Magnanimous, isn’t he? Joram’s thought whispered in his father’s mind, though the priest’s expression did not change. That’s all the Deryni except Jaffray, and he can’t fire Jaffray. What are you going to do?
Do? What can I do? Camber returned. The best I can do is to strike a last note of caution before beating a prudent retreat. We’ll figure out finer strategy later.
As Camber met Murdoch’s stare, the other three dismissed Deryni glanced to their senior for guidance, none of them moving from their places. For a time that seemed to stretch forever, Camber only returned Murdoch’s gaze, not blinking, showing no emotion, deliberately fostering the impression that he just might attempt to defy the regents.
Only when every eye was upon him and the tension had grown so thick as to be almost palpable, even to a human, did Camber slowly reach to the chain of office on his shoulders and lift it off over his head.
As he laid the collar of golden Haldane H’s gently on the table, his fingertips resting fleetingly on the pendant seal, there was an almost imperceptible sigh of relief—which was quickly cut off as he stood at his place.
“My Lord King, your sainted mother, Queen Megan, presented me with this chain of office only a few months after you were born,” he said gently. “I return it now into your keeping, as your regents have requested and as is customary. It was my honor and my privilege to serve your later father, and I would gladly have served you, in turn.”
The boy lowered his eyes in embarrassment, and Murdoch and the other regents, saving Ewan, glared down the table at Camber; but none of them yet appeared overanxious to keep him from speaking further. They had known he must make some statement to save face.
“But Your Highness’s Lords Regent—”
“Careful, Bishop!” Tammaron warned.
“Your Highness’s Lords Regent have decided otherwise,” Camber continued smoothly, “and perhaps feel that the usefulness of an old man like myself is at an end, that this is a time for fresh beginnings. That may be. I should only like to say that I think your father was well served, and that I hope that those who serve Your Grace will have your interests as much at heart as we have, who have served faithfully and without asking aught in return.”
His gesture included the other three Deryni being dismissed as he continued.
“My Lords Regent.” Here he turned the pale Alister eyes on all the council. “I shall leave you with but this one thought. You have been entrusted with a precious charge. Our late Lord King judged that you would be wise and responsible counselors to his tender, minor sons. I charge you likewise to keep faith with—”
“Bishop Cullen, do you threaten us?” Hubert interrupted, the fanatical light in his eyes belying his cherubic appearance.
“Threaten? No, my lord. But I do warn. All of us are aware what issues will be brought to the fore in days to come. I ask only that you put the good of the kingdom and the king above your own concerns. There are many, many good and honest folk, both human and Deryni, who have given much to put the Haldane line where it is today, and they have an abiding interest in the continued health of that line. We will be watching you, my lords.”
“And we will be watching you!” Rhun retorted, staring hard-eyed down the table. “Take care that you do not overstep your place, Bishop!”
Camber did not reply to that. With deliberate dignity, he turned his head to gaze at Alroy, who was almost cowering in his chair at the intensity of what had just transpired. Camber smiled at the boy, desperate to put him more at ease, then laid his right hand on his breast and bowed profoundly, turned and walked slowly from the chamber. Behind him, as Joram rose to follow, Jebediah picked up his marshal’s baton and strode quickly to the head of the table, knelt between Alroy and Bishop Hubert, and offered up the symbol of his office with bowed head.
“It has likewise been my honor and privilege to serve Gwynedd, my liege,” he said in a low voice. “I pray you to give this into the hands of no one who will not guard Gwynedd’s peace as diligently as I have done. If ever you have need of my services again, you know you have but to call.”
Alroy said nothing; but when Jebediah felt the boy’s hands on the ivory baton, he raised his eyes to Alroy’s and caught and held his gaze, shifted his hand to take Alroy’s and press it to his lips in homage.
He did not stay to see the shocked incomprehension on the young king’s face. He was only vaguely aware of Bishop Kai and Baron Torcuill making their bows of leavetaking as he fled from the chamber. Outside, he found Camber in close conversation with Joram.
“We must meet tonight,” Camber whispered, as he caught Jebediah’s sleeve and drew him into their counsel. “Will you and Joram see to the summoning? What has just happened puts an even greater urgency on our plans.”
Jebediah nodded agreement and Joram glanced around casually as Bishop Kai and Torcuill emerged from the council chamber. Camber turned his attention to them and shook his head.
“It is as we feared, gentlemen. Jaffray now remains the only Deryni to guard us from the likes of Murdoch and Rhun.”
“And Hubert MacInnis!” Kai sputtered. “That so-called man of God is—”
“No more, Kai,” Camber warned, laying a hand on the younger bishop’s arm and glancing around meaningfully. “There may be other listeners. His brother is at court now, too, and has no reason to love Deryni.”
“Aye, I’ve heard the castle gossip.” Kai seemed to deflate. “Well, there’s nothing more for me to do here, in any case. I think I can accomplish the most good by getting out of Valoret and lying low. I was not made an itinerant bishop for nothing. My flocks have always been in the countryside. Where will you go, Alister? Back to Grecotha?”
Camber nodded. “That seems the best plan. Do stay in touch, though,” he murmured. “There may yet be work for men of faith and conscience.”
“Perhaps. But they will have to stay alive, and I do not believe Valoret is the place to do that well. Tell Jaffray to be careful.”
“Jaffray?” Joram asked. “You have some inkling that he is in danger, Your Grace?”
“Danger? You might call it that. If you were Murdoch, and hated Deryni, and Jaffray were the only Deryni left to mar the purity of your regency council, what would you do?” Kai muttered.
“We will try to warn him to be careful,” Camber agreed. “And Torcuill, what of you? What are your plans?”
The baron shrugged. “Return to my marcher lands, I suppose. It will seem strange, after so many years’ service here at Court, but Kai is right. This is no place for a Deryni to be.”
I wonder if there is any place for a Deryni to be, Camber thought, as they went their separate ways. What will happen to us, now that we cannot stem the tide in the council? Can we survive?
CHAPTER NINE
Woe unto thee, O land, when thy king is a child.
—Ecclesiastes 10:16
Camber slept the rest of the afternoon and into the evening. He had slept not at all the night before, though he had not told Joram or Rhys that. When he drifted back to consciousness, the Compline bells had just finished ringing in the cathedral nearby. It would have been dark for nearly five hours.
He allowed himself the luxury of a giant stretch and yawn, trying to remember the last time he had indulged in such simple pleasure. Memories of the night before began to surface, but he nudged them gently aside while he settled into a series of meditations, gradually tuning his energies to their customary fine balance and then trying to resolve in some rational way the knowledge which finally he allowed himself to acknowledge. He succeeded in the first of his endeavors, but not the second, even when he engaged the more objective part of him which was Alister to try to find reasoned explanation for the night’s events. Cinhil and the phenomena of his death refused to be compartmentalized.
Oddly, he felt no particular anxiety over that discovery, and no real grief over Cinhil’s passing, as such. Not that he would not miss the king, even in his exasperating stubbornness—not at all. But i
t had been so clear—if anything of that night had been clear—that existence continued, and that Cinhil had gone a willing traveller into whatever realm came next. Other than those few ecstatic times when Cinhil had soared free in the ritual of the Mass, Camber had never seen him truly happy for more than a fleeting instant. The nearly fifteen years of their association had been fraught with conflict and frustration—for both of them, if the truth be known.
Even so, Camber regretted once again that he could not have been more open with Cinhil all along, that it was only the Alister part of him which had been able to interact with Cinhil on those deepest, most spiritual planes—though the notion that he and Alister were really still completely separate, after all these years, was, perhaps, a little naive. Perhaps the blending had been happening all along, from his interaction both with Cinhil and Jebediah, the former who thought him only Alister and the latter who knew him to be both Camber and Alister. If the two aspects had been drawing closer over the years, that would certainly help to explain Cinhil’s easy acceptance of Camber’s revelation, there at the end. Perhaps it had not been revelation at all, especially in light of what else had been revealed.
He sighed and sat up in bed, yawned once more, then swung his legs to the floor and stood. By the time he washed and dressed and located something to eat, midnight would be fast upon him. By then, he must be in the chambers of the Camberian Council.
The Camberian Council, so-named by Archbishop Jaffray when the group was formalized seven years before, had grown out of an idea which Camber and his children had discussed increasingly over the years since Cinhil’s restoration. Eight years had passed since the five of them—Camber, Joram, Evaine, Rhys, and Jebediah—had begun working out the structure and exploring such of the old Deryni lore as they thought might be useful in inaugurating a larger body.
Mahael’s History of Kheldour; the Pargan Howiccan sagas of the previous century; Sulien’s Annals, from far R’Kassi; the whole of the Protocols of Orin; and numerous other lesser works—all were consulted in order to expand their knowledge.
By the end of their first year, at the time of the Winter Solstice, they were ready to expand the Council to eight, adding Dom Turstane, a very skilled Healer-priest and philosopher recommended by the venerable Dom Emrys, who had declined the position on the grounds of age; Archbishop Jaffray, also Gabrilite-trained, whose credentials as Deryni and priest were impeccable; and Gregory of Ebor, one of the most talented and skilled Deryni laymen Camber had ever met, with neither Gabrilite nor Michaeline training, though his abilities certainly did not suffer for that. Gregory had been the recommendation of the Alister part of Camber, and at times, Camber almost wondered whether his alter-ego sometimes occupied a ninth seat at their council table.
These latter three members were never to know the secret of Alister Cullen’s true identity, which the others shared; but in all other things, they were peers, and presented a formidable array of talent and power. In the seven years since their formal coming together, they had accomplished even more, in some respects, than Camber had dared to hope. In addition to rediscovering several magical operations thought lost over the generations, and forging a powerful group mind with which to wield them, they had codified many of the ancient Deryni dueling standards, secretly assisted in the establishment of several additional Deryni training scholae, diverted a goodly number of Deryni of unrealized potential to be educated, and disciplined numerous of their race whose actions might otherwise have brought about serious repercussions on all Deryni from those not tolerably inclined toward magic. If the feared persecutions came, they were determined that there should be recourse for at least a few, that the race and its knowledge should not die.
Their number had decreased the previous spring, when the beloved Dom Turstane died in a fall—but while they began evaluating several potential candidates to replace him, they found that somehow the balance of seven plus the vacant seat worked, even better than when they had been eight.
Whatever the cause, they gradually stopped even talking about filling the empty place. Sometime during that period, Jebediah made a joking remark about the seat being reserved for Saint Camber, perhaps sensing unconsciously what Camber had been feeling all along, and the name was seized upon by Gregory and Jaffray, who both were ardent supporters of the Camberian movement. They called it Saint Camber’s Siege. The Camberian Council remained at seven.
Now one of those seven hurried toward his appointed meeting with his fellows, clasping cloak to throat and slipping along a shadow-girt corridor toward Jaffray’s apartment and the Portal it contained. The archbishop would not be there by now, but its Portal would. With its use, Camber would be at the council chambers in the blink of an eye.
He passed no one in the corridors at this hour, and for that he was grateful. When he reached Jaffray’s door, he scanned beyond it briefly, cast up and down the corridor in either direction, then bent to the door latch and reached out with his mind, found the pins, nudged them gently with that particular Deryni skill which not all of his race could wield with this degree of accuracy.
He kept a little tension on the latch while he worked, finally feeling the handle drop beneath his hand. With a smile—he had not lost his touch—he eased the door open and entered, closing and locking it behind him. But a few muffled steps, felt-soled indoor boots quiet on carpet, and he was slipping into Jaffray’s sleeping chamber and across to the far wall, drawing aside the curtain to step into Jaffray’s oratory.
He stilled his mind and visualized his destination, let his awareness of the place’s power flow through him. A moment he took to center in, to set his destination firmly in mind. Then he reached out with his mind and bent the energies, and was no longer in the oratory at Valoret.
As his eyes came into focus, he saw Jaffray himself standing just outside the Portal with a candle in his hand. The archbishop was muffled from chin to toes in the same deep violet of cassock and mantle as Camber, his dark, grey-streaked Gabrilite braid and jewelled pectoral cross gleaming in the candlelight. He nodded nervously as Camber’s eyes met his.
“I’m sorry about the regency, Alister. I wish there were something I could have done.”
Camber shrugged, stepping out of the Portal with a resigned expression on his face.
“We underestimated Murdoch. What can I say?”
“It wasn’t your fault,” Jaffray murmured, shaking his head. “None of us thought he would be that brazen. By the way, did you hear they’d named Tammaron chancellor?”
“I rather suspected that they would,” Camber said dryly, glancing toward the entrance to the council chamber.
Jebediah was waiting there with Jesse, Gregory’s eldest son, and Camber’s grandsons, Davin and Ansel, now-teenaged sons of the martyred Cathan MacRorie. The three were regular visitors to meetings of the Council, for they had all spent many months over the past several years riding the roads of their respective lands with their retainers in an effort to keep down the activities of bands such as that which had accosted Camber and Joram a few days before. More than a few young Deryni firebrands had found themselves hauled before the local courts in Culdi and Ebor and fined or temporarily incarcerated for the deeds of themselves and their men. Based on such experience, the opinions of men like Jesse and Davin and Ansel were often invited. On the shoulders of such as these would rest the eventual future of all Deryni in Gwynedd.
As the three made respectful bows to the two bishops, Camber smiled his greeting and wondered why they were waiting outside with Jebediah—then reasoned that Joram and Evaine were probably awaiting his decision on whether the matter of Rhys’s newfound talent should be discussed before those not of the Council. There was no question in his mind about that, however. He nodded to Jebediah and pressed his shoulder in reassurance and affection, as he and Jaffray passed.
Torches blazed in golden cressets to either side of the great hammered doors, reddening the already ruddy bronze and throwing the carved scenes into bold relief, making t
he figures seem to come alive as the doors opened and the shadows flitted across the incised panels. Evaine and Joram were already there, standing restlessly by their places at west and south, respectively, of the eight-sided table. Gregory, the only other member yet present, was strolling back and forth before a panel of wood-limned ivory set into the northeastern wall, pretending avid interest. Three more of the eight walls under the faceted amethyst dome held similar panels, depicting scenes from Deryni legend. The north wall was taken up by the huge, ceiling-high doors, and the other three were still blank stone—for the chamber was still not finished inside, after seven years of work.
Gregory glanced up eagerly as he heard them come in, striding eagerly to embrace the older of the two men.
“Alister!” He stood back to look at Camber from arm’s length. “I’m told you came to visit me when I was injured, and I don’t remember a thing. You must think me a terrible host!”
“As I recall, you were in no condition to host anyone—except, perhaps, the Angel of Death, if Rhys hadn’t intervened,” Camber replied dryly. “Did Evaine tell you anything else about that day?”
“I haven’t yet, Father Alister,” she replied, making a casual curtsey as he came closer to the table, “though I think it’s something he should find out about tonight. Rhys was on his way to check on the princes when I left him, but as soon as he returns, I think all the Council should hear the whole story. I also invited Jesse and Davin and Ansel to join us. Do you mind? Their evaluations may give us some fresh insights, under the circumstances.”
“I have no objection,” Camber replied. “Jaffray?”
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