The Legends of Camber of Culdi Trilogy

by Katherine Kurtz

  “Sheer physical ability is not the only requisite for leadership, my prince,” Jebediah said, biting off a harsher comment he had been going to make about whoever had been responsible. “Who has told you that it was?”

  Javan stiffened, his lower lip quivering a little in his indignation. “If I am possibly to rule after my brother Alroy, I must be strong. Do you think they will allow another weakling to sit on the throne? Gwynedd needs a warrior king.”

  “Gwynedd needs a king who is wise,” Jebediah countered. “If he also happens to be a warrior, that is fine. But it is not required. Your father is no warrior, and he has done well enough.”

  “My father.” The boy snorted with a dejected derision. “Aye, he is no warrior. Would that he were, and had been, from the beginning. But, no, he must abandon his vows and be neither prince nor priest, and accursed by God. If he had not, I would not be thus, with the sign of God’s displeasure for all to see!”

  With that, he jerked his deformed foot from Tavis’s grasp and tried to hide it behind the other one, turning his face away and knuckling angry tears. Jebediah, aghast at what he had just heard, looked at Tavis for some explanation.

  “My lord, have you been filling his head with these mad tales?”

  “It is not I who teach him history or religion, my Lord Deryni Marshal,” Tavis said bitterly. “Please leave us. Haven’t you upset His Highness enough for one afternoon?”

  Jebediah could find nothing to say to that. As Tavis stood and gathered the crippled prince in his arms, to carry him away from the eyes which now stared from every part of the room, Jebediah felt like a monster. He watched them go, wondering how he was going to explain this to Cinhil and, even more, to Camber.

  But at that moment, Camber’s thoughts were far from the princes and from Valoret. As he and Joram followed Jesse up the outside stairs from the castleyard, into Ebor’s great hall, he reviewed in his mind the little he had gleaned thus far about the situation for which Rhys had called him.

  It was unusual for Rhys to ask directly for his help, for Camber had never really been able to learn any of the Healer’s Art which Rhys had mastered so well and so many years before. Camber had been considered a great non-healing adept, and Alister was not unaccomplished himself; but neither aspect of the man who now nodded greeting to Gregory’s various servants and retainers could compare with the specialized abilities of a gifted Healer like Rhys.

  And yet, if Rhys had somehow managed to take away Gregory’s Deryni powers, then that was, indeed, a subject of great interest, both to Camber and to the part of him which was Alister. It was a thing which could touch all Deryni. Camber had never heard of such a thing happening, except in occasional head injuries which were so severe that other functions were also impaired; and in those cases, function could almost never be restored, and the patient surely died. Nor had he ever read of such a thing, though over the years he and Evaine had worked with some very ancient documents, indeed—records which sometimes spoke of many wondrous things not normally thought of as falling within even a Deryni’s abilities. The ancient texts said nothing about taking away a person’s powers deliberately.

  Jesse led them up a winding turnpike stair for nearly two floors, then doubled back through a narrow gallery walkway which skirted along the length of the hall and overlooked it. At the end of the passage, a heavy, metal-studded door stood ajar.

  The earl’s great, tapestry-hung bed could be seen through another arched doorway across the entry-room, the green-clad figure of Rhys sitting wearily on a chair beside the sleeping Gregory while Evaine stood behind him and massaged his temples. Rhys looked up as Camber and Joram entered, his face creasing in a relieved smile as he rose to greet them.

  “Am I glad you’re here, both of you!” he said, laying his hands on their shoulders in a dual embrace. “Jesse, thank you for bringing them up. We’ll call you if there’s any need.”

  Linked minds exchanged in an instant what lips would have taken long minutes to recount, even as Jesse backed out deferentially and closed the door. Evaine, too, joined in the rapport, the mind-brush of her affection reaching out to caress both father and brother. Even as their link receded to more usual levels, Rhys drew them all physically into Gregory’s bedroom, to stand along the near side of the bed.

  “You’re sure he’s all right now?” Camber asked in a low voice.

  “Perfectly normal. I only have him in forced sleep because I wanted to be able to talk freely with you. I know that I can duplicate the effect, though. We won’t even have to wake him. I don’t think he’ll remember anything out of the ordinary, either. He was only conscious for a few seconds, and he was still in a bit of shock. Do you want me to show you what I did?”

  “Not just yet. Are his shields malleable?”

  “To the four of us, yes. Do you want to read him?”

  “I think so.”

  Moving closer to the bed, Camber unclasped the heavy riding cloak he had been wearing against the outside cold and shrugged it into Joram’s waiting hands, then blew on his fingertips and rubbed them together briskly to warm them before touching Gregory’s temples. As he let his fingers slip easily back into the thin reddish hair and took control, Gregory gave a little sigh and seemed to relax even more.

  Deeply Camber delved, exploring the traditional pathways through which the Deryni potential was usually carried, appreciating the discipline of this particular Deryni mind and marvelling that anything could have neutralized it, even briefly. Then he withdrew both mental and physical contact and turned to Rhys.

  “He seems fine to me. Perfectly normal, other than being open to the controls you’ve placed upon him for Healing. Now, what did you do to him before?”

  With an indrawn breath of apprehension and resolve, Rhys moved in closer and laid his hands on Gregory’s head. “You’d best not come with me while I do it, at least the first time. Just stand by for a moment.”

  “Very well.”

  As Rhys closed his eyes and went into his deep Deryni trancing, Camber watched neutrally, aching to follow what the Healer was doing, but respecting his opinion that it were better not to do so. After a moment, Rhys opened his eyes and drew back a little.

  “Take a look now,” he said, a twisted little smile on his lips. “Even knowing something of what to expect, I think you’re going to be surprised.”

  “Indeed?”

  With the arching of one bushy Alister eyebrow in skepticism, Camber laid his hands on Gregory’s head once again and extended his senses—and encountered no shields, no resistance, nothing—nothing at all which gave hint that the being beneath his hands was Deryni! Despite himself, he looked up quickly at Rhys, at Evaine, noted both their hesitant, slightly troubled little smiles. Without taking his attention from Gregory further, he motioned for Joram to move in and read with him, felt the increased potential as Joram’s familiar presence bolstered his own awareness of the mind they read.

  Backed by Joram’s steady touch of mind and hand, he let himself sink into his own deep trancing, reaching out at successively lower levels for the telltale signs of Deryni potential which were no longer there in Gregory. He could feel Joram’s incredulity in tandem with his own, felt a slight twinge of dread as the thought simultaneously crossed his and Joram’s minds that use of this particular technique could be a threat to any Deryni; thanked God that the Healers were bound by so rigid a code of ethics. What a weapon for Deryni to use against Deryni!

  But he dared not dwell on that further. Surfacing enough to function on a physical plane as well as a mental one again, he signed for Rhys to join them in the deep rapport, to work his Healing magic and restore what he had taken away, while he and Joram observed. He felt Rhys join the linkage and withdrew enough for Rhys to take control, felt the Healer slip deep into union and reach out.

  A twist, a psychic wrenching, gentle but persistent—and suddenly Gregory’s mind was as it had been, sleeping and controlled still, but completely restored to the fullness of his Deryni
potentials. Camber was shaking his head even as the three of them withdrew, too stunned by what he had witnessed to do more than stare at his son-in-law in amazement. He could not seem to find his voice. Rhys finally broke the silence.

  “You didn’t really believe me, did you?” the Healer said, as he reinforced Gregory’s Healing sleep and then broke off all contact. “Let’s go into the other room. He needs to rest.”

  Without a word, Camber followed, his mind still examining the implications of what he had just seen and felt. When they had settled down on stools and in chairs beside the fire in the outer room, it was Joram who spoke.

  “All right, how did you do it?”

  Rhys laced his fingers together on his knees and shook his head slightly. “I think it’s a Healer’s function, Joram. I did it inadvertently the first time, while working at a very deep level, and I couldn’t reverse it until I’d gone down deep again. The process seems to require the same kind of energy expenditure as an actual Healing.”

  “Is it more difficult?” Camber asked.

  “No, it’s—different. I suspect that one could become quite adept at this, after a while, but I don’t really see that it’s worth the effort. I mean, what good is it to take away someone’s powers? Now, giving powers this easily—that’s another story.”

  Joram snorted as he shifted closer to the fire. “Humph. I can’t say that it’s done Cinhil that much good to have such powers. Nor would I have been unhappy to see Imre or Ariella lose theirs. It could have saved a lot of needless deaths.”

  “True,” Rhys agreed. “However, gaining Imre’s and Ariella’s cooperation might have been another matter. Gregory was easy. He was drugged to a fare-thee-well the first time, already in Healing sleep, totally trusting me to do what needed to be done. One could hardly ask that of an enemy. At this point, I don’t know whether I could have done it to a conscious subject or not.”

  “You mean, if Gregory hadn’t already been unconscious, you don’t think you could have done it?” Camber asked.

  “He probably wouldn’t even have discovered it,” Evaine said.

  “She’s right,” Rhys agreed. “And remember, we know one another’s mental touch, from working together in council. If we hadn’t had that advantage, he wouldn’t have been so open.” He shrugged. “But this isn’t the place for further speculation right now. I don’t even want to tell Gregory what’s happened until I’ve had a chance to think about it some more.”

  Camber nodded. “A wise decision. Given all the pertinent factors, though, how soon do you think he’ll be able to ride? Cinhil thought Gregory was being melodramatic.” He chuckled as he remembered the king’s outburst. “He seemed to think Gregory was trying to steal his thunder, with all this talk about dying, so he wants to see him.”

  “I can imagine,” Rhys chuckled. “On the other hand,” he continued on a more serious note, “I didn’t want Cinhil thinking he had to get on a horse and come charging out here, in his condition.”

  “Oh, I don’t think he would have—” Camber began.

  “He would have, and you know it!” Rhys disagreed with a grin. “He’s the second most stubborn man I know.”

  “Myself being the first, I suppose.” Camber smiled. “Well, you’re probably right.” He sobered as his thoughts returned to Cinhil. “The trip certainly wouldn’t have done him any good, though. I don’t like the sound of his cough.”

  He looked to Rhys for reassurance, his hope fading as the Healer did not deny the fear he had so lightly posed. “How much time does he have, Rhys?” he asked, almost inaudibly.

  “A matter of weeks,” Rhys managed to reply. “A month, at the outside. I don’t think he’ll see Eastertide.”

  A chill slithered down Camber’s spine. Weeks! A month at the outside!

  And Cinhil knew, he realized, as he thought back on their last conversation. Cinhil was aware that he was dying, and had started to tell Camber and Joram about his concern for his sons when Rhys’s message had called them both away.

  Now Cinhil was alone at Valoret—or, not alone, for Jebediah was with him; and Tavis was available for the basic work of Healing. But Jebediah was not trained to cope with what must occur before Cinhil died—and Tavis must never know!

  “We must get back to him,” Camber breathed, unclasping cramped fingers and reaching for his cloak. “How soon can the two of you leave?”

  He stood as Joram laid the heavy cloak on his shoulders and fastened the clasp. Rhys and Evaine also stood, almost frightened at the intensity of Camber’s reaction.

  “We need to be certain Gregory is free of any aftereffects,” the Healer said. “Under the circumstances, with he being who he is, we really should spend the night here and plan to leave in the morning.”

  “So long?” Camber murmured. “God, I wish I hadn’t left Cinhil! What if he—”

  “Father, he isn’t going to die tonight!” Evaine insisted gently, sensing Camber’s increasing anxiety and knowing it to be unwarranted, as yet. “Unless he was much worse at noon than he was this morning, he has time.”

  With a weary sigh, Camber clasped both their hands to his breast and shook his head.

  “I’m sorry. I know. You’re right. Nonetheless, I must go back to him. We’ve come so far.… Return as soon as you can. God keep you both safe.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Judge none blessed before his death: for a man shall be known in his children.

  —Ecclesiasticus 11:28

  They delayed at Ebor longer than Camber would have liked. The horses had been fed and watered, the men of their escort provided for, while Camber and Joram were in the earl’s chambers; but when the two emerged, nothing would do but that they take a light meal with Lord Jesse and the steward—for Jesse was hungry for news of the capital and the king, and knew that the bishop had just left the court that morning.

  So half an hour was lost appeasing Jesse. When at last Camber and his men rode out again, the hazy shadows were lengthening beside the muddy road, the sky dulling to a close, leaden grey which bespoke ill weather to come. With luck, a full moon would light their last miles almost as bright as day, reflected off the pale and silent snowdrifts. And if the promised new snow held off for even a few hours, they would be back at the king’s side before Compline. As for a storm—Camber preferred not to think about that.

  But so far, the weather seemed to be holding. They had been riding at a steady, ground-covering canter for some time, Camber and Joram leading, the four guards following in pairs, when Camber finally reined back to a brisk walk to let the horses blow. As he caught his breath, he overheard one of the younger guards wondering softly to his colleague how such an old man could set such a pace. It was all Camber could do to keep from smiling as Guthrie, the guard sergeant, shushed the man and urged his mount alongside Camber’s, on the opposite side from Joram.

  “Your Grace, do you intend that we should take this road all the way back to Valoret?”

  “Now, Guthrie, that’s an odd question,” Camber answered, cocking his head curiously at the man. “This is the shortest route. You know I want to rejoin the king as soon as possible.”

  “Of course, Your Grace.” The man bowed respectfully in the saddle. “The men merely wondered whether you were aware that there is another road just ahead, scarcely half an hour’s ride longer, which would take us past Dolban. If you would consent to a brief stop, they would like to visit the shrine there and pray for the king.”

  Dolban.

  The name of the place touched unwelcome associations in his mind, and he had to suppress the urge to shudder. Nor could he ignore Joram’s mental shiver of apprehension. Neither of them had any wish to go to Dolban.

  Dolban had been the first of the shrines constructed by Queron Kinevan and his Servants of Saint Camber. It was at Dolban that the formal canonization ceremonies had taken place eleven years before, when the supposedly-dead Camber of Culdi had been declared a saint, worthy of veneration for what he had done for his people, his k
ing, and his God; an example of what Deryni could be, even in the estimation of humans.

  After Dolban had come a succession of other shrines—Hanfell and Warringham and Haut Vermelior and a dozen other places whose names Camber had no wish to remember. Defender of Humankind Saint Camber had become, and Kingmaker, and Patron of Deryni Magic, as well, though the latter was not so widely touted lately, as anti-Deryni sentiment became more widely espoused by the humans surrounding Cinhil’s dying court. Camber knew it all to be based upon a lie.

  “Your Grace?” the sergeant asked, breaking into his reverie. “Your Grace, is anything wrong?”

  “No, no, nothing is wrong. I was just thinking about Camber. I really—”

  He broke off as the drum of hoofbeats and whoops of raucous laughter suddenly intruded in the dusky silence. By the commotion, at least a dozen horsemen were approaching from beyond the next curve, and fast. Simultaneously, he was aware of Joram already taking stock of the situation and estimating the odds—though it was obvious that they would be greatly outnumbered, if it came to a physical confrontation.

  Frowning, Camber reined his grey to the left and signalled Joram and the guards to do the same, though all of them kept riding slowly in the direction they had been going. In the face of such a situation, they must proceed as if nothing were amiss, as if they had as much right to be on this road as did those approaching. He fervently hoped that there would be no trouble, for they must get back to Cinhil!

  All at once the approaching riders burst into view from around the curve and thundered into the long, straight stretch, riding at a reckless gallop. They were no soldiers—their bright, multicolored clothing proclaimed that at a glance, as did their lack of discipline as they rode. Bright caps, some of them with plumes and jewels, shone on most of their heads, a few of them banded with fillets that looked almost like coronets, and might have been. Velvets and furs on cloak and sleeve and saddle trappings glowed in the waning light, swords and daggers flashing at every hip. A few of the riders brandished swords in gloved fists.