Deryni Checkmate

by Katherine Kurtz

  In addition, there were four of Morgan's staff

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  officers from the castle garrison, serving the dual purpose of honor guard and military advisors for the strategy sessions which were the object of the visit. It would be the job of these men, under the leadership of Lord Hamilton who brought up the rear, to command the local defenses while Morgan was away leading the royal armies in the north. As such, they were a vital link in the defense of Corwyn.

  When the last man was aboard, two crewmen in faded blue breeches and linen shirts drew in the gangplank and secured the rail on the side. Even now, a breeze was rising, the mist beginning to clear away in thin strips. Kirby began shouting orders, and lines were cast off, sails unfurled. As RhafaDia drifted away from the dock, a dozen rowers broke out their oars and began guiding her toward a patch of wind perhaps fifty yards from the quay. She cleared the last ships anchored in the vicinity of the quay and entered the wind, and her sails began to fill.

  The breeze stiffened as Rhafallia cleared the harbor mouth, and she began to pick up speed. After a few hundred yards, she came about smartly and set a course for the Orsal's island capital. If the wind held, she would arrive at the other side in less than four hours, with a steady cross wind all the way.

  As soon as the mechanics of getting under way were finished, Captain Kirby joined Morgan, Duncan, and Randolph on the afterdeck. Though Rhafallia was technically a merchant ship, she carried raised fighting platforms fore and aft. The helmsman steered the ship from the rear of the aft platform with a broad starboard steering oar, but the rest of the platform was ordinarily captain's country, used as a lounge and observation deck.

  Sailors had brought folding camp stools of finely tooled Forcinn leather up the access ladder, and the four made themselves comfortable. The sun was shining strongly now, and as they looked back toward

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  Coroth, they could see the fog still shrouding the high cliffs of the coast, yet already beginning to melt away in the spring sunlight. Hamilton, the four lieutenants, and young Richard were lounging on the main deck about amidships, and those crewmen not engaged in the actual sailing of the ship were relaxing in the narrow, indented rowing galleries which ran the length of the ship on either side, A lookout stood watch on the forward fighting platform, and another in the castle atop the mast The huge expanse of mainsail and wide jib obscured a large portion of the sky, the painted gryphon on the main fiercely surveying the entire scene.

  Kirby sighed and leaned back against the railing on the aft platform as he inspected his ship.

  "Ah, 'tis a beautiful day, just as I told you, m'lord. You really have to get out on the sea and taste the salt air to appreciate life. Can I interest you in a bit of wine to take the chill off your bones, perhaps?"

  "Only if you have Fianna wine," Morgan replied, knowing that the vintage he requested was the most expensive, and also knowing that Kirby drank nothing else.

  Kirby gave a wry grin and gestured expansively. "For you, m'lord, nothing but the best," He glanced over his right shoulder and into the starboard rowing gallery where a boy of seven or eight was whittling. "Dickon, come here a minute, lad."

  The boy looked up attentively at the sound of his name, then put away his knife and scampered to the foot of the ladder. The ship rolled slightly in the brisk wind, but the boy held onto the ladder steadily. There was a look of pure hero worship in his eyes as he looked up at Kirby.

  "Sir?"

  "Bring up some cups and a new flask of that Fianna wine, will you, son? One of the hands can help you lift it down."

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  "My squire can give him a hand," Morgan said, moving to the rail beside the captain. "Richard, would you help this lad, please? Captain Kirby has graciously consented to treat us from his private stock of Fianna wine."

  Richard looked up inquiringly from his post with the castle lieutenants and Lord Hamilton, then grinned and bowed acknowledgement. As Dickon turned on his heel and clambered down another ladder and into the hold, Richard glanced after him rather incredulously. He seemed somewhat taken aback at the boy's agility, for Richard himself did not profess to be a sailor, but he followed obediently, if a bit more gingerly.

  Kirby watched the two disappear below decks and smiled. "My son," he stated proudly.

  There was nothing Morgan could add to that.

  Toward the bow, one of the crew had watched the preceding exchange with interest. His name was Andrew, auxiliary helmsman aboard the Rhafallia. And now he turned back to glower over the rail, squinting intently into the mist far ahead which shrouded the Hortic coast.

  He would never reach those foam-drenched shores, he knew. Nor would he ever see his native Fianna again—that same Fianna whence came the wine which had just been the topic of discussion on the afterdeck. But he was resigned to that. It was small enough price to pay for the deed he was about to do. He had been ready for a long time.

  He stood without moving for several minutes, then reached casually into his bleached homespun shirt and removed a small, crumpled scrap of cloth. Glancing around to be sure he was not being observed, he unfolded the cloth and cupped it in his hand, mouthing the syllables as he reread the words for the fifth or sixth time.

  " The Gryphon sails with the tide in the morning.

  He must not reach his destination. Death to all Deryni/'"

  Below was an "R", and the sketchy emblem of a falcon.

  Andrew glanced over his shoulder at th'e afterdeck, then turned back to face the sea. The message had arrived last night as the sun was sinking behind the misty mountains. As they had planned so long ago, the time at last had come when Morgan would sail again aboard his flagship KJiafallia—and meet his destiny. It would not be a pleasant death—not that for the Lord Alaric. But death it would be, and soon.

  He pressed his right hand against his chest and felt the reassuring pressure of the vial on the cord around his neck. He would not shrink from his duty. THough his own death was certain, he had sworn the oath of the Sons -of Heaven and he would keep it. Besides, Warin himself had promised that the end would not be painful. And Andrew would be richly rewarded in the Hereafter for killing the hated Deryni duke.

  What matter if, in killing Morgan, he must take his own life? There could be no escape from the ship, even if he succeeded. And if he failed—well, he had heard what the Deryni could do to a man: how they could twist his mind, force him to open his soul to the powers of evil, even betray the Cause.

  No, far better to drink the faithful poison and then strike down the Deryni. What price life if a man's soul be damned?

  With a decisive gesture, Andrew crumpled the scrap of cloth in his hand and let it fall to the water below. He watched until it was lost from sight, then reached inside his shirt again and withdrew the tiny poison vial.

  The elixir was very potent, Warin had told him. A few drops on the blade of his dagger, a small scratch on unprotected hands or face, and all the magic and mail in the world would not save the traitor Morgan.

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  He worried the stopper out of the vial, glancing around surreptitiously to be sure no one was watching, then let a few drops trickle down the blade stuck through his leather belt.

  There. Let the Deryni defeat that, he thought to himself. For, as I live and breathe, his blood will spill today. And with it spills his life/

  He recorked the vial and hid it in his hand, then turned and strolled casually toward the aft fighting platform to relieve at the helm. As he climbed the ladder and slipped past Morgan and the others to take the tiller, he tried to avoid looking at Morgan, as though a mere glance from the sorcerer might fathom his intent and foil the coming deed. His move was hardly noticed, for at that moment Richard and the cabin boy returned with worn wooden cups and a flask of wine. The fl
ask, Andrew noted bitterly, still bore the Fianna seal of quality.

  "That's a good lad," Kirby smiled, taking the flask and pouring all around after he broke the seal. "M'lord, you invariably have good taste in wine."

  "I only follow your lead, Henry," Morgan smiled. He took a long draught. "After all, if I had no captains like you to import it, I'd never know such heaven on earth existed. An excellent year. But then, they all are." He sighed and stretched his legs in front of him, and the sun gleamed on his mail and his golden hair. He took the gold coronet from his head and laid it casually on the deck beside his stool.

  Andrew took advantage of the activity to work the stopper out of the vial again with his thumb, then lifted it to his lips under the pretext of covering a yawn. The yawn quickly assumed the appearance of a cough as the liquid burned down his throat, and Andrew was hard pressed to cover his extreme discomfort. Kirby looked at him strangely, then returned his attention to his conversation. Andrew swal-

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  lowed again with difficulty, but managed at last to regain his composure.

  Hell's demons/ Andrew thought as he wiped his streaming eyes, Warin hadn't warned him it wduld taste like that! He had almost given the whole plan away. He would have to act quickly now.

  Straightening, he studied the configuration of men on the platform. Morgan was sitting on a stool about right feet away, his back toward the helm. Kirby stood to his left and a few feet farther away, facing slightly sideways. The priest, Master Randolph, and the squire Richard were grouped to Morgan's right, also seated, and all were much more interested in the slowly emerging land to the east than in the movements of the ship's helmsman.

  Andrew's lip curled in a sardonic smile as his hand crept to the hilt of his long dagger, and he carefully chose his target—the unprotected back of Morgan's head. Then, abandoning the tiller, he drew his knife and leaped toward his intended victim.

  The outcome was not as anyone had planned. As Andrew leaped, young Richard FitzWilliam turned and caught the movement. In that fatal instant before Andrew could reach his target, Richard simultaneously shouted and launched himself between the two, throwing Morgan from his seat and sending leather stools flying. The ship lurched as it came around into the wind, throwing Andrew off balance and preventing him from stopping in time.

  Even as Duncan and Kirby were leaping to disarm and subdue him, Andrew crashed into Richard and Morgan, his momentum carrying all three to the deck in a heap. Morgan ended up on the bottom of that heap, with Richard in his arms and a terrified Andrew on top of that.

  He had failed!

  Duncan and Kirby grabbed Andrew by the arms and wrenched him away as Hamilton and the four

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  lieutenants swarmed up the access ladder to aid in the capture. Once Kirby saw that the man was in custody, he scrambled to the tiller and steered the ship back on course, shouting urgently for another seaman to come and take the helm. Randolph, who had pulled the boy Dickon to safety at the outset of the attack, watched half in a daze as Morgan struggled to a sitting position, fighting for wind and incredulously shifting Richard in His lap.

  "Richard?" Morgan gasped, shaking the young man's shoulder urgently. The youth was a dead weight in Morgan's arms, and the duke's eyes went wide as he saw the dagger protruding from deep in Richard's side.

  "Randolph, come here! He's hurt!"

  Randolph was instantly at his side, kneeling to inspect the wound, and Richard moaned and opened his eyes with great effort. His face had an ashen, cyanic tinge to it, and he grimaced with pain as the physician touched the dagger. Duncan made certain his prisoner was secure, then hurriedly joined Randolph at the wounded man's side.

  "I—I stopped him, m'lord," Richard gasped weakly, looking up at Morgan with trusting eyes. "He was going to kill ye.

  "You did well," Morgan murmured, smoothing the youth's dark hair off his forehead and reading the agony etched there. "How is he, Ran?"

  Randolph shook his head bitterly. "I tHink he's poisoned, m'lord. Even if the wound were not so critical, I—" He bowed his head in defeat. "I'm sorry, m'lord."

  "Your Grace," Richard whispered, "may I ask a boon?"

  "Whatever is in my power, Richard," Morgan said gently.

  "Would—would ye tell my father I fell in your service, as your liege man? He—" Richard had to

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  cough, and the movement sent anotKer wave of pain wracking through his body. "He hoped I would be a knight some day," he finished weakly.

  Morgan nodded, biting his tip and trying to keep his vision from bluring.

  "Let me say the words, then, m'lord," Richard whispered, taking Morgan's hand and gripping it fiercely. "I, Richard FitzWilliam, do become your liege man of life and limb and of earthly worship." His eyes opened wider and his voice steadied as he continued. "And faith and truth I will bear unto you, to live and die, against all manner of folk," he grimaced in pain, his eyes squeezing shut, "so help me, God...."

  His voice trailed off with the end of the oath and his grip relaxed. The last breath" died slowly. With a convulsive shudder Morgan held the dead youth to his chest for a moment, his eyes closed in sorrow. Beside him, he could hear Duncan murmuring the words of absolution.

  He looked up at Kirby*s drawn face, at his lieutenants holding the prisoner, at the prisoner himself, and his eyes went steely grey. Not taking his eyes from the man who stood there glaring down so defiantly, he gently lowered Richard to the deck and got to his feet. There was an overturned stool between him and the prisoner, and he forced himself to right it and set it carefully in place before moving closer to the man. His hands clenched and unclenched several times as he stood looking at the man, and he had to restrain the urge to smash the sneering face with" his fist.

  "Why?" he said in a low voice, not trusting himself to say any more at this point.

  "Because you're Deryni, and all Deryni must diel" the man spat, his eyes flashing with a fanatic fire. "The Devil take you, you'll not escape next time! And there will be a next time, I guarantee it!"

  Morgan stared at the man for a long moment, not

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  saying a word, and the man at last swallowed and dropped his gaze.

  "Is that all you have to say?" Morgan said quietly, his eyes dark and dangerous.

  The man looked up at him again, and a strange expression came across his face.

  "You can't hurt me, Morgan," he said in a steady voice. "I tried to kill you and I'm glad. I'd do it again if I had the chance."

  "What chance did Richard have?" Morgan said icily, watching as the man's eyes flicked nervously to the body lying behind him.

  "He consorted wjth a Deryni," the man snapped. "He deserved what he got."

  "The Devil take you, he deserved no such thing!" Morgan cursed, grabbing the front of the man's shirt and jerking his head to within inches of his own. "Who sent you to do this?"

  The man grimaced with pain and shook his head, then smiled weakly. "It's no good, Morgan. I'm not telling you anything. I know I'm a dead man."

  "You're not dead yet!" Morgan murmured through clenched teeth, giving the man's collar a slight twist. "Now who sent you? Who's behind this?"

  As Morgan turned his Deryni gaze on the man, intending to Truth-Read, Andrew's blue eyes widened and a look of stark terror replaced the belligerence.

  "Not my soul, you Deryni bastard!" the man croaked, wrenching his gaze from Morgan's and closing his eyes tightly. "Leave me alone!"

  A shudder wracked through his body as he fought Morgan's power and he moaned in agony as he struggled to escape. Then he relaxed and slumped in the arms of his captors, head lolling loosely. Morgan made one last effort to probe his mind as he slipped away, but it was no use. The man was dead. Releasing the shirt, Morgan motioned for Randolph.

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  "Well," Morgan said, turnin
g away in disgust, "did I kill him, or did he scare himself to death, or what?"

  Randolph inspected the body the lieutenants lowered to the deck, then pried open the man's left hand. He took the vial and sniffed it, then stood up and held it out to Morgan.

  "Poison, m'lord. Probably the same that was on the knife. He must have realized there was no hope of escape even if he'd succeeded in killing you."

  Morgan glanced down at one of the lieutenants who was searching the body. "Anything?"

  "Sorry, m'lord. Nothing."

  Morgan looked down at the body for a moment, then prodded it with his toe. "Get rid of that," he said finally. "And take care of Richard. He'll be buried in Coroth with full honors, as my liege man."

  "Yes, m'lord," A lieutenant said, taking off his green cloak and spreading it over the fallen squire.

  Morgan turned away and walked to the rail, as far as possible from the two bodies, frowned as a splash told him there were no longer two. Duncan joined him and leaned against the rail to his left. He watched his cousin for a long moment before breaking the silence.

  " 'All Deryni must die!'" Duncan quoted softly. "Shades of the Inquisition. Does it remind you of anything else?"

  Morgan nodded. "The songs they've been singing in the streets. Ran's reports from the banquet about the border raids. It adds up to one thing: this Warin affair is getting out of hand."

  "That was a dedicated man standing there fust now," Duncan observed. "This Warin fellow must have a great deal of charisma. I wonder what he told that sailor to make him take his own life for the cause?"

  Morgan snorted. "It's not hard to imagine. 'By killing the Deryni monster, you aid all of humankind. There will be rewards for you in the Hereafter. Only

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  through death can you escape the wrath of the Deryni, prevent him from defiling your immortal soul!'"

  "Powerful persuasion for the common man, where superstition already runs rampant," Duncan commented. "And I'm afraid we're going to see a lot more of it, if and when the Interdict falls. It will bring all of this out in the open. This is only a taste."