Camber the Heretic

by Katherine Kurtz

  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 it 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 af
fection, 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 the 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?”

  “None here,” came the archbishop’s response.

  “Then, it’s settled,” Camber said, taking his seat between Evaine and Saint Camber’s Siege, in the north, as Jaffray seated himself on the other side of the empty chair. “Gregory, would you ask them to come in, please?”

  As Jebediah and the three young men entered, Joram waved his two nephews to stools on either side of him, and Jesse nervously took another stool between his father’s chair and Evaine’s. Camber gave Jesse a warm smile to put him at his ease, then glanced across to his right at his grandsons as Jebediah took his place directly opposite.

  “Welcome, gentlemen,” he said, including them all in his greeting. “Jesse, I know what you’ve been up to lately. How about our younger MacRories? What news from your part of the kingdom, while we wait for Rhys?”

  Davin, seated to Joram’s right, flashed his famous grin, all shiny, even teeth in the fair, nearly beardless face. Though he did not know Camber as anyone other than Alister Cullen, both he and his brother had been close to the bishop for many years now.

  “We were hoping you might be able to give us news, sir,” Davin replied. “There have been a lot of rumors, but precious few facts.”

  “There are always many rumors in times such as these,” Camber said enigmatically. “I assume that you’ve heard about the king?”

  Solemnly Ansel nodded, almost an identical image of his elder brother. “I received a private letter from Dafydd Leslie around noon today, sir. Dafydd said that Cinhil died sometime last night, and that the regency council would be meeting for the first time today. Did it?”

  “Such as it is,” Jaffray said in disgust, as all eyes turned toward him. “Murdoch found a way to oust Alister from the regency.”

  “No!”

  That was clearly news to the three newcomers, and to Gregory, as well, who stopped pacing and then groped his way numbly to his seat.

  “Aye. They chose Duke Sighere to succeed him, with his son Ewan sitting in for him, and then they dismissed all the Deryni from the council that they could. I’m the only one left.”

  Joram snorted. “And they would have gotten rid of him, too, if they could have found a way.”

  After a short, shocked silence, Davin found his tongue.

  “How—how did they oust Bishop Alister?”

  “A mysterious document, allegedly signed by the king,” Jaffray said, almost singing the words in his sarcasm. “Oh, it was Cinhil’s signature,” he added, seeing the indignation growing on Davin’s face, “and duly witnessed. Unfortunately, there’s no doubt about that. We could have fought a forgery.”

  “Who witnessed it?” Jesse broke in.

  “Oriss and Udaut, neither of whom probably knew what was being signed, any more than the king did,” Jaffray replied promptly. “Oh, it’s a bloody mess, all right. Alister is out and Sighere is in, for regent; Alister is out and Tammaron is in, for chancellor; and Jebediah is out and Ewan is in, for earl marshal. They also fired Torcuill and Bishop Kai. The only reason I’m still in is that they can’t get rid of me. The Archbishop of Valoret stays, whether he’s Deryni or no—at least for the moment.” He sighed. “And all of that is fact, not rumor. I was there.”

  His acerbic assessment of the situation brought a silence to the chamber which was not broken until the doors opened about a minute later to admit Rhys.

  Jaffray’s briefing had saved time, though, and they were immediately able to launch into a discussion of the situation at hand. They talked about young Alroy, now king, and his ill health, and the fact that he was thus far bearing up poorly under the stress; Rhys had had to put him to bed with a sedative before coming to join the others tonight. They talked about the regents, each adding his or her observations about each man so that a unified assessment of the potential dangers from each began to take shape.

  That led them to a discussion of the roving bands of Deryni: the reason, in addition to the shakeup in the regency, that the meeting had been called. And Camber’s recitation on their encounter with the band which had harassed Manfred MacInnis’s party led to the reasons for his travel on that road in the first place, and what had happened at Ebor.

  Ebor brought discussion to a crashing halt. It took two tellings, one from Rhys and one from Camber, and a demonstration on the disbelieving and almost hostile Gregory himself, before even Gregory would accept that it had happened.

  “I just don’t see how it’s possible to take away a person’s powers,” Gregory finally muttered, still unable to articulate his sense of violation. “And not to remember that you were even in my mind, Rhys—and you and Joram, too, Alister—nothing like that has happened since I was a very small child.”

  “If it hadn’t been a life and death situation, I would never—” Rhys began.

  “Oh, I know that,” Gregory said impatiently, cutting him off. “I’m not angry that you intervened, God knows. Otherwise, I might not be here. It’s just that—damn it all, Rhys! I’ve not had the benefit of your fancy Gabrilite training, or Joram’s and Alister’s Michaeline discipline, but I’ve studied with some good men—and women,” he added, with a nod toward Evaine. “I would have sworn by all I hold holy that I could have detected a memory lapse like that. It’s—unnerving!”

  “I’m sure it is,” Rhys returned quietly. “If it’s any comfort, I think your head injury is responsible for at least part of the amnesia. Memory loss of an accident and the time surrounding it is quite common. Sometimes one eventually remembers—sometimes not. And when you add in the fact that you were sedated—” He shrugged. “What still amazes me, though, is the ease with which I was able to take away and restore your abilities, once I knew what was happening. Oh, it took energy, I grant you—no magical working is free—but no more than any other advanced Healing function. It’s a shame Dom Turstane is no longer with us. I’d like another Healer to see this, so we could compare perceptions.”

  Jaffray cocked his head thoughtfully as he ran a smooth finger along the gold set into the tabletop. “Fortunately, Turstane was not the only outside Healer to whom we have access,” the archbishop said. “Frankly, though, I doubt that even Turstane at his best could duplicate what you�
��ve apparently done.”

  “No apparently about it,” Joram commented under his breath. “Ask Gregory whether he only apparently lost his powers.”

  “All right. Concedo. I must confess to being more than a little mystified, though—and a bit frightened,” Jaffray admitted. “I thought I’d had access to every bit of esoterica that the Gabrilites had to offer—and their records are probably among the most detailed in existence in one place. Over the past seven years, Alister and Evaine have shared with me the additional wisdom of the Ancient Ones whose records Alister and Joram continue to uncover at Grecotha. None of that has prepared me for this. Being able to take away a Deryni’s powers goes against everything we believe or were ever taught.”

  “You say that with a note of almost ecclesiastical disapproval, my Lord Archbishop,” Rhys said with a tiny, wry smile. “How so? We’ve given Deryni powers, at least under carefully controlled circumstances. Why, then, should it seem so illogical that they could be taken away?”

  “That’s entirely different, and you know it,” Jaffray said reproachfully. “Giving power to a human and taking power away from a Deryni are two different things.”

  “I tend to agree,” Evaine said, not noticing the effect their words were having on Davin and Ansel and Jesse. “Giving power to Cinhil was a magical operation, based partially on Cinhil’s own unique potential. What Rhys did to Gregory was something else entirely.”

  “Was it?” Joram pursued the point. “Rhys was involved in both operations. Maybe he was responsible for our success in giving Cinhil his powers. You have to admit, he is a common factor.”

  Davin, who had been exchanging silent looks of amazement with his brother and Jesse, could no longer keep silent.

  “Just a moment, please! You mean that the three of you gave magical abilities to Cinhil?”