Childe Morgan

by Katherine Kurtz

“But Prince Brion needs me,” she whispered desperately, clinging to his hand.

  “No, your children need you!” came Kenneth’s retort. “I need you!”

  “He needs his powers awakened,” she choked out, tears streaming down her face. “Without them, he is likely to perish the first time some Torenthi interloper faces him down in a magical challenge. What if that Torenthi prince and princess show up at his crowning?”

  “Darling, they won’t,” he began.

  “No, listen to me! Alaric was to have been the instrument of that awakening, but he is too young by many years. Donal knew that. It means that I must do it, though it cost me my life.”

  “No! That is too high a price to pay!” Kenneth blurted, seizing her hand and pressing it to his lips.

  “It is the price I agreed to pay,” Alyce countered. “Kenneth, I gave my word!”

  “But you are ill,” he protested. “It can wait until you are well. Surely he will be safe at his own coronation. He will be surrounded by guards.”

  “Would he be safe from someone like me?” she demanded, flaring her shields around her head in an emerald aura; and then, at his tight-lipped resistance, raising her free hand in a fist that opened to release a column of green flame that gushed briefly upward, so powerful that it left a scorch-mark on the ceiling.

  He flinched from it, turning his face away until it had subsided, then dared to look at her again.

  “I do not know,” he admitted. “But there has been no challenge by Deryni in many years. Surely he can be protected for another week or two, until you are well.”

  “Then, perhaps you could bring him to me,” she said quietly, exhausted by her exertion. “It would ease my mind. If I need not expend the energy to go to him, perhaps I can marshal it to do what must be done here.”

  “No,” Kenneth said flatly. “I will not leave you. And he would not come merely on my written word. Not so close to his coronation. He is of age, Alyce, but he is still a boy; and I left him in the care of Duke Richard and the crown council. They would not let him come.”

  “Then I must go to him as planned,” she said, “and pray that God will give me the strength to carry out what I have promised.”

  Kenneth summoned up a deep sigh, shaking his head, but it was more in resignation than any further attempt at fruitless resistance. If anyone knew the cost of duty, it was he.

  “Very well. I shall go. I cannot fight you indefinitely.”

  “Thank you,” she mouthed, drawing his hand nearer to kiss it. “I promise that I shall rest while you are gone.”

  “See that you do!” he said sternly, though he managed a faint smile as he bent to kiss her burning forehead.

  Chapter 23

  “For the vision is yet for an appointed time,

  but at the end it shall speak, and not lie.”

  —HABAKKUK 2:3

  KENNETH rode out alone within the hour and returned with the following dawn—and with the king posing as his squire. The early morning light stained the snow with rose as the pair passed through the gates of Morganhall, giving lie to the somber atmosphere within the manor walls.

  Delphine and Vera met them just inside the door, both of them grey with fatigue and pinched with worry. Delphine did not speak as Kenneth embraced her, and Vera choked back a sob. Neither seemed to notice the crimson-clad squire standing quietly at Kenneth’s back, face averted.

  “How is she?” he murmured, drawing back to search their eyes.

  Grim-lipped, Delphine shook her head. “Not good, brother. She is very weak, and her fever has not abated. I called the priest shortly after you left—just in case. She was lucid while she received the Sacrament, but now she is drifting. I think you should prepare yourself for the worst.”

  “No!” he said firmly, though he kept his voice down. “I cannot accept that! We’ll think of something—we must! I’ll go to her now.”

  He started forward, Brion starting to follow like the dutiful squire he pretended to be, but Delphine put out an arm to stop him.

  “You won’t be needed in my lady’s chamber, sir squire,” she said somewhat imperiously. “The kitchen lies down a level, through that arch. Go warm yourself by the fire, and ask Cook to give you something to eat.”

  “No, I need him with me,” Kenneth retorted, reaching back to seize Brion’s shoulder and urge him along, before the king could think of a suitable response that would also preserve his anonymity. “He has a message from the king, which hopefully will cheer my dear wife.”

  “Oh. Very well, then.”

  Somehow Kenneth managed to keep his expression neutral as he drew the king with him up the turnpike stair. Brion easily stayed in character as a squire, for until a few weeks before, he had served ably as a squire in his father’s service—and would retain that rank until he earned the accolade of knighthood at age eighteen, even though he now was king. As they reached the level of the upper solar and moved along a narrow corridor toward the principal sleeping chamber, Kenneth glanced at the king appraisingly.

  “I don’t know how much you caught of what my sister told me,” he said softly, “but the outlook apparently is not good. I have no idea whether this has been a wasted trip.”

  “I understand,” Brion said, inclining his head. “What I don’t understand is why she insisted she had to see me before the coronation, when her health is in jeopardy.”

  Kenneth sighed, pausing before a tiny window just outside a heavy oak door. “Brion, I don’t know how much your father told you about your Haldane inheritance, and I am not personally involved in securing that for you. But I do know what was done in my presence, to make the appropriate preparations, and I have an inkling what further must be done—though I am not able to speak of that, even to you. I…can’t even tell you why I am not able to speak of it.” He allowed himself another heavy sigh to brace himself. “I just pray to God that she knows what she’s doing.”

  With that, he knocked lightly on the door and entered. Inside, his sister Claara was bent over Alyce’s supine form, wringing out a wet cloth over a ceramic basin.

  “How is she?” he asked, coming to the opposite side of the bed to take one of his wife’s slack hands in his. Brion prudently remained by the door, trying to be unobtrusive, waiting until Kenneth should dismiss his sister and leave them in privacy.

  “Oh, Kenneth, Kenneth,” his younger sister murmured, gently shaking her head as she reapplied the wet cloth to Alyce’s forehead. “I’m so glad you got here in time. She’s burning up with fever.”

  “I can feel it,” Kenneth replied, touching the back of his hand to her forehead, then bringing the hand he held to his lips. “Claara, I need a few minutes alone with her. Could you please leave us for a little while?”

  “Of course,” Claara said quietly. “Perhaps your squire would like something to eat. Lads that age usually do.”

  “He’ll wait,” Kenneth said curtly, though Brion was already shaking his head. “He’s brought a message from the king. Come over here, lad. And Claara, why don’t you have something to eat yourself? I’ll keep watch.”

  Not speaking, Claara inclined her head and slipped past Brion, who closed the door behind her.

  “Latch it,” Kenneth said quietly, “then come over here.”

  Silently Brion obeyed, coming to stand at the other side of the great bed, opposite Kenneth. Alyce’s eyelids had fluttered open during their converse, and she managed a weak smile for her husband, but then she turned her burning gaze on the new king.

  “Brion!” she whispered. “Thank God! And thank you for coming, Sire.” She paused to swallow. “Needless to say, I should rather have been able to come to you.”

  “And I, my lady, for it would have meant that you were not ill.”

  Alyce smiled again, briefly closing her eyes. “Courtly like your father. And like your father, you must have the means to defend yourself.” She looked up at him again. “Did you bring the Haldane brooch, and the silver bracelet he gave you?”


  Eager now, Brion pushed back his right sleeve to show her the wide bracelet cuff, engraved with a pattern of running lions. “I pinned the brooch inside my cloak,” he added. “It wouldn’t have done for anyone to have seen it and recognized me.”

  “Please let me hold the bracelet,” she whispered, holding out her free hand, “and come around to sit here beside me.”

  Without demur, the king removed the bracelet and put it in her hand, then came around to sit on the stool Kenneth had pushed closer with one booted toe.

  “Help me sit,” she murmured to Kenneth, who eased her more upright and inserted several pillows at her back to support her. After a moment to compose herself, she turned the bracelet to gaze at the three runes engraved inside, then set her forefinger over the first one and whispered, “One!”

  The word triggered an immediate reaction. As she gasped, her eyelids flickering, her entire body went rigid for a long moment. Then she exhaled in a long-drawn sigh and relaxed. With a second breath she opened her eyes, very calm now, but Kenneth could see the rapid pulse in her throat, and the quickening of her breath.

  “Dear God, I had not known what would be required,” she whispered, very deliberately setting the bracelet aside. “So much to do, so little time. My prince, it may be that I shall not be able to complete the entire sequence just now. I may not have the strength. But some, at least, I think I can awaken in you. Please give me your hands,” she invited, offering the king her palms.

  Without hesitation, the king leaned forward to set his hands on hers, though the heat of her flesh caused his glance to dart downward in alarm.

  “Pay no mind to that,” she ordered, as she closed her thumbs over the backs of his hands. “Steady him, Kenneth,” she said to her husband.

  Deftly, Kenneth moved behind the king’s stool to set his hands on the royal shoulders, bracing Brion’s back against his chest. Alyce closed her eyes, her lips moving slightly. Though Kenneth could sense nothing of what then began to pass between her and the king, he felt Brion’s long, shuddering gasp just before his body stiffened and the raven head snapped back against his shoulder.

  He could not guess what the effort was costing his wife, but it was hard enough on the king. For a long moment Brion ceased breathing altogether, balanced on a long-drawn breath—long enough for Kenneth to begin worrying.

  But then, with a gentle sigh, the tension drained from Brion’s body and he began breathing again: great, gasping gulps that gradually eased as the process slackened off, though he remained a dead weight in Kenneth’s arms.

  A gasp from Alyce shifted his focus back to her as she, too, stirred, head moving groggily from side to side as she opened her eyes.

  “God help me, I can do no more,” she whispered, tears brimming as she weakly lifted one trembling hand first to her own forehead, then to Brion’s. “Go now, my prince, and rest beside the fire.”

  Vague awareness flickered in his eyes as he opened them, but he rose like a sleepwalker and did as she commanded, staggering a little to sink down on the hearthrug and cradle his head on one arm. As soon as he had settled, Kenneth sat on the bed beside his wife and gathered her into his arms, briefly bending to touch a kiss to her fevered brow.

  “Too late,” she murmured, her voice thin and thready. “I only had strength to complete some of the work. I have awakened the Truth-Reading talent, which will stand him in good stead as king…and I sensed a stirring of shields—I know not how much they would withstand. But more, I cannot. So tired…”

  “No more now, my love,” he whispered. “Rest. Regain your strength. There will be time and strength enough to complete your work later, when you are well.”

  “Would that it were so….” Her reply was all but inaudible. “But I am spent. That work now will fall to Alaric, when he is grown. In the meantime…you must guide our new king as best you can, and guard our son so that he may fulfill what has been ordained. Promise me…”

  “No! You will recover to finish the work!”

  “I cannot,” she replied, weakly shaking her head. “Promise me!”

  “I—I promise,” Kenneth breathed, tears blurring his vision.

  “I will haunt you, if you keep not your promise,” she said with a faint smile. “One thing more: I wish to be buried at Culdi, in the chapel that Earl Jared built for his stillborn daughter.”

  “At Culdi?” Kenneth blurted. “Why at Culdi? Shall you not lie here, with my Morgan ancestors? Or at Cynfyn or Coroth, with yours?”

  Alyce briefly closed her eyes, a faint smile curving at her lips. “Culdi once belonged to St. Camber, my love—if anyone should ask why. And I will lie with Corwyn-kin. Little Alicia McLain would have been my niece. Remember that Vera is my twin.”

  He shook his head, looking troubled. “I had put it from my mind.”

  “And you must keep it from your mind,” she replied. “No one must ever know, for her children must be protected. But because of this kinship, I wish you to foster our children with her and Jared when they are older, for you will be much at court with the king. You are cousin-kin to Jared through several branches of your family, so no one will think it odd. In time, as our children grow to maturity, it is my hope that Vera will be able to teach them something of their Deryni heritage. Would that I could be here to see those years…”

  “You will be!” Kenneth whispered emphatically, wishing that words could make it so.

  She shook her head weakly, fatigue and fever drawing her toward eternal sleep.

  “Bring me my children, dearest husband. I would bid them good-bye….”

  “Alyce…!”

  But she drifted into unconsciousness then, so Kenneth took advantage of it to fetch the children, as she had requested. Bidding Melissa to bring the infant Bronwyn, he went himself to wake his sleeping son. Llion roused as he entered the room, sleepless anyway, for concern about Alyce, but Kenneth raised a staying hand as he went to Alaric’s bedside.

  The boy stirred reluctantly, the grey gaze hazy with sleep, but Kenneth wrapped him in a sleeping fur and hoisted him onto his hip, carrying him back into the room where Alyce lay, leaving Llion stationed outside the door. Sitting carefully beside her, he let Alaric down onto the bed, bare legs dangling over the edge. Melissa had laid the sleeping Bronwyn on the other side, in the crook of her mother’s arm, and was wringing out a fresh compress over a basin of water.

  “She still burns with fever, my lord,” the maid whispered, as she wiped Alyce’s brow, unable to look at him.

  Biting at his lip, Kenneth waved her back and took one of his wife’s slack hands in his to gently chafe it.

  “Darling Alyce, your children are here,” he murmured. “You wanted to see them…”

  After a moment, her eyelids flickered and her eyes opened, though they were fever-bright and not focusing well. Her drifting gaze found her son’s, and she mouthed a kiss in his direction before turning her head to press her lips to the top of her daughter’s downy head.

  “God’s angels guard you, dearest daughter,” she whispered. “I wish we had been given the time to know one another better.”

  The infant stirred, the blue eyes briefly opening to meet her mother’s in a salute of soul meeting soul; then she snuggled closer and went back to sleep with a sigh. Eyes bright with tears, Alyce pressed another kiss to Bronwyn’s soft cheek, then glanced beyond to Melissa, who was waiting anxiously.

  “Please take her back to her cot, dear Melissa, and bless you, for your love. Care for her when I am gone.”

  Silently weeping, Melissa ducked her head in agreement and came to gather the infant into her arms, then ducked to kiss Alyce’s free hand before turning to flee the room. Young Alaric watched her go, confusion in the grey eyes, then turned back to his mother in concern.

  “Mama, why is Melissa so sad?” he asked.

  Alyce briefly closed her eyes, tears brimming among her lashes, then took his hand in hers and drew him closer as Kenneth fought to hold back his own tears.

  “S
he’s sad because I have to go away, my darling,” she told him honestly. “I don’t want to go, but I must.”

  He cocked his head at her, a pout pushing at his rosy lips.

  “Did the king say you have to go?” he demanded.

  “No, no, darling. He would never do that. I wanted to help the king—and I have helped him, as best I can. I want you to promise me that you will help him, too—all the days of your life. Will you do that for me?”

  Without hesitation, the boy lifted his chin and nodded bravely, tracing a cross on his chest with one small forefinger.

  “Cross my heart an’ hope to die, Mama!”

  “No, cross your heart and live, my love!” she corrected, gazing into his eyes and again making that soul-connection. “Grow up to be a wonderful, strong, courageous man like your papa! Now, come and give your mama a big hug and a kiss.”

  He crawled closer to fling himself down beside her with his arms around her neck and his face nestled against her shoulder, starting to cry. She held him close for several seconds, memorizing the feel and the smell of him for all eternity, then passed her hand across his brow and took him into trance.

  Kenneth bowed his head, unable to watch—and incapable of comprehending whatever it was that passed between mother and son as her life waned—but he looked up again as Alaric stirred, to sit up and then bend down to kiss her cheek a final time, his tears in check.

  “I be good, Mummy,” he whispered.

  “I know you will, my darling, my Airleas,” she murmured, blinking back her own tears. “Go with Papa now.”

  She closed her eyes then. It took all of Kenneth’s strength of will to lift their son down to the floor and lead him to the door, where Llion was waiting outside to take him back to his room.

  “Is she—?” Llion began softly.

  Kenneth shook his head. “Please take the boy back to bed now, Llion, and stay with him through the night. I’ll remain here until…”

  With that, he ducked his head, unable to speak more of it, and put his son’s hand into the young knight’s larger one, firmly pressing the pair of them out into the corridor and closing the door behind them. Returning to his wife’s side, he retrieved the king’s silver bracelet and went to the fire to slip it back on the royal wrist, also tucking a fur-lined cloak around his sleeping sovereign. Brion’s own cloak had fallen open so that the Lion brooch was exposed, so he unpinned it and put it in the king’s hand, closing the slack fingers around it.