The Quest for Saint Camber

by Katherine Kurtz

  Very well, then, he must get free—though to tend the injured Kelson and get them both out of here, rather than for any point of false vanity. Escape just might be possible, if he were given the time to work on the problem—for the sounds outside the room were winding down, their captors apparently getting ready to turn in for the night. Dhugal judged that it must have been early evening when they were captured and so guessed that no disposition would be made of them until morning—though he did not want to think about what that disposition might be, if they could not convince their captors of their benign intentions.

  So, which to try first? To get free of his own bonds or somehow to worm his way to Kelson’s side and see whether he could do anything to ease him?

  He had decided to run a fatigue-banishing spell first, then see if he could summon enough power to work his bonds loose. He was working on the former when the door opened, laying a stripe of golden light across him from behind, quickly blocked by several silhouettes. He stiffened minutely, immediately realizing he could hardly feign to be unconscious still, with his feet in the air above his back, then rolled awkwardly onto his side with a muffled grunt of pain to see who had come in. Two of the men looked familiar from the altercation outside the tombs—grey-cloaked minions who only followed the orders of others—but the third was of a different sort.

  He reminded Dhugal of old Caulay in his prime—sun-browned and bandy-legged from years in the saddle, forearms corded with muscle where they emerged from a soft, full-sleeved saffron shirt, and trews of an unfamiliar grey-black tweed. Over the shirt, a pale grey jerkin of quilted leather was laced close to the man’s body, with quilted leather boots coming nearly to his knees and a silver-mounted dirk hanging close along the right thigh. He had a full beard of rich chestnut, the moustaches frosted with grey, like a cat’s whiskers, and his thick mane, also threaded with silver, was bound in a clout not unlike Dhugal’s border braid. A silver chief’s torc gleamed at his throat.

  “So, then,” the man said very softly, not taking his eyes from Dhugal’s, “these be the villains as sacked Sagart’s tomb, eh?”

  “Aye, an’ profaned the holy places, Bened-Cyann,” one of his henchmen replied. “We willnae know th’ full extent o’ their sacrilege until th’ morrow. Brethairs be lookin’ o’ th’ damage.”

  The other man, glum and aloof in a grey cloak that fell from shoulder to ankle, muttered something quick and impassioned in the dialect that Dhugal could not understand, for all its similarity to several other border dialects he knew, and the first man went tight-jawed, his glance flicking briefly to the still-unconscious Kelson before returning to Dhugal.

  “Yer partner in perfidy has th’ better part, young brigand,” he said softly, “for when we burn th’ both o’ ye fer yer blasphemy, methinks he willnae feel th’ flames. Ye, on t’other hand—”

  With a contemptuous snort, he turned and left, the other two measuring Dhugal with their own hard looks before turning to follow, closing the door behind them. Dhugal’s heart sank as he heard a bar drop in place with a hollow thunk, and he arched his back to take the strain off his throat as he tried to find a more comfortable position on his side.

  Flames. Their captors were going to burn them, apparently with no chance to speak in their own defense. He had no idea who this Sagart was whose tomb they had profaned, but apparently he had been a man of some import locally. And the sentence smacked not of fanaticism, but of simple logic. A crime had been committed by two strangers—never mind any extenuating circumstances—and burning was the penalty for that crime.

  The sheer unfairness of it made Dhugal angry, and he lay there fuming for several minutes before he was able to turn his anger to something more constructive—like getting loose. Adrenaline fueled his body while anger fueled his mind, so that within a few minutes more, he had loosed the knots with his powers and was easing his wrists from their bonds, unlooping the choking rope from around his neck, removing his gag and the ropes binding his legs.

  Before even checking on Kelson, Dhugal crept silently to the door and crouched down to try and peer beneath. The light was dimmer now, and whatever chamber lay beyond had begun to reverberate to the sound of snoring. Praying that no one would come to look in on them again, Dhugal eased to his feet and started back to Kelson, pausing in a corner to relieve himself, then knelt beside the motionless king to free him. He conjured a faint sphere of handfire to see by, and Kelson stirred in his arms as Dhugal finished.

  Don’t speak aloud, Dhugal spoke in Kelson’s mind as the grey eyes fluttered open, laying his finger across Kelson’s lips to underline the order. I think we’re going to be left alone for the rest of the night, but it sounds like there’s a whole hall full of guards sleeping just outside.

  Kelson nodded weakly as Dhugal took his finger away, but Dhugal could see by the light of his handfire that the king’s pupils were reacting unequally again. A new bruise purpled his temple, not far from where Dhugal had lifted the first skull fracture, and Kelson nearly gasped aloud as Dhugal touched it lightly with a fingertip.

  It’s bad, isn’t it? Kelson managed to send, though only when he had taken Dhugal’s hand for close physical contact.

  Swallowing with difficulty, Dhugal nodded. That isn’t the worst of it, either, he replied. Kelson, they think we broke into the tombs and deliberately desecrated them. They’re threatening to burn us tomorrow.

  Burn us—

  Kelson closed his eyes, but then his thought came stronger in Dhugal’s mind than Dhugal had thought possible, with such an injury.

  Promise me two things, then, Dhugal—not as king, but by the love you bear for me and as you value our blood oath as brothers.

  Anything, Kelson—I swear it! came Dhugal’s fervent response.

  First, promise that, if nothing else can be done, you’ll help your king to die before the flames reach him.

  You mean—kill you?

  Yes.

  Kelson, I—

  Promise it, Dhugal. The grey eyes opened, calm as a fog-shrouded sea. Of all things on this earth and beyond, perhaps, I fear that death the most. You know what your father went through—and that was only a foretaste. Promise me, Dhugal!

  Tears brimming in his eyes, Dhugal nodded.

  I promise, he said, mouthing the words as his mind also shaped them for Kelson’s.

  And now for the second promise, Kelson went on, a faint smile curving his mouth.

  Dhugal nodded, bowing his head over the king’s hand and brushing it’s back with his lips.

  I promise.

  Don’t you want to know what the second promise is?

  What does it matter? Dhugal replied, looking up with a bitter smile. What could you possibly ask me to do that would be more difficult than what you’ve already asked?

  I could ask you to save me, Kelson returned. And, indeed, that’s precisely what I’m going to ask—because I’m not ready to die yet, by any means.

  Save you? Aghast, Dhugal searched the grey eyes for some further clue of what the king was talking about. Kelson, you know that when they come for us in the morning, I’ll do my best to save both of us, but—

  Heal me, Dhugal. Kelson’s thought cut through Dhugal’s like a knife. You come from Healer stock. You’re Duncan’s son in every other way—why not that? You fixed my skull fracture, after all.

  That was a physical manipulation, Dhugal protested. It isn’t the same. I wasn’t able to touch the injury inside.

  Did you try?

  No, I didn’t dare.

  Well, now it’s time to dare, Kelson returned. When Morgan heals, he says he has to lay hands on the part to be healed—and then he—sort of visualizes how it should be when it’s well. He rubbed distractedly between his eyes. It probably wouldn’t hurt to invoke Saint Camber, either. Both Morgan and your father have had—what to call them? Visitations?—while they’re healing, by some non-physical entity who fits Camber’s description. And Morgan says he gets an impression of another pair of hands on top of
his.

  Dhugal knelt there for several seconds, stunned, blinking back to normal consciousness only as Kelson’s thought flicked gently against his mind once again.

  I know it’s frightening, came the king’s reassurance, seductively tempting. If it makes it any less frightening, try healing yourself before you tackle me. You’re going to need two good legs to get us out of here, in any case—so work on your ankle first. You’ve got a sound one to use for comparisons. And you can draw on me for additional power, as we did for the doors.

  But—even if I could do it, is it wise to drain you like that? Dhugal asked.

  Dhugal, if you can’t heal me, you may very well have to kill me! came Kelson’s response, brutally honest. Now, how much more of both our time and energy are you going to waste arguing? We don’t know that we won’t be interrupted, after all.

  The stark horror of that very real possibility dispelled whatever other notions Dhugal might have had of continuing to argue the point. He had no idea whether he could, in fact, do what Kelson obviously believed he could, but not even to try made no sense at all. To protect them from at least casual inspection by anyone looking in on them during the night, he put Kelson’s gag back on him, albeit more loosely than before, and had him lie on his side as he had before, presumably still unconscious, hands and feet wrapped only loosely in their former bonds—though that fact would not be obvious to anyone standing in the doorway, since Kelson’s body blocked any clear view.

  Dhugal himself lay on his side and at right angles to Kelson, their heads touching, as if he had wormed his way closer after their captors’ last inspection and then succumbed to exhaustion—though his gag also was only loosely applied, and his unbound hands and feet also were shielded behind his body, so long as no one came too close.

  From that position, making himself as comfortable as possible under the circumstances, Dhugal quenched his handfire and triggered the first stages of deep Deryni trancing, stretching his mind confidently across the link with Kelson that now was never very far away, after the psychic intimacy of their last few weeks. The rapport steadied almost immediately, giving Dhugal access to the last dram of Kelson’s energy—though he would not tap it unless absolutely necessary—and he let himself slip to deeper depths of trance to probe his own body.

  He had never done anything of this sort before, other than simple exercises to relax, limb by limb. His first perception had to do with the cramps already achingly persistent in his shoulders, because of the angle at which he had to hold his arms behind him. Once he managed to put that discomfort aside, however, he very quickly began to sense more subtle functions—the blood pumping through his veins to the rhythm of his heartbeat, slow and steady, and the spring-potential in sinews and muscles as he flexed his fingers.

  He shifted his arms so that he could clasp each wrist with the opposite hand and detected a subtle difference between the uninjured right one and the nearly healed left, but he found it confusing to filter his perceptions across opposite sides, so he switched, after a few more seconds, directly to his legs, rolling farther onto his stomach to ease his shoulders and sliding his hands quietly down to cup his ankles.

  Here, the difference between the sound one and the injured was immediately apparent, the one coolly potent, if chafed from the ropes, the other warmer beneath his touch, tender when he pressed harder with his fingertips, seeking out the injuries his hands had sensed through his boot before, but had not dared to inspect more closely for fear of not being able to get the boot back on again.

  When his captors had taken his boots, however, the ankle had been released to do what it would have done days before, had he not kept it bound, and had swollen a little even in the short time since then. He could feel the irregular line of a crack in one of the bones—not precisely by the touch of his fingers, but just as surely as if his fingers had stroked the bare bone, with no tissue to intervene between. And as he let himself slip to a deeper level of consciousness, wondering how to catalyze a healing, he suddenly was in the bone, sensing on a wholly different level what needed to be done to make it right.

  It took far less energy than he had thought it would; and he hardly needed to draw from Kelson at all. When he sensed wholeness in that bone, he moved on to the next, mended it, went on to check the others, and then shifted into the tissue surrounding them, feeling the torn sinews, cartilage, and muscles knit beneath the binding of his will.

  A soothing warmth seemed to prickle through his hands, and he used it like a balm to ease away the pain and stiffness and to reduce the swelling, increasing circulation and willing all to be as it had been before the injury. He could feel the swelling shrink beneath his hand; and his ankle, when he flexed it experimentally, was capable of a full range of movement, with nary a twinge of pain.

  He was a little breathless as he came up out of his trance, hardly able to believe he had actually done it. But in his first elation, just as he opened his eyes—and just at the very fringes of his field of vision—he thought he caught a glimpse of a tall, silver-haired man robed in grey, smiling. He jerked his head up to stare, but in that split second of movement—not even a blink—the man was gone. The only thing that kept Dhugal from exclaiming aloud was the gag in his mouth; and he had remembered why he must be silent by the time he pulled it off and sat up.

  “Jesu Christe, what was that?” he breathed, keeping his voice very, very low as he continued to look around in awe.

  What was what? came Kelson’s reply, as the king struggled back to awareness and seized his arm.

  No matter. Dhugal conjured very pale handfire and bent to inspect his ankles, again flexing the right one experimentally—and without pain. Nor was there any discoloration or even swelling any longer.

  Kelson, I did it!

  Kelson’s soft, careful sigh conveyed more than words or even thoughts could have, as he closed his eyes briefly.

  I rather expected you could, once you knew you had to try, Kelson sent, after a few seconds. I hate to dampen your confidence, but I fear I may present a bit more of a challenge—and we’re apt to run out of time, if we delay very long. Do you think you’re ready to try me, now?

  Not as ready as I’d like, but I don’t think we have much choice, Dhugal responded, summoning his handfire to hover over Kelson. Forget about looking as if you’re tied up any more. I’m going to need some very deep control.

  He removed Kelson’s gag and helped the king to lie flat, arms no longer cramped beneath him.

  Are you going to keep that handfire lit while you work? Kelson asked. If anyone looks in, it’s a dead giveaway of what we are.

  Smiling weakly, Dhugal settled on his heels and laid both hands over the half-healed laceration at the side of Kelson’s head.

  I need to see what I’m doing, at least to get started. And if they look in and see that we’re not tied up anymore, we’re in big trouble anyway. As well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb. Besides, maybe they like Deryni.

  And maybe Saint Camber will intervene directly to get us out of this, Kelson returned.

  Dhugal almost snorted at that, for judging by what he had experienced as he came out of trance the first time, Camber might be doing just that. And Kelson obviously was not aware of any of it.

  Let’s settle for some honest work of our own, he responded tersely, beginning to reach out for rapport again. Just let yourself go into trance again and relax. Give everything over to me. I don’t think I’ll need your energy, as such, but I will need complete control, once your shields start coming back. If I’ve kenned this right, the first part, at least, will come easy. The rest is going to require deeper work, but we’ll worry about that after the first part’s done. And if you know any prayers to Saint Camber, he added, this is the time to say them.

  No specific ones, came Kelson’s already vague, gently unfocused reply, but I’ll do my best to improvise.

  Good, because I have the feeling he’s more than a little interested in what’s happening here tonight.

>   He felt Kelson’s stir of inquiry, but his own control was already more than the king could resist, as both of them settled into deeper levels. Gently he pushed Kelson into soft, easy slumber, at the same time taking them both deeper. Even as they continued sinking, Dhugal sent his will into the laceration beneath his fingertips—and felt the tissue warm beneath his touch, then grow cool, as the scabs fell away from clean, scarless skin.

  Smiling, Dhugal spared a quick visual glance by handfire light, then moved his hands above the fracture he had manipulated before. He thought he sensed other hands superimposed on his own, as he reached his mind into this more challenging injury, but he resisted the impulse to look with his eyes. The Presence behind him, arms circling his to lay on hands he knew he could not see with physical sight, elicited no fear, but only calm and strength and love.

  The physical healing came more easily this time, as Dhugal let the power channel through him. The line of the old fracture blurred in his mind’s eye and then disappeared as new, clean bone bridged the break, the healed line finally indistinguishable from any part of the skull never breached. Underneath, the slight swelling still impeding function presented a greater challenge, but Dhugal dealt with that, too, almost the same way he had dealt with his ankle, bidding the blood carry warmth and healing to the site of injury and wash damaged tissue away—though function was not restored, and he must deal with that in a moment.

  No bone was actually damaged over the third site, though there was bruising both above and below the level of the skull, and a tiny laceration that quickly yielded to his power. Dhugal took care of the bruising in what had now become the usual manner, but something yet remained to be done—for here, too, there was damage beyond the grossly physical that must be mended before function could be restored.

  But suddenly it came to him that something else was required—and that he had the ability to do it. So when he had done with the external healing, he summoned all his courage and slipped beyond the merely physical of what lay inside Kelson Haldane’s skull and forged a mind meld. But it was much, much more.