What he discovered was startling. Though the man’s memories were, of necessity, focused on his own survival and defending the king, he had also been witness to something that clearly was magical in nature, once the king faced Hogan Gwernach in single combat. And it had not been the mere clash of conventional weapons that finally had won the day for Brion Haldane.
It has finally happened, he told Stefan Coram later that night, by means of a magical link to his Camberian Council colleague, with instructions to convey the information to the rest of the Council; he felt the news too important to wait for the chance to attend in person. We have long suspected that Donal must have made some provision for his son to assume his powers, and that Alaric Morgan was probably involved. This seems to confirm that suspicion.
But Brion will not discuss it? Stefan asked.
He will not. And he was savvy enough to set compulsions in the minds of the witnesses, so that they cannot talk about it. I daren’t press him, for fear that he now has the ability to discover what I am. And Alaric and Nigel are likewise off-limits—Alaric, because we know he’s half-Deryni, and Nigel because we just don’t know what abilities he might have, as a Haldane heir.
Nor was Jamyl able to press the king by more conventional persuasion, because the next morning Brion announced his determination to continue on with only his squire, as had been his original intention.
“Nothing that happened here changes my travel plans,” the king told Jamyl and his brother over a meager breakfast the next morning. “I still intend to make my way back to Rhemuth on my own. I need some time alone. I’ve told Alaric that we’ll go by way of Lendour, and stop at Cynfyn before we head west toward home,” he added, with a glance at Alaric, who was packing up their saddlebags in preparation for departure, listening but saying nothing. “It’s been a while since I was there. I’d like to see how his regents are looking after things, and thank them for their assistance in bringing Xenia home.”
Neither Jamyl nor Llion nor Nigel could dissuade him from his plan, or persuade him to take along additional guards.
“But I will take along Llion, if that will make you feel better,” the king told them. “It’s probably good to have another sword along. But we’ll be safe enough in Lendour. And Alaric’s Lendour folk need to see him in my company, and be aware what a fine young man he’s becoming.”
In the end, with further badgering from Jiri and Lord Lester as well, he did agree to take along a pair of lancers from Jamyl’s contingent: fresh warriors, who also had not witnessed the battle at Rustan. It somewhat mollified both the older men, who had no choice but to take the rest of the men back to Rhemuth, along with Jamyl, Nigel, and Saer.
“But don’t delay over-long,” Jiri said. “You have a queen who requires your attention. And not to put too fine a point on it, but you need an heir of your body.”
“Believe me, I am well aware of that,” the king replied, smiling. “And I intend to continue working on that as soon as I return.”
• • •
THEY rode away from the dismantling campsite in good spirits, Alaric and Llion to either side of the king and with the two lancers following behind. They traveled in silence at first, for the king had made it clear that he had much to think about following his defeat of the Marluk, but the five of them soon fell into an easy camaraderie, as they headed farther south. Alaric, too, welcomed the time to ponder what had happened, and the men he had killed.
For several days they traveled through the rolling plains of central Lendour, observing the crops nearing harvest, availing themselves of local hospitality, finally striking west toward the Lendouri capital. Half a day out, with the king’s permission, Alaric sent one of the lancers ahead to advise of their approach.
Even with so scant a warning, a sizeable welcome escort turned out to greet them: most of his Lendour regents, led by Jovett Chandos and his father. Zoë was waiting with her three children and Jovett’s mother when they entered the castle yard, all of them overjoyed to see him again, so soon. Zoë could hardly believe how much he had grown in a year.
“You are very nearly a man!” she exclaimed, as she drew him into a happy embrace. “But of course, you are nearly of age. Your mother would be so proud!”
“I hope so,” he said, briefly allowing himself the luxury of her affection. He wondered, though, if his mother would have been proud to learn that her little boy had become a killer. It had been in defense of the king, but he still tried not to think too much about that; it was what knights did, though killing was not meant to be pleasant.
“I see that my cousins are following in my footsteps,” he added, noting the new Lendour pages’ livery on the two boys, Kailan and Charlan, who now were ten and nine. “When did this happen?”
“At Twelfth Night,” Zoë replied. “Kailan could have started last year, but he wanted to wait so that he and his brother could begin their training together.”
Alaric smiled. “They’re fortunate to have one another. It’s always good to have a partner to train with. When they’re a bit older, perhaps we can arrange for them to spend some time at Rhemuth, or even at Coroth.”
“I’m sure they would like that,” Zoë replied, “though I should miss them terribly. What brings you here again so quickly? Are you here for long?”
“Only a day or two, I’m afraid,” Alaric replied, glancing back to the king, who was busily greeting Alaric’s regents. “We’ve just come from some—delicate military maneuvers up in Eastmarch. He’ll tell you what he wants you to know, over dinner.”
“That sounds ominous,” Zoë said. She paused to stroke the hair of her youngest, the six-year-old Alyce Maria, who had come over to see her illustrious cousin. “Can you say hello to your cousin Alaric, love? He’s grown so much, I wonder that you even know him.”
At dinner that night, the king had little to say about their recent campaign other than to remark that a traitor had been executed and a would-be usurper defeated, but it soon became clear that the king had a purpose in coming to the Lendouri capital, besides just a social one. Sitting at the head of the table with Alaric at his right hand and Jovett at his left, he rose when supper had been mostly completed and called the room to order with a rap of his knuckles on the table, then came around to stand before the table, looking up the hall at the two long tables set along the walls, filled with Lendour retainers and their wives. Llion had risen at a nod from the king, and briefly disappeared from the room, to return with something wrapped in fine wool, several handspans across and a handspan thick.
“My lords and ladies,” the king said, “if you would indulge a visitor to your hall, I should like to share an item of personal business with all of you tonight. Lord Alaric, would you please attend me?”
Puzzled, Alaric rose and moved to obey, also coming around in front of the table. When he exchanged a questioning glance with Llion, the young knight only smiled and shook his head slightly.
“As many of you will have gathered,” the king continued, “I have been extremely well pleased with the progress of your young lord, as he grows toward manhood. I prefer not to dwell on details of our most recent campaign in the north, but I know you are well aware how he offered the services of many in this room to assist in the mission last summer, to bring home the remains of my sister and her child. Though he technically serves me as squire, his service has been far beyond what I normally would expect of one so young.
“Accordingly,” he set one hand on Alaric’s shoulder, “though he yet lacks a few months before he attains his legal majority, I have decided to confirm him as your earl tonight, before you all.” Alaric’s jaw dropped, and a ripple of pleased surprise murmured among those present. “He will still return with me to Rhemuth as my squire, for he yet has lessons to learn before he is ready for knighthood and the full exercise of his rank as earl, but I have no doubt that he will continue to impress us all. Here in Cynfyn, I feel confident
that his regents will continue to see to the welfare of Lendour as they have hitherto.”
As Alaric listened in astonishment, and the throng gathered in the hall broke out in cheers and whistles of approval, Llion folded back layers from the bundle of fabric in his arms to reveal the silver coronet that Kenneth Morgan had worn as earl.
“I believe it’s appropriate to kneel now,” the king said aside to Alaric, lifting the coronet to display it to the watching Lendour folk.
Speechless, Alaric sank to one knee and briefly bowed his head before the king, then looked up.
“Alaric Anthony Morgan,” the king said, “I declare you of legal age in Lendour and confirm you in your rank as earl, by right of your father and of your mother.” He set the coronet on Alaric’s head, then rested both his hands on the boy’s shoulders. “Frankly, I would also confirm you for Corwyn, if I dared, but I fear my great lords would have apoplexy if I gave them a fourteen-year-old duke. So that will have to wait until you reach the age of eighteen, and can be knighted. You already have your father’s signet, I believe?”
Alaric nodded, pulling it from under his tunic. He wore it on the chain with his St. Camber medal, but he let the king remove it, then quietly tucked the chain and medal back inside his clothing.
After briefly displaying the gold signet to the watching crowd, the king slid the ring onto Alaric’s left forefinger. “Wear this ring as a token of the fidelity you have pledged to me, and a symbol of your authority. Arise, Earl of Lendour.”
After the excitement had abated a little, Alaric took his place at the head of the hall, his liege lord at his side, and formally received the fealty of his vassals in Lendour. He then confirmed his new councilors of state, formerly his regents. He knew little would change in the immediate future, as he prepared to return to Rhemuth with the king, but it was heartening to have received this recognition of his growing maturity.
• • •
THEY left two days later, and were back in Rhemuth by the end of July, having taken their time on the return journey. They sent no riders ahead on the day they approached Rhemuth’s eastern gate, but entered unchallenged to wind their way past the cathedral square and up the processional road that led to the castle.
The guards at the gatehouse scrambled to attention as they realized it was the king, one of them sending a man running ahead to alert those at the hall. A hastily assembled guard of honor was waiting as they rode into the yard, and anxious squires came running to take their horses, Saer de Traherne among them. Duke Richard and Prince Nigel were waiting on the stairs, Richard with his hands on his hips.
“I hope,” said the duke to his royal nephew, “that you are very satisfied with yourself. We expected you several weeks ago.”
“As a matter of fact, I am satisfied,” Brion retorted, as he swung down from his horse. “Come inside, Uncle, and I’ll tell you all about it.”
As Alaric, too, dismounted, he found himself wondering whether the king intended to tell his uncle all about what had happened during his absence from the capital. But as he and Llion followed the three Haldanes up the great hall steps and into the hall, and the royal pair headed on into the withdrawing room, it became clear that this was to be a private conversation.
But apparently not a bitter one, for the three men seemed amiable and content when they appeared at table that night in the great hall. Jehana, happily reunited with her handsome young husband, was glowing. Princess Silke, attended by a petite, dark-haired girl Alaric did not recognize, likewise looked contented enough, as did the queen dowager. Alaric, for his part, was not summoned to table service that evening, and was glad to be excused early to go to bed.
But the usual routine resumed the next morning, with weapons drill in the practice yard, and sparring with blunted steel, then a ride-out at midday. After the rigors of the field, and the miles they had covered in the preceding two months, Alaric easily performed as he was asked. Duke Richard observed him closely for several days, then drew him aside after himself putting Alaric through a live steel drill.
“You’ve changed,” he said, removing his practice helm and accepting a towel from the page assigned to attend the squires and instructors. “Walk with me.”
Alaric took a towel of his own and mopped at his sweaty face as he fell in beside the duke.
“I understand that you killed a man or two at Rustan,” Richard said, glancing at him sidelong.
“I did, sir,” Alaric said. “They were trying to kill me.”
“As good a reason as I’ve ever heard,” Richard replied. “No qualms, then?”
“No, sir.”
“Good. And I must say that I was happy to hear that my nephew went ahead and declared you of age. Your performance of late entirely merits it. And it was the right thing to do it in front of your people. Though I must confess, I was somewhat concerned that he just went haring off without telling anyone where he was going.”
“We did tell Sir Jiri and Sir Jamyl and Prince Nigel, sir. They knew we were returning by way of Lendour.”
“But to go with just Llion and the two lancers,” Richard replied. “Anything might have happened. It will be your job to help him keep out of trouble, lad.”
Alaric managed to suppress most of a dubious snort. “Do you think I could stop him, sir, if he really wanted to do something?”
“Probably not,” Richard conceded. “At least not yet. But you will have to try. And you are Deryni.”
“I—don’t think that either of us would be happy if I used my powers to do that, sir.”
“No, probably not.” He grimaced. “Well, just do your best.”
Chapter 48
“And every man that strives for the mastery is temperate in all things . . .”
—I CORINTHIANS 9:25
THE king’s order not to speak of the events at Rustan was not universally obeyed. Jamyl continued to ferret out the truth, by questioning several eyewitnesses; and it can be assumed that at least a few others present had enough ability, from long-suppressed Deryni bloodlines, to resist the order and begin speculating.
The real trouble began when rumors regarding the magical nature of the king’s confrontation with the Marluk began to reach the new queen. Queen Jehana’s confrontation with the king, behind closed doors, would reverberate throughout the royal household and, indeed, the court.
“Stay in your quarters,” Llion told Alaric, when the row first began.
“But—”
“The queen has learned of the magic the king used to defeat the Marluk,” Llion said. “She knows that you were involved.”
“But, no one was supposed to—”
“Someone has been talking,” Llion said sharply. “Did he really think that no one would speak? There were scores of men who saw what went on.”
Alaric swallowed hard and averted his gaze. “I had nothing to do with that part. I only helped the king awaken his power.”
“That isn’t the way the queen sees it.”
“Is she—terribly angry with me?”
“Livid would be a better description. I heard things being thrown.”
And matters got worse the next morning. Alaric slept but little that night, but was awakened early by the sound of horsemen assembling in the castle yard: most of Queen Jehana’s Bremagni guards, mounted and armed, ready to ride.
And then, the spectacle of the queen herself, hurrying through the great hall in the midst of additional guards, dressed for travel all in black, with three of her ladies, her chaplain, her two religious sisters, and even Princess Silke among them. They halted for nothing as they made their way to the yard, even though the king and his uncle came hurrying after, much under-slept, to remonstrate with the still distraught Jehana.
“And where do you think you’re going?” Brion demanded, though he did not try to lay hands on her. Her guards were well armed and armored, and
looked to be in no mood to allow any interference with their royal mistress. “Jehana, you are a queen! You have duties and responsibilities. You cannot just go riding off into the countryside!”
“I need time to think!” she retorted. “I intend to seek sanctuary in a house of religion. Do not try to stop me! I will send word when I am ready to talk to you!”
“Let her go,” Duke Richard said quietly, laying a staying hand on his nephew’s shoulder. “She has ample men. She will be safe enough in a convent, and will come to her senses soon enough.”
“Jehana!” the king cried after her. “Would you rather the Marluk had killed me? Try to understand!”
But the queen would not listen, and let herself be mounted on a swift palfrey and swept away in the midst of her men and household. Brion watched them go, then summoned Jamyl and Jiri with a stormy glance.
“Go after her. Take a squadron of lancers. Do not try to stop her, but report back to me as to where she has gone. My uncle is right. Perhaps she needs time to consider her anger.”
• • •
THE king bided his time in the days and weeks that followed, moody and short-tempered. The old queen had taken to her chambers, emerging most nights to preside at table with the king, but disinclined to discuss the new queen’s absence. From time to time, one of the lancers sent to follow Jehana returned to report her progress, heading east and then north, but thus far she had not taken refuge with any known religious house.
For his part, Alaric kept his head down and tried to avoid private converse with the king, for he felt responsible for the queen’s absence. He kept to himself, save for required training, said little even to Llion, and took his frustrations out on his opponents at weapons practice. This behavior soon caught the notice of Prince Nigel.
“It isn’t your fault, you know,” the prince said after a particularly aggressive match in which Alaric had actually disarmed him.
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