each of them.

  “We’ll set the wards now. Rhys, when we’re all ready, you can light your taper from the central one. Alister, I’ve purposely put you last so you can pick up the pattern and follow when your turn comes. Any questions?”

  There were none—only returned gazes of varying confidence. With a brief smile of reassurance, Camber closed his eyes and bowed his head, fingertips resting lightly on the cloth covering the table. After a few seconds he could sense the new light as Rhys touched his taper to the central candle. He could feel the
prickle of power beginning to build as Rhys spoke softly:

  “I call the mighty Archangel Raphael, the Healer, Guardian of Wind and Tempest. May thy winds blow cool and sweet this night, to send us that which we must know. Fiat, fiat, fiat voluntas mea.”

  To his right, Camber felt Joram stirring, to reach across and light his taper from the central flame. His son’s voice was firm and confident in the stillness.

  “I call the mighty Archangel Michael, the Defender, Keeper of the Gates of Eden. Lend thou thy fiery sword as protection this night, that naught may keep us from that which we must know. Fiat, fiat, fiat voluntas mea.”

  The air was beginning to crackle around him now, as Evaine brushed his left elbow in leaning out to light her taper.

  “I call the mighty Archangel Gabriel, the Herald, who didst bring glad tidings to Our Blessed Lady. As we are born of water, so let knowledge be born of water here tonight, that we may learn what we must know. Fiat, fiat, fiat voluntas mea.”

  The circle was almost complete. Camber let himself relax a little as Cullen’s light joined the others.

  “I call the mighty Archangel Uriel, Angel of Death, who bringest all souls at last to the Nether Shore. Mayest thou pass us by this night, and bring instead that thing which we must know. Fiat, fiat, fiat voluntas mea.”

  As Cullen’s final words ceased echoing in the dull hollow of the warded circle, Camber opened his eyes and looked at all of them again. Each face stared back at him with serenity now, even Cullen’s reluctance lulled by the comfort of the gently glowing hemisphere which surrounded them at arm’s length behind them.

  With a smile of confidence, Camber picked up the central candle and elevated it a little.

  “Air, Fire, Water, Earth—and Spirit.” His eyes flicked to what was now the fifth light in his hand. “The unity of Man. All are joined in One within this circle.”

  He put the candle down again and took up the Haldana necklace.

  “We come to the unknown portions now, my friends,” he said easily. “We use something once belonging to the person with whom we hope to form a link—in this case, the necklace—and we use it as a focal point to concentrate on Ariella.”