“Joram, open a gate,” Camber said softly, opening his eyes again and once more seeing only Joram.
Joram started and turned slightly toward him in surprise, but Camber only shook his head to stave off any questions from his son.
“Open a gate,” Camber repeated. “And then kneel down in homage to the one who passes.”
With a strange look on his face, and a quick, stricken glance at the unmoving form of Cinhil, Joram gave a slight, confused bow, then turned back toward the circle. He raised the sword in salute, let the point fall to the edge of the circle at his left, then arched it up and back down in one smooth, graceful motion. Where the blade passed, the circle was breached, finally showing a high, arched doorway taller than a man. Outside and to the left, Camber could dimly see Evaine and Rhys kneeling and watching the gateway attentively, could sense their question as they watched Joram kneel with the sword still in his hands.
Then Camber was closing his eyes a final time, turning his magical Sight toward the image of Cinhil once more.
Once more he Saw Cinhil standing behind Joram, watched the king raise a hand in final farewell.
Then Cinhil was moving through the gateway, his face transformed by a shining light which grew around him. Dimly, past the slowly receding Cinhil, Camber thought he could see others standing and reaching out to Cinhil—a beautiful young woman with hair the color of ripe wheat, two young boys who were Cinhil’s image, others whom Camber could not identify.
In a rush of wind and the illogical impression of wings, four Presences seemed to converge around Cinhil then—Beings with vague shadow-forms and sweeping pinions of raw power which somehow sheltered rather than threatened.
One loomed massive and overpowering, vibrant with the hues of forest tracts, feathered green-black wings shadowing the entire northern angle of the room as it passed over an apparently oblivious Evaine and Rhys. Another seemed to explode silently into existence right before the altar, bursting either from the gold-glass gleaming of the eastern ward candle or from the altar’s open tabernacle, shining like the rainbow fire of sunbeams caught in prisms, so bright Camber could hardly bear to look, even with his mind.
The third was winged with fire and sighed with the roar of infernoes, the heart of the earth, though its great sword of flame was raised protectively over Cinhil’s head as he stepped outside the circle without a trace of fear. And from the fourth Presence—a shifting, liquid form of blue and silver shadow—a shimmering horn of quicksilver seemed to take form.
A soundless, mind-deafening blast of titan resonance assailed Camber’s senses, reverberating in every particle of his being; and suddenly he could feel the circle beginning to fragment around him, as if the horn sounded some note which the fabric of the circle’s dome could not withstand. He heard the energies which rent the dome asunder—knew that all that saved him from eternal, mindless madness was the ciborium with its consecrated Hosts, resting on the table close beside him.
Then, even as the shards of shattered circle were still falling to the tile, there to disperse and melt away like flakes of snow, Cinhil and his ghostly Escort began to recede—slowly at first, but then faster and faster until nothing remained but a shrinking point of rainbow light suspended between Camber and the altar candles.
Then, even that was gone.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Now I say, that the heir, so long as he is a child, differeth nothing from a servant, though he be lord of all; but is under tutors and governors until the time appointed by his father.
—Galatians 4:1–2
Abruptly the spell was broken. Camber, his body reminding him at last that it was time to breathe, gave a gasp and shuddered, opening his eyes with a start. Through stunned and disbelieving vision, he saw Joram twisting around to stare at him in awed question, Evaine searching the air over their heads in vain for some vestige of their magical circle. Rhys was ministering to his three young charges, but it was clear that he, too, was aware that something extraordinary had just occurred, even by Deryni standards. The majority of his attention was on Camber and the king.
“Father?” Evaine whispered.
“What happened? Are you all right?” Rhys demanded.
“Is he dead?” Joram questioned, laying down the sword and scrambling to his father’s side.
“Rhetorical questions, all, I hope, in light of what I have just witnessed,” Camber murmured softly, disengaging his hand from Cinhil’s to touch Joram in reassurance before crossing the king’s arms on his breast. “But I think we may not all have seen the same thing. Evaine?”
Evaine, getting slowly to her feet, took a few steps toward where the circle’s boundary had been and put out a tentative hand, as if to test what her other senses told her.
“It was incredible. I never saw anything like that before,” she said, her voice edged with amazement. “It was as if the circle were made of glass and something struck it simultaneously from all directions at once—except that it didn’t fall straight to the floor; it slid down the curve of the dome, from the top. What did you do?”
“That’s all you saw?”
“There was more?”
“I see. And you, Rhys?”
Rhys shook his head from among the sleeping children. “Only what Evaine described. Did you break the circle?”
With a sigh, Camber echoed Rhys’s headshake. “No. And if I told you what I thought I saw, I don’t know whether you’d believe me. You’d probably think I drank from the same cup as the children, and was seeing visions. No, don’t interrupt.” He held up a hand at their beginning protests. “We haven’t time to discuss it now. There’s work to do. The king is dead, and the new king must be told. And we have to put things back the way they were, before anyone else finds out what really happened.”
“Understood,” Rhys said, slipping his hands under the sleeping Alroy and gathering him up with an armful of sleeping furs. “If the three of us take the boys back to their room, can you and Jebediah manage the rest?”
Camber nodded, patting his daughter’s hand lightly in reassurance. “I’ll manage. Evaine, after you’ve helped Rhys with the boys, you’d best go back to your quarters—make certain you’re not seen—and stay there until there’s sufficient commotion in the hall to have awakened you. I know you would rather be here, but it might appear suspicious. Joram, you and Rhys can come back here, since you had reason to be with Cinhil at the end.”
After what had just occurred, they would not have thought of questioning him further. As Rhys carried the sleeping Alroy into the opening which reappeared in the chapel wall, Evaine leaned over to brush a kiss against her father’s cheek, then picked up Rhys Michael and followed her husband.
Joram did not move until the others had gone, head bowed and eyes hooded in unreadable contemplation as he knelt by the dead king. Finally he lurched to his feet and went to pick up the remaining prince, muffling him in the last of the sleeping furs they had brought.
“I have just one question,” he murmured, only half-facing Camber as he paused, just outside the opening of the secret passage.
“Very well. One question.”
“Did he know, before the end, the truth of you and Alister?”
Slowly Camber let his gaze shift back to the face of the dead king, tears stinging his eyes.
“Aye, he knew.”
“And, did he accept that knowledge?” Joram insisted.
“You said one question,” Camber replied with a slight smile. “But, yes, son, he accepted it. I will swear that he did not know before tonight, but we made our peace, he and Alister and I. I wish you could have shared it.”
“That you and he shared it is sufficient,” Joram whispered, blinking back his own tears. “Somehow, it makes the lie vindicated, after all these years.” He swallowed, then shook his head. “I’d better go.”
Camber remained kneeling there for several seconds, staring after Joram. Then he recalled himself to the tasks at hand. With a sigh, he took up the ciborium and r
ose, starting to make a perfunctory bow of respect before putting it away. But then he winced and almost gasped aloud as the image of the shattered dome of energy flashed into his memory.
God! How had he endured? As he recalled again the massive energies which had been loosed at random as the circle crumbled, he marvelled at the miracle of his own survival.
A shudder of far more than cold shook his body then, and the cold, hammered metal of the ciborium seemed to sear his flesh for just an instant. Shocked, he stared at the small, jewelled cross projecting from the cover and took his hand away, at the same time realizing that his left hand, which held the sacred vessel, had felt no more than cold.
He sank back to his knees at that, carefully lifting the golden cover and setting it aside. In the glittering bowl of the chalice lay perhaps half a dozen of the precious, consecrated Hosts, exactly like the one he had given to Cinhil so short a time ago. Respectfully, he reached in with thumb and forefinger and extracted one at random, gazing at it attentively.
Unleavened bread, the uninitiated would call it. Flour and water. And yet, in this morsel of the plainest of foods resided the greatest Mystery of his faith, something which he could not begin to explain or understand with his mind, but which was nonetheless true for heart and soul.
And had that Mystery protected him tonight? Perhaps it had. Cinhil had shown him a half-forbidden thing, not realizing, even in his heightened awareness and grace, how broad was the sweep of the wings of the Angel of Death.
Or, was it simply not yet Camber’s time? Did the Lord—that same Lord present, or so he believed, in the consecrated Host between his fingers—did the Lord have other plans for him, other work for him to do?
He doubted he would get any further answer tonight. With a short but fervent prayer for continued mercy, and a little shiver as if physically to shake off this line of speculation, Camber deposited the Host with its brothers and replaced the cover, took the ciborium and the box of holy oils back where they belonged.
After that, he collected the now-cold thurible and Evaine’s silver dagger and locked them away in a cupboard in the north wall of the chapel, adding to them the earthen cup, which he elevated a little toward the altar before fishing Cinhil’s ring from the dregs of ash at the bottom. He dried the ring carefully on the hem of his cassock before replacing it on Cinhil’s hand, then sheathed Cinhil’s sword and took it and Rhys’s medical pouch into Cinhil’s sleeping chamber, where he hung the sword on the bedpost at the head of the bed and laid the pouch on the carpet beside. Finally, he went to bring back Cinhil.
He was amazed at how light the body seemed, as he carried the dead king back into the room—like cobwebs or down or wildflowers, though none of these images truly satisfied him. With infinite tenderness, he laid Cinhil on the bed and arranged the bedclothes so that they covered him to the waist, then refolded the hands on the still breast. When he had finished, he moved wearily to the outer door and laid his hands on the latch, leaning his forehead against the cool, sleek oak for just a moment before opening the door.
Jebediah had sensed his presence, and stared at Camber in apprehension as he slipped through the opening which Camber allowed.
“It is finished, then,” the grand master murmured, reading confirmation on Camber’s drawn, weary face.
“Aye, his work is done and he has found his rest,” Camber said in a low voice.
Jebediah crossed himself with a heavy hand. “May God have mercy on his soul,” he breathed. “I had hoped that you and Rhys were wrong, that he would have more time.”
“So had we all,” Camber whispered. “God grant that the time he did have will bear good fruit. I do not envy any of us the next few years.”
“No.” Jebediah gave a heavy sigh, grey-winged head bowing momentarily in sorrow. “I suppose that I should inform the other regents,” he finally said, looking up. “Are the princes to be brought here right away, or do we wait until morning?”
“Bring them right away. And if Murdoch or any of the others try to delay, remember that you’re still the earl marshal, at least until the first meeting of the regency council.” He shrugged resignedly. “After that, I suspect many of our folk will be out of jobs.”
“Don’t worry,” Jebediah whispered, laying his hands on Camber’s shoulders, while his mind echoed, Don’t worry, Camber. “I’ll keep your fellow regents in line, at least temporarily. Meanwhile, is there anything I can do to help you, before I go?”
Camber had no need to respond in words. He sensed Jebediah’s presence, surrounding and permeating him, and he let a weary smile flicker across his face as he closed his eyes and basked in Jebediah’s strength, pulling in the energy and comfort which the other man offered.
Finally, he took a deep breath and reached up to lay hands on Jebediah’s.
“Enough, Jeb. You, too, have tasks to perform. We must delay no longer.”
With only a nod for answer, Jebediah withdrew mind and hands and went out, disappearing into the turnpike stair. When he had gone, Camber closed the door and returned to the chapel. Yet a few more tasks remained before he might abandon himself, at least temporarily, to further contemplation of what he had witnessed tonight.
And in another part of the castle, three equally weary Deryni, each carrying one of the hopes of the Haldane line, paused at the end of a chill and narrow passageway while the first of their number scanned through a peephole into the royal nursery. No one stirred. Even Deryni senses could detect no sign of waking consciousness.
As Rhys fingered the mechanism which would give them access to the closet, he glanced back over his shoulder at his wife and her brother.
“It’s clear, but let’s move quickly and quietly. There are three squires and Tavis who must be taken care of, before we leave.”
Rhys quenched the pale, verdant handfire which had lit their way thus far and eased open the outer door of the closet which disguised the entrance to the passageway. He could hear one of the squires snoring softly as he stepped into the room and headed toward the empty beds.
“Sleep yet a while longer, little king,” Rhys whispered softly, as he laid Alroy in his bed and smoothed the raven hair across the pale forehead.
The boy whimpered once in his sleep and curled up on his side; Rhys tucked the sleeping furs close around him. Quickly, then, he moved from one squire to the next, touching each one briefly and securing his memories while Evaine and Joram put their princes to bed and similarly ensured harmless recollections of this night’s events.
Awhile longer Rhys lingered at the side of Tavis O’Neill, extending and then withdrawing his controls far more carefully than had been necessary for the three human children or the squires. A final survey of the room, to ensure that nothing was out of place; then Rhys was moving quietly to the outer door and listening, casting about with his senses for any sign of danger or watchfulness.
The way was clear, so with a quick gesture and a kiss, he sent Evaine out to make her way back to their quarters, but a scant few doors down and around the corner. Joram was waiting in the passageway when Rhys returned to the sleeping chamber, and conjured silver handfire as Rhys stepped through the closet and pulled the outer door carefully closed. A moment more to set the passage door itself in place, a final scan of the princes, and then they were on their way back to Cinhil’s apartments.
The chapel had been restored to its customary arrangement when they came back through the last doorway and closed it, and they found Camber kneeling motionless beside Cinhil’s body, which lay on the great state bed. Candles had been lit around the room, the fire built up in the fireplace, and Camber had laid a lavishly embroidered cloak of wine-dark velvet over the body to the waist.
“All’s well,” Rhys announced in a low voice, moving to the opposite side of the bed to gaze across at Camber. “They’ll not remember a thing of tonight, and any residual grogginess can be ascribed to shock, grief, and the lateness of the hour. You’ve sent Jeb?”
Silently Camber nodded. “
He will return soon, with all of them. But God help us, Rhys, for now our test begins, in truth. I hope we’ve done the right thing, letting him give magical potential to children.”
“I hope so, too,” Joram breathed.
Nearly a quarter of an hour passed before anyone else came, and it seemed like twice that. As the three men knelt in silence, each alone with his own thoughts, the sounds of the night’s quiet were gradually disturbed by increasing activity in the great hall below, men and horses moving in the snow-muffled fastness of the castleyard, and then by the tolling of the great cathedral bells outside the castle walls.
First to arrive was Cinhil’s former squire, Sorle, newly knighted at Twelfth Night, followed shortly by Father Alfred, Cinhil’s human confessor of many years, who cast Camber a wounded look for not calling him sooner, as he sank to his knees at the foot of the bed and began reciting prayers for his dead master’s soul.
Many more of the royal household gathered outside the door and at the foot of the narrow turnpike stair, there to huddle together apprehensively and await the arrival of their new young king. The approach of the royal party was evident to those inside the royal bedchamber by the hush of the waiting household, even before the chamberlain’s staff rapped the requisite three times on the closed door.
“The Lords Regent of Gwynedd, with His Royal Highness the Crown Prince Alroy and Their Highnesses the Princes Javan and Rhys Michael, request admittance to the royal presence,” the chamberlain’s voice rasped, hoarse in the damp, late night cold.
Murdoch, looking sly and almost predatory in the candlelight, led the delegation, his hand resting possessively on the stooped shoulder of a haggard and sleepy Alroy. The boy seemed bewildered, and kept knuckling his eyes and yawning.
On the prince’s other side, the usually unruffled and impassive Rhun of Horthness was somehow managing to look thoroughly dissipated in a long dressing gown of black wool and fur, and Earl Tammaron, oldest of the regents after Camber, was a stolid and expressionless shadow just behind Rhun, overtowered by a head by the younger man.
The Legends of Camber of Culdi Trilogy Page 99