“All right, this is what it’s going to feel like, if it works through the drugs and cancels out their effect,” Rhys said softly, looking into Evaine’s eyes.
Camber felt something shift, and it was done. Suddenly Evaine was psychically invisible. She blinked in surprise, trying to run a rapid mental assessment, as she had always been taught—but there was nothing to assess beyond the usual senses of sight and hearing and touch. She was Blind!
She swallowed and returned her attention to Rhys, who had not moved his hands from her head.
“It—works on me, too,” she whispered, staring into his eyes and seeing only eyes, instead of the psychic windows they had always seemed for the two of them.
Almost heartsick, he reached out and reset the triggerpoint again, then leaned down and kissed her hard on the mouth as normal Deryni senses came flooding back. She clung to him for a moment, then drew back and took a deep, steadying breath. At her nod, he took the cup from Joram again and put it in her hand.
“Are you sure you want to do it?”
“No. I don’t like merasha, but I like what just happened even less. The sooner we get on with it, the sooner it will be over.”
She drank down the cup and made a face, screwing her eyes shut and shaking her head, then sat back in the chair and drew another deep breath.
“I’ve certainly got the bitter aftertaste,” she murmured, after a few seconds. “My tongue’s going numb. My vision is starting to tunnel and blur, too. Nothing wants to focus.”
“Normal reaction,” Rhys replied, professional detachment restored as he laid a monitoring hand on her near wrist. “You’re getting a slower effect than Jebediah did, because you’re getting it gradually.”
She closed her eyes and grimaced, and he moved his free hand to her forehead.
“Easy, love. I know it’s getting bad. Take another deep breath and flow with it. All right, read her with me,” Rhys said to the others. “She’s essentially got the full effect of the drug now. Her shields are in tatters—not that this apparently matters, where my little trick is concerned. Her Deryni functions are still there, but they’re mostly inaccessible. If she tried to use them, she might get a reaction, but it would undoubtedly be the wrong one. Control is gone. This is a classic merasha disruption, such as we’ve all experienced in training. I’m moving in to the triggerpoint now, and—there!”
As he spoke the final word, Evaine’s eyelids fluttered and then she looked up at them, pain gone from her eyes, but also all trace of her Deryni powers. As they probed her mind, she looked around in amazement, astonished at the disappearance of the merasha effect which had been so excruciatingly apparent only a moment before. When the others had read in all the depth they cared to do, Rhys held another cup to his wife’s lips and bade her drink. After she had drained it, he led her into the next room and laid her down to sleep in Camber’s bed, not removing his block until he was sure the second cup had done its work. He returned to find Camber and Joram waiting by the fire, and settled in the chair between them without a word. Almost as an afterthought, and without warning, he reached out his right hand to touch Joram’s forehead. Before the priest could react, Rhys had triggered and reset the triggerpoint in him, leaving Joram with an astonished expression on his face and Rhys shaking his head.
“That’s what I thought,” he said, slumping in the chair and looking at the flames on the hearth as he rubbed at his eyes wearily. “I’m getting tired—this does seem to be akin to the kind of energy outlay used for Healing—but there doesn’t seem to be any kind of advance preparation necessary. We needed to know that, too. Joram, do you feel any kind of after-reaction?”
“It was just a—a blankness, for the split second.” Joram swallowed. “Jesus, you scare me, Rhys!”
“I know. I scare me, too.” Rhys took a deep breath, then looked up at Camber. “I suppose that to round out our knowledge, we really should see what this will do to your shape-change. If anyone else can do what I do, it could be a danger to you.”
Steeling himself, though he knew that would do no good, Camber returned the Healer’s gaze.
“Only one way to find out, isn’t there?” he said evenly. “Go ahead. I’m ready.” And he watched dispassionately as Rhys’s hand moved unerringly toward his head.
He felt the touch of Rhys’s hand on his brow, and he closed his eyes as the contact was made, knowing at least part of what was almost certain to come. For an instant more he continued to take in information with all his Deryni senses.
Then it was as if a light had been extinguished and there was only darkness and the psychic sensation of being muffled in heavy, shrouding wool, close and claustrophobic. Immediately he opened his eyes to search for Rhys and was startled, in spite of himself, to see Rhys still sitting where he had been a moment before. He knew where he was and what had happened, at least intellectually, but he could not remember how it had felt not to be Blind; only that something was lost.
At least his appearance seemed to be causing no alarm. He saw Rhys and Joram staring at him intently, and knew they must be reading him, but he could feel nothing. After a moment, Rhys smiled and nodded, brushing his temple with a fingertip, and full awareness came flooding back. With a quick sensation of vertigo, Camber shook his head and swallowed.
“I take it I stayed Alister,” he whispered, after a slight pause.
“You did that,” Rhys agreed. “Curiously enough, your dangerous alter-ego remained shuttered away, too, though if someone knew to look for it, he might be able to dig it out. That isn’t likely, I don’t think. At least we now know I can do it to anybody. And we know what merasha will do. Now we only have about half a dozen other common drugs to test, to see whether they affect blocked Deryni. I think we’re going to have a busy week, not to mention that it’s going to be hard on my volunteers.”
Neither Camber nor Joram could quarrel with that.
They continued their experiments throughout the rest of the week, drawing on Gregory and Jesse one night, Davin and Ansel another, Jaffray and then Jebediah again on a third, to finish testing all the substances Rhys felt needful. By the Feast of Saint Teilo, the day of Cinhil’s state funeral, all of them were ready for a break—even a Requiem.
Cinhil’s funeral was rich with all the pomp and dignity which the regents could muster from Church and State. Gwynedd had not seen a royal funeral of a reigning monarch for more than thirty years. Cinhil had been neither a great king nor even a greatly loved king, but he had been human and Haldane, and he had ousted the hated Imre and prevented Imre’s sister from taking back the throne. No one could deny that these were all good things; and for these, at least, the people had been grateful.
They were grateful, in their grudging ways, but they did not understand him. They did not comprehend the personal piety and commitment which had made Cinhil long for a return to his priestly life, for the setting aside of the Crown won at such high cost.
What they did know and understand was that Cinhil, while not a brilliant or particularly wise king, had seemed genuinely concerned for the welfare of the people entrusted to his governance—even if he had not always known how to govern well or choose suitable advisors—and that he had been infinitely better than a child on the throne of Gwynedd.
Now they faced that latter situation, and knew that the kingdom would be ruled for at least the next two years by regents. The regents were fairly popular among their human constituents, but they were still regents, and many folk were aware of how some of them had already taken advantage of their positions at Court to gain offices and lands and titles. No, regents would not be the same at all as an adult king on the throne.
Still, the charm of three young princes was undeniable. No one knew a great deal about the children, since their father had protected them fiercely from too much public exposure during his lifetime, but it was said that at least the heir and the youngest were intelligent and engaging boys, though the heir was a trifle sickly.
They did not talk much
about the middle son, clubfooted Prince Javan, who bore the mark of God’s displeasure in every step he took. Some there were who felt sorry for the boy, but no one was sorry that it was Alroy and not Javan who was to be crowned in May, on the twins’ twelfth birthday. It was not thought seemly that a cripple should sit upon the throne of Gwynedd—though law did not prohibit such a thing.
But, perhaps that, too, would change under the rule of the regents. It was said that the boy required a Healer at his side, day and night. Perhaps he would die, and save them all the further embarrassment. Had the regents been asked, and answered truthfully, they could not have argued with that rationale. Rhys Michael was a full year and a half younger than Alroy and Javan—with a correspondingly longer minority.
The princes’ first public function after Cinhil’s death, other than their brief appearances at the chapel royal beside the bier, was to walk behind their father’s coffin in the funeral procession. From the castle, where Cinhil’s body had lain in state for the past week, the procession wound its way out the courtyard and down the narrow, serpentine streets of the town, finally ending at the great Cathedral of All Saints, back near the castle.
Young Alroy, a royal prince’s circlet of gold shining on his raven hair, walked directly behind the bier. Still a little pale, and very austere looking, he held his head high and looked neither right nor left; he had been well-coached by his tutors for the past week in royal deportment. He wore black, befitting the solemnity of the occasion, but the undifferenced shield of the Haldanes was blazoned bold on his chest and back to mark him as the heir. His brothers walked behind him, also in black, though without the shields, and wearing silver circlets.
Javan limped a little less than usual that day—a surprise to those who had never seen him, for many had thought him hideously deformed, to hear the common rumor. His manner was as cool and regal as his twin’s; but those who watched would never know of the special ministrations given him by Tavis that morning, to block the pain of so long a march; nor would they know the price that walk cost him later that night, when the damage must be faced and Healed. For now, he was a royal prince and knew it.
And beside Javan, spritely and engaging, a sunny-dispositioned Prince Rhys Michael moved out confidently, in rapport with the crowd as only a natural-born leader could be, only barely able to refrain from smiling and waving to the people as he passed.
Next came the regents—all except Bishop Hubert, who would be assisting at the funeral and was already waiting at the cathedral with the other prelates. They walked four-abreast behind the princes, garbed in funereal black but by their bearing leaving little doubt of their own estimation of their importance in the future of Gwynedd.
Cinhil’s Requiem Mass was celebrated by Archbishop Jaffray and Bishops Cullen and MacInnis—friends of Cinhil, all, though not universally of one another—a fitting farewell to a most pious king. It was attended by Deryni and humans alike.
When it was over, Cinhil was laid to rest in a crypt in the cathedral undercroft, near the tombs of the Festil kings who had once ruled Gwynedd. The regents had announced earlier in the week that Cinhil’s body would be removed to Rhemuth later and reinterred with his Haldane ancestors, as, indeed, the entire Court would relocate to the old Haldane capital as soon as rebuilding was sufficiently advanced. The regents had even made inquiries to locate the graves of Cinhil’s father and grandfather: Alroy, known as Royston, and Aidan, known as Daniel Draper.
The pronouncement was an auspicious one for the new regime. Such a poignant outward sign of piety and respect for the past touched responsive chords in Deryni as well as humans, and put the regents in a very positive light from the start. The veneration of the Haldane line, the planned retreat to the old human capital, with its associations of more fortunate days, seemed positive auguries for a more enlightened and responsive reign ahead.
Hence, for the first few weeks after Cinhil’s funeral, the regents were careful to do nothing which might diminish their carefully nurtured first impression. While the Court was still in mourning, the regents occupied themselves with making quiet preparations for Alroy’s coronation in May, the while setting out their long-term strategy for the months and years ahead. The council having been purged of all its Deryni members save one, it now became the regents’ quiet task to ease out Deryni members of the royal household, the while rearranging staffs and quarters and schedules to extend even more rigid control over the three princes.
To begin this reorganization, the boys were moved into separate apartments—in the same wing, but separated by intervening suites occupied by staff and some of the regents themselves. Their schooling went on, as it must, but now in a more concentrated format, with even more rigid schoolmasters; and Alroy was often absent from the formal sessions still held in the old common room of the nursery, the regents avowing that he could learn more by travelling around his kingdom and observing his government at work firsthand. In fact, what now began for Alroy was a carefully calculated program of isolation and growing dependence.
Tavis was permitted to stay at court, to avoid royal tantrums on Javan’s part before the new king was safely crowned, but castle rumor had it that his days were numbered, and he walked a very narrow line of tolerance. He was one of a very few Deryni who did not taste the regents’ cool rejection in those early days—and knew it.
For the Deryni dismissed from office, like Camber, those weeks of late February and early March were a time of making arrangements for other occupations, other livings; and many of those anticipating dismissal did likewise. Archbishop Jaffray had requested Camber’s participation in Alroy’s coronation, giving him an excuse to remain at the capital yet a little while longer, and perhaps mitigate some of what the regents planned; but eventual departure was inevitable, Camber knew. Fortunately, he still had Grecotha. At least at Grecotha, he would have a secure base from which to function—which was more than many could say.
Mostly, though, Camber spent his time in prayer and contemplation, considering their situation as a race and trying to cement strong ties of friendship and mutual aid with those who would remain at Court when he was gone. Also high on his list of priorities was to learn all he could about the men who now held Gwynedd’s destiny in their avaricious hands.
As if that were not enough, he must also worry about Davin and Ansel, who were actively trying to break up the bands of young Deryni bravos who increasingly terrorized the roads now that spring was upon them. The identity of some of the ringleaders was now known, thanks to Joram’s briefing, and Davin, as Earl of Culdi, had tried and hanged two in his county court for raping and killing a farmer’s wife at Childermas. Vigilante bands of humans had begun to roam the roads of late, too, sometimes clashing violently with the Deryni. Some said that it was such a band which had burned a mostly-Deryni monastic school near Barwicke, a scant week after Cinhil’s funeral.
Nor had Gregory and Jesse been idle in the Ebor area. Of the men who had attacked Camber and Joram, a full half-dozen had been known to Jesse or his father, and had been detained and questioned accordingly. A lynch mob had almost taken them the first night they were jailed, but Gregory’s men had been able to prevent it—at the cost of four Deryni and two human lives. The prisoners had now been moved to safer quarters, but Gregory doubted he could hold them much longer. The young men’s fathers were clamoring for their release, claiming that the Earl of Ebor could not keep them safe. Besides, boys would be boys.…
In the face of such frustrations, Camber’s one positive idea for utilizing Rhys’s talent seemed almost brilliant—until he began examining its ramifications in depth. Synthesizing the basic concept took the better part of several weeks, and even when it came, he explored the concept for days with Rhys and Evaine and Joram before he even considered taking it to the Camberian Council. He and Jebediah spent an entire day and night going over the military and religious implications and arguing about all the things that could go wrong.
Finally, even Camber had to admit that
it was a terrible idea, that it had only a ghost of a chance of working—but it was also the only idea they had, at that point. Only desperate circumstances could warrant its use, for it was a mere survival plan for certain of their race—and saving some of them would mean the loss of much of what they had gained.
Yet, it was better than no plan at all. And if there was even the most remote chance that such a drastic plan might one day have to be implemented, then preparations must be begun. They could always abort the plan, if it became no longer necessary.
“I know the outcome is risky,” Camber said, after he and Rhys had just summarized the proposal to the Camberian Council, meeting informally around the great, ivory council table. “But at least it would give some of our people a chance, especially the ordinary Deryni of no particular training or rank, who haven’t access to the hiding methods of many of us.”
“I don’t know,” Jaffray said, shaking his head doubtfully. “To begin with, I don’t like this idea of using a religious framework to present it. God knows, there are enough religious hoaxes that can’t be helped, without deliberately inventing one.”
“I agree,” Camber said. And if only you knew, he continued to himself. “You must admit that it’s a perfect foil, however.”
“Yes, I suppose so.” Jaffray sighed for at least the fourth time that evening. “That isn’t my only reservation, though.”
Camber smiled. “I had hardly dared hope it would be.”
“I’m serious!” Jaffray protested. “In addition to the dubious theological aspects of what you propose, this whole plan hinges on whether other Healers can be trained to do what Rhys can do. What if they can’t? If that comes to be the case, suppose something should happen to him? With no one else to reverse the block, we don’t know whether people’s powers would eventually return spontaneously or whether they’d be lost forever as Deryni. That could be the death of our race just as surely as if we all fell beneath human swords or died at the stake.”
The Legends of Camber of Culdi Trilogy Page 104