Childe Morgan cm-2

by Katherine Kurtz

  He made his way up to the library corridor and knocked on Michon’s door, at the same time probing beyond the door with his mind. Within seconds he heard the latch lift as Michon opened the door and admitted him.

  «What’s happened?» Michon asked, as he closed the door again, for Seisyll’s expression was deathly somber.

  «I’ll assume you haven’t yet heard that Nimur of Torenth is dead — the son, not the father».

  «What?» It was not really a question, but Seisyll held out his hand and, when Michon took it, gave the answer his colleague was really seeking, reiterating in an instant the revelations of the meeting he had just left. Michon briefly closed his eyes as he assimilated the information, then shook his head and sighed in resignation.

  «He’s gone and killed himself attempting forbidden spells», he whispered. «I shall be very surprised if that is not the case. And Torval — something obviously has happened to him as well. Oh, Camille, Camille, what have you wrought?»

  He drew himself up with another heavy sigh, then briskly drew Seisyll onto the Portal square in the center of the room, a hand slipping up to clasp the back of Seisyll’s neck. Without need for prompting, Seisyll lowered his shields and yielded control, only vaguely aware as the other quickly gathered up the strands of energy surrounding them and reached out for the signature of their destination. Between one heartbeat and the next, they had bridged the two locations and were standing on the Portal square outside the Camberian Council chambers.

  «I’ll ask you to summon the Council», Michon said, nudging Seisyll in the direction of the great double doors. «It has occurred to me that Rhanamé should know if Prince Nimur really is dead, and perhaps some of the circumstances. I’ll return as soon as I can».

  Seisyll turned to give a nod of agreement. «Very well. It is also possible that Khoren knows something, or can quickly find out. I’ll ask him, and brief the others while you’re gone».

  «Excellent». In the next breath, Michon had disappeared — and reappeared standing in the dimness of a trapped Portal at the great university of Rhanamé, on the river that marked the border between Nur Hallaj and the Kingdom of R’Kassi. It was very near where he and Oisín had traveled the previous summer to find a royal mount for Prince Brion, and in fact, both he and Oisín had paid their respects then in the school’s great chapel.

  The red-robed man seated at the writing desk just opposite the Portal rose as the newcomer appeared on the Portal’s base, slowly and deliberately setting aside an elegant swan-feather quill. Michon could feel the faint brush of his shields being subtly probed, but he did not resist, only showing his empty hands to either side and then tracing a pattern known only to initiates of the inner school at Rhanamé.

  «Michon de Courcy», he said quietly, identifying himself. «I should like to speak with Master Isaiya, if he is available. It is a matter of some urgency».

  With a nod of permission granted, the man beckoned Michon forward, across the Portal boundaries, which Michon could not have passed without leave. It was a more subtle trap than many, that protected the semipublic Portal at Rhanamé, but no less powerful for being less obvious.

  Even as Michon complied, a door opened into the room to reveal another red-robed man framed in the doorway, shorter than the first. The man bowed deeply from the waist, hands crossed on his breast, then indicated that Michon should follow.

  Michon knew the corridor down which he was led, and followed obediently to a familiar door, where his guide set a splayed hand flat on a symbol in the center of the door, then pushed it open and stood aside. The man inside, who came slowly to his feet, was small and slender, with skin like polished mahogany and white, tightly curled hair cropped close to his head, as was his closely trimmed beard. The eyes were a rich chocolate brown in which Michon knew he could easily sink, looking out at him with the wisdom accumulated in nearly a century of study and contemplation.

  «Dear Michon», the man said, holding out both his hands to his visitor, eyes smiling as well as lips. «Allow me to guess the reason for your late-night visit. You have come about Prince Nimur».

  Inclining his head both in agreement and respect, Michon came to take the two slender hands in his and kiss them, looking up then into the brown eyes.

  «Is it true?» he asked quietly.

  «Yes, it is. Please, sit», the man replied, at the same time signing for Michon’s guide to leave them.

  Michon did as he was told, settling into a high-backed chair with broad arms, similar to the one in which Master Isaiya now resumed his seat, but he knew it was not his place to speak further, until the master proceeded.

  «News only reached us yesterday», Isaiya said, «but I suspected that it would soon bring you here as well. I am aware that you were concerned about the direction Prince Nimur’s experiments were taking him. I regret I must confirm that your fears for his safety were well-founded».

  «May I ask what happened?» Michon asked, when the master did not immediately continue.

  «I do not have details of the experiment itself, or what went wrong», the old man replied. «Perhaps we shall never know — nor would wish to — for Prince Torval witnessed it, or perhaps even assisted his brother, and went quite mad. I do not have specific details of that, either, but sufficient to say that the masters in Beldour felt it a serious enough affliction that they barred him from the succession, permanently. The Patriarch came in person to seek our guidance, and reluctantly accepted that this was the wisest course for all concerned».

  Michon had visibly recoiled at this revelation, and lifted a hand in apology for his lapse, but Isaiya only nodded his understanding.

  «Perhaps you will have heard that the third brother, Károly, now is the Torenthi heir», the master went on. «Quite candidly, I am not certain such will prove beneficial for Torenth, for Károly has had no preparation for this new role thrust upon him. The next brother, Wencit, perhaps is the more accomplished of the remaining Furstán males, so far as power is concerned, but I have heard misgivings expressed about his scruples. But perhaps Károly will surprise us all, if he has time and the will to augment his training. His father could have another twenty years of vigorous good health. The same probably cannot be said of your king». He cocked his head. «But that is not something he will wish to hear, I think».

  Michon had steepled his fingers as Isaiya spoke, elbows braced against the arms of his chair and thumbs resting taut against his breastbone, but now he briefly bowed his head over his joined forefingers, briefly rubbing them against tight-clenched lips.

  «The relative ages of both crown princes have been noted already in Rhemuth», he said. «If both their fathers live another twenty years, or even another decade, the two heirs will be somewhat evenly matched. But what concerns me far more at the moment is the incident that claimed Prince Nimur’s life. You are aware, I expect, that he was receiving training from Camille Furstána?»

  «So I have been told», Isaiya said neutrally.

  «What you may not have been told is that she has also been training a young Cardosan mage called Zachris Pomeroy».

  «I have heard the name», Isaiya allowed.

  «He, in turn, has been putting ideas into the head of Prince Hogan».

  «Ah, the current Festillic Pretender to the throne of Gwynedd».

  «You see the reason for my concern», Michon said.

  «I do, indeed. And you intend to do…what?»

  Michon sighed, wearily lowering his hands to both chair arms. «I haven’t yet decided. I very much doubt that Hogan will make any move against Gwynedd while Donal is alive; he is in his vigorous prime, and has only to wait, in hope that Prince Brion will succeed while still a minor. If that occurs, I very much fear the outcome».

  «Has Donal made provision for securing his son’s magic?» Isaiya asked.

  «Unknown», Michon replied. «There was to be a Deryni protector for the prince, who presumably would have been instructed in how to bring him to his father’s power at the appoint
ed time; you may have heard how Donal Haldane fathered a son on the daughter of Lewys ap Norfal, intending that the boy should be groomed to serve as Prince Brion’s Deryni companion and mentor». At Isaiya’s nod, Michon went on.

  «Unfortunately for Donal’s hopes, the boy was killed a few years ago — a dreadful affair that may have reached your ears, and apparently done, at least in part, because he was known to be Deryni, though no one was aware of his true paternity. I had hoped the mother might be entrusted with the appropriate knowledge, in case her son did not survive to accomplish his mission; but she, too, is dead».

  Michon’s old teacher was shaking his head, tsk-tsking over the waste of it all, but listened attentively as Michon continued.

  «There is more. The king is nothing if not audacious. He had planned to attempt getting another such child on the Heiress de Corwyn, who is now the wife of Sir Kenneth Morgan, who last year was created Earl of Lendour for life, de jure uxoris. It is not entirely certain how Donal was thwarted in his plan, but Alyce de Corwyn did bear a half-breed son by her husband. Fortunately, Sir Kenneth is an honorable man, and utterly devoted to the king’s service».

  «And the king?» Isaiya murmured.

  «He seems unconcerned», Michon replied. «Despite this alteration of his plan, he dotes on the boy, who is being brought up in the company of the royal princes. But the boy, called Alaric, was only three in September. It will be some time before he is old enough for us to determine how powerful a half-breed Deryni might be, if he can even learn to wield sufficient power to be useful».

  «A complex and perplexing situation», Isaiya allowed, himself now gazing at Michon over interlaced fingers. «What do you propose to do?»

  «What can I do?» Michon replied. «For now, I had simply come to find out more about Prince Nimur’s passing — and to throw myself on the mercy of my old master, in hopes that he might have further wisdom to impart».

  Isaiya’s hands parted in a gesture of helplessness. «I have told you what I know, my son. I was not aware of the involvement of Zachris Pomeroy, or that he was encouraging Prince Hogan — though I shall certainly see what I may learn concerning them».

  * * *

  After leaving Master Isaiya’s quarters at Rhanamé, Michon reported back to his colleagues in the Camberian Council, sharing the intelligence he had gleaned. By then, Seisyll Arilan had gathered all five of the others around the eight-sided ivory table, where Prince Khoren Vastouni had only been able to confirm what Seisyll had already learned in the king’s presence.

  «My informant was present in Hagia Job when Prince Károly was invested as the new heir», he had informed them, «but I learned nothing further of substance. Prince Nimur’s burial had been private, several weeks before, and no cause of death was given. Nor was anything said of the reason for Prince Torval’s removal from the succession».

  But Michon’s new information made the reason far clearer.

  «Driven mad», Barrett murmured, briefly closing his emerald eyes. «Far better to perish, I think. What he must have seen…»

  «Best not to speculate», Vivienne said sharply.

  Rhydon Sasillion, now fully installed in the chair recently vacated by Dominy de Laney, looked white-faced and stunned, for he had claimed acquaintance with one of the men who presumably had encouraged Prince Nimur to his fatal experiment. Oisín Adair was shaking his head in bewilderment.

  «What can we do?» the latter asked, voicing the question in all of their minds.

  Seisyll shrugged. «Do what we have always done: watch and learn, and try to make sense of it all, and perhaps even make a difference in isolated situations. It is far less than we would prefer, but it is better than if we did nothing».

  Above their heads, snow was piled thick upon the amethyst dome that normally lit the room, at least in daylight. Michon scowled as he glanced up at it. The chamber was cold and damp in this season.

  «Back to Rhemuth, then, for Seisyll and me — though methinks that Twelfth Night Court tomorrow will be much diminished by the inclement weather. At least we need not venture out in it to return».

  Khoren gave a nod, rising in his place. «It may well be that some Torenthi ambassador will show up at my brother’s court with further news — or in Rhemuth, for yours», he said. «Shall we agree to meet again tomorrow night, as we have tonight?»

  With universal agreement, the seven began moving to the doors from the room, and the Portal beyond, that would send them back to their respective homes.

  Chapter 14

  «As an earring of gold, and an ornament of fine gold».[15]

  As expected, remnants of the first great storm of the New Year continued to affect the customary fixtures surrounding Twelfth Night Court. The king’s traditional public petitioners’ court, already rescheduled from St. Stephen’s Day, was moved into the cathedral itself, directly after the Mass of the Epiphany, both of which events were sparsely attended because of the weather.

  The business of Twelfth Night Court began several hours late as a result, also notably less attended than usual. The seven-year-old Prince Nigel was among the new pages received that afternoon, afterward standing proudly beside his elder brother in their father’s crimson livery, obviously struggling to contain an elated grin. Two older pages were promoted to squire, changing their simple pages’ tabards for crimson livery tunics bearing the king’s cipher and buckling on the blued-steel spurs that marked this rite of passage.

  After that, three senior squires came forward with their sponsors, in turn, to receive the accolade of knighthood. The second of the three was a distant cousin of Michon de Courcy, sent by his father for the greater prestige that would accrue from being knighted at Twelfth Night Court rather than in a distant baronial court. It was Michon who presented young Estèphe de Courcy, a younger brother carrying the sword and spurs; and it was Michon to whom the king gave the privilege of actually conferring the accolade. As the new Sir Estèphe proudly rose to be girded with the white belt of his knighthood, then knelt again to place his hands between those of the king and offer his fealty, Seisyll Arilan took satisfaction in the knowledge that Estèphe, like Michon and himself, was another secret Deryni, and would be a valuable agent on the western borders of the kingdom.

  But no ambassador from Torenth appeared with any further word regarding the hasty shift in the Torenthi succession. Indeed, it would be several weeks before any official notification of Prince Nimur’s death reached King Donal’s court — and even then, details would be sparse. Various gossip and rumors would drift in sporadically throughout the remainder of the hard winter and early spring, but nothing of substance regarding what had really happened to the eldest Torenthi heir.

  The remainder of Twelfth Night Court and the feast that followed passed much as they had the previous year, if on a smaller scale because of the weather, and without the frisson created the previous year by Kenneth Morgan’s creation as earl. Afterward, only Michon de Courcy reported briefly to the Camberian Council — but only that there was really nothing to report, save for the expected knighting of his cousin Estèphe.

  * * *

  Soon after Twelfth Night, Kenneth and Alyce returned to Cynfyn with their son and household for the remainder of the winter. There, while Kenneth presided over local courts and consulted with the council that saw to the affairs of Lendour when he was absent, Alyce and Zoë had time and leisure to renew their close friendship and exult together over Zoë’s pregnancy. Zoë’s husband adored her, and his parents had quite taken her to their hearts, as had the entire court at Cynfyn. The contentment and sense of well-being was palpable, even in the midst of winter, and only increased as Zoë blossomed with the spring.

  Later in the spring, Kenneth took Alyce and Alaric with him to Coroth for a few weeks’ stay. There, as in Cynfyn, Kenneth attended to his duties as regent, periodically rode out into the surrounding countryside, and continued familiarizing himself with those who looked after the day-today running of the duchy. He and Alyce celebrate
d Easter in Coroth with their young son, who was missing his friends back in Rhemuth, then returned to Cynfyn in time to attend the birth of Zoë’s first child, Kenneth’s first grandson, christened Kailan Peter Chandos. It was a happy time for all of them; and by late in May, when he and Alyce prepared to return to Rhemuth for the celebrations marking Prince Brion’s coming of age at Midsummer, Alyce knew she was finally with child again: a girl, this time, to be born before the turning of the year.

  «How ever do you know these things?» Kenneth asked with awe, when she had told him her news.

  «You aren’t disappointed that it isn’t another son?» she answered, mischief in her blue eyes.

  «Good heavens, no! I adore daughters!»

  «Well, you do have a certain amount of experience with daughters», she said coyly. «But you’re sure you don’t mind?» she pressed. «It will mean a winter confinement — and I certainly shan’t be able to accompany you to next year’s Twelfth Night Court».

  «No, of course you won’t», he agreed, thinking aloud. «But you could go to Morganhall for your lying-in. It would be nice if at least one of our children could be born on the Morgan ancestral lands. I’m sure my sisters would be delighted, especially if it meant they might attend the birth of their first niece. I know they would also love the chance to dote on Alaric for the holidays».

  «You needn’t convince me further», Alyce broke in, laying a forefinger across his lips and smiling. «I cannot think of better midwives to attend me. And I shall do my best to deliver before you must leave for Christmas court».

  He grinned and kissed her in answer, then lay back with her nestled in the crook of his arm, curving a hand fondly over her still-flat abdomen.