Rhys and Evaine reported both their reassurance and their uneasiness to the Council. Jaffray and Davin continued to relay their observations from among the regents and royals at Rhemuth, and the summer dragged on with little expectation of any marked change for the better.
Developments on the Michaeline front did little to ease the sense of impending doom which increasingly permeated their thinking. By mid-September, Jebediah could no longer delay telling his fellow Council members the long-unwanted news: Crevan Allyn was dispersing the Order. Already, most of the brethren had been secretly relocated to places of greater safety. The coming Michaelmas would likely be the last ever at Argoed, their commanderie of the past thirteen years.
The decision had been made a few weeks earlier. With the August redeployment of the Gwynedd army to Rhemuth and Valoret, and scattered regiments constantly on the move elsewhere, it had become clear to the most naive lay brother that the regents were gearing their military strength toward the capability to command all of Gwynedd on very short notice. Castles and garrisons were being invested all over the kingdom, and new keeps thrown up almost overnight. There could be no benign reason for such a state of readiness, when no enemy hounded at Gwynedd’s borders, and the regents had made their feelings about the Deryni-dominated Knights of Saint Michael quite clear when they had purged them from the army the previous spring.
And so, at the beginning of September, Crevan Allyn had begun his final departure from Gwynedd. Most of the nonfighting brethren had already been shifted out of the kingdom but now the rest of his knights went, too, the majority of them retreating to Djellarda, at the southern tip of the Forcinn. One of the petty Forcinn princes feared Moorish invasion, for which there was ample historical precedent, and had promised refuge, additional land, and employment if the Knights of Saint Michael would relocate on his border. In a way, it was a homecoming, for the Michaeline Order had had its beginnings there on the edge of the great desert called the Anvil of the Lord. After the Michaelines had been welcomed into Gwynedd, the little commanderie at Djellarda had been relegated to a minor outland holding of the Order, as the headquarters were moved to Cheltham at the invitation of King Bearand and his successors. Soon Djellarda would be restored to its former status.
Now only a handful of Michaelines remained in Gwynedd, no more than a score besides the three of the Council, spread mostly between Argoed and Cùilteine to suggest at least that the Order still functioned under the Haldane regency. Haut Eirial and Mollingford, never restored to their full strength and size after Imre’s suppression, had been given over to their local bishops in late summer; and the bishops, never ones to disdain gifts of land and buildings, had promptly installed new communities of monks on the abandoned premises. The regents’ officials did not notice that the habits of the occupants had changed, only that bodies still came and went. As Michaelmas approached, the Michaelines were little missed.
The Michaelines were not the only group about whom the regents had made their feelings quite clear, as the summer wore on into fall. Especially in the towns, Deryni continued to bear the brunt of regency harassment in increasingly blatant ways. Deryni nobles were not deprived of their holdings or titles—yet—but new offices and preferments invariably went to non-Deryni. When a Deryni official died in office, or his term expired, he was replaced by a non-Deryni. Deryni artisans and merchants, formerly under royal patronage, found their services no longer required. By early September, there were virtually no Deryni in positions of responsibility in Rhemuth except Archbishop Jaffray and Tavis O’Neill.
The phenomenon of Tavis gave the regents pause to consider. Tavis himself could be pushed only so far, but other Deryni might be more pliable, and more useful, if there were adequate controls to keep them in line. Healers, in particular, could be very valuable, so long as one had ample guarantee of good behavior.
Not all of the regents were in favor of pursuing this line of reasoning initially. Rhun and Ewan, in particular, simply fed one another’s anxieties, where the subject of Deryni conspiracies was concerned. But when they considered further, all of them had to admit that if one wished eventually to be rid of Deryni once and for all, it would behoove one to be able to tell for certain whether a given captive were Deryni or not. Of course, there were drugs which would detect such things, but those would only incapacitate or kill a Deryni, not render him vulnerable to use himself. It took a Deryni to discover a Deryni, to force a Deryni—unless, of course, the methods of force used were not against the Deryni’s particular strength at all, but against more universal considerations.
Accordingly, toward the beginning of September, it was decided to begin a trial program of limited Deryni “recruitment.” Rhun was given the assignment, for it was felt that he would test it most efficiently, being generally suspicious. And so, on a single night in mid-September, he and his captains surreptitiously swept through a score of different hamlets and towns and took to hostage several dozen known Deryni and their families, the women and children to be held against the good conduct of their menfolk. The swoops were repeated for several nights running, until more than fifty new “agents” had been taken. All of the captives were held incommunicado for several days, the men separated from their families and all of them dosed heavily with Deryni-specific drugs so that none might use their powers to attempt escape. They were then offered the terms of the regents’ service.
Within a week, nearly every regiment or other military group of any size had a “Deryni sniffer” attached to its command staff, with orders for immediate execution of the Deryni and all his family, no questions asked, if any harm befell the commander. After several recalcitrants, suitably bound and drugged to helplessness, were forced to witness the execution of their families, including children and small infants, before themselves being tortured and killed, the word spread quickly among the remaining captives, and Deryni began to collaborate. The promise of reward, and a kind of tolerance, even induced some Deryni to offer their services on their own initiative, as Hubert had suspected they would.
The very existence of the collaborators was not widely known, especially outside the towns and villages, but it was well enough known to begin driving zealous men to desperate deeds. Perhaps it accounted, in part, for what finally happened on the eve of Michaelmas, near Rhemuth, touching once more on the royal family itself.
The day was sunny and fair, though the nip of fall had been in the air early that morning. All three princes had planned a day of riding and hawking, but that morning a court had been scheduled in Rhemuth town which required Alroy’s personal attendance, so he was not permitted to go.
Hence, they were nine as they rode out that morning: Javan and Rhys Michael; a squire apiece, to see to their lunch and carry the game the party hoped to snare; four guards, including Davin; and a pleased Tavis O’Neill, bearing a gentle merlin on his leather-clad forearm, delighted to find that this was one sport which was not denied him by his loss. Javan, though entitled by his rank to a much more flashy bird, had chosen a favorite kestrel for the day, because she had been his first really well-trained falcon. Rhys Michael did not like birds—they made him sneeze—so he had merely come along for the ride and the opportunity to be out. He and “Eidiard” had struck up quite a good friendship, and the prince, whose passion was horses, had been pestering Eidiard for the past month to begin teaching him some of the advanced horsemanship which Eidiard made look so easy.
They rode throughout the morning, Rhys Michael amusing himself with periodic races with the guards and squires while Javan and Tavis flew their hawks with fair success. By midday, all of them had worked up appetites befitting the enormous amount of food the squires had brought along; so, after some discussion, a suitable site by a stream was selected and the squires set about laying a noon repast. While the guards unsaddled the horses and set them to graze and water a little downstream, Corund jessing their birds to a convenient tree limb, Javan excused himself and disappeared into the trees and brush up the hill. When he
returned, a few minutes later, his young face wore a thoughtful expression. Quickly he found Tavis and drew him aside, watching only distractedly as Tavis unlaced the leather hawking vambrace from his left arm.
“Tavis, would you come with me, please?”
His voice was low, pitched so that the others could not overhear, and something in his tone made Tavis take notice even more than he usually would have.
“What is it, my prince?”
“Come with me. You’ll see,” the boy insisted, catching Tavis’s sleeve and drawing him up the hill, the way he had come.
They climbed only a short way, picking a path through underbrush and several levels of shrouding trees until they came out into a wide, grassy clearing.
“Look you. There’s a fire ring, and a little cairn of stones, over there. Do you suppose the little folk use this place?”
Tavis’s jaw dropped, and he had all he could do to keep from laughing.
“The little folk?”
“Don’t laugh at me, and don’t look at me as if I’m mad!” Javan returned with tight-lipped solemnity. “I’ve heard the soldiers’ talk. Do they or do they not dance at the turnings of the seasons and kindle the bonfires on the hilltops? Look out there.” He gestured toward the other side of the clearing, where the hillside dropped away sheer and spilled onto the plain. “It could have been seen for miles. Is it true, Tavis? Do the little folk come out and dance around the bonfires?”
To cover his amazement and confusion, Tavis moved closer to the fire ring and prodded the long-dead embers with a booted toe, crouched down to hold his hand above the cold ashes.
He was aware that strange customs were still practiced among the country folk. Bonfires were lit at the major turnings of the seasons, as was well known. With the equinox but a week past, it was quite possible that Javan had, indeed, stumbled on the remnants of one of those bonfires.
Furthermore, there had been power raised here, benevolent, but real. Tavis could sense the residuals of it in the ashes, faint but unmistakable. Anyone with Sight could hardly help noticing, but Javan did not have Sight. How could he have noticed? And, little folk?
“What makes you think this is anything more than a shepherd’s fire, Javan?” the Healer finally asked, raising his face squarely to the boy’s.
Javan shook his head. “It’s no shepherd’s fire. The autumn equinox was last week. The common people build fires then, and they—they dance around the fire. I read about it. Why do they do that, Tavis?”
“Well, it’s tied in with very old beliefs,” Tavis began uneasily, wondering where the boy had found such reading material in Valoret’s or Rhemuth’s austere libraries. “It’s supposed to ensure the health of the people and their animals. It’s said that sometimes they leap through the flames, and that they drive their cows and sheep through, too.”
“It’s said—it’s supposed—do they or don’t they?” Javan wanted to know.
“Well, I really don’t know about the animals,” Tavis replied, scratching his head sheepishly. “Those are old, superstitious customs. Only the peasants practice them anymore, so far as I know. I do recall something about the theory behind the dancing, though—something about generating a—why do you want to know, Javan? Why is it so important?”
Javan gave a perplexed shrug. “I don’t know. It’s just that this place felt—strange, somehow. Magical, maybe.”
“Magical?” Grinning, Tavis stood and knuckled the boy playfully under the chin. “And how would you know about that, my little human prince? Who’s been filling your head with tales of magic?”
“It isn’t funny, Tavis,” the boy muttered. “I felt something. I still do. I would have thought, after the times I’ve helped you, that you’d realize that!”
Angrily the boy turned on his heel and limped back down the hillside, slapping his gauntlets against a leather-clad thigh in annoyance. Tavis watched for a moment in shock, hardly knowing what to think, then scrambled down the hill after him. They reached the campsite together, and Javan put on a pleasant expression for the benefit of the guards and the squires, but Tavis could sense the turmoil still churning behind the polite facade. He thought about their conversation while they ate their lunch.
Everyone settled down for a rest when they had finished eating and cleaned up. The guards took themselves off near the horses, and Rhys Michael flopped down, bored, under a tree to nap when the squires wandered over to relax near the stream.
Javan plunked himself on a rock near but out of earshot of his brother and began flicking pebbles into the shallow water. Tavis, after a casual glance to locate the others, made his way slowly to Javan’s side, where he crouched on his heels and studied the ripples the boy was making with his rocks.
“I’m sorry if I made light of your questions, my prince,” he said in a low voice. “I wasn’t thinking. You know I would give my life for you.”
“Your life, yes. But you no longer give me your confidence.”
“I—what?”
“Did I or did I not help you the night of your injury?” Javan demanded, his voice not rising in volume, but all the more intense for that. “Did I or did I not help you remember what happened to you the night my father died? Did you or did you not promise to help me remember?”
“Javan, you know I’ve been tr—”
“Don’t give me your adult excuses! For weeks now, I’ve held my peace. I’ve kept my part of the bargain and I haven’t nagged you. What good has it done me? Tavis, I have to know. What happened to me the night my father died?”
Forcing down a shudder, Tavis glanced around surreptitiously. Robear, who was musically inclined, had unstrapped his lute from one of the sumpter horses and was tuning it softly while Corund napped. Jason and Eidiard were playing at dice. The squires, Dorn and Tomais, had disappeared upstream; he could hear their voices occasionally, floating on the breeze. But Rhys Michael was lying just across the clearing, apparently watching clouds build up against the horizon. If they did not keep their voices down, the boy would hear.
“I’m sorry, Javan,” Tavis whispered. “You know I’m working on it. I think of little else. I thought you understood that. I’m not convinced I’ve identified all the ingredients Rhys used, though. I don’t want to risk your safety more than once.”
“Well, what’s it going to take to be convinced?” Javan asked haughtily. “I can’t wait forever, you know.”
“I know,” Tavis breathed, bowing his head. “I was going to talk to you about it later. I—suppose I need to take you back to the early part of that night one more time and re-read your impression of the taste and smell. I need to be sure it tallies with mine. Perhaps we can do it tonight.”
“Why wait until tonight? Let’s do it now.”
“Now?”
“Yes, now. The others are asleep or occupied. Reach into my mind and see. We’ve done this kind of thing often enough by now. It needn’t make a sound.”
“But, your brother—”
“Bother my brother!” Javan snapped, though his voice was still low. “Put him to sleep, if his nearness bothers you. You can go get me some wine, and then stop to talk to him on the way back. The others won’t think it amiss, and he won’t know.”
“But, Javan—”
“Are you my friend, or aren’t you? Now, do it!”
With a smile which he hoped did not appear too forced, Tavis nodded and got to his feet, moving back toward the sumpter horses. Rhys Michael glanced up at him as he started past.
“Are you and Javan fighting?”
Immediately Tavis stopped and dropped to a crouch beside the boy.
“Fighting? Certainly not. His foot is hurting him. I thought I’d bring him some wine to drink while I work on it. Why don’t you take a nap?” Tavis suggested, clasping the boy’s arm reassuringly and sending a strong compulsion to sleep as he did so. “You’ve had a busy morning. The afternoon will be a lot more fun if you’re rested.”
“I suppose you’re right.” Rhys Michael
yawned, settling back against his tree. “Will Javan’s foot be all right?”
“Of course.” Tavis smiled, brushing the boy’s forehead with his fingertips and getting up. “The stirrup just needs a bit more padding, that’s all.”
And across the clearing, a young soldier with curly blond hair watched out of the corner of his eye as the Healer picked up a wineskin and took it back toward the elder prince. With a part of his mind, Davin followed the dice his partner tossed. But he wondered what Tavis and the prince were talking about, as the Healer gave the wine to the boy and knelt at his feet, beginning to strip off the prince’s special boot. He wished he dared extend his powers, but he knew better than that. Tavis might detect it, especially if he were preparing to go into a Healing mode.
The boot came off, and Javan gave a sigh of relief, smiling as he unstoppered the wineskin and took a perfunctory swallow. As Tavis peeled off his stocking, Javan put the skin down and shifted onto his left side, leaning his head against one hand propped on elbow.
“You’re taking a big risk,” the Healer murmured, as he dipped a towel into the water and began bathing the misshapen foot. “Furthermore, you’re making me take a big risk.”
“What are you doing that they haven’t seen a dozen times?” Javan countered. “They’re humans, Tavis. What do they know?”
“And you’re not human?”
“Not like them. I have shields. You know I do.”
“That’s true,” Tavis replied, drying the foot and beginning to massage it briskly. “And if you didn’t have them, I would be sorely tempted at this moment to give you a psychic jolt you would not soon forget. You’re acting like a spoiled child.”
The Legends of Camber of Culdi Trilogy Page 121